Free Wisdom And Helpfulness From The Wonderful Readers Of The Department Of Nance: Part One, The Kitchen

Gosh, I do hope you all managed to Live Your Lives without helpful Sentences to assist you and make you Change Powerfully For The Better while I have been off wringing out my skin and trying to keep mushrooms from sprouting in all the rooms in my house. If one of you is somehow In Charge Of Rain in NEO, please do STOP ALL OF IT. AT ONCE.

I am forced to bake something just to keep dampness at bay because it is 65 degrees inside and outside, and I refuse to put on my furnace in June.

But I have decided that THIS WEATHER WILL NOT BREAK ME, so let's get to some of the Helpful Things you all have passed along to assist us in our daily lives. I'm going to spread them out over a couple of posts so that we have the luxury of discussing them.

Here's one from Kathy B., who credits a friend for this saying I really love and plan to use myself. Kathy says she was "fretting over hosting Thanksgiving for a vegan, a dairyfree teen, a cardiac rehab uncle and five little kids who only wanted mac and cheese." First of all, kudos to her for hosting Thanksgiving for anyone besides her immediate family. I cook only for my sons and my husband and the occasional girlfriend who may be in the picture. Thanksgiving dinner is fraught with tradition and fussiness. And an abundance of side dishes. And now poor Kathy has Special Dietary Considerations and Picky Kids. Her friend told her this:

It's nobody's last meal. 

 How great is that? It's a terrific reminder when you're stressed out about cooking for other people; besides, chances are that they're not there for the food anyway.  They are there for the companionship and fun. (And some actual Last Meals aren't all that impressive, either; here's a list.)

Speaking of cooking, here are a few practical tips from Ortizzle, who shared:

*There is no solution for too much salt. Start over.
*Fried food is perfectly cooked when it floats.
*Recipes were meant to be altered.

I like practical kitchen tips, like put sour cream in a plastic bag and cut the corner off to make it easier to apply to tacos; or thaw meat on an aluminum pan because it's faster; or get rid of onion and garlic smells on hands by rubbing them on the stainless steel sink because they're just that, practical. All of us who cook and bake have tweaked recipes--many times due to necessity--and created things we like better than the original. (And if you've ever read the comments section of any recipe, almost no one makes anything as written, ever.)

Whenever I think of advice about cooking, my father instantly comes to mind. I don't know how my mother kept her temper in check and didn't throw something at him every time he walked into the kitchen. He absolutely did not cook, did not help with prep, and never did the dishes. (We kids all chipped in and bought us them their first dishwasher.) My father was, however, a fount of advice whenever in the kitchen while my mother was cooking. Here are his three favourites:

1. That flame is too high.
2. Make sure you washed your hands.
3. Add more of those tomatoes.

Now that I've typed those, I have to laugh. I say those things all the time myself. But they aren't the only things I say, and of course, I do everything in my kitchen. So does Rick, except for much cooking.  I hate cooking without him.  He cleans as I go and does a ton of prep.

If you have some great cooking, kitchen, or entertaining wisdom, do share it in Comments.  Or certainly chime in with comments about what's been shared here.  I'll be back again with more Wisdom From My Readers about all kinds of things.


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Change Your Life: Fifth In A Series--I Tell You Where To Go And Ask You For Some Help

Before I try to change all of your lives with this week's Sentence, I want to ask you to help me with next week's post. We've reached the halfway mark with today's offering, so I'm ready to take a break or even call it quits and instead showcase some Honest-To-Goodness helpful sentences, sayings, tips, or tricks that have actually improved all of your lives in an authentic way. These helpers can be practical or philosophical, and they can be from any arena of life you choose:  cooking, driving, crafting, relationships, grief, whatever. All I ask is that you do NOT leave them in comments. Instead, please send them to me via email: deptofnanceATyahooDOTcom. I promise to corral all of them and put them in a post and share them with everyone, hoping that each reader will find some Sparkle Of Wonderfulness to make his or her life better in some way.

Again, no contributions via Comments. Email me your Helpful Wisdom, and I'll share all of them in a post next week. Okay, onward.

This week's Life-Changing Sentence is not the worst thing ever. I can actually see some people finding it to be a worthy philosophy, repeating it sagely to others, especially to adolescents in search of popularity.

Here is Life-Changing Sentence Number Five:

Go where you're celebrated, not where you're tolerated.

This Sentence reminds me of Rev. Jesse Jackson's or Simpson attorney Johnnie Cochran's rhetorical style--it's punchy and because it rhymes, it's memorable. (Can't you picture both of them saying this? I can.)

Its source is a motivational speaker and life coach, and the actual quote is "Go where you are celebrated, not merely tolerated", which makes a little more sense, but the sentiment is still implied in the above Sentence.

The philosophy here is good--to a point. It makes a lot of sense to avoid people who, quite simply, don't want you hanging around with them. As I said above, it's a valuable piece of wisdom to give to middle-schoolers who are desperate to break into the It Clique or sit at the Cool Table for lunch. They might endure some miserable conditions in order to do so.  Kids can be cruel and cutting.  Heaven only knows how this all translates to the various social media platforms. I am daily grateful that I raised my sons well before InstaTwitFace and WhatSnap.

As adults--and I know for sure I qualify since I turned (gasp!) sixty earlier this month--we instinctively know this already, but...do we, really? Again, social media and the internet at large have probably not brought out the best in lots of grownups. But overall, we do tend to go where we are wanted and where people are glad to see us. It's behavioral science at its core--the stimulus and response of operant conditioning.  We love a big greeting, a warm smile, a happy hello. Humans generally want to feel wanted.

As adults, however, we also know that there are times when we have to go where we are "merely tolerated." Sometimes we're caught in a less than desirable work situation where a coworker makes our lives miserable, but go we must. Still other times we have to go to a gathering of our spouse's family, perhaps, where our reception is a bit frosty. I'm sure you can think of lots of examples where we have to put in an appearance and Be Tolerated because it is The Right Thing To Do, our comfort to the contrary.

But by all means, yes, if you find yourself saying about Book Club, perhaps, "Hey! Why do I keep subjecting myself to These People?" and there is no Good Reason, jump that ship and don't even wave goodbye. Then Celebrate Yourself and your Freedom. You've made some space in your life for something better.

