Thursday, November 09, 2017

Throw It Out Thursday: Getting Tough With The Cooking Cabinet And Saying Goodbye To The Baker I Used To Be


Well, this one is embarrassing yet quite liberating. And I'm here to tell you that it took me all of maybe fifteen minutes, truly. These Thursdays are invigorating me! I'm starting to Look Forward To Them.

My Cooking Cabinet is what I call the tall, narrow cabinet where I store all my spices, seasonings, flavourings, and such that I cook and bake with. In there are stored my peppercorns, garam masala, cinnamon, cocoa powder, baking powder, star anise, vanilla (extract and beans), Adobo seasoning, Old Bay, curry, and cayenne, to name a random sampling. Dried herbs I use most often are stored in a rack of jars on my counter, along with my kosher salt and some other cooking accoutrements. Also in the Cabinet are birthday candles, muffin papers, and all sorts of decorating sprinkles and sugars left from when I used to make fancy cakes for birthdays, and the boys and I used to make and decorate sugar cookies at Christmas, both baked goods I haven't made in about a hundred years.  Hence, the decorating stuff is way up on the top shelf, so I started there, and I was honestly alarmed at what had ended up there, out of sight and mind for so long.

After that Slough Of Personal Despair, the remaining two shelves were easy. It was merely a matter of taking it all out, tossing a couple of items that had been pushed to the rear, and then putting it all back in, this time taking advantage of newfound space and having the luxury of  a better organization method than Cramming Stuff In After I Use It.

Because I am a Keep It Real kind of woman, here is my Shame, in full color and all of its Disgustingness. This is every single thing that I Threw Out:


I can hear your first response:  Who in the hell needs that much chicken bouillon?  Obviously, no one.  That container was two-thirds full.  I don't even remember buying it.  Those ancient bottles of food colouring and flavourings came over with a bunch of kitchen stuff when Rick's dear grandparents went into a nursing home.   That one piping tip hid out up there and survived The Great Cake Decorating Equipment Purge several years ago.  And I never did make that maple cooky recipe again after trying it once--too worky.

It's all gone now.  Out to the garbage it went, and I feel fantastic about it.  Oh, one thing I did not feel too terribly fantastic about:  there was one little Tupperware of mixed sprinkles that I came across, and being the frugal girl that I am, I decided to save the container.  It was a handy little size, and why throw away something that was still useful?

I'm sure you can already guess what happened.  After years of covering a wee tub full of sugar, the lid was tough to wrench off.  It did, though, unexpectedly, and a great deal of the mixed sprinkles and sugars scattered onto my hardwood kitchen floor, settling into its irregular cracks and spaces.  Thankfully, the broom and dustpan were right at hand, and the vacuum was employed soon after for anything it missed.  One little mishap like that was not going to mar my Joy.

How about all of you?  Are you Throwing Out On Thursdays yet?  If not, can you relate to my Shame?

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Wednesday, November 08, 2017

Way Back When Wednesday: The Pace Of Childhood

It was inevitable. Sometime in late June, a day would arrive when the burden of our Summertime Freedom was too much. Laura, Lisa, and I had already rollerskated until our knees and elbows were scabby and sore. We had played jump rope until arguing over misses and whose turn it was had frayed our friendships more than the street surface had frayed our skipping rope. Our koolaid stand idea never got off the ground, and we got tired of hearing our mothers say, "You kids get out of the house and go play outside!" That's when my mother would say, "Go get a big blanket, spread it out in the shade, and play dolls."

By dolls she meant, of course, Barbie dolls. My two friends across the street had Barbies, too, and tons of clothes in vinyl zippered cases. Our front yard had a nice shady maple tree, so we always played at our house. My mother provided the blanket or big comforter, and pretty soon we'd each be at a corner, setting up our Barbie's "house" and sorting her clothes. A few hours later, we'd be called inside for lunch or dinner or something, loathe to gather up our things and end our playtime.

We were probably eight or ten years old, not unusual for doll-playing back then. And sometimes it wasn't Barbies when we played dolls. If we all got Crissy dolls (with beautiful hair that grows!), then we played with those; if we had Barbie's cousins (Francie?) or sisters (Skipper?) or whomever, we played with those. We pretended they were going to work, going shopping, going out on a date, heading to the beach, or meeting for lunch. They had conversations and shared clothes and those teeny little shoes that never stayed on. We played for hours.

It is with some sadness and disappointment that I have noted Barbie dolls being given as gifts to children as young as two and three years old. On Mattel's website, some Barbie dolls are recommended for ages 3+, such as Barbie Video Game Hero, Barbie Fashionista Dolls, and Barbie Dreamtopia Bubbletastic Fairy Doll, to name only a few out of dozens. I guess I'm wondering why--and more importantly, just how--babies are playing with Barbies.

So much of Life has become accelerated for kids. I remember chaperoning prom and being astonished that there was a Garter Dance, once only a wedding reception ritual. High school students go to Florida, the Bahamas, and on cruises for Spring Break, the traditional rite for college students. And the elaborate setups involved now for merely asking someone for a date to Homecoming or Prom far exceed most people's proposals for marriage.

Where are these young people speeding off to? What is the ultimate destination, and how will they know when they've arrived?  It's exhausting.

Back to Barbies.

I actively played Barbies until junior high school, I think, and so did my friends.  And I had a built-in playmate with my sister Susan, five years my junior, when we weren't fighting.  Or when she wasn't bending my Barbies' legs backward and ruining them, leaving gaping holes in the rubber and exposing the plastic joints, rendering them stiff-legged and very unladylike forever.  (Probably Susan still owes me about four Barbies, but I've never collected.  She's likely compensated me in tomatoes and home-canned goods.)

I often say that I'm glad I raised my sons before the ubiquity of smartphones, social media, and the Internet.  And I am.  It was hard enough there at the end of their adolescence with AoL Instant Messenger and a shared Sega Genesis.   I could always remove the power cords for the computer and the game system when necessary. There was no way I would have survived anything else.

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Tuesday, November 07, 2017

Teacher Tuesday: Language Alert!

www.tias.com
Welcome to Teacher Tuesday, where I come out of Retirement once a week to talk about something in my Field Of Expertise (English) or something Incredibly Thinky that I read or heard and want to hear your opinions about.

Today's topic is a Threat-Level-Yellow, or Mildly Irritating, Language Alert. Because I have had to be Out In Society lately, due to St. Patsy's Health Maintenance Appointments and my own errands, I have been exposed more than usual to Other People talking.

I know.

Here are the Slings And Arrows Of Outrageous Language that I was forced to Suffer:

1. All of the sudden. "Wow! That wind came up, and all of the sudden, the temperature dropped like ten degrees." This phrase is never, ever correct. There is no particular, singular instance of suddens. It is an adverb. Would you say this sudden, that sudden, those suddens? The correct phrase is and always has been ALL OF A SUDDEN.  If you don't like it or remain confused, just say the economical and always correct "suddenly."

