A Different Kind Of One And Only

trinities.org

It's Friday The Thirteenth and my house is overrun with somewhat inept painters who, apparently, fear The Boss and are hell-bent on finishing this job today, even if it means that the interior of my house looks like a third grade class went at it for a School Project. I'm trying to be pleasant and sympathetic while still insisting that my house look better than it did when they started; surely it should look no worse.

Situations like this make me wonder if I'm The Only One anymore. Am I The Only One who sees that this looks like crap? Am I The Only One who expects quality? Am I The Only One who thinks it is rude to have strangers come into my house and blast loud music without asking and for the whole day? Am I The Only One...well, you get it. Lists like this are truly Endless.

But as I made my rounds of The Interwebs this morning, I came across something else that made me wonder if I was The Only One again, this time in a far more humorous instance. Or...maybe that's not the exact word I want.  You can decide.

By now all of you are aware of the scandal in which Brian Williams, NBC news anchor, is deeply embroiled. Because he was found to be heavily embellishing a story about being in a helicopter while reporting in Iraq, a lot more of his reporting and his basic truthfulness have been called into question. Thanks to social media, everyone has been able to weigh in on this story, and people have lined up on either side as supporters or opponents. As is often the case, it is surprising to see who says what.

But no one could have prepared me for this, a letter of support for Brian Williams written by Charlie Sheen. I am including it here for you to read, exactly as it was posted to Mr. Sheen's Twitter account. Get through it, and let's discuss.

Dear Mr. Williams,

Sorry to bother you during this most surreal, unjust and mercurial moment in your awesome life.

First off, THANK YOU, for 24 years of inimitable professionalism and top shelf brilliance, as a stone cold passion driven and (PERFECTLY) fact based journalist.

Secondly, Thank you “squared” for delivering not only the news on a nightly basis, (PERFECTLY) to myself and my family.

But for every other person alive, (with a TV) who relied and still do,on your poetic, insightfuland NOBLE sacrifices,that made our longest nights shorter,and our shortest nights safer.
You good sir, are a hero in my “Entire Library”

Lastly; you are clearly the victim of a transparent and vile witch hunt! Erroneously “staged” by hooligans, non coms, cowards and oligarchs, who’s only desperate and hideous goal is to discredit the genius that they relied on for almost 3 decades!

Now and forever you are a true Patriot and a Hero of mine until the day i leave this star crossed imperfect Rock we call Earth…

Mr W: respect love hi 5’s and refuge! (if you need it!) I remain humbly and on dangerous standby at your service….

I am;
the MaSheen….

At the risk of overusing my Rhetorical Device from above:

Am I The Only One who is stunned and mystified by absolutely everything in this letter? (But let's start with "poetic, insightful and NOBLE sacrifices." Brian makes 6 million bucks a year. What "sacrifices" has he made, really, that he has not been handsomely compensated for? I'll let Mr. Sheen have his own interpretation as to the level of their nobility, insight, and poetry.)

Am I The Only One who is still trying desperately to figure out how BW "made our longest nights shorter and our shortest nights safer" by reporting the news? Can anyone give me an example of anything that has done or is doing that so as to help me understand?

Am I The Only One who wonders if being a hero in an "Entire Library" is a sort of mixed metaphor or if it's really, really creative?

Am I The Only One who is laughing (hard!) at the series "hooligans, non coms, cowards and oligarchs" and wishes it wasn't too long to be the name of a really awesome band? (If I were still teaching, I might address my class that way. "All right, you hooligans, non coms, cowards and oligarchs, let's grab the vocab books and get going." Okay. Maybe not.)

Am I The Only One who reads the last "sentence" as a sort of jumbled command that then devolves into a sort of closing, like: Mr. W, Respect love, hi 5's, and refuge! If you need it, I remain humbly......?

What is "dangerous standby?"

And, finally, Am I The Only One who thinks that it would be great if someone like Patrick Stewart would read this aloud?

I remain on dangerous standby, awaiting your comments.

Valentine's Day: Memories Of Love

wanelo.com

Valentine's Day is a Hit-Or-Miss Holiday with Rick and me. Sometimes he brings home a bouquet of carnations for me; sometimes I make him a heart-shaped meatloaf. More often than not, we end up saying at some point, "Oh yeah. Happy Valentine's Day!" Usually this realization occurs when we get the mail and there is a card from St. Patsy, Obsessive Greeting Card Sender (And Underliner).

My mother loves to not only shop for greeting cards, which can, according to my brother, take her hours, but she also loves to underline key words in their sentiments. All of her kids and grandkids now hold One-Upsmanship Sessions in which they compare not only the number of words underlined, but the amount of times the words are underlined. Reading her cards aloud with the underlining is hilarious:

Wishing YOU, DEAR daughter, the BEST Valentine's Day EVER
because YOU are LOVED.
NOT JUST TODAY
but EVERY DAY
and ALWAYS!!!! (Adding extra exclamation points is new.)

But I digress.

Valentine's Day. Rick and I aren't exactly dismissive of it; we just don't Do It. We have our anniversary, and that's our Personal Valentine's Day. We figure February 14th can be everyone else's Day For Celebrating Their Love.

When I was little, Valentine's Day was a much bigger deal and a lot more fun. We bought the whole-class box of valentines, there was a class party with treats, and my mother made sure I had red bows in my braids. I would sit at the kitchen table the night before and put way more thought into who got which Valentine than I did into my Social Studies chapter questions. Especially the boys' valentines.

At school I was always astonished at the valentines I received that had a lollipop skewering through them. Although I had never truly wanted for anything as a child, I knew those had been expensive and were not something I could even have asked to hand out. Sometimes, I didn't even eat the lollipop. I saved it and saved it, only to throw it out later after it got broken or forgotten. How silly.

My parents both were enthusiastic celebraters of Valentine's Day when we were children. The very first flowers and heart-shaped box of candy that I ever got for the holiday were from my father. He always made sure that Patti, Susan, and I got a Valentine present. My mother, I'm sure, was in charge of Bobby's, but Dad's fingerprints were all over ours.

One of my father's great joys was to get in the car and simply go. My mother hated it because often, she would send him on an errand for an item she needed for her dinner preparation. Hours later, Dad was nowhere to be found, and in the age before cell phones, he was unreachable. Half an hour before dinner, he'd pull up in the driveway, placid and triumphant, and Mom would be harried and beyond irritated. "Honey! Where have you been? I'm waiting on those potatoes!" she'd say, exasperatedly.

My father would ease out of the car, look surprised and a little sheepish. "Oh! Doll, I forgot all about those potatoes. Let's just have rice. But take a look at the chair I got in the scratch and dent at Penney's. Only a hundred dollars. And I hit it really, really good at the driving range, too. Really loosened up my back."

In his travels my father would frequent small, family-owned florists and garden centers and find little vases or containers in sets of three. Each one would be a little different, either in colour, shape, or something. He'd then have the florist put a flower in each one, add a ribbon, and bring them home. We girls would come in from school on Valentine's Day and find them with our card and sometimes, our candy. If Dad had been downtown, we'd get a little tiny heart box of French chocolates from Faroh's, and we knew that meant he had a secret stash of the same someplace. Oh, those French chocolates from Faroh's. Divine and beautiful.