Here then is Sentence #5 one more time: Go where you are celebrated, not where you are merely tolerated. Did it "give you the power to go on" and "change your life for the better"?

And don't forget to send me your Tips, Tricks, or Words To Live By for an easier or better life to deptofnanceATyahooDOTcom to be included in next week's post. (And not in Comments.)  Thanks.

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Change Your Life: Fourth In A Series--So Many Words, So Little Sense

Whereas last week's Sentence That Will Change Your Life was more than a Sentence, this week's isn't even a Sentence. It's a Noun, really, modified by a bunch of phrases and clauses, and taken as a whole, it is so muddly and so derivative of other Life-Improving Exhortations that it seems Sad.

Here it is, in all its wordy glory, Life-Changing Sentence Number Four:

The most dangerous risk of all – The risk of spending your life not doing what you want on the bet you can buy yourself the freedom to do it later.

And yes, it doth pain me much to put a period at the end of it.

Okay, first of all, let me tell you that I sourced this quote and found that it was said/written by a venture capitalist, which speaks volumes, I think, about two words used in the "Sentence" (spending, buying). It's easy to be glib about Following Your Dream when you have big bucks and investors to do so. Also ironic is that venture capitalists sometimes use their cash to buy up other people's failed dreams at a reduced price. Just saying.

Anyway, this Life-Changing Word Group isn't saying anything new. Lots of other people have said it, and far better. How about Nike? "Just Do It." What about "There's No Time Like The Present"? "He Who Hesitates Is Lost"? "Someday Is Not A Day Of The Week"? "If You Do What You Love, You'll Never Work A Day In Your Life"? All of these are just as valuable, yet just as open to criticism as Word Group Number Four.

We all can see the pitfalls of Word Group Four, right? What if Some Guy really wants to be a rap singer rather than a mechanic? What if Some Woman really wants to be a clothing designer instead of a department manager? Oh hey! Word Group Four says, Go do that thing right now! Don't wait until you've set aside some cash, paid your dues, or even looked into your chances of success. Not fulfilling YOUR dream is Dangerous! It Is All About YOU. No risk, no reward!

Piffle. And might I add, I did what I loved for 30+ years, and I worked every single day. Every Day. Some Days felt like entire Weeks. So baloney to all of that bullshit. Everybody--stick out your tongues and blow the raspberries to that kind of crap. Go!

Thank you. I feel better.

Here's the thing: I can definitely get on board with some kernel of Word Group Four. In the interest of Self-Care and Enjoying Life and Seizing The Day (and there's yet another nice, neat way of expressing the idea in Word Group Four), I think more people, Women especially, should look into making some Dreams and Desires reality. At the very least, we should recognize that if we don't go out and make things happen on our behalf, they simply won't. But it's not a matter for words like Danger and Risk.

Here is "Sentence" #4 again: The most dangerous risk of all – The risk of spending your life not doing what you want on the bet you can buy yourself the freedom to do it later

Have you found, thanks to its Wisdom, "the power to go on" since it changed "your life for the better"? Chat it up in Comments.

Change Your Life: Third In A Series--If At First You Don't Succeed, Build, Build, Build

I'm not even going to pretend that this week's Sentence has the potential to Change Your Life. It's so shopworn, so banal, so BeenThereDoneThat as to have formed the basis of innumerable Talks and Lectures given to not only Me, but my three siblings hundreds and hundreds of times Way Back When. The speaker was my father, to whom Character Building was not only the World's Noblest Pursuit, it was also the one in which we should become the most proficient. By the time I was about fourteen, there was nothing I hated more than Character Building, unless it was perhaps Building Character.

Here is Life-Changing Sentence Number Three (as I suffer a few shuddery flashbacks):

You learn more from failure than from success; don’t let it stop you. Failure builds character.

Okay, first of all, it's not A sentence; it's two. And it's way too long and wordy to be truly successful as a life-changing mantra or a motto. It's like they crammed three separate ideas into one:

You learn more from failure than from success!
Don't let failure stop you! (And isn't this implied in the first saying?)
Failure builds character!

(I added all those exclamation marks to keep myself from falling asleep.)

By now I want to remind a lot of people that, whilst many do, in fact, learn from Failure, a huge percentage of people do not. They go on to repeat the same mistakes, hoping for a different outcome and creating collateral damage along the way. The jails are full of Failing People, the schools are full of Failing People, the court system is full of Failing People, the republican party is full of Failing People, and hell--my grocery store was full of Failing People today who continued to leave their carts in the middle of the aisle whilst they wandered all around and gathered their items. I push their carts along, adding a few things I want them to have when they're not looking. Do they learn? No.

It is also clear to see that the Failure of the republican party to keep their majority in the House of Representatives taught them nothing at all. Nor did it seem to build any Character.

Aside from the nitpicky or the obvious, this Sentence is okay at best. Lots of valuable information can be learned from Failures IF you choose to analyze your mistakes, own them, and correct them. And you can Build Character by being humble and learning where your weaknesses are and, if necessary, asking for help. But while this Sentence is generic and general, it's also potentially plain wrong.

I learned a lot from my Successes in several arenas such as teaching, writing, parenting. In some cases, I learned more from Successes than Failures. Not everyone has to fail in order to learn a great deal or a powerful lesson. Many times I found that piling up Successes taught my students more and was more helpful for them personally and emotionally. (That, my friends, helps Build Character!)

I learned an endless amount about Life And Other Things from my father. I still call up his wisdom to this day. Things he told me for the forty-one years I had with him occur to me far more often than I could ever have imagined. But after many of his lectures about Character or Character-Building, all I ever felt was exhausted and angry.

Here's the thing: sometimes, Failure should stop you. If you aren't good at something and it makes you miserable, stop it immediately. Go do Something Else. And not everything can be about Building Character. Sometimes lousy stuff is just Stuff You Have To Get Through and your Character is already fine with or without it. Not everything has to mean something.  Nor will it.

I think I would have felt way better if I had been told that and been given a big hug.

So here is "Sentence" #3 again: You learn more from failure than from success; don’t let it stop you. Failure builds character.

Did this "give you the power to go on" or "change your life for the better" as the article promised? Let's talk about it in Comments.

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Change Your Life: Second In A Series--Because It's There

As dejected as we all are by our lives remaining Unchanged from last week's first Sentence that was supposed to Change Our Lives For The Better, here I am with Sentence #2. Do get strapped in, put down your beverage lest any harm come to your Electronic Device, and let's prepare for Metamorphosis.