2. I seen. "I seen you only had one item, so no use in you being behind me." This was said by such a kind and gracious gentleman ahead of me at the store, and I thanked him profusely. The persistence and proliferation of "seen" as the plain past tense of the verb "see", however, is killing me a little more each day. Why is this happening? What is wrong with the perfectly good--and correct--word "saw"? "Seen" is only used with helping verbs: I had seen; I have seen. When you add a form of "be", use the -ing: I have been seeing.

3. Have went. "I've went to that place three times now, and each time there's been no handicapped spots." I am continually mystified by this particular linguistic quirk. How did it come to pass? Why can't the speaker hear how clunky and wrong it sounds? Why hasn't he or she ever heard of the word "gone"? "Went" is simple past tense of the verb "go". I went; she went; we went. If you add the helping verbs, then use "gone": I have gone; she has gone; we have gone. Again, when you add "be", use -ing: They have been going.

4. Expresso. "That baby acts like it has shots of expresso in its bottle, I swear!" Sigh. It's ESPRESSO. There is NO "X". One of my sons came home from classes one day and said he could no longer truly respect anything his English instructor said because she persisted in pronouncing this word incorrectly. It was a tough time for him, and I completely understood how he felt.

5. Hone In On. "This particular screen can really hone in on that rotation pattern." No, it can't. Perhaps it can HOME in on it, which is what radar is designed to do. Honing is what you do with blades; it refers to the act of sharpening on a whetstone (or the stone itself). The phrase is HOME IN ON, which means to aim toward a specific target.

Have you heard these out and about?  Do they set your teeth on edge, too? 

Monday, November 06, 2017

Monday Meme: 10 Q About Me For You


After a Day Of Rest on Sunday, Mondays can often be a tough re-entry day. I'll do a light workout on Mondays with memes. Today's is one I've cobbled together from various places on the Interwebs.


1. Do you prefer coffee or tea? Iced or hot?

I prefer coffee, and I don't drink it iced. To me, iced coffee will always taste like leftover coffee that needs to be reheated. It's just wrong. I was raised on iced tea, however. My mother always had a gallon pitcher of it in the refrigerator, made fresh daily, with ten teabags and a fresh lemon. It was never cloudy and it was always lightly sweetened. I will always associate hot tea with sickness because I was always ill and it was the frontline remedy, along with St. Patsy's other medicine of choice, Vicks VapO Rub.

2. You have the remote; what channel is on?

Oh no. Here, you take it. Neither Rick nor I ever want control of the remote. He always says he can't hear the TV; I always tell him to turn it down or to mute certain commercials that I simply cannot tolerate anymore. He wants to watch a bunch of African savanna carnage, and I want to watch someone spatchcock a chicken. I press the actual digits to get to the channel; he pushes the UP or DOWN arrows endlessly, sometimes lingering on the most inexplicable things (like car auctions or Alaskan state trooper interrogations) along the way. Ninety percent of the time, if I have the remote, the TV is OFF.

3. What is one of your favourite quotes?

"There are no ordinary lives."--Ken Burns, documentary filmmaker.

4. Are you a good influence?

Holy crap, I sure hope so. I've been trying to be A Good Influence my entire life. In some cases, I've been fortunate enough to hear that I have been, from parents and former students. In the case of my own children, I can see some positive outcome from my influence. I would like to see a helluva lot more of my Good Influence on Congress. I'll keep trying.

5. What do you need to be happy?

Sigh. According to a friend of mine from college, I'll never be happy. And honestly, I don't know that answer. I'm reasonably content every day, but I always have a Little Lurking Worry in the shadows of my mind. Something can always happen. It has in the past, and it can again. Stuff is out there, waiting to smack me down. I try not to get ahead of myself--kind of keep on an even keel so that I can handle it.

6. What's your favourite season?

I think it's Spring. It feels like such a Reward for making it through the winter, and I can air out the house and smell fresh, green sprouts and damp earth. It's the season of flowering trees and surprise blooms like crocuses and tulips. I start hearing birdsongs again, and the day I unzip the heavy lining out of my raincoat---Victory!

7. Are you generally organized or messy?

Organized. I have a low threshhold for disorder and messiness. It makes me genuinely angry. And a little bit edgy, as in I Have To Do Something About It, even if it's just to identify it aloud (e.g., "Do you need all those bill envelopes on the coffee table?  And is this mail you have gone through already?"). This is difficult because Rick is...not this way. I'm trying to work it all out.

8. Are you a Cat Person or a Dog Person?

I am a Cat Owner who has a Granddog. I am a great appreciator of Dogs and like them very much, but I know absolutely that I would not want to Have A Dog. Dogs are the closest thing there is to Having A Perpetual Child, and I am not okay with that. They are Worky In The Extreme, as are children. They must be taken Outdoors. They require training and consistency. They must be played with and be socialized. If you leave for a few days, they must be looked after by suitable people. Some of them produce copious amounts of slobber. All of that is...stuff I am finally rid of now that Jared and Sam are grownups and on their own. Cats--for whom I can advocate knowledgeably--never need to be taken outdoors, can be left at home for up to a week with a self-feeder and waterer, and do not slobber. They train themselves and socialize, usually, with only their owners anyway. Sifting their shitbox once every day or two is a Nothing, thanks to advances in litter chemistry. Also, they are far quieter. The biggest drawback is, of course, Cat Hair, a menace which is both boundless and demonic.

9. How do you feel about turkey burger? Pineapple on pizza? Ketchup on hot dogs?

I have gone off of lots of foods in the past several years, including ham, bacon, beef, and most recently, turkey burger. I still buy turkey burger because Rick likes it and it's better than hamburger dietarily speaking, but I'm not crazy about it. I like pineapple on pizza, but not with ham and bacon because I don't like ham and bacon. The problem then is, what else do you put with the pineapple, pepperoni? I don't know. I don't care if I ever see another hot dog, ever. I don't hate them or anything, but I feel like they waste my time. If you want ketchup on yours, go ahead, but I'll use Cleveland's Ballpark Mustard and onions.

10. Do you play a musical instrument? Speak a foreign language? Have artistic talent?

I used to play the flute in school, but gave it up in high school because I didn't want to be in band, which only took place every day after school. I didn't love it, or even like it that much, so it was an easy decision to make. I took French starting in elementary school (fifth grade) through a special program and continued through tenth or eleventh grade. Most of it is gone as far as spoken French, but I can read and translate it pretty well. I have average artistic talent overall but nothing focused or noteworthy.

That's enough about MeMeMe this week.  Let's hear about YouYouYou or YourYourYour thoughts in Comments.