Mom and Dad exchanged cards, but that was it. The kids were the ones who got actual Valentine's Day presents, now that I take the time to think of it. Again, I am astonished at how oblivious I was growing up. Everyone in my family said I constantly had my nose in a book. It's clear that they were not exaggerating.

I still have one of those little vases that my father gave to me as a Valentine. About four inches tall, it is the only one to have survived not only several moves, but also the capriciousness of my feelings. Safely tucked away in a cupboard, it has weathered fits of temperament, organization, streamlining, and independence. Like Valentine's Day, some things are just for Love.

The Things We Love

omisuki.blogspot.com

I could do with some Light And Fluffy right about now, couldn't you? Let's put the Serious Love Stuff aside for the moment and look at something more...cotton candy-like.

At the risk of trivializing The Word, there are lots of Things We Love. The second definition of the word Love is, after all, "warm attachment, enthusiasm, or devotion." So here's a random list of

Things I Love, Grouped, And In No Particular Order

1. Names: Annabelle, Samantha, Boris, Tristan, Roberto
2. Foods: Butter, Basil, Olive Oil, Pasta, Duck
3. Activities: Going On Drives, Exploring Civil War Sites, Spending Time With Zydrunas, Teasing St. Patsy
4. Thingies: Mascara, Rick's Old White Tees, Boots, My GPS
5. Places: Niagara-on-the-Lake, Gettysburg, the lakehouse, To Dinner with Rick at Nemo's

Technically, I suppose some Persnickety Readers could snort and snark and say, "This could be termed A Favourite Things List, you know." Well, to him or her I would say this, "Did you get up on the wrong side of the day?" (That, by the way, is a direct quote from my niece Alexis, who had about eleventy thousand of those in her early childhood, and all of them were far more intelligent and sensible than the originals.)

But I digress.

1. Some of you may wonder why neither Jared nor Sam ended up as a Boris, Tristan, or Roberto. In a word, RICK. I was smitten by the name Tristan from the James Herriot book series from decades ago. Come to think of it, I got the name Boris from that, too, and the song about the spider by The Who.

2. As far as foods, those are my constants and will probably not change. Even lobster has disappointed me every once in a while, but these are always True.

3. I don't have a ton of activities that I truly love because so many of them feel worky to me, even writing and now, even reading. It's a concentration issue. But all of these listed bring me such joy. Despite the incredible amounts of nibbling and slobber, time with Zydrunas means unfettered energy and love. That dog loses his mind when I arrive, and it is such a lift to be greeted with unabashed adoration. Jared and Sam do not jump as high as my head, flip themselves into a comma, and wag their back ends until they fall down, even when I bring a pie.  But Z does, every time.

4. While I fully realize the Transient Nature Of Things, I can love some anyway. I have a torrid love affair with boots, which comprise 90% of my footwear during the months of October through March, with a week or two of September and April as necessary. Here in NEO with the snow, freezing rain, slush, and uncertain terrain thanks to the aforementioned, boots are a stylish and lazy-easy way to look decent and get through half the year. I have four or five pairs in various colors that I can slide into and not even have to worry if my socks match (although you know, of course, that they do). And if you buy a good, leather pair and take care of them, they can last for years and years. And if you don't buy leather, you don't worry too much about wrecking any that are cheap. Win-win.

5. Finally, these Places I Love, I really do love. They are all places that I can go and relax, watch my husband relax, and/or do things I truly love and enjoy. They are places where I can commune with the Best Parts Of Me.

I can't wait to see your lists of Things You Love in Comments!

Find Out What It Means To Me (And My Father)

When my father used to talk about the kind of husband my sister Patti and I would eventually find and settle into happiness with, he often described a sort of professorial man of academic bent who would be a hybrid Philosopher Poet, probably another English teacher or even a writer or college instructor who would be quite similar to us. He may never have said so, but I got the impression that this man would also be older than us as well, though not by too terribly much, and down-to-earth, but certainly not earthy or crude, my father's most hated personality trait.

As you can probably guess, neither Patti nor myself married such a man. Her husband is a business manager whose politics have always run somewhat counter to those of my late father, a blue-collar union man. Their discussions used to get passionate and heated, and my mother and Patti would practically have to drag in firehoses or, at the very least, send in the children en masse armed with storybooks and Overwhelming Cuteness to defuse the situation. My husband Rick is a carpenter by trade, and he has probably read a handful of books all the way through in his lifetime without growling, none of them recently.

It is important to note here that my father graduated high school, was drafted, and afterward went to college briefly on the G.I. Bill. He did not stay long. After the War, college felt alien to him, I guess, and Getting On With His Life meant something else entirely.

Anyway. The husbands/sons-in-law.

Both of them were obviously not what Dad had intended at all. But both of us heard, via our mother (Dad's favourite conduit) that it was okay. I can't speak for my sister in this case, but I can, of course, say plenty with regard to mine. My dad never doubted for a moment that Rick and I loved each other; I knew that. And even though we were So Incredibly Young (eighteen when we met; twenty-two when we married!), it was clear that we weren't making an impetuous decision.

No, the big factor for Dad was Respect. "Your father can tell that Rick really respects you," my mother said to me. "He can see that he cares for you, yes, but it's the way he listens to you and looks at you when you talk. He knows you're smart, and he's not intimidated by that. He treats you like it's a partnership. That's what's really important to your father."

My father was terribly hard on all of us kids as we were growing up, and there were times that I used to stomp upstairs to my bedroom and hate him mightily for hours, days, even weeks on end. It wasn't that I didn't understand why, either. He always made sure we understood exactly why he said what he said or was disappointed in or angry at us. (We were never hit, ever.) That didn't mean we didn't think it was stupid or ridiculous, or unfair, or so Not Like Anyone Else's Parents. But we did always feel loved, valued, and above all, respected our entire lives.

I'm glad. Respect should be an enormous part of Love.  I'm grateful that my parents taught me that and modeled that for me, and I hope that I have effectively done the same for Sam and Jared.  I hope I did as much for my students, too.  


image modified from zazzle.ca

The Heresy Of Young Love

polyvore.com

Love was always one of the most popular topics of discussion to arise in my classroom. Believe it or not, my sophomores, juniors, and seniors were desperately uncomfortable whenever sex crept into any conversation, moreso when I brought it up. (And I often did, especially when teachingThe Catcher in the Rye.) No, Love was the discussion winner by far, and everyone usually had something to say about it.

I got very popular very quickly when I aired my view that, yes, Teenagers Can Be In Love. I respectfully disagreed with Other Adults, often some parents, who dismissed this notion. "How can a teenager know what Love is?" was the inevitable question, followed by protests like, "They have no idea. They're too young! They aren't mature enough! They're full of hormones and ridiculous images from the media. No one at that age has the slightest idea what it even means to be in Love. Most of them are still lining up for Disney films. They can't even look past themselves, let alone truly care about another person."