One never knows, does one? And at least we can chat about the Sentence should our Lives stubbornly remain the same.

Here is Life-Changing Sentence Number Two:

Climb mountains not so the world can see you, but so you can see the world.

Sigh. I really hate these Poster-Worthy, precious little metaphors. But that's probably just me. You go ahead and take a moment to reread it, and then we'll apply our test.

Okay.

Firstly, is your Life Changed? Mine is decidedly not. Did this Sentence give you an Aha Moment? Me...no it did not. As I said, I became unreasonably annoyed by the metaphor for some reason, even though it is perfectly acceptable, but I guess I'm just being a snot.

Overall, the Sentence provides some valuable advice. You should, in Life, strive to accomplish some difficult things, reach some important goals, broaden your perspectives in order to build your own character and satisfy your inner self, not to gain attention or extrinsic rewards. And by doing so, you will (hopefully) have a wiser, more mature view of the world around you.

I prefer poet Pablo Neruda's quote, "You have to climb the mountain in order to see the view." Not only is it simpler, but it has a clearer message: don't expect a reward without putting in the work.

(Wise, but alas! still not Life-Changing. We all learned this stuff years ago. Even the colonists of Jamestown had a No Work, No Food law.)

We've discussed the self-obsessed nature of people due in part to technology and social media. We agree that the world is a much smaller place now, thanks to both. We can both see the world and be seen by the world now, thanks to the internet. Sadly, so many people forget how big their audience is and how widespread their impact is.

Every day, men and women--children, too--climb their own mountains. They're not doing it for attention, either. They're not doing it to build character or even to figure out more about how the world works. They're merely living their lives despite whatever obstacles block their paths: chronic illness, discrimination, hunger, poverty, disability, guilt, or loneliness.

So, here it is again, our Sentence To Change Our Lives For The Better: Climb mountains not so the world can see you, but so you can see the world.

Did this sentence, as the article promised, "give you the power to go on"...and "change your life for the better"? Let's talk about it in Comments.


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Change Your Life: First In A Series, A Public Service Brought To You By The Dept. Of Nance

About a hundred years ago I found an audaciously titled article online that I read immediately, despite the fact it was so obviously clickbait that I felt outraged and insulted. It was right up there with the headlines that used to scream out from that grocery store tabloid The Weekly World News, which used to print things on its front page like HOW TO TELL IF YOUR DOG WORSHIPS SATAN and BIGFOOT KEPT LUMBERJACK AS LOVE SLAVE.

Those are real headlines, by the way.

But I digress.

This article promised that within its contents were 10 Sentences That Could Change Your Life. I scanned it quickly and added it to my blogfodder folder (my life remaining unchanged; can you believe it?).

I'm a bit stuck for a post at present, so I'm going to pull these Sentences out, one at a time, one per post, and see if they are worthy of at least a bit of discussion, Life Changing notwithstanding.

Here is Number One:

People aren't against you; they are for themselves.

Firstly, is your life changed? Did this give you an Aha Moment? Nah, me either. I feel like this is a terribly worky way of saying Don't Take It Personally. I learned this Life Lesson a bit late, perhaps, during my teaching career and from the best possible of all teachers--teenagers.

Don't misunderstand me; I love teenagers as a group. They are a great deal of fun, very warm, intensely loyal to people they respect and care about, and when their fire is lit, it is remarkable to watch them take off on an idea. Having said all of that, they are also ruthless when they have an agenda, and if you are an impediment to that agenda, you are merely that--a roadblock. They will forget that you once sneaked them a Diet Coke from the staff room vending machine, helped them through a breakup, or did not bust them when they were late to an exam. Their hearts will turn to stone, they will lie to their principal, and they will swear up and down that they did/did not do whatever it was in order to help themselves. I can remember being wholly devastated the first time this occurred in my career. A wise assistant principal talked me off the ledge by saying, "Nance, don't take it personally. It's not about you. You could be anyone. It's all about what he wants and what's in his way, and you just happen to be standing in his way. This time." I'd like to say that I learned it right then and there, but I'd be lying.

It would be nice to think that, in this age of social media, people are never against other people, but we know that's just Not True. Bullying is real, and thanks to the ease of online accounts, it's easier than ever to victimize others and to even do it under assumed names. Hell, even the "president" does it, and with impunity. (Although he is the epitome of Being For Oneself.)

Perhaps there is room for some complexity to this Life-Changing statement: some people are against you because they are for themselves. It makes some people feel bigger, more important, and better about themselves when they act out against others. Again, 45* comes to mind--the perfect example. It doesn't make the victim feel any better, however, even though small-mindedness only captivates other small minds.

So, again, the Life-Changing Sentence was People aren't against you; they are for themselves.

Did this sentence, as the article promised, "give you the power to go on"...and "change your life for the better"? Let's talk about it in Comments.

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Sign Language Wednesday: Try Not To Lose Any Sleep Over It

So much is...happening here that I can't even talk about it.

But it's real, and it's astonishing, isn't it?

The Lesson Of The Rap Star Cow

Longtime Readers here at the Dept. know these two things about me already, but for any New Readers, I will provide you with the Short Version of the necessary Exposition:

1. I love cows.
2. I love car rides.

Number two has many exceptions, but suffice it to say that when I am bored, fussy, and feeling stressed like a colicky infant, it's often a good idea to strap me into the passenger seat of the car and take me out to look at things. The promise of ice cream (or pie) if I behave is not insulting to me in the least.

One of our regular car rides takes us past a particularly attractive herd of beef cattle pastured meditatively on some rolling acreage with the typical red barns. My irritation with this group of--let's call them cows for the sake of simplicity--cows is that they never wander close enough to the road so that I can get a good look at them. Instead, they prefer to stroll and munch much farther away. One cow especially is my favourite; I saw it late last fall when it was a little closer than the others. It was exceedingly tall and almost blue-black and, when it turned toward the road, it had a startlingly white face, unlike the rest of its compatriots. I'm crazy about this cow. I even named it.

I call it Ghostface Killa.