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Saturday, November 04, 2017

Sign Language Saturday: Squashing The Stupid

photo property of Dept. of Nance

What can I say? 

This was one of a parade of signs in front of a greenhouse/garden center, an established business of many years.  I was zipping by at about forty miles per hour when I saw it and had to turn around in order to pull into the driveway and photograph it.

I was the only person in the parking lot; it was shortly before 1 PM, and the place was open for business.  This sign has obviously driven all prospective customers away. 

As it should.

Friday, November 03, 2017

Free-For-All Friday: Let Us Bitch

I must be feeling better because I'm getting feisty and I'm getting restless. Whatever Patience I've managed to manufacture is wearing thin, and I'm starting to feel that staticky energy under my skin. A whole bunch of things large and small are irritating the hell out of me, and lest I blow my stack and create some serious Collateral Damage, I'm going to let loose a little steam here. I hope you'll join me in Comments and then have a relatively serene weekend.

The Dishwasher: Hey, listen: no one is happier than I am that I can load up my yucky dishes in a machine and then settle in and watch Dateline or whatever gritty Chicago-themed drama is on television and have clean dishes to show for my effort. My problem is that with all the advances in technology, why does it still take two goddam hours for the dishwasher to do its thing? I don't get it. I mean, we give it rinsed-off dishes, for goodness' sake. It's not like it has to scrape plates and pry off stuck-on meatloaf detritus, or polish silver or anything. I feel like dishwashers should have advanced to the point where they take half an hour, tops, to get the job done. Come on.

republicans: Nope. Still not capitalizing it. At this point, it's painfully obvious that they are...actually, I don't have a clue what in the hell they are. Not one. How pitiful is it that this bunch of lying, spineless, soulless animals are making Bush 43 and his administration look good? The retirements of incumbent republicans are coming thick and fast, and it's not because they are finding their conscience. It's because they are afraid of being primaried out by lowlifes and white nationalists handpicked by the far-right element that hijacked the party way back when they were charmingly called the tea party. John McCain can speechify his outrage all he wants, but he opened the door and legitimized them all when he chose their pinup girl as his running mate and never admitted his mistake. They all--every single one of them--owe President Lincoln an apology.

Christmas Creep: It's almost not worth mentioning anymore, but if I don't bitch about it, then the terrorists win. The onslaught of Christmas commercials began immediately on November 1st. IMMEDIATELY. Lexus is already running its "December to remember" ads. Christmas trees are all over the airwaves and I just know that the cruelly annoying Old Navy commercials are imminent. IS IT OKAY WITH RETAILERS EVERYWHERE IF I HAVE THANKSGIVING FIRST? Yesterday morning I took a walk and noted with relieved approval that the massively overdone Halloween display around the corner was already down. But then I noticed that it was being replaced with Christmas decorations. My hanging geraniums are still blooming on my front porch. I just had a waterlily on my pond. I snipped fresh oregano and parsley the other day. Many of the trees still have green leaves. WHAT IN THE HELL IS EVERYONE'S BIGASS HURRY?  I am unlikely to feel Jolly if I am Bludgeoned and Assaulted by Christmas a full seven weeks before it arrives.  Thank heaven I have a fully-stocked wine cellar (even though our wine refrigerator called it quits; I know--First World Problems).

Sigh.

Your turn.  What do you have to Bitch About?  Feel free to crab about these and/or add your own in Comments. 

Thursday, November 02, 2017

Throw It Out Thursday: Reclaiming Some Refrigerator Space Edition

As the weather cools off here in NEO and I try to reignite the small, fading embers of my Cooking Desire, I've been putting forth a lot more effort in the Dinner Department. As a result, little plastic containers of leftovers need some Refrigerator Real Estate, albeit temporarily since Sam comes here for lunch most days and is happy to finish them off. Add in the Usual Suspects like fresh produce, Rick's Beer Du Jour, the Standard Array Of Three Hundred Condiments, premade goodies for Rick's lunches, and the recently-picked bushel(s?) of apples, and shelf space is suddenly at a premium. It was time to make a sortie into the vast interior regions of the back of my refrigerator shelving and see what I could do.

Honestly, I'm usually pretty good about keeping my fridge in order and weeding out the yucky stuff or expiring doodads, but this past year has been The Exception For Everything. A great deal of Little Things I Usually Do had to be streamlined or just plain Cut Loose, and Fridge Stock Maintenance was one of them. Obviously, now was the time.

I was happy to see that things were not completely Out Of Control. Nothing growled at me, nothing was furry, and nothing walked out of its own accord. Everything was well within its expiration date; apparently I had performed at least one Fridge Patrol. I just don't recall it (thank you, B12 deficiency).

Here is what I Threw Out:


I know; it's like I decided ahead of time to Have A Theme--Pickles. We eat No Pickles. I'm not sure why we have so many. It's no wonder they kept being shoved all the way to the back of the refrigerator. Probably the mini sweet pickles were bought to put out for a party. The other ones I have no real excuse for. The pickled peppers...who knows. But they're all gone now and I don't miss them a bit.

Sam came for lunch today and finished off the leftover spaghetti. One more container gone!

Next week, Throw It Out Thursday moves to another location where I throw more crap out. What are you Throwing Out, or what lives in your fridge that has to go?


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Wednesday, November 01, 2017

Way Back When Wednesday: How I Came To Love Shoes


I'm not entirely sure as to when--or even where--I first saw The Wizard of Oz in color, but it had a profound effect on me. Oh, sure, I was a little afraid of that scary closeup of Margaret Hamilton's wicked witch face, and I wanted to wear my own long, dark hair like Dorothy's, but what I really wanted was those Shoes.

Once I saw those beautiful red sparkling shoes, I could not watch anything else. Oh, what I would have given for a pair of red shoes, and if they sparkled, what heaven! And those ruby slippers did not have shoelaces, either. They were simply perfect. And so Unlike any shoes I ever owned (or would ever own, I knew).

A child of the Midwest, attending public elementary school in the early 60s, did not wear sparkling ruby slippers, especially the child of a steelworker and stay-at-home mom and one who had three siblings. No, my footwear consisted of an endless parade of black and white saddle shoes and tennis shoes from the 2 for 5$ rack at the Pic-Way Shoe Mart. And before the ruby slippers made their commanding appearance, I coveted a pair of black patent leather Mary Janes. A few girls at school had them, and I used to look at them with equal parts envy and despair. One day, the elderly neighbors across the street had their granddaughter over for a visit. Pam was my age, and we often played together for part of the day when she came. This time, she wanted to demonstrate what she'd been learning in her tap-dancing lessons, so she brought out her tap shoes. They were black patent Mary Janes shined to a mirrored lustre. After her brief dance, she asked me if I would like to try them on and perhaps tap a little. As I slid them on and fastened their buckles, I almost cried. They fit me perfectly! Pam showed me a few basic tap steps, but I barely performed them. All I wanted to do was to wear those shiny black Mary Jane shoes.