My students would tell me all this, naturally, and they'd carefully and earnestly watch my face as they did so. (You know, I don't think I ever really got used to that--all those eyes on me at once used to regularly freak me out when they were expectant like that.) They wanted to see if I was going to stick with my Dangerous Opinion under the barrage of Grown-Up Fire. I would listen as they wore themselves out and had their catharsis; I really did understand what they were up against because I heard it from parents during conferences and phone calls all the time.

Once they let their last dogs loose, I explained myself, and the smart ones added it to their arsenal, saving it to use later, and then only in the calmest and wisest way.

Teenagers Can Be In Love. I believe it sincerely. Children, if they are raised well and correctly, are raised in a loving, caring, supportive environment. They are surrounded with demonstrations of love from their parents, siblings if there are any, and extended family. Love is modeled for them, and they know what it feels like to be nurtured, valued, supported, and cared for. They know what it feels like to want to do that for someone else. They have given and received affection and known the rewards of that reciprocity. They experience Love every single day.

I think it's incredibly arrogant and dismissive to say, then, by virtue of their age alone, that teenagers cannot be In Love. It's more of a disparagement of the parent/adult saying it than it is of the teenager. We expect our kids to learn from us; we are supposed to be role models and serve as their best mentors of how to get on in later life. Aren't we teaching them every single moment how to Love?

Being In Love is quite different than Being Ready To Do Something About It. That is a huge qualifier. But to tell Teenagers that They Are Not In Love because they are only something-teen years old is ridiculous. That's like telling a baby he's not hungry because it's not two o'clock yet. Or saying that it can't snow in NEO anymore once Spring starts on March 20th.

If you were not In Love as a Teenager, maybe you were So Hoping To Be In Love. But you certainly knew what it meant to be In Love. Growing up didn't really change that, did it?

Making The World Go 'Round, It's All We Need And A Many Splendored Thing

image.wikifoundry.com/

Love--one of the Suggested Themes--is an awfully big Thing To Write About. For some reason, this word is fraught with peril for lots of people. It's heavy with baggage in budding relationships, and some people think we toss it around like confetti or sea salt. "Love should mean something," I heard some serious-looking blonde say in close-up on one of St. Patsy's soap operas one day. "Oh, hell," I think I said at the time.

Because, really, the point is Love means a lot of things. And don't you just hate that stupid quote from the book/movie Love Story: "Love means never having to say you're sorry"? What in the hell does that even mean? Does that mean that if you love someone, you're automatically forgiven for all of your boneheaded screwups, so no "I'm Sorry" is necessary? Or, does it mean that if you love someone, you automatically don't screw up where he/she is concerned? Either way--STUPID AND NOT ACCURATE, so...what a waste of Ali McGraw's eyebrows and all of our time.

Anyway.

Love means a lot of things. Let's think of some.

Love Means

I put his slippers on to warm before he comes home.
I buy his favourite cookies at the store.
I carry dog biscuits in my car even though I don't own a dog.
I don't say to St. Patsy, "You already told me this."
I don't care that Piper weighs 20 pounds.
I cry when Jared and Sam are sad.
I bought Zydrunas a coat for Christmas.
I still want him to sing to me even though he can't carry a tune.
I don't say It.
I cry with you.
I let the Past stay there.
I make the cream sauce once a month.
I shovel the driveway as a surprise.
I bring chai tea for St. Patsy.
I meet him on the deck with wine.
I laugh with you.
I put up with the dog and cat hair.
My heart is full when the boys are here.
I sometimes have to be The Bad Guy.
I cook and bake with less salt.
I take the fish off Sam's hook.
I always answer their calls and texts.
I call you on your shit.
I am always, always within a call or drive.
You can tell me anything and I keep it close.
I try to help.
I don't say I'm Sorry--I try to fix it.

Tell me what Love Means to you in Comments.

(PS.  Today, I put out a nice thank you note for my mailman and a bottle of water in celebration of Thank A Mailman Day.)

February Survival Guide: Pick A Holiday And Celebrate The Hell Out Of It

katiebarnes.com

"February is merely as long as is needed to pass the time until March."--Dr. J.R. Stockton

Certainly Dr. J.R. Stockton could benefit from a little history lesson highlighting the Romans, namely King Numa Pompilius and Julius Caesar, but let's give him the benefit of the doubt and say that he was being snidely metaphorical. A lot of us know that March is just as bad, climatologically speaking, as February, with the added bonus of being even longer. We might say, even, "March is merely as long as is needed to pass the time until April."

But I digress. (Big surprise.)

My point, and I do have one, is this: February has some Image Problems, and being The Home Of Valentine's Day doesn't solve them; ask almost any male in A Relationship. Thankfully, I have an Excellent Readership here at the Dept., and because of their inspiration, we can not only help February, but also survive it.

Dear Reader Shirley from gfeeasily commented earlier that she is "one of those girls who just throws everything in the mix and cheers for it all", a trait that I find both useful and endearing. It sounded somehow familiar to me, and then I realized why. It complements perfectly a sentiment that Dear Reader J. over at Thinking About has shared often: "Life can be really hard sometimes, so celebrate when you can."

To that end, I present to you a list of Holidays in February far beyond what we usually associate with the month. Here is where you can discover the Origin of each of the Holidays, but personally, I don't care. To paraphrase Shirley and J., February sucks, so I'm just going to mix them all up and celebrate whatever the hell I want.

February is also known as:

American Heart Month
An Affair to Remember Month
Black History Month
Canned Food Month
Creative Romance Month
Great American Pie Month
National Cherry Month
National Children’s Dental Health Month
National Grapefruit Month
National Weddings Month

Here are the

Official February Holidays:

1 National Freedom Day

2 Groundhog Day

2 Candlemas

3 The Day the Music Died - Buddy Holly, Richie Valens and the Big Bopper died in a plane crash in 1959.  We will commemorate, not celebrate.