Now, I have no idea how that name came to me, and I know it's not Original. And it's certainly not a Very Nice Name for such a lovely cow. The real Ghostface Killah is actually an American rap artist, about whom I know absolutely nothing. And I definitely don't think this ghostfaced cow is a killer itself, nor that it goes around killing ghostfaces. I'm fully prepared to lay the blame for this name at the feet of my Google Newsfeed, if you want to know the truth. For all I know, it could have stuck a bunch of references to Mr. Killah (I don't spell my cow's name with the final "h") in my daily articles last year, and my brain hung onto them.

Who knows?

On Friday Rick had occasion to drive that way, so naturally I asked him if he saw Ghostface Killa in his travels. After he stopped laughing, he said, "No, Nance, but I was driving. If I'm the driver, I can't always look for cows. That's sad, but that's the way it is."

Ah, so true! Being the driver makes us miss a lot of perfectly wonderful cows along the way. Don't you think so, too?


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Signed, Sealed, Delivered...Well, Sort Of

Some Smartypants Thinkerhead once advised that if you are ever angry at someone, you should write him or her a letter. In that letter you should state your feelings in great detail about the situation and really let loose all the anger and frustration within you. Then, says Dr. Thinkerhead, tear up that letter. In that way you have the benefit of the Catharsis without the Damage.

It's pretty decent advice, but I feel like it was given in Ye Olde Dayes, well before Ye Internete, so I'm going to update it a little, and dash off a few missives here. (Hell, I'm being Olde Fashionede as it is, writing Letters on a Blog.)

Dear Google Newsfeed;

Why, Google Newsfeed, why? Why do you insist upon including stories about things in which I have Zero Interest and have never, ever clicked on anywhere? I get why there are stories about Lebron James and the NBA power rankings in my newsfeed; I have a fantasy team and do a lot of research. I understand why stories about Aretha Franklin's tribute suddenly popped up. But I cannot fathom why stories about The Konas Brothers or the Jardashians or Kick/Noe Konas and his wife Chiyanka Propra* are a recurrent and prominent feature.  Trust me when I tell you that not only do I have No Interest in these individuals, I also have--now!--for them all an exponentially growing Anathema.  *(I hope, Dear Readers, that you can figure out who I mean. I am afraid to use their real names, lest Blogger, owned by Google, tells my Newsfeed--wrongly!--that I'm a fan.)

Why, Google Newsfeed, do you refuse to let me delete these stories to improve your algorithm? How much longer do you think I'm going to let you Be The Boss Of Me?

Your News Is Not Good News,
Nance


Dear Dog Breeders Who Advertise In The Cleveland Plain Dealer;

I get that Dogs are your thing and not Spelling. It might be worth thinking about, however, that One Never Gets A Second Chance To Make A First Impression.

Woof,
Nance


Dear FineLife Products;

I have...so many questions. What kind of salad component is a bottled or canned beverage? What in the hell is HOMEGATING? If this is a Salad Bar, why is there only one bowl of a salad-like foodstuff? And, finally (perhaps most importantly to some people), where are the bacon bits?

For The Good Life,
Nance

Waiting to hear from you in Comments.


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Monday Meme: Nature

It's March, and as a lifelong resident of Northeast Ohio, I know this means Zero about the arrival of Spring. Point of fact--today's high was 21 degrees; with the wind chill, it felt like 3. There is a light dusting of snow on the ground with a threat of more most of the week. Still, I'm aware we're better off than our seasonal brethren in Michigan, Wisconsin, and most recently, New England.

March makes me weary. It's a long, sloggy month with an Identity Crisis. It's Not-Winter and it's Not-Spring. My father, surprisingly chauvinistic at times, used to call it the Women's Weather Month because it's so changeable. That always irked me, but I do like the idea of Nature being Female (although the term Mother Nature, not so much).

Despite Her many vagaries, I am a great appreciator of Nature (in part, due to my father), even when She does Her level best to irritate the hell out of me with things like snow in general, wind when I'm trying to sleep, squirrels badgering my birdfeeders, and mice breaking into my garage or, worse, my house.

Let's try and Manage March with a Nature Meme:

1. What part of Nature do you like best?
Trees, especially flowering trees.

2. What natural phenomenon would you like to see?
I'd really love to see a full display of the Northern Lights.

3. Is there an animal that you find awe-inspiring?
Lots of them. I recently spotted a bald eagle completely unexpectedly; that took my breath away. When I went whale-watching, I was awed. There is something about elephants that always touches me; they seem to have such an ancient, inherent dignity.

4. Have you ever ridden on a horse or any other animal?
I've always wanted to ride a horse. I've ridden a camel!

5. Are you more of a cat person or a dog person?
I love my granddog Zydrunas wholly and completely, but I am a cat person at heart.

6. Which version of (You Make Me Feel Like A) Natural Woman do you like best, Carole King's or Aretha Franklin's?
I'll always have a soft spot for Carole King's version. Her Tapestry album is part of the soundtrack of my life. But when I think of that song, it's Aretha I hear.

7. Are you a Natural Woman (or Man), or do you avail yourself of a little Help?
I get by with a little help from my friends Mascara and Tinted Moisturizer. I'm far too lazy (and cheap) to colour my hair since it would require endless maintenance, and I'm too scared (and cheap) to get any cosmetic surgery (hospital infection! complications! wasting money!). I've even broken up with Blush for the most part. (Do they even still call it that?)

Your turn. March forth in Comments.


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In Which I Discuss The Grief Of Television, SADness, Hitting A Dog In The Face, And The News

Listen, I'm kind of showing up here because I'm afraid that if I don't write something--anything--right now, I might never write a single word in this space again. That would be sad, I think, for me, so here I go.

It would have been a good idea, probably, if I had thought a little bit about this ahead of time, but then I would have shrugged it off yet another day, and soon it would be March, and who knows what would happen then?

Perhaps a couple of General Categories Off The Top Of My Head will help Break My Writer's Block.

1. Television: Oh, yes, I am one of the Philistines Who Watch Television. Or tries to. We gave up cable aeons ago, so we suffer through commercial/antenna TV and use streaming services. When a series ends on Netflix, we are bereft and have that terrible period of grief followed by The Terror Of What To Commit To Next. We just finished Broadchurch, which we loved. But, because the lead actor had such a rapid and heavy Scottish accent, we had to be like The Olds and put on captions.  Imagine our shame and dismay.  And do not get me started about how many times I lose both remotes in the folds of my blanket.