I steadily hated my shoes for most of my early school career, but I was not the kind of child to complain. I always assumed that whatever my parents gave me or did was what was correct and allowed and that was simply the way it was. If there were other options, I would have been presented with them. Since I wasn't, I accepted things the way they were and vowed that one day, I would buy beautiful shoes for myself.

Even during church, as I knelt in the pew after Communion, head bowed, I watched the aisleway as people returned to their seats. Instead of praying, I was looking at their shoes, picking out the best ones, choosing a favourite, and always looking for red ones and, of course, patent leather Mary Janes. Because I was In Church and because I was Catholic, I felt very guilty about Not Praying and Being Envious about other people's shoes, but I did it every single week.

Once I became a Career Woman, I finally indulged my desire for Beautiful Shoes. I bought high-heeled shoes for every outfit and shoes that I loved and knew I'd wear with something someday. I prowled sale racks and found terrific bargains. I have plaid shoes, polka dot shoes, sparkly shoes, silver shoes, gold shoes, purple shoes, orange shoes, cheetah print shoes, and yes, red shoes. And I do have a pair or two of Mary Janes.  I do not have a single pair of saddle shoes. Upstairs in a closet are all of my shoes, the only part of my work wardrobe that I did not donate. Sometimes I look at them like relics in a museum of my life. They make me happy and a little sad at the same time. They are all high-heels, and I don't have anyplace to wear them now. Once in a while there is a Special Occasion, though not too often.

But trust me: I still buy Beautiful Shoes and Boots for my Retired Life. Life is too short to drink mediocre wine, eat bad food, and wear ugly shoes.


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Thursday, October 26, 2017

In Which I Worry That I'm A Deadhead--And Not The Fun Tie-Dye, Jerry Garcia Kind--But List Myself Out Of It (With A Bonus Amish Story Included!)

It's been so very long since I wrote anything that I'm just going to open up my head and see what falls out. I'm worried, actually, that there's Nothing In There, just my bleached skull and a powdery residue from what used to be my brain. Oh, October--you and I both have had a hard time Getting With It. We ran hot, then cold; we were sunny, then gloomy, and just when we thought we had it all together, everything would change again. Who said "The only constant is change"? Someone far wiser than I.

Let's see if we can't catch up a bit with some Lists.

Happy Stuff I Did

1. Went on a jaunt to Niagara-on-the-Lake
2. Got a really good haircut
3. Bought some new fall/winter clothes

Rick and I went back for our usual Fall getaway to NotL, restocked our wine cellar, and this time met up with friends from Detroit who we hadn't seen for a couple of years. We went to our favourite winery (where I always propose to the winemaker) and had an extensive tasting of wines not even on the list. The winemaker/owner's daughter pulled bottles out of the library cellar and we tasted those, and she was kind enough to send a couple home with us. Our weekend ended with us well supplied for the winter and, if necessary, spring.

Productive Stuff I Did

1. Finished the Endless Knitting Project
2. Made a final batch of pesto
3. Got my grandmother's cushion repaired

I had been working on a bigass shawl for months. It wasn't intricate or difficult, but I just wasn't feeling the Knitting Urge, and when I was, the muscle aches and bone aches made it difficult once my Vitamin D levels crashed again. Finally, I got so sick of looking at it--The Object Of My Ongoing Failure--that I swore I'd power through it if it killed me. I did and it didn't.

The repair of my grandmother's cushion is another Amish story, if you can handle yet another one. My grandmother was an accomplished seamstress and made coats, purses, all her clothes, my grandfather's ties; you name it, she made it. She also made leather patchwork cushions, and she made each of her eleventy thousand grand- and great-grandkids one. I got mine when I went away to college. At some point, a thread or two pulled loose, and it started to break apart at the seams a few years ago. Since it is a precious heirloom with significant sentimental value, I was at a loss as to what to do and how to get it fixed. And it is thick, onerous leather, making it a difficult repair for the casual seamstress. Luckily, a scion of the Amish family near the lakehouse recently opened up a canvas-making and upholstery shop. I took the cushion there to see if he could help. Rick and I walked in and a young, bearded man in the traditional blue shirt with no buttons came out to meet us. Nearby on a bench was his straw hat. I couldn't see a single machine in the shop, but it was a bit gloomy, and of course, there were no electric lights. I showed the cushion to him, explaining its story briefly as he turned it over carefully in his hands. "It's very old," I said. "I know it's worn in places, but it's only coming apart at the patchwork seams. It's special to me, so I hope you can fix it." He turned it over again, looked at it, squinted, smiled and said, "It's old-fashioned, that's for sure." And at that very moment, surrounded by huge neon lights, the word IRONY appeared on a gossamer banner held by the staff of The New Yorker magazine. 

Finally,

Stuff In General

1. I want to post more often; it's hard to get an idea I want to write about.
2. I am very active in The Resistance; I make phone calls and write emails to Congresspeople every single day. You can too!  Email me if you want any info.
3. I'm watching The Good Doctor on ABC and slowly loving it.
4. Hooray for boots and leggings weather.
5. The post header illustration is a sculpture by Taiji Taomote. Learn more about it and this talented artist here.

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I guess there was something in there after all among the bones and dust and detritus.  Like my grandmother's pillow, for much of October I felt old, worn, and like I was coming apart at the seams.  How has October been for you?  Any Stuff of your own to add?  And, as always, we can chat up my Stuff, too, in Comments.




Tuesday, October 03, 2017

In Which I Dust Off Some Cerebral Bric-A-Brac And Wax Philosophically Amish

Kind of a mixed bag today as I pull together several bits of Cerebral Bric-a-Brac. Have you a moment? A snack or beverage? Let's on, then.

~*~Alphabet Medicine. Despite following Doctors' Orders strictly and religiously, my followup labs last week were...disappointing and scary. My Vitamin D had dropped back to previous concerning levels, joined this time by Vitamin B12, a lab ordered not just by my Superhero Neurologist Dr. B, but also by my new PCP, Dr. Rebecca. I had suspected the Vitamin D issue since the old symptoms had been making a dreadful comeback, but was hoping I was merely tired or stressed out. But as they marched on, worsening and flattening me by noon each day, I started getting truly afraid. The lab confirmation was pretty much a formality. So I'm back to megadosing, then will double my D from 2K to 4K daily. Apparently some people need more Vitamin D to keep their levels up. And the B12 supplementation will help my memory issues. "You need to stop being so hard on yourself, too," Dr. Rebecca said. "And you have got to mitigate your stress." Sigh. This is now the third doctor to tell me these things as if they were Easy.  I keep thinking of Sartre.