4 Create a Vacuum Day--I'll just run the one I have, thanks.

4 Thank a Mailman Day--I will set out a nice card!

5 National Weatherman's Day--Grrrrrrrr.

6 Lame Duck Day--Do I send President Obama a note, or do I increase awareness about gimpy waterfowl?

7 Eat Ice Cream for Breakfast Day - first Saturday of month--I may have to add a scoop to my coffee.

7 Wave All Your Fingers at Your Neighbor Day--I think not.

7 Send a Card to a Friend Day--eCards do count; I give you permission and the environment thanks you.

8 Boy Scout Day

8 Kite Flying Day--Maybe where you live...?

9 Clean out Your Computer Day - second Monday of the Month

9 Toothache Day

10 Umbrella Day--I feel like this should be in April, really.

11 Don't Cry over Spilled Milk Day--Oddly, I like this.

11 Make a Friend Day--I'll let all the FB people do this.

11 White T-Shirt Day--My standard for jammies, so every day is this.

12 Abraham Lincoln's Birthday--I always read The Gettysburg Address. Often aloud.

12 Plum Pudding Day--In February? Have any of you had this?

13 Blame Someone Else Day - first Friday the 13th of the year--I choose...republicans.

13 Get a Different Name Day--I will always choose Samantha.

14 Ferris Wheel Day

14 National Organ Donor Day--All of us at the Dept. are donors!

14 Valentine's Day

15 Candlemas - on the Julian Calendar

15 National Gum Drop Day--Absolutely celebrating this one!

15 Singles Awareness Day--Kraft American for grilled cheese.

16 Do a Grouch a Favor Day--DOING THIS!

16 Presidents' Day - third Monday of month

17 Random Acts of Kindness Day--I feel like no one ever has randomly performed an act of kindness toward me.

18 National Battery Day--Check your smoke alarms again!

19 Chinese New Year - Year of the Goat. Don't trust goats.

19 National Chocolate Mint Day--St. Patsy's favourite ice cream.  I might take her some.

20 Cherry Pie Day--I will take a trip to the pie shop for this.

20 Hoodie Hoo Day--NOT even saying this. Ever.

20 Love Your Pet Day--This is every day. Come on.

21 Card Reading Day--I used to cast and read rune stones. Don't judge. But not cards. I'll read your business card or greeting card!

22 George Washington's Birthday--GW never did it for me. I don't find him as fascinating or compelling or wonderful as AL or even TJ.

22 Be Humble Day--Humility is admirable any day if it is genuine. Don't fake it just for the day.

22 Walking the Dog Day--Never could do this yo-yo trick well. Real dog--Zydrunas is too strong for me to walk him; he is dog-reactive.

22 International World Thinking Day--Primarily to think about global women's health issues. I will fit it in while humbly walking the dog.

23 International Dog Biscuit Appreciation Day--I appreciate how slipping my Dog Relatives these speedily ingratiates them to me.

23 Tennis Day--Very hard on my knees, this sport. Plus, why must the women wear skirts? Quite sexist.

24 National Tortilla Chip Day--Pass me the guacamole.

25 Pistol Patent Day

26 Carnival Day

26 National Pistachio Day--These are too pricey and worky for me. More for you.

26 Tell a Fairy Tale Day--Once upon a time the republicans listened to reason...

27 Polar Bear Day--I remain an avid Polar Bear enthusiast and supporter.

27 No Brainer Day--Sadly, an everyday holiday for so, so many.

28 Floral Design Day

28 Public Sleeping Day--Celebrated in classrooms daily.

28 National Tooth Fairy Day - and/or August 22--What? Santa Claus, a major International star/celebrity, gets ONE holiday a year. The Tooth Fairy gets TWO?

There is no February 29th this year, so we are spared an extra day of winter.  Next year we have Leap Day, which some people also call Sadie Hawkins Day, Opposite Day, Backwards Day, or any other sort of clever Anything Goes kind of classification.  I never understood any of that, but I did know someone born on February 29th who delighted in dividing her age by four and alternating between February 28th and March 1st for her birthday celebrations.  In most other areas of her life, she was quite joyless and plodding, so this tiny bit of capriciousness was a rare charm.

Which of these Holidays might you celebrate?  Are you embracing the new February Philosophy?

In Which I Teach You Some Climatological Geography And Ask For Your Assistance

Welcome to February in NEO.  Watch your step!

What we've lost in degrees Fahrenheit, we've gained in inches of snow. Yesterday, we leveled off at 32 degrees and picked up over a foot of new snow. It just kept coming and there wasn't a single solitary thing I could do about it. Rick went out twice and threatened it mightily with the snowblower, but it continued on and on and on, well into the night and through the early morning when he left for work at 6:15, shovelling a path to his car. It finally stopped at about noon, but not until it had left us all in a snowy oblivion with temperatures of 17 degrees and winds blasting us from the north.

I wanted to tell you so that you knew there could be Winter Storms in places other than Boston, Chicago, New York, and Washington D.C. Certainly you would never learn it on The News. Actually, it's probably better that you don't hear too terribly much about NEO/Cleveland right now. You'll all be getting plenty tired of hearing about it come July of 2016 when it becomes the Home Of The You-Know-Whos since it will be hosting the republican National Convention.

All of that aside, even though there is a plethora of blog fodder in the present field of republican candidates that is just clamoring for space here at the Dept., I do want to do a bit of Brain-Picking for a moment with you as the...er, Pickees. February is a shorter month--even shorter now since I am making this appeal on its Second Day--and I would like to try to post every day or every other day for its duration. This would be infinitely easier were I to have a Theme. One of my readers with whom I correspond regularly suggested Love and Romance, in honor of Valentine's Day being in the month. We could all discuss things such as our first date, first kiss, wedding(s), wedding dress, honeymoon, things like that. And we could, but some of those topics necessarily exclude my readers who are unmarried, had/have unsatisfactory stories of any of those, or are simply Private about such things. I can understand that; I know that, personally, I may not want to discuss some of those things here, and that some of those things would not, in my case, make a good post to read.  Yet, some of the ideas will be a Basis for a post, but not in the Traditional Manner.

Lots of things can fall under the category of Love And Romance, and I know some of you might have some ideas for me. Still others of you may have some other ideas for topics to discuss or that you'd like me to write about or even revisit. I'd like to hear from you. My email link is still in my sidebar, or you can offer ideas in Comments.

For right now, I am not loving this weather. Or the fact that My Friends In Canada are sending us another Alberta Clipper on Wednesday. And Thursday. O, Canada! We stand on guard for thee.

The groundhogs of the world had better watch out. Not Feelin' The Love, as my students used to say. Right now, I'm going to put Rick's slippers on the furnace register to warm for him. He'll come home, fire up the snowblower, and have to find someplace to put all this snow. Again. But when he comes in, he'll Feel The Love from those toasty slippers.

I look forward to your ideas. Thanks for your help.  And I have to remember to tell Rick about this thing.

Those icicles have been known to kill people!"

What Do Catholics, republicans, And Chicken Pot Pie All Have In Common?

Fountainhead by Seyed Alavi

It's been a perfectly ghastly week, and I need to write to Feel Human again. All I have been able to do since Friday night is whimper, take drugs, lie down, and wonder for the eleventy hundredth time Why It Is That I Live Here in this godforsaken weather corridor. And why it is that Weather People cannot tell me what is coming, when, and for how long with any sort of reliability whatsoever. It all conspires to be mighty enough to make me say The Eff Word, almost, and I have been trying So Hard To Quit.

In case you wanted to know what it is like to rise from a Days-Long Migraine Process and try to re-enter Real Life, I have found something that is a little bit similar. Here; try to read this:

“Things must change for our government. Look at it. It isn’t too big to fail. It’s too big to succeed! It’s too big to succeed, so we can afford no retreads or nothing will change with the same people and same policies that got us into the status quo. Another Latin word, status quo, and it stands for, ‘Man, the middle-class everyday Americans are really gettin’ taken for a ride.’ That’s status quo, and GOP leaders, by the way, y’know the man can only ride ya when your back is bent. So strengthen it. Then the man can’t ride ya, America won’t be taken for a ride, because so much is at stake and we can’t afford politicians playing games like nothing more is at stake than, oh, maybe just the next standing of theirs in the next election.”