2. Seasonal Affective Disorder: My SAD, which is usually on overdrive right about now, is not so bad. I think it's because we're seeing more sunshine than usual; I'm getting outside more often; and Sam got me a Happy Light for Christmas, which I use on cloudy days. I'm also getting better at what my friend Shirley would call Practicing Self Care.

3. My Pathetic Life: Jared went on an Axe-Throwing Date for Valentine's Day. Yeah. You read that right. Apparently, it's a real thing. He sent us pictures of him throwing an axe at a big slice of wood that was painted with a target. He said he "had a blast" and "hit a couple of game winners." I sent a text back that said, "I would do terribly at that. You should see me just try to throw stale bread out the back door for the birds and squirrels." And it's sadly true. Not only do I have zero arm strength, my aim is laughable. Ask Zydrunas, who has been hit in the face by innumerable ricocheting bouncy balls that I have attempted to toss through the doorway, but have instead rocketed squarely against the wall on either side.

4. My Newspaper Is Toying With Me: My Plain Dealer had the following headlines today, which I will place here for you, exactly and without comment: That 1 Guy Makes Music With His 'Magic Pipe' and France OKs Lightsaber Dueling As Sport.

I hope I'm back, but I can't make any promises. February has been kind of a bitch.

The Cheap Therapy Of Snow Shovelling

Many of us are locked in the latest Polar Vortex--or one of them, now that there are actually three daughter vortices--and the extreme cold and waves of snow are forcing us to stay indoors, avoiding much travel. I'm also playing Nurse to Rick, who had spinal surgery on 18 January. He's a Very Good Patient, but until he is allowed to bend, twist, lift, or basically do Normal Life Things again completely, I am pretty much Everything Person. (Assisted very ably now and again by Sam, who stops by and is On Call, should we need anything, like the Good Boy he is. Jared, who lives farther away, is the Backup.)

I just came in from finishing up the latest round of snow shovelling, which is my best source of real physical activity these days. I have to say that I am always surprised and gratified at just how much any outdoor exercise improves my overall mood and sense of wellbeing almost automatically.

And I especially do like shovelling snow, oddly enough, and this comes from a longtime Hater Of Winter. Maybe it's because it gives me power over two things I so dislike, Winter and Being Cold. These things often hold sway over me, both physically and emotionally. But when I go outside and shovel, it's like I'm bossing them around; I'm refusing to succumb to Winter and the Cold.

I also think a great deal of it is that I can see steady progress as I work. The shovel leaves clear swaths of driveway and sidewalk. It's obvious where I've been and how much I have yet to do. There's also a definite end, an absolute finish to the work. When the driveway and sidewalk are clear, I'm done!  I can put away my shovel and go in.  In my career as a teacher, that wasn't the case. Even when I was done teaching a particular novel or unit and gave the final test, I still had stragglers--kids who were absent and had to make up assignments, quizzes, projects, and tests. They had deadlines, hypothetically, but you'd be surprised at how much leeway there was, especially if parents got involved.  I was forever hauling out folders of answer keys, makeup versions of tests, moving backwards into my gradebook, trying always in vain to get everyone (for once) at the same starting/ending point. I even had kids trying to make stuff up after the final grades were in and the school year had ended! Trust me, even when the Fat Lady sang, it was never really over.

The rewards of snow shovelling are so tangible. A clear driveway, obviously; a job done; that feeling of accomplishment as I look down that stretch of clear concrete; stepping into the house and feeling the warmth envelop me and see it steam up my sunglasses; the satisfaction of shedding each layer of coat, mittens, headband, boots; and finally, sitting down with the contentment of a job well done and done all by myself.

I hate winter with a Passion, believe me. Actually, more accurately, I hate Snow with a passion. I could live with Winter were it not for Snow. I never find it pretty, ever. It's dangerous at its worst and an inconvenience at its best. But I try to make the best of it.

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Offering Some Perspective (And A New Cooking Show Idea?) For 2019

The Long-Suffering Zydrunas

One of the last conversations I had in 2018, via telephone with my eldest, Jared.

Jared: Ma. Got any ideas for a killer sauce or something for salmon? Decided to stay in tonight for New Year's Eve, so she's bringing stuff over and we're making salmon for dinner.

Nance: Ugh. You know I detest all fish, and salmon tops the list. But I have a teriyaki glaze recipe for it from back when I thought you all liked it.

Jared: I've always liked it. You know that. I can do an Asian thing. I don't need a recipe.

Nance: You could do a traditional lemon-dill-butter thing.

Jared: Yeah, that sounds good, too. The pressure's on. I've never cooked for her before.

Nance: Well, then the two of you could just cook together. That way, there's no pressure, and it's more of a fun situation.

Jared: Here's the second problem: I usually cook with my shirt off. You know, I put on some music, take off my shirt, and dance around, throwing shit together. Then, when I sit down to dinner, I complain to the dog when I find a hair in my food.

Nance: Oh, Jared.

Jared: I hold up the forkful or the hair or whatever, and I look him straight in the eye. I say, "Zydrunas, this is unacceptable. I've found a hair in my food. I expect better quality from this establishment."

Nance: What does he say?

Jared: The usual. He huffs and rolls his eyes. He's so tired of all my bullshit.


Happy New Year, everyone.  We might all be Tired Of The Bullshit, but let's have some Laughs!

Happy Holidays From The Dept. Of Nance

May you be filled with Good Cheer this Holiday Season...
one way or another.

See you in the New Year--
Nance



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Be Careful What You Wish For: A Little Sunshine Is A Dangerous Thing

Today one of the worst possible Nance Domestic Equations occurred, and put simply, It Was Not Good. It set into motion a chain of events that became frantic, manic, and so far-reaching that it just may cancel Christmas here at The Dept. as we have heretofore known It.

I was unready for this Perfect Storm, and when the maelstrom was upon me, I was already so in the thick of it that I was powerless to stop it. The momentum of my astonishment, anger, dismay, and industry carried me on until I was literally too spent to continue. And when I now ponder a Christmas tree and its worky luxe...I feel I might take to my bed (ah! if only I had a fainting couch!).

What on Earth were the Terrible Factors in this Equation, you ask? What Horrific Elements conspired to bring about such Disastrous Results?