~*~Hirsute Irony. One of my more upsetting symptoms is that my hair is falling out. Longtime Dear Readers here know how much this pains me; I am probably the single most vain individual in the world (not named Kar--shian). Most days, the only human who sees me is Rick, and he wouldn't care if I stayed in my jammies, uncombed hair, and no makeup all damn day. I do not, however, EVER do this unless I am gravely ill. Longtime Dear Readers also know my struggles with Cat Hair Overmuch, as in my two ungrateful rescue cats produce enough cat hair to create, independently, several other small cats a day. Why is there not a way for me to marry these Two Problems into One Solution? Would I, though, actually wear a Cat Hair Wig of orange marmalade and grey tortoiseshell? (It would really be the epitome of Recycling, though.)

~*~Language Cringes. Rick was reading some forum postings on the Nextdoor app, where he keeps in touch with news about the lake community. He asked me to look at a few. This proved to be a mistake, as I immediately began to focus not on the content of the messages, but on the dire grammar, mechanics, and usage of so, so many of them. Honestly, they were painful to try to read (especially since a significant number of their authors had not heard of Punctuation). One woman was lamenting that she was concerned about a local farmer being singled out as "an escape goat until it was proven that it was his farm that was the problem." Another poster was irritated about something in the bylaws being sneaked past him, and who knows what would "be the next thing coming down the pipe." After those two butchered idioms, I gave up. That was no way to mitigate my stress.

~*~Simple Pleasures. I've written here many times before about our community-wide garage sales down at the lake. September's weather was perfect, for a change, and my brother, niece, and I enjoyed visiting with each other--and our customers/neighbors--while all sorts of people picked over and bought some of our stuff. We had very few Amish customers this time; the men were lured away by a big steam engine exhibition at a nearby fairground, but their wives were out to buy some household goods. And yes, we did give out a few Victoria's Secret bags to some Amish matrons for their purchases, which were always met with much appreciation and German commentary between them, sotto voce. But far and away, my favourite customer had to be this one because of the figure she made, clutching her very, very iconoclastic purchase. Careful not to reveal her face, I quietly and unobtrusively took her photo from a distance. It is charming, I think you'll agree.

Image property of Nance Donnelly/deptofnance.blogspot.com

That crayon bank was a steal at 50 cents; the set of cereal bowls (Corelle, maybe?) went for maybe two bucks.  She was happy, in her calm, barely smiling, Amish sort of way.  I hope she gave it to her little boy or girl, and that the child was excited and clapped his or her hands in joy.  They would have had to be as surprised about that enormous purple crayon as I was when I took her money for it.  Honestly, it made my day.  It made my brother's day as well, and I know we'll talk about it every time we have garage sales from now on.

As I find myself stuck in The Slow Lane once again for a little while, struggling for that elusive Wellness, I'm striving for those Simple Pleasures and Small Gains--the Low-Cost Joys in a sort of Garage Sale Life.  (With cat hair, of course; always, with cat hair.)

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Thursday, September 21, 2017

And Now A Brief Political Message



Knock Knock

Who's there?

Donald Tr--

Oh, god.  Still?

Yes.  It hasn't even been a year yet.

F*^k.




original image found here

Friday, September 15, 2017

Driving With Irony In My iPhone: It's Better Than Booze In My Travel Mug

Getting around in my area is a Nightmare lately.  I'll spare you the horrific details of closed roads, new traffic patterns, and So Much Orange.

So.  Much.

Anyway.

Rather than dissolve into a weeping tirade of empassioned profanity every single day, I use the inevitable delays on these roads to whip out my iPhone and take pictures.

Because, in the words of Ferris Bueller, "Life moves pretty fast.  If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."

Here are a few from this week:


1.
So Basic!
Okay!  WORKERS.  We're for 'em!  Or...we need some!  Or...what now?



2.
Is He Winking?
I'm not making any cracks about this one.



3.
Don't Show This To Kirk Cameron!

If size really does matter, then it's easy to see who's winning.  If it's about jobs, jobs, jobs, then...same.

Help me out with Captions (or just chat away) in Comments.


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Friday, September 08, 2017

TGIF Nance Style

The Acronym TGIF has long ago ceased to have weighty import for me--Retired, you know. Each day flows seamlessly into the next and I often lose track along the way as to Which Day It Actually Is. Of course, Rick is home on Saturdays and Sundays, so that's Nice, but aside from weekending at the lake during the season, Fridays hold no special cachet for me.

That's why I liked the idea I got from Bridget (who got it from someone else, actually) to use the letters TGIF in a totally different way. So, without further ado, my spin on TGIF:

T is for Temperature: It's suddenly and decisively Autumn here in Ohio, jump-started in August when we had a string of days in the 60s and nights in the 50s. Now in September proper, we are lucky to see upper 60s, and our nights have gotten as low as the upper 40s. I would largely be okay with this if: 1. I were normal and not always freezing to death; 2. I had any idea of what to wear. Right now, my fingers and feet are like ice and my nose feels like a big old Labrador's. I had to put the furnace on so that I wouldn't be suffering and miserable in my own home. And, is it permissible now to wear sweaters and leggings and boots SO THAT I DO NOT FREEZE TO DEATH? And yes, I am painfully aware that some of you are still wearing shorts and sandals. HOW DO YOU DO IT?

G is for Grocery Store: This week at my grocery store, I was stunned when I observed a young woman suddenly lift her shoulder bag, unzip it part way, and start speaking into it. "Hey," she said. "Stop all that. Just relax. Relax. You hear me?" It was then that I saw a small dog head peek out--only for a moment--and then disappear. I moved past her, but she made eye contact with me briefly and with no expression. There was no emblem on the bag to indicate that this was a service or comfort animal. What would you have done? Same thing I did, I'm sure. I zipped on past and kept on shopping. Sigh.

I is for Insult: In order to try and get back to Reading the way I used to, I have been Re-Reading, mostly history and mainly books about President Lincoln. The more I read, the more I see the current administration as a grave and profound insult to not only the Office Of The President Of The United States, but to this country and its history, especially with regard to the Civil War. It goes without saying how shamefully ignorant 45* is of American History in general and the history of the Presidency specifically. His willful disregard of basic facts and respect for the country's journey, evolution, and struggle, let alone the people who made it possible, is pathetic. Usually, I feel pity for someone so needy and ignorant; in this case, however, I find myself unable to muster it.

F is for F*#k: Oh, what a terrible Disappointment it is to admit that The Eff Word has barged its Big Old Self back into my Everyday Vocabulary. I thought I had eradicated it, for the most part, but IT'S BAAAAAACK! I do try Very Hard to curb its appearances in Pleasant Company, but sadly for Rick, he hears it quite a lot these days. Most probably, it is a Stress Reliever Mechanism and an Anger Management Strategy. As my Dearest Readers know, I do not subscribe to the Myth that profanity is a crutch for people with poor vocabulary or bad verbal expression skills. That's a load of bullshit---er--baloney. Cuss words are explosive and feel good to say; they release tension, dammit. I'll save my SAT words for another time when I feel serenely erudite.