I'd like to echo DNC Communications Director Mo Elleithee and simply say, "Thank you." But of course, I can't. This speech by 2008 Presidential candidate John McCain's selection for his Vice President is beyond bizarre, even for her. As she continues to struggle for relevance in any avenue of American life, let's hope that it's not only the Democrats who sympathetically shake their heads and back away, whispering sadly. (Can we talk about it later over cocktails and nibblies, having a guilty laugh or two? Heavens, yes.)  And no, I won't mention her name and dignify her.

You know, here's another shitful thing about Migraineus Interruptus. I was being Such A Good Girl about my exercise regimen, plodding away on my Dreadmill of Punishment and even switching it up by shovelling the driveway (I know!), and then, Migraine. Down for the count. Thank goodness I don't have one of those Jawbone or FitBit thingies that would beep or vibrate or nag at me to Get Up. Like I need that. I bet you anything a Catholic invented those damn things. "Don't you feel guilty for not getting up and getting moving? Did you do your 10K steps today? CHRIST DIED ON THE CROSS FOR YOU AND YOU CAN'T EVEN MANAGE TEN THOUSAND STEPS?!?!?!" I'm getting a Monday 5PM Headache just thinking about it.

I think we all Want To Do Better. I really do. Okay, well, maybe not a Certain Bob Evans Restaurant. My friends Leanne and Jim, who live in Southern Maryland, each got sick with a terrible cold. They merely wanted some nice comfort food and were too tired and ill to cook for themselves. They went to a nearby Bob Evans restaurant--slogan, "Down On The Farm"--and ordered right off the menu, nothing fancy. Leanne ordered the Chicken Pot Pie, described as "Slow-roasted chicken, carrots, peas, celery and onions in a rich cream sauce covered with a flaky crust." Here is the teensy picture from the menu:

www.bobevans.com

Doesn't that look good, even though it's pixellated?  I can see why she ordered it.  Sadly, that is not what she got.  Here is what she got:

www.tf?

I think that, after this, they are Down On The Farm all right.

It's snowing here again, despite the odds being 40%.  The forecast changes hourly.  I'm tired of hearing all the new terms for Winter Weather--Snowmageddon, Polar Vortex, Bombogenesis.  I'm starting to think that, here in NEO anyway, if it weren't for Sports or Weather, there would be no "News."

What a lot of Effing Bullshit.  (Strangely, that did not make me feel better.)  Do let's chat in Comments.

Don't Speak...Don't Tell Me 'Cause It Hurts

artflakes.com

Lest I be typecast as a Stuffy Language Martinet, I will talk about The Language again; this time, however, let us chat about Words. How I love them! And contrary to popular belief, I love how our language is elastic and accommodating and expands to accept new words all the time.

For the most part.

But let's face it. Lots of words that have entered The Language, whether through slang, politics, business, or the tech world, are simply terrible and horrid. When we hear them, our response can vary from annoyance to hurt feelings, from an eye roll to a rising gorge. Sometimes, if you're like me, you might even wish that Official Smacking From A Retired English Teacher were permissible, even encouraged. (I'm willing to stipulate that, perhaps, that response may be Just Me.)

Regardless, for the past forty years, a college in Michigan has become relatively celebrated for annually publicizing a list of words that it deems banished from The Language for "misuse, overuse, and general uselessness." (Apparently, anyone can submit nominations for the list here.) Let's take a look at their list of banned words for 2015, thanks to their misuse, overuse, and general uselessness in 2014:

1. BAE--Supposedly an acronym for "before anyone else", this is a term of endearment whose acronym meaning was added well after its usage became popular. Personally, I think if you have to shorten "babe", you are beyond lazy, or "blay".

2. POLAR VORTEX--This was an actual meteorological thing, but because the media could not help themselves and repeated it like a mantra, it made living through it that much harder.

3. HACK--Let's go back to saying "tip" or "suggestion" and use HACK to mean a bad cough, bad writer, or bad haircut.

4. SKILL SET--"Skills." You're welcome.

5. SWAG--I have one of these above most of my living room and bedroom drapes. I like that meaning. Beyond that, what's wrong with "swagger," a word we already have? Too long to type or say? Actually, this would be a terrifically creative slang term for "penis." Think about all the meaning packed in there.

6. FOODIE--I consider myself a foodie, a person who is interested in and appreciates food, whether it is eating it, growing it, cooking/baking it, or selecting it and trying new kinds of it. I'm not really a gourmet, and I'm not aware of another word that expresses What I Am. Tell me one, and I'm happy to banish foodie forever. It's a goofy, kiddish word.

7. CURATE/CURATED--What a pretentious, overblown term for "chosen" or "selected." How terribly stupid, really.  Does one really curate an array of garage sale items?  Cans of cat food?  If so, I am a Curator.

8. FRIEND-RAISING--I had never heard this, ever, but I am old and not on TwitPinFace. Apparently, it is using your Social Media Contacts for fundraising purposes. How utterly gauche and incredibly opportunistic. It's like when Jerry Seinfeld got a girl's phone number off an AIDS walk list.

9. CRA-CRA--I first heard this horrifically grating term for "crazy" from Valerie Mayen, Cleveland designer on Season 8 of Project Runway in 2010. Hated it then; hate it now. Love her clothes, though.

10. ENHANCED INTERROGATION--Oh, Dick Cheney and Faux News can call it anything they want. Torture is torture. Get ready for more of this term because another Bush is running, and there will be at least half a dozen debates.

11. TAKEAWAY--I love how the UK use this term rather than "carryout" for food to go. But this is the tiresome, big-meeting, inservice application. It's the new "bottom line" and "final analysis." Ugh. Nothing good--even linguistically--happens in meetings.

12. -NATION--Tack this on the end of something and it identifies a group of followers or fans. Raiders Nation. Cubs Nation. Nance Nation. Hey, wait...! No, not even that one makes it okay. So cliche, so ubiquitous, so unimaginative. Even if there were Poe Nation or DickinsoNation, I'd say no, stop. Just. Stop.

I have my own list of Words I Am Sick Of Hearing. Honestly. These words wear me out. I know they can't disappear; they have, in some cases, a legitimate raison d'etre. I'm just really tired of reading and hearing them. In no particular order, they are:

1. Kale--Overrated, tastes like dirt, now trendy and therefore overpriced.
2. Organic--Everything in the universe now comes in organic form.
3. Amazing--I railed against this overworked word years ago in a separate post.
4. Facebook--I cannot go a single day without hearing or seeing a mention of this. I still want nothing to do with it.
5. Veggies--I'm an adult; I can handle the word "vegetables." I know what they are, and I don't need them to be made cutesy in order for me to eat them or want to eat them.