Here they are:

Bright Sunshine Streaming Into My Kitchen
I Had A Rag In My Hand
Rick Was Not Here (To Stop Me)

It was, in a word, scary.

I was like a woman possessed, a Whirling Dervish of Windex, a Tasmanian Devil of the Dishrag, and a Hurricane of Scrubbery. I cleaned in a fever-dream; the sun mocked me ceaselessly, showed me everything.

The broom in my hand swept me into the dining room where the sunlight sparkled on cat hair in the corner, just out of reach of the vacuum. I traded in my wet rag for a dry one and a can of Pledge, knowing they would lead me to the leather furniture and more tables and shelves in the living room. It would be Eternal, Endless, Infinite. Would Rick never, ever come home? Would the sun never set?

Would I die?

On and on it went. I vacuumed. I unloaded the dishwasher. I emptied wastebaskets. I dusted and tidied the desk in the office. Hysterical, at one point I even considered bathing a cat. At that moment, I knew Things Had Gone Too Far. I had to, somehow, rein myself in. I realized I had not eaten all day. Was I delusional?

I went to the kitchen to forage for a snack. It looked beautiful--so clean and perfect. And...dim. Suddenly, I realized that it wasn't so sunny anymore. I took a look out the window and saw a milky sky with gathering grey clouds. And felt myself relax. It was over.

I am exhausted.

A Three Dog Head Kind Of Day

Zydrunas, granddog

We had quite a bit of outdoor work to get done yesterday, the one day that was going to be dry, calm, temperate, and on a weekend. Those days have been so rare this fall that we knew we didn't dare squander it. While Rick cut down and bundled the dried fountain grasses, I raked and used the leaf blower in our backyard, which is completely landscaped and has a little pond. Let me tell you, I found out speedily that I am terrible at using a leaf blower. Add that to an ever-growing list which also includes painting, backing a car in or out, and--oh forget it. Do I really want to enumerate my weaknesses?

It was energizing to be outdoors and not shiver. The sun came out unexpectedly, and I found that I did have the stamina and strength to use my Garden Weasel Garden Claw and put my herb garden to bed properly for the winter. Once again, I used my own fresh parsley, thyme, tarragon, and rosemary from it for my Thanksgiving dinner. Now, it has earned its rest.

That sunshine really put me in a FeelGood Mood, you know? And getting all that Big Work out of the way in a pretty expeditious manner did, too. I decided to make a comfort food dinner, even though I would need to run to the grocery store for a couple of items.

On my way there, a junky blue pickup truck was slowpoking along in the lane ahead of me. I sighed and tried not to feel impatient. Suddenly, a huge dog head appeared from the passenger side window. I smiled and forgave the pickup truck. Nothing brightens me up like a dog head sticking out of a car/truck window. Nothing.

I zipped into my parking spot--furthest from the store; empty in front of me so I can pull through--and zoomed right to the aisle I needed when I heard, "Oh, hey! I thought that was you, Pretty Lady!" One of my favourite employees, Tiffany, wanted to chat me up about how well she was doing in college and how her son was getting along in fourth grade. "I have a B in Stats and a B+ in Biology headed into finals. And Noah is doing awesome right now! No more notes home about his behaviour!" She is another Happiness in my Ordinary Days.

On my way out of the parking lot, I got behind a woman who just could not make her move to get out into traffic. She sat there and sat there--forever, it seemed--until a line of four cars was strung behind her. Plenty of opportunities to pull out came and went. Still we all sat there in our cars, waiting. I thought I would scream. Instead, I played Pink's "What About Us?" at top volume (and ironically).

At a red light shortly thereafter, I was treated to a Double Dog Head in a Chevy. These looked to be twin basenjis or some similar breed, and they each had on a jester's collar.  They bounced around the back seat, trading windows and poking their heads out, sometimes both from the same one.  And I swear that they were smiling. I smiled back. How could I not?

It was a Good Day.

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TECH NOTE, COMMENTS: I began moderating comments in order to allow anonymous ones as a courtesy to non-Google account commenters; however, so far I've only gotten spam. If that remains the case with this post, I'll revert back.

TGIF: The Piece(s) Of My Mind Edition

It's anyone's guess what will happen with this post. I'm winging it, just like Blogger and Feedburner seem to be with my subscribers and commenters lately. More on that later. How is everyone? Feeling Blue in The Good Way? Do grab a nice beverage and/or a snack and settle in. Let's begin.

T is for Transitions: And Ticked Off. I'm angry that Blogger is denying any and all Commenters without a Google account. I could allow for Anonymous commenters, but then you'd have to pass the dreaded Captcha, which has gotten nearly impossible. Additionally, I get overrun with spammers. I've started to work with WordPress, but unless I want to pay for their service (which I don't), it's very limiting, clunky, and not very customizable. I am also aware that my email subscribers are suddenly not getting my posts via Feedburner, also owned by Google (who owns Blogger). It's apparent that I need to make some changes, but...I really don't have the energy.

G is for Giggles: Saw this decal on the back of an SUV the other day. Luckily, it was in a parking lot, so it wasn't a danger to photograph it. I found it very refreshing and self-actualized.

I is for Involved: It's so satisfying and encouraging to hear from so many people that they became much more involved in this midterm election process. I had family members who canvassed, phone-banked, put up signs, and wrote letters. I heard from friends who had never before done any campaign work, but this year they went door-to-door or stuffed envelopes. AND! You'll be glad to know that I flipped two red voters to blue. It's astonishing what some Actual Facts and Turning People Away From Facebook And To Credible Information Sources can do. (And some Disgust Of 45*.) Sadly, due to gerrymandering in Ohio, it is not a lot of help, but...baby steps. I continue my activism, now writing to voters in Mississippi for their special election, and awaiting any opportunities for Georgia's governor's race.

F is for Fall? What Fall?: I know many of you are reading this in the Icy Tundra that is your neighborhood or workplace. Did any of you ever get to open your windows to the Autumnal Zephyrs of October? Or even September? Or, like me, did you have your windows closed, airconditioning blasting because throughout September it was in the upper 80s and 90+ with matching humidity which continued through the first week of October, followed immediately by rain and temperatures in the 40s and 50s, at which point you turned on your furnace? I swear, I opened all of my windows to "Fall" one time--on a 50-degree day--solely to air out because I could not take feeling like I had been on a Perpetual Airplane anymore. And now, sn*w. Just. Stop.