TGIF! Unwind in Comments.


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Thursday, August 31, 2017

Time Flies When You're...Anyway, The Dept. Of Nance Is Twelve!

gifts-of-gratitude.blogspot.com

Guess what? The Dept. of Nance is Twelve! Once again, I almost missed it. Twelve Augusts ago, The Dept. of Nance was born, and Twelve Augusts later, it's still here. Lots of things come in Twelves, like the Days Of Christmas (a truly annoying song, even when sung by the Muppets), the Disciples, the months in a year, the hours on a clock, the signs of the Zodiac, and the steps in the Alcoholics Anonymous Program. And since twelve things make a dozen, some really nice things come in Twelves, too, like roses and eggs and, for some of you, doughnuts (ugh--you all know how I feel about those).

But I don't feel inspired by any of those things. Right now, I feel a little like a Twelve-Year-Old. Sorta in-betweenish. Sorta like I don't fit into a category. Sorta like I Don't Wanna And You Can't Make Me-ish. Kinda like I'm too old for a babysitter, but I would love the company.

BUT DON'T TRY AND BOSS ME.

So rather than some sort of Creative Twelve Post, here are some Random 12 Lists.

12 Foods I Need To Live

1. Butter
2. Olive Oil
3. Tomatoes
4. Potatoes
5. Pasta
6. Coffee
7. Wine
8. Basil
9. Chicken
10.Half + Half
11.Plain Greek Yogurt
12.Honey

12 Things I Alternately Hate And Love

1. Driving
2. Grocery Shopping
3. Knitting
4. The Cats
5. The Internet
6. Smartphones
7. Other People
8. Summer
9. Air Conditioning
10.Potato Chips
11.Mary Worth Comic Strip
12.Writing

12 Shows That I Cannot Believe Are Still On TV

1. The Bachelor
2. The Bachelorette
3. The Real Housewives Of________
4. Family Feud
5. Family Guy
6. Hell's Kitchen
7. Today with Kathie Lee and Hoda Kotb
8. Harry
9. General Hospital
10.Days of Our Lives
11.The Young and the Restless
12.The Bold and the Beautiful

12 Cravings I've Had This Week

1. Cake
2. Palmiers
3. Thick-cut French Fries
4. Chinese Food
5. Twist Ice Cream Cone
6. Refried Beans
7. Cheeseburger
8. Bad Mexican Food
9. Frosted Sugar Cooky
10.Peaches
11.Italian Food
12.Root Beer

12 Things People Said To Me Lately

1. Comparison really is the theft of Joy.
2. Why do you care?
3. Thanks for making the effort!
4. Do you know how to work an iPhone?
5. I think our naked rats were my favourite pets of all.
6. We're probably more like our father in that respect.
7. Don't overdo it and wear yourself out today.
8. You're wearing your red glasses today! They're my favourite.
9. Can you recommend a good red wine for me and my girlfriend to try?
10.You eat bread?! That's a huge disappointment to me.
11.I'm trying not to get too excited, but I had a second interview today.
12.And I'm like, how much are we willing to invest in a 12-year old cat?

12 Things I Refuse To Give Up On

1. Reading
2. Cat Hair Mitigation
3. Contact Lenses
4. Knitting
5. My Country
6. The Resistance
7. Learning Patience
8. My Streamlining/Decluttering Mission
9. My Search for the Perfect Sandal
10.My Search for Red Leather Boots
11.My Hair
12.My Campaign Against Rampant Abuse of The Language

12 Things That Always Make Me Happy

1. Bunnies
2. Zydrunas
3. Napoleon Dynamite
4. The (new) Gong Show
5. Slow mornings with cats and coffee and The Plain Dealer
6. St. Patsy's text message emoji parades
7. Wine tastings with Rick
8. Sunset boat rides with our buddies J and J
9. Falling asleep and missing the end of Dateline
10.Listening to Jared and Sam tease each other
11.When Rick asks, "Want me to run a tubby for you?"
12.Fleece blankets

It's been a very satisfying Twelve Years for me here at the Dept. I consider it a privilege to have a two-way Writer's Relationship with many of my Readers, via Comments. That interaction is quite important to me. Thank you, and thank you to all who read me, however you read me. I hope it is a relationship that continues for years to come.

Won't you all add your own stuff to the Lists Of 12 Things, too, in Comments? And make your way to the Celebratory Desserts Table, where there is something sure to appeal to you (and disappoint the same person who I saddened with my Bread Consumption).

www.sprinklebakes.com

Thursday, August 24, 2017

The Real Reason They Are Closing Over 100 Applebee's, Probably

Earlier this month, the group that owns the restaurant chain Applebee's announced it was closing up to 135 of its restaurants. It gave a broad range of reasons, from location to shifting habits of diners to its own mistake of trying to attract millennial diners.

Okay, whatever.

All I know is, the sign in front of the Applebee's near my favourite grocery store was so mind-numbingly awful in its total disregard for The Language that I pulled into a neighbouring parking lot after shopping so that I could pop off these photos IN SUCCESSION.

And put them here. For everyone.

Because I had to do Something.


I'm starting you off small, with a simple, yet always annoying, error


...which they repeated, of course, because why not?


Here, the Sign Programmer is still befuddled by the Use Of Apostrophes.  Or, he used them all up in the previous signs, so he could not properly place one in IT'S.  He obviously follows the St. Patsy rule of exclamation points (More Is Better).   And I guess if you don't understand the nuances of apostrophes, then compound words...well, forget it.


This is my favourite one, I think. I honestly don't mind the little exclamation point after HOT. It's creative and fun. But I think the fine people of Nashville (and I) might have a bit of an issue with the new spelling of the town.

Sigh.  That sign is STILL there, in all its horrific wrongness, over a week later.  So painful.



rottenapple

Tuesday, August 15, 2017

We Interrupt Your Regularly Scheduled Programming To Bring You This Severe (St. Patsy) Weather Alert...Whether You Need It Or Not

Ever since I was a little girl, my mother has been an alarmist about The Weather. As soon as skies would darken with storm clouds, she'd start scanning the horizon for low-lying, purple-black ones and a well-defined, heavy cloud deck. She'd peer out the windows, sometimes even venturing out on the porch to check the skies for lightning and to listen for that telltale "freight train sound" that foretold the one Terror Above All Else, a Tornado. In the days before The Weather Channel, the Internet, and even before network meteorologists broke into regular programming to report a simple summer storm, my mother's own Weather Alert System was often in overdrive as she looked for signs of Apocalyptic Weather Events.