Full disclosure:  I desperately wanted to add "Beyonce" and "Kardashian" to this list.  But I felt it would open the door to a great deal of proper nouns that were simply People We Disliked, not truly Words That Sickened Us.  In the case of Beyonce and Kardashians, the former is not someone I dislike.  I really am tired of hearing about her.  When it comes to Kardashians, however, it is a fact that not only am I weary of hearing the name, but I also dislike the very Idea Of Them.

So.  Now it is your turn, your opportunity to Banish Words From The Language, or, at the very least, to identify a few Words Which Sicken You.  List away in Comments.

Where Are All Of The Smart People Hiding?

Is it just me, or is Stupid the New Normal? I feel as if, not so very long ago, some massive shift occurred and, at that point, it became Perfectly Acceptable to air out your ignorance and you didn't have to worry because everyone would Really Be Okay With It.

All of you know when I would fix that turning point; it would be the day that George W. Bush took the oath of office and control of the White House. At that moment mediocrity and smirky doofusness won the day, and we have never, ever been the same since. The country decided it was more important to have a President with whom they wished to "have a beer" than one who could, say, clear the board on "Jeopardy."

But I digress. My point--and I do have one--is that No One With Any Smarts seems to be in any position of authority anymore. One does not have to look very far to see Stupidity In Abundance. And on sale! Here, for example, is a shirt I found at Target here in NEO, where everyone is beyond tickled that LeBron James is back to rescue us and make our lives immeasurably better:

There is absolutely no justification for this shirt's existence.  None.  Do you mean to tell me that there was not a single person involved in the creation, execution, and packaging of this garment that didn't notice its error?

Here's some more Stupid that makes me sad.  I'm the first person to admit that I am not mathy.  But holy crap, I sure as hell don't need the Ortega Taco Shell people to hold my hand as if I might be so feeble as to need to take my shoes and socks off right there in the grocery store to figure out what The Value Is:

Oh, brother.  And believe it or not, I can actually link these two items, the LeBron shirt and the taco value pack, because I'm reminded of when Dan Gilbert first took ownership of the team and arena.  One of the things he did was to add a New! Feature! to the Jumbotron scoreboard.  Called The Diff, it showed the point differential between the Cavs and their opponents.  Yes.  That's correct.  It did the math for you so that you didn't have to. Another example of The Stupid.  Here it is, in all its glory:

Sigh.  Finally, because Stupid is The New Normal, no one cares to do any better.  Everyone gleefully pulls out his markers and her doofusness and figures it's all going to be Just Peachy because You Know What They Mean, Right?  Like this:

   

Sam snapped this for me at the Goodwill Store near his workplace.  So, no, it's not some trendy textile art show by a cool hipster artiste named Kid.  Nope.  We should be so lucky.

Listen.  Apostrophes, correct grammar, intelligent discourse, and clear speech aren't like high heels and pearls and tuxedos; they aren't meant only for special occasions and the elite classes.  Too many people and businesses are engaging in Sweatpant Language, and I'm sick of it.  Class up your act, America, and do better.

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It's So Hard To Get Good Help These Days

http://www.votapka.com/news/

Greetings from The Tundra, where I await the furnace people whilst outdoors it is sunny and zero degrees with wind chills of -20. Thankfully, my furnace is working, as is evidenced by what sounds like an idling cement truck emanating from the basement. To coddle it, I have pitched the thermostat at a chilly 71 instead of my usual toasty 74, and I am wearing my fleece-lined spandex dreadmilling pants and a spandex camisole topped by a sweatshirt. It goes without saying that I am freezing.

I am hoping so hard that the furnace is just fine and, if it is not, that it is something trivial. This is because of my oven.

As I feared a month or so ago--and shared with you then--my oven has Retired. Yesterday, in a fit of Domestic Fervor, I decided to bake Rick a small cake. The bake time was to be 23 minutes. Which came and went, and my cake--an 8"x 8" square--took on an alarming likeness to the Capitol Building in Washington, D.C. The top cracked, but my cake tester remained wet and sticky. Back in it went for 3, 4, 5, 7 more minutes. Finally, I took it out and set it to cool. The result was a boggy, sunken mess with a cupcake-sized cake in the middle and hard, dry edges all around. Obviously, my oven is cycling on and off, up and down, never maintaining or even, perhaps, reaching optimum heat. (I cut out some decent chunks, drizzled caramel topping over them and crowned it all with a dollop of whipped cream. Rick was fine with it, but honestly, it was horrid.) Because this appliance is a Frigidaire (aka The Great Satan), it will have to be junked (ashes to ashes, junk to junk). They stopped making parts for it. For years and years, just to set the oven temperature, I have had to press the keypad AND COUNT THE BEEPS, EACH ONE REPRESENTING FIVE DEGREES HOW SAD IS THAT!? Here, look. This is my oven display when it is on and set to 350 degrees:

It actually looks way clearer in a photo.

Trust me; I counted the beeps.

And holy crap, my dishwasher is a Frigidaire. I. KNOW. Am I an idiot?

The furnace technicians arrive. They each look to be about twelve years old. One reassures me in much the same voice that I use to speak to my mother, who is 84. It is down to 68 in my living room as they cycle my furnace. I hear them laughing and chatting while the skin under my fingernails has gone blue and the tip of my nose is numb and icy. Half an hour later, my furnace continues to stubbornly purr along, quietly and efficiently making a liar of me. I briefly consider asking these adolescents to take a look at the oven.

As soon as I thaw out, I am going to make a new entry in My Journal Of Wrongs, Volume IV.  In it I will write down the fact that The Furnace Tweens told me the water supply to the humidifier was shut off, vindicating my months of urgent pleas to Rick to check it because of my constantly dry eyes, painfully tight and flaking skin, and parched lips.  No, it wasn't the cause of the mysterious and now absent noise, but it's likely going to be the cause of some new rumblings at the Dept.

2015: So Far, Mixed Results

Scene opens on living room. Rick is on one end of the couch, Nance--ensconced in jammies, fleece robe, and fleece blanket--is on the other. She looks pale and is holding a bottle of Tums. Rick--fully dressed in jeans and pullover--is holding his bigass smartphone.

Nance: Rick, I hate to ask you this, but will you give the kittens their dessert? If I have to deal with that wet cat food, I'll just--
Rick: (interrupts)--Of course. Right now?
Nance: No, not yet. They ate late, so wait until they ask for it. (belches loudly) Ugh. This is ridiculous. I feel awful.
Rick: (while studying something on his phone) I know you do. I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do?
Nance: No. Feeding the cats for me will be great. I wish I knew what this was, though. You feel fine. We ate the same food and we (belches) drank the same water. We didn't do anything differently. I've been fighting these waves of nausea and weakness all day! I had one small glass of wine on New Year's Eve. You finished the bottle. What IS this?
Rick: I know. And I don't know.

(After several more minutes, the cats begin to stare fixedly at Nance. When it becomes undeniably sinister, Nance says, "Kittens, do you--" at which point they catapult from their position and, in a single bound, land at their dishes at the back door of the kitchen, where Rick, at his leisure, feeds them.)