Okay! Let's see what happens once I put this Out On The Interwebs. As always, I'm everso glad to hear from All Of You.

In Which I Am Both Part Of The Solution And A Small Brown Bunny--And You Can Be, Too!

Oh, hey.

October...let's just say that it was a Month Of Juggling Priorities. Among the many Worthy Things clamouring for my time and attention, this spot never even cracked the Top Ten. Life, you know?

This morning as I strode down my driveway for my daily walk, I noticed a fat brown rabbit hunkered down in my front yard. Its ears were lying along its back, and it was still and calm. It was making no attempt to camouflage itself right there in the middle of the grass, and it didn't move at all as I walked past it and went on my way. I made a conscious effort right then to take a few deep breaths, then hit my pace to get my miles in.

Northeast Ohio is finally full of gorgeous autumn colour, and despite the precarious condition of the sidewalks I traverse, I make sure I look around and completely enjoy and appreciate it. The red is particularly stunning right now, and there are Japanese maples and burning bushes that are calendar-worthy. I've lived in this neighborhood for thirty-three years, and this is the first time I've ever noticed the brilliant almost-magenta oak tree only about five blocks away. Even the gold and orange foliage seems illuminated against the perpetually damp, slate-grey skies we've been under these days.

I'm sure you know that one of the things I've been busy with is The Politics. For months now in the run-up to this midterm election, I've written personal letters to voters in Ohio, Nevada, and Arizona; I've made phone calls to voters in critical states in pivotal districts; I've made small donations to candidates here in Ohio and in Texas, Georgia, and other races whose candidacy I believe in (primarily women); I've taken a voter to the polls, texted voters; and, I voted early. Before all of that, I've been keeping up the pressure as a member of the Resistance since, well, you know when.

It can sometimes feel like a lot. Most of the time, it feels incredibly Empowering. Being part of The Solution always does.

Another good reason To Be Part Of The Solution was eloquently stated in Georgia the other day by Oprah Winfrey. I don't want her as a celebrity president--I think another reality show is most definitely not what we need--but she is an inspiring speaker and makes a damn good point here:

"For anybody here who has an ancestor who didn't have the right to vote, and you are choosing not to vote -- wherever you are in this state, in this country -- you are dishonoring your family. You are disrespecting and disregarding their legacy, their suffering and their dreams, when you don't vote."

If you are a Woman, your ancestors were denied the right to vote. If you are Black, your ancestors were denied the right to vote. If you are Native American, your ancestors were denied the right to vote. If your ancestors were not property owners, they were denied the right to vote. You know what? All of you, probably, had ancestors who were disenfranchised.

I've done everything I can. Now I'm going to take a lesson from that brown bunny in my front yard (still there, now nibbling a bit of grass) and be calm and still. I'm working on tangible projects of Kindness--knitting for Operation Gratitude--that feel relaxing and gratifying.  Not hurrying around, not letting the stress win--those are Daily Objectives.   My friend Shirley would prescribe Practicing Radical Self Care.

Sounds good to me.

What's My Hurry?

For a little while there, I considered taking October off. The weather has been downright shitful, the Politics has been too, and I'm Over It All. But backing down means The Terrorists win, so here I am. I feel like I've been frightfully busy, flinging myself all over the place here in NEO (motto: Don't bother doing your hair; we specialize in heat, humidity, and rain--what Autumn?). How can I have so damn much to do when I'm Retired?

I hurry a lot. It's hard for me to do things in a measured, unhurried way. I think it has a lot to do with when I was teaching and always, always multitasking--doing a million things between classes, like giving kids makeup work before class started, trying to go to the bathroom and still be on time to class, running off a quiz or test at a copy machine that was not broken down, making a quick parent phone call, or grading a few papers so that I wasn't so inundated by all 120+ a day. Everything was rushed, and it became a way of life. It's hard to suddenly slow down after thirty years of hurrying.

And with children--I'm speaking of my own sons--doing things quickly was, at times, a saving grace. It stopped fussing and crying. It appeased hurt feelings. It forestalled toddler tantrums and sibling fights. And, as a Working Mom, hurrying kept kids on The Sacred Schedule. I'm sure so many of you understand that benefit.

Now, however, hurrying isn't really all that necessary, but I still find myself doing it. I start looking at blocks of time in my day and thinking about how I can shoehorn stuff in. How I can combine a bunch of errands and how early I can get them all done so that I can do a ton of other stuff so that I can...what? It's insane. It makes it really hard to unwind. And sleep.

Free time still feels like a sin to me--a selfish indulgence. Why? I worked hard and I earned it.

I have all day most days to vacuum, to plan and prep dinner, to do any number of the little Domestic Goddessing tasks that tuck into the nooks and crannies of my days. But old habits, as They say, are hardest to break.

So I am determined to form new ones: to take deeper breaths more often; to drive more slowly and with less gritty determination; to enjoy the lulls in my day rather than fret about them; and, to read some poetry every day.

And another jaunt North is in order. Getting Away is different than Running Away, don't you think? Things will definitely slow down then.




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Cleaning Out The Cranial Clutter; Will You Hold The Dustpan, Please?

Time for a little Cleanout of my Cranial Clutter. Let's see what I can sweep out of the old cerebellum.

~*~Anniversary. Somehow, in all the Goings On of August, I completely forgot that the Dept. Of Nance had its 13th Anniversary. It's true; I've been writing here since 2005. I almost cannot believe it myself. Sometimes, I hop into my Wayback Machine (read my archives) and take a look at my life when I was teaching, in my forties, and raising teenagers. And I laugh and laugh at the things I Said I Would Never Do, many of which I am now doing routinely. Oh Life, how you smack us around and teach us to Be Humble!

~*~Eff Word. This week, my hair finally allowed me to go pick out new glasses, which I gladly did. The young woman (probably about twenty-five) who assisted me at the cheapo eyeglasses place was friendly and fun. As we chatted about Being Female and Our Vanity, she dropped two Eff Words, never batting an eye, zipping right past them with nary a concern. Another associate seated within earshot didn't even flinch. I am a Huge Fan of The Eff Word, but there is a Time and a Place, and that? Not It.