Her precautions were many and legend, and we had no choice but to follow them: Don't talk on the phone during a storm! Don't take a bath when there's lightning! Get your hands out of the dishwater--there's lightning out! Turn off the TV; can't you see it's storming out? Every one of you kids get in here now; I saw lightning and it's coming this way! I don't like the look of those dark clouds over there; I think we'd better get down the basement. The weatherman says to take shelter; let's go down the basement right now.

And lest you all forget: I did not grow up in Oklahoma, Kansas, or Nebraska. I grew up in Northeastern Ohio, where, yes, there was actually a tornado in my hometown in 1924 (and, ironically, the Lorain Tornado was my father's nickname when he was a professional pitcher many years later), but my mother's fears still seem excessive. Especially since she grew up in Ohio, too.

Things have not changed much, as I found out not too long ago.

Scene opens on Rick and Nance at the lakehouse. They are chatting, finishing up dinner and talking about heading out for a boat ride. Nance's phone chimes, indicating a text message.

Nance: It's Mom. (reads aloud) Bad weather in your area. Watch out! Stay off the boat!!! That last sentence had three exclamation points. (looks outside at the calm lake and cloudless sky) Wow. I'm confused.

Rick: I'll put on the local radar channel. Maybe something is headed this way.

Nance: (types back) Really? It's nice here right now. Nothing threatening that I can see.

Rick: The radar is absolutely clear. I don't know where she's getting this. I'm confused.

Nance: Well, she says (reads aloud) They have tornado warnings for the Mansfield area and a tornado watch for Wayne and Ashland Counties, so you are in the area! Watch the sky! Stay off the boat!!!! That last one had FOUR exclamation points. And no emojis. She is really exercised about this. Let me bring up my app. (brings up weather app as Rick sits, exasperated, in front of television radar, still seeing nothing) I don't see it, either! What the heck is going on? This is like a Twilight Zone moment.

Rick: I'm getting the boat ready.

Nance: (types) Ok. We have the TV on and have not seen that. I just checked my iPad weather app and didn't see it there, either. You have the scoop, I guess. (to Rick) I can bring down my own wineglass and water bottle if you can carry the wine and your glass.

(Nance grabs a bottle of water out of the fridge; she checks to make sure the cats have water. She grabs her phone, wineglass, water, and heads down to the dock. Once on the boat, her phone chimes with a text message.)

Nance: (reads aloud) I am sorry. We were watching the soaps recorded from yesterday and that was the weather for yesterday! I just realized that!! Sorry!!!! (laughing hard) I'm not even going to tell you how many emojis and exclamation points are on all of that. Oh, brother. That's so great.

Rick: (laughs, shakes his head)  Doll. That may be her best one yet.

Nance: Wait. One more message. (reads aloud) Senior moment!!

Finis.



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Wednesday, August 02, 2017

My New Mantra When Things Get A Little Too Real

facepaintforum.com
Even though I don't feel at all ashamed about Getting Real last week (it was so Cathartic), I have to tell you that my problems pale in comparison to this woman, who lives in a town not too terribly far from where I live. Longtime Readers already know you don't even have to click that link because I'm going to tell you everything you need to know.

While I'm bitching and moaning about cat hair, bathroom hair, English Language abuses, and other non-life threatening mundanities, a middle-aged woman was lying in her front yard telling a 911 operator, "I have a boa constrictor stuck to my face".

I know, right?

And you think you have problems.

Because the nine ball pythons she already owned were lonely, perhaps, the woman had adopted two boa constrictors the day before (or "rescued", as she terms it in the 911 call, at first amusingly misinterpreted as "arrested" by the operator). She decided, apparently, to take one out and give it a cuddle, and it...reciprocated, as five-and-a-half-foot boa constrictors are wont to do. Unfortunately, “it was wrapped around her neck and biting her nose and wouldn’t let go,” Fire Chief Tim Card said. “They had to cut its head off with a [pocket] knife to get it to let go of her face.”

Yikes. I mean, who would have thought it? Everything I know about snakes is that they're so nice and sweet. So easy to train and so obedient. Just the best pets, ever.

The snake (with its head, I presume) was summarily tossed in the town's garbage bin out back of City Hall.

One local animal handler opined that perhaps the woman handled the boa constrictor too soon after rescuing it; that a waiting period of at least one week is advisable to prevent trauma. He also felt the snake could have been saved if they had just used a few drops of rubbing alcohol on its head, which may have gotten it to release its jaws. Sigh. Coulda, woulda, shoulda.

All I know is this: I had a few rough days last week, but at no time was a snake stuck to my face. Also, thank goodness snakes can't walk or fly. Or drive. That town is pretty close, and obviously, that woman is...a Little Bit Goofy when it comes to snakes.  But bless her, I'm glad she's okay.

This reminds me of back in 2014 when I wrote about the house near me that exploded right before Christmas. Remember that? I used "at least my house didn't explode" as my mantra for months, helping me to have perspective when anything went wrong or I had a setback or a bad day. It worked pretty well for a while, especially during the holidays.

Well, now I have a new mantra for when things get rough and I'm not feeling up to par. At least I don't have a snake stuck to my face!


Wednesday, July 26, 2017

Welcome To The Show! I Hope You Brought Your Melted Butter, Or, Come To Think Of It, A Mallet Might Be Kinder.


Welcome to Getting Real With Nance. Today's show will feature Nance Getting Real on a variety of topics, mainly because she's Crabby, Over It, and generally Irked. Let's jump right in and join her Already In Progress, while vacuuming.

Nance: I mean, it just does not matter! I brush them every single damn day, yet all they have to do is WALK INTO A ROOM, and it is covered in their hair. No. Lie. The carpet is covered. The tables are covered. *I* am covered. It is a Losing Battle, this war between me and cat hair. But I refuse to surrender. I will never stop wearing black, either. Never. Never!

Voiceover Announcer: Nance walks into the bathroom to put away towels, setting off a new, but related, monologue.

Nance: Holy crap! Look at the hair in here! It's my hair, it's Rick's hair, it's everywhere. I simply cannot escape the hair around here. If it's not cat hair, it's our hair. How do we even have any left on our heads?! I CANNOT TAKE IT ANYMORE!

Voiceover Announcer: Later, after a frantic and manic bathroom cleaning session left her exhausted, Nance rests in her chair. Unwisely, she browses the Interwebs.