Nance: (upon Rick's return) What kind was it? Beef? That would have done me in for sure.
Rick: I have no idea. I just opened it and fed them.
Nance: Oh. Well, it was a new can. Did you sing the New Can Day song?
Rick: (gives her the side-eye) No.
Nance: Did you make sure to move aside any dry food in the dishes and put the wet food in a clear spot?
Rick: (looking at her now; patient) Nance. I never put wet food on top of dry food.
Nance: Did you mash it down with the fork for them?
Rick: What? No. I plopped it down in the dish. It was pretty soft to begin with.
Nance: But they don't bite it off of a big chunk, you know. They lap at it with their tongues. They don't eat like dogs.
Rick: (only slightly exasperated) Here they come. They look like it went okay.

(The cats saunter in licking their chops. They casually jump to the top of the couch back in order to look out the window; first, however, they each take an elaborate paw bath.)

Nance: Well, thank you for doing that...(here, Rick stares at her intensely, waiting; Nance inhales, pauses; exhales) very much. ( Smiles. Inwardly, Nance congratulates herself on keeping two Resolutions: (1) Choose to be gracious; (2) Choose to be grateful. Yes!)
Rick: (smiles) You don't have to thank me, but you're welcome.

End scene

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Sometimes You Don't Need An Apostrophe (Or Two, Even)

Sometimes, when it is Unrelentingly Grey in our part of NEO, Rick and I zip down to see if things are sunnier at the lake and check on things down there, like if Canada geese have overrun my brother's yard or if there are any nice cows alongside the road to get friendly with. Sometimes I have to get fussy and complain that we don't stop at Grandpa's Cheese Barn to hit the samples for a snack. Sometimes Rick says, "Next week, let's come early on Sunday and fill up on sausage gravy and biscuits and see what they've deep-fried over at the breakfast buffet!" and I have to Be The Bad Guy and remind him of his high blood pressure. Sometimes along the way we see something funny, like the guy wearing bright red suspenders and a Dr. Seuss-type hat, or oddly satisfying, like the hand-tied Amish corn shocks standing in the fields.

But Sometimes, we see things that don't make us any happier, that only serve to add to our gloom. Such was the case with this sign, one that made me ask Rick to turn around on Route 58 in order for me to get a picture.

Thank goodness the sun came out.

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Merry (Cheap, Yet Heartfelt) Wishes From The Dept. Of Nance

And I mean that, Dearest Readers. Even though I haven't spent cash on boxed cards and stamps, I can still warmly wish you a happy Christmas, Festivus, Hanukkah, Winter Solstice, or Holiday Season. Please find time to rest and relax in the Way That You Like Best.

Thank you for reading me. Your continued interest is one of my Favourite Gifts.

The Second Annual Dept. Gift Guide

Not this.  Ever.  

In Which I Catch You Up On All Sorts Of Things And Offer The Afflicted A Freebie (With A Side Of Salinger)

Welcome to December, Dearest Readers, a month for which I have the Highest Hopes. Before I begin with the actual Innards of this post, let me remind you that, Officially, you may set out your Christmas Mugs, put up your Christmas Trees and Other Yuletide Decor, and listen to all the Christmas Music your merry heart desires. Now that November has cleared out, it is Perfectly Acceptable and sanctioned by the Dept. of Nance.

November was a Massive Disappointment for me, and while it's a little early for Festivus and The Airing Of Grievances, I have a little bit of Random Business to attend to in this post. I know you'll indulge me.

1. The Medical. Yesterday was the first day I actually felt Well. My cold developed into sinus and ear infections, and I became so very weak and sad. Complicating matters was the fact that I am presently without a general practitioner, and I was in no shape to sit in a waiting room, alone, trying to fill out forms when I could barely sit up. My situation was dire, so I resorted to technology and downloaded the app Doctor On Demand. Within twenty minutes I:   had a private consultation with a doctor, was prescribed medications which were called in to a local pharmacy, and had a comprehensive write-up of my session to refer to any time I wanted. All for $40. All while I sat in my chair in my jammies and blanket. As much as I hate going to the doctor and sitting and waiting, this was worth it. And I was given a code to share with anyone I wanted, which offers patients a discount. Here it is if you're ever in a similar, non-emergency situation: ac68f0se . (No, this isn't a sponsored post.)

2. The Holiday. As you might imagine, being so ill made Thanksgiving difficult. Luckily, I live with a Superhero. Rick made everything except the dressing/stuffing, and that included the two pumpkin pies. The boys (and Zydrunas) came over early in the day to help out with things, too, so all I had to do was check on the turkey and eat. My oven soldiered through it all, which is good because when I called to get service, I was told that it would be Impossible--Frigidaire (aka The Great Satan) no longer makes any parts for that appliance. Just so you know, That Appliance is less than ten years old. I want to say Terrible Things about Frigidaire, but I have used them all up already. Since so many of you Gracious Living-ers are dying to know, we did not have a centerpiece on the table; I served an oaked Chardonnay and a Rosé, and no silver-polishing was necessary because we didn't use anything which required it. Zydrunas was angelic until Marlowe suddenly made an appearance, and then all bets were off for approximately the four seconds it took for the chase which ensued. (I didn't see Marlowe again until approximately 11 PM.)

3. The Government. I've kept calm and quiet here regarding all of the governmental bullshit over the past months because A) I'm trying to maintain my Zen, and B) it's pointless to get my undies in a bunch, but honestly, it's crap like this quote from Sen. Harry Reid--yes, a Democrat--that makes me want to zip down there and smack the entire Congress: “We have a lot to do. And there isn’t much time to accomplish it. I urge all senators to work hard to complete our work in a timely and efficient fashion. We may have to be here the week before Christmas." Can I see a show of hands from Every Single Person Out There who has/had a Lot To Do and had/has to work the week before Christmas all of the time? I'd like to quote the nitrous-addled kid from the YouTube video when I say, "Is this real life?!" If you want to make yourselves sick, go here and look at how little your Congress is working for you. These goldbrickers are rarely in session, ever. And many of these blowhards are the same snots who want to cut teacher pay because, according to them, teachers only work nine months a year. So when these Congresspersons tell you that many of the days that they are not In Session, they are still, in fact, Working, tell them THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT TEACHERS DO TOO! And teachers don't have paid staffers to help them. Not even ONE.

4. The Paid Cyberbully. Speaking of a paid staffer, let me say this about republican EX-staffer Elizabeth Lautner, the congressional aide who took to her TwitPinFace account to bully the President's teenaged daughters. It's the ugliest thing in the world to use kids for your own adult agenda. Why in the world would you ever, ever be mean and nasty to a kid simply because you didn't like his or her parents? It's hard enough in the world to be a kid in the public eye, and someone like Elizabeth Lautner just made it ten times harder. I'm not going to parse her objectionable comments because we all know what she said and what it meant. But picking on teenaged girls via social media is, to me, the equivalent of beating a toddler at Candyland. And I'm still waiting for a true apology because the one Lauten provided--after several hours of intense prayer, supposedly--was a non-starter, and every sincere person in the world knows it.

5. The American People. You know, I've covered this territory before, but holy crap, how pathetic are They? And don't say, "Nance, you are an American Person, you know!" Honestly, I am seriously starting to wonder. I really, truly am. Because It's scary. Look at the results of the newest CNN/ORC poll:

50% of Americans believe the GOP taking control of the House and the Senate next year will be bad for America
52% expect it to lead to more gridlock

68% Americans polled say the GOP isn't cooperating enough with President Obama
57% say it's Obama who's not cooperating enough with the GOP

44% of Americans view the Democratic Party favorably
50% view it unfavorably

41% of Americans view the republican party favorably
52% view the republican party negatively

Who voted in this last election?  Did they bus in a bunch of idiots who think that the earth is flat and that spray cheese is all the science they ever need?  I know I voted.  I voted SO HARD.  But thanks to careful gerrymandering, it's not going to matter much anymore. Take a look at Ohio's district map.

6. The Theory. As I've mentioned before, both of my sons have a Twitter account, and occasionally I stalk them (purely for amusement). I've often felt that Jared has a little Holden Caulfield in him, and that quality twinkled at me when I read this particular tweet:

Women always show up to a place like they're going to be there for a couple weeks.

(Oh my, Chapter Eight; Ernest Morrow's mother who leaves her goddamn bags in the middle of the aisle and her hands lousy with rocks! Sigh.)

******************

It's good to be Alive again.

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We Only Have Time For A Few Of Your Questions Before The Entertainment Part Of Our Show

Good Day, Readers. In today's installment of Ask Nance, we'll be following up on a few previous topics and taking questions on some new ones. We hope you find it informative.

Question: Nance, are you any further along in your Thanksgiving Preparations?
Nanceswer: In addition to the two bags of cranberries in my freezer, I now have my fresh turkey and two bags of fresh cranberries in the basement refrigerator, and the remaining ingredients for Thanksgiving Dinner residing in various cupboards, freezers, refrigerators, and pantry. While it was 64 degrees today, I wisely harvested the last of my sage, rosemary, and parsley. And I grocery-shopped at 8 AM today, which might be the Smartest Move I Have Ever Made.

Q: Does this give you time to consider Decorating for Thanksgiving?
N: This gives me time to dog-proof the house and figure out whether or not I can afford a therapist for Piper once Zydrunas has scared the crap out of him for the day.

Q:  Have you thus far escaped an Appliance Betrayal, unlike in years past when on the Cusp Of A Major Holiday?
N:  Surely you jest.  Just this evening, the stove threw an F1 error code accompanied by an obnoxious beep. Additionally, the oven would not turn off.  Was this sort of occurrence mentioned anyplace at all in the literature that came with the stove?  Of course not.  Rick threw the breaker, waited for a moment, then flipped it back on and went into Cleveland to watch professional basketball.  I will be calling the appliance store tomorrow to beg for a repair slot before Thanksgiving.  And hoping like hell that it doesn't happen again tonight when I'm home alone.

Q: But, are you feeling better?
N: Marginally, and with no thanks to homeopathy and natural cold remedies. Here are the Tree-Hugging Rainbow Methods I tried:
homemade chicken soup; hot water with honey and lemon; hot shower; hot bath; apple cider vinegar and honey; drink plenty of water; Vicks VapOrub on the soles of feet; Vicks VapOrub on the chest; SinusBlast hot pepper nasal spray; resting; keeping warm; megadosing Vitamin C; propping up to sleep.

Finally, I said Screw This. I bought Alka Seltzer Severe Cold and Flu Formula Night And Day (or something) and started knocking that stuff back. Now I can sleep without hacking up Huge Phlegm Wads and choking and gagging like a ten-pack-a-day smoker. Soon, I hope to get My Life back.

Q: Can we salvage November?
N: No. Not this year. It sucks. Ask Buffalo. Ask President Obama. Ask anyone in NEO who wants to listen to FM radio and not hear Christmas music. It's hopeless. I have been hard pressed not to open up the Industrial-Sized Can Of Whoopass on The Politics this month. It's killing me. Did you hear that Lindsey Graham--Lindsey "Senator Old Lady Fussypants" Graham is considering a run for the presidency? Of the United States? OF AMERICA?

Q: Is someone A Little Bit Crabby?
N: Yes. Someone really is. And here's what I'm going to do about it. I'm going to watch this and laugh. Join me.



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A Toast To Toast!

Back in The Olden Days when I was teaching, I often inspired gales of laughter, sneers of disdain, and hoots of disbelief when I identified Toast as being among my favourite foods. Especially memorable was the response of a certain Senior Football Player who leaned back in his ridiculously small chair, folded his arms across his chest, fixed me with an extraordinarily disappointed look, and shook his head. "Now that," he said, "is messed up."

At that time and with that audience, there was no credible defense to be made. None. That was a lasagna, steak, pizza, and crab legs crowd, with maybe a few lobster or barbecued ribs tossed in. Toast? Toast and I took our ball (butter?) and went home.

But since I've been down with this egregious cold, I've renewed my love affair with Toast, and really, isn't Toast simply Lovely? Isn't it just The Best? Honestly, how can you go wrong with Toast? I mean, yes, you absolutely can Go Wrong if you burn it (although I did have a colleague, Fran, who purposefully burned two pieces of wheat toast every single morning in the lounge at The Rock for breakfast, its acrid stench scenting the hall for an entire period because she liked it that way), but beyond that, my goodness! Toast!

My personal favourite for all time has to be a very dark pumpernickel rye toast spread with plenty of Real Butter, lightly toasted so that it still has some of that characteristic chew. If you can slice it yourself, how glorious! Thick--thick as you can without having to use a dangerous butter knife in the toaster slot to free it. (We've all done it at some point in our lives and felt that burr of electric shock. Admit it.)

How comforting is a warm slice of cinnamon toast? That's what I have been nibbling on the past few days. Wheat bread, darkly toasted, buttered, then sprinkled all over with a mix of sugar and homey-smelling cinnamon. I don't drink hot tea, but a mug of hot water with honey and lemon accompanies it just fine.

Apparently, a restaurant in San Francisco has an entire menu devoted to Toast. The average price is about $3.50 for one piece, but they use a thick slice of organic, in-house baked bread and local ingredients for the spreads. (One famous food blogger and cookbook author went there and raved about it.) I thought about it for a little bit: would I pay $3.50 for a big piece of Toast topped with, say, cream cheese and black pepper? Yes. But, looking further at the Menu, I would not pay $16.50 for a 12-ounce cup of coffee to accompany it. And that is the cheapest.

But I don't need Fancy Toast, do you? Decent bread, good butter, pleasantly warm and all with the right balance of crisp and tender. Some people, when there is nothing else to eat, or it is too late to cook, they eat cereal. I eat Toast. In that case, Toast with butter and peanut butter. Perhaps, if I'm really hungry, I'll skip the butter and lay on a slice of cheese instead.

Oh, Toast! You're so versatile and so wonderful. So underrated and unappreciated. I will dedicate my eventual Recovery to you.

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