Nance: How hard is it? How hard, everyone? The word is YEAH. The correct spelling is Y-E-A-H. Not Y-A, like you're speaking a foreign language and pronouncing it YAW. Not Y-A-H, like...holy hell, I don't even know why you would spell it like that, ever. And while I'm at it, the word is VOILA. It's French. It means "there you are" or "there it is." It is pronounced VWAH-LAH. It is not some bastardized funsy American word spelled WALA, WALLA, WALLAH, WAH LAH, or WA-LA. Every time I hear or see someone use it incorrectly I wish I could haul the offender up and smack her. Or him. And do NOT get me started on "low and behold" for "lo and behold." So, so painful.  And so symptomatic of What Is Wrong With America on so many levels.

Voiceover Announcer: Unable to rest, Nance is up again and shifting laundry in the basement.

Nance: I deserve nice clean sheets to sleep on. So what. I hate doing sheets. Hate it. It's exhausting. And the load goes off-balance in the washer. And I have to stay down here to make sure it finishes the cycle. And then I get to look at other stuff that needs to be done. Which reminds me, I need to clean litterboxes. And that means sweeping the floor because Marlowe is an aggressive litter scratcher. Because of course she is.

Voiceover Announcer: Back from shuffling laundry and taking the used litter outside to the trash, Nance makes a quick snack of yogurt and fruit so that she can take her bigass vitamins.

Nance: Oh, hell. I forgot that we ran the dishwasher last night. How sad is it that I'm ready to complain about unloading dishes that I didn't even have to stand at the sink and wash? Someone should smack me. But if that someone could sweep my kitchen floor first, that would be great. Or scrub out the tub--even better. Anything, really. Then smack me. Smack away.

Voiceover Announcer: Jared arrives. He needs to use Nance's iPad in order to participate in a West Coast podcast. It is 12:30; the podcast starts at 1:00. He has to search for and download software. He also announces that he will be taking a shower since he came straight from the gym. Lunch may also happen.

Nance: Jared...how...? And I'm warning you now--I'm really, really crabby. Almost violently so.

Jared: Mom. It's okay. And have you tried dancing? Here, watch this.

Voiceover Announcer: Jared dances. Nance is motionless and helpless. Jared spends twenty minutes trying to contact his people on the West Coast to figure out the software download; finally he is successful. He tells them he will jump in at 1:15, takes a shower, and mixes up a "blue drink" which he may or may not have drunk in the shower.

Jared: Mom, I'm surprised you don't have the air on. It's supposed to be hot today.

Nance: I think it's comfortable. I'm sick of air conditioning. If you get too warm in the office during your podcast, turn on the ceiling fan.

Voiceover Announcer: Nance goes down to do the final laundry shift. On her way she belches loudly and uncomfortably.

Nance: Ugh. These damned vitamins. Can't I just get some sort of timed-release implant or something, like that birth control thingy? Or a patch, like they do for people who want to quit smoking? Wow. Did I really just say that? I am so, so crabby. It would not surprise me one bit if I looked down and my hands literally became big, red, pinchy claws.

***

Voiceover Announcer:  This has been Getting Real With Nance.  Nance urges you to Get Real in Comments. You know what she always says: Wallow A Little, Bitch A Lot. Or maybe it's Bitch A Little, Wallow A Lot; she can't ever remember. Either way, let loose your Real and feel no shame.



(original crab photo via Synapse Science Magazine)


Thursday, July 13, 2017

Would An RV By Any Other Name...?

Oh, Dearest Readers, I Am Back. Back from gorgeous and wineful Niagara-on-the-Lake, and back from the Grey Sad Doldrums of Vitamin D Deficiency. I feel so much more Myself; there is so much more Nance-ness bubbling inside me. The Blah in my bones is almost gone and my energy is returning. My ankle sprain didn't slow me down much at all, and Life Is Feeling More Like Living.

I'm so very grateful.

But enough about all of That. I want--almost Need--to talk about something else right now. And that something is RVs. Campers. Trailers. Recreational Vehicles. Because let me tell you--while we were driving from Ohio to Ontario, Canada, and back again, they seemed to be everywhere.

Now, I'm not a camping kind of person. Or even glamping (i.e., glamour camping--a term coined out of necessity because so many RVs and campers are so deluxe now).  I can't stand to think of dragging such a bigass vehicle all over the country, looking for campgrounds with hookups and then worrying about who I pull up next to and all of that. The cost of gasoline alone would send me into a panic. That, however, is me. Judging by the volume of campers Rick and I saw on the road, glamping is Hot Right Now. And a Big Deal.

I'm sure lots of people (who are Not Me) love the idea. It sounds very adventurous and pioneering. And, in a way, exciting and liberating. You can grab some basics, throw them in the car/motorhome, and start driving and explore the country. Or whatever.

What does NOT sound very wonderful are the names of some of these vehicles. I started noticing the names on the sides and back ends of campers and RVs and, let me tell you, whoever is naming these things should be out of a job.

The first one to puzzle me was Avenger. For a little old plain white trailer. It looked like the one my grandparents, Ethel and Joe, used to haul behind their Chrysler to Florida every winter. In what way is a trailer an "avenger"? What is it avenging? When I think of an avenger, I think of something dark and quick, something slightly sinister and sharp. For those of you who are more into comic books or films, you're probably thinking of The Avengers. Trust me, in no way did that little metal sugar cube look anything like any one of these:

http://img09.deviantart.net

Then we passed a Cyclone. This might be the worst name ever for a trailer. I think we all know of the unfortunate association between tornadoes and trailer/mobile home parks. Is this really the sort of image one wants to conjure up to boost camper sales? What are the other campers in this line--Toto, Dorothy, Tin Man, Kansas, and the deluxe model, Oz?

Other RV names were just clunky and ugly, like the one called Work and Play Ultra. Do that many people really buy an RV for work (or want to), let alone ultra work? This thing was as big as Rhode Island, so I'm sure just parking it was ultra work. Another one was called Dutch Star. I'm struggling to think what the Dutch have to do with RVs, driving, or stars. I know the Flying Dutchman was the legendary ghost ship that was doomed to never make port, but even that makes more sense for an RV name than Dutch Star, which, by the way, had absolutely no stars in its paint job, nor anything Dutch.

I started wondering why the RV and camper names were so goshdarned terrible. Was it because all the good names were taken by cars, like Roadster, Scout, Traveler, Pathfinder, Voyager, and the like? Why can't they start using literary names that are in the public domain then, like Ivanhoe, Lancelot, Caesar, Othello, or Beowulf? Even some animal names would be better, or some astronomy terms, or natural entities: Timberwolf, Solstice, Tumbleweed. I mean, come on. I would rather they gave these vehicles actual name names, even, like Stephen, Mirabel, Chris, Jose, Vilnius, Gretchen, or Anne. 

Even bottles of Coke have better names.

image via pinterest via google

Tell me you wouldn't rather have a little camper named Wolfgang than Work And Play Ultra. Or Cyclone.  I know, right?

Think up some good camper/RV names and put them in Comments. And tell me how you feel about camping.


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