~*~Insomnia And Obnoxious Theme Song. I'm currently in the throes of another bout of Insomnia. Sigh. Sometimes when I can't sleep, I watch a few late night episodes of the original Will & Grace show, and I have to tell you, that show's theme song is absolutely the worst. Ugh. Nothing but hard-driven piano that sounds like it is being played by perhaps Herman Munster on crack. It's abusive. Why so awful? Why? I don't know what I feel sorrier for, that poor piano or my ears.

~*~Videotapes. I finally made myself clean out the cabinet housing our now-nonexistent videotape collection. Is it Really A Thing that the Black Diamond Classic Disney videotapes are worth money? And that the Fox Original Star Wars Trilogy Boxed Set is valuable too? Because I have the latter and five of the former. And they are available. Aside from that, I had Sam hook up the old VCR and I watched a few hours of the boys when they were little. My immediate response was to be overwhelmed with so much love--and an odd feeling of sadness. They were So Little. They looked so fragile to me. I hope I Did The Right Things. I know I always wanted to and tried to.

Catch me up in Comments.

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Of Politics, Books, And Grocery Store Serendipity

The time I normally set aside for The Resistance was not enough this morning, thanks in large part to the Kavanaugh hearings and, of course, to the recent anonymous editorial published in the New York Times. Its author, claiming to be a part of a whole other resistance, doesn't impress me one whit. Spare me and the entire country your big effing courage, buddy, and really Do Something rather than sneak a few papers off a desk. You are nothing but Part Of The Problem.

Anyway.

A couple of hours, many emails, letters, and phone calls later, I was ready to pack the car and head down to DC and tell a few people something about themselves in person. Also, I was pretty sure I could use a few hugs from Senator Sherrod Brown and maybe from Representative John Lewis, National Treasure. Instead, I did what I always tell my sons to do when they're stressed out: do something constructive.

I decided to clean out my bookshelves yet again and donate some more of my languishing hardbacks to the annual library book sale. I got the idea from grocery shopping.

Earlier this week at the grocery store, I ran into a former student. Rather, she stopped me in the dairy aisle where I was dawdling without any purpose whatsoever because I sort of half-assed my list and couldn't remember if I needed any yogurt or butter. "Hey, Mrs. D! How are you? How have you been? Do you still love retirement?" she chirped.  I almost didn't recognize her because--and this is sad--she looked so happy.

"Oh, sweetie! It's so good to see you!" I greeted her in return.  And I meant it. I had never seen her smile so much. It was obvious that she was doing well.

"I feel I need to tell you that I don't work here anymore. I went back to school. I finished and got my library science degree. It's so awesome, and I work right here in town at the library! I love it!"

Why she felt she needed to tell me that, I don't know, but I was truly glad that she did. We talked a bit longer about her life and her job, and then I mentioned that I had some books I wanted to donate. "Drop them off anytime," she told me.

So, back to me cleaning out my burgeoning bookshelves. I already knew I was going to get rid of my set of Andrew Greeley books on principle alone. Then there were a half-dozen more that I knew I'd never read again, so in they went. It was tough, because back in the eighties or nineties, the fad was to take all the jackets off your books so as to streamline the look of your shelves. I had to really stare at the spines. Some of my books are vintage; some are old carpentry and drafting books of Rick's and his grandfather's. And I have a lot of books. But nothing prepared me to find, way on the bottom shelf, a copy of a certain ghostwritten book by a certain political person who shall remain nameless. And rather than donate it and validate its garbage, I did this:

I call it Art:  No Deal

Afterward, I did what every self-respecting Democrat would do, I recycled it. Burning books? Please. Let's not, as they say, Go There.

I did, however, temporarily set aside one page--it was before the opening page of chapter one. It contains a partial quote from a speech by Theodore Roosevelt, former real President of the United States. It does not quote it completely or even correctly (big surprise), but I will:

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.--(23 April 1910)

The irony is stunning.

I am part of the Resistance. Since 20 January 2017.  And I will keep striving for as long as necessary.

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Politics And Precious Cargo In The Prius

Scene opens on the interior of Nance's car, driven by Rick.  Nance is seated in the passenger's side.  Rick's phone sounds, signaling the arrival of a text message. He picks it up and...

Nance: (outraged) Excuse me, but are you going to risk our lives and look at your phone right now?

Rick: (calm, eyes on the road) Nance, I was just--

Nance: (undeterred) Is my life so trivial to you that you're willing to risk it for a text message? Especially right here, where all those Trump voters come rushing out of that side road right there! Without even looking.

Rick: (sighs; pulls onto entrance ramp) How do you know that they're all Trump voters? You've got to stop being so judgy about everybody just because of where they live.

Nance: I know that they are. You know it, too. Everyone around here voted for him.

Rick:  That house there, with the Register To Vote Here sign, also has a Sherrod Brown* sign in the yard.

Nance:  And Janet Garret* and you're deflecting. The point is, I would prefer you remember that when you have me in the car, you are transporting precious cargo. (thinks for a moment; smiles wickedly) As a matter of fact, from now on, I would really like it if you would start calling me Precious Cargo. Or PC, if you'd prefer.

Rick: (grins; accelerates into traffic) Okay, Precious Cargo.

End Scene.

*fine Democratic candidates for office; I am in love with Senator Sherrod Brown and have been forever.


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Two Things

1. At the doctor's office, I sat waiting for someone to come in and put a new dressing on my infected shoulder wound. In bustled a young health aide, who, after finding the necessary supplies with some irritation, turned to me and said, "Okay, I'm gonna put a new bandage on your shoulder now." She stepped closer, saw the wound, and her eyes widened. "Damn! Oh, no. Sorry for the bad language. But oh my --what did you do? Turn around; watch your face. I'm gonna put the gauze on and then I have to use tape." We laughed, and I waited as she applied the pads of gauze and then, as promised, the tape. She applied one, then two; on the third strip, "Bam!" she said triumphantly and stepped back to survey her work.

2. I had to go to the warehouse club today to pick up a few Necessaries. In the specialty bread aisle, I got bogged down behind an elderly lady who was kind of In The Middle Of Things, having wandered off course. Suddenly, I heard It. There was no mistaking the sound, either. Nothing else sounds like that, really, when there's not little kids around trying to be funny or someone with a balloon or something. This lady absolutely had farted. Or worse. And it was loud. She just stood there with her cellphone, very nonchalant. Moments later, she turned to see me and let me pass. I sort of held my breath and moved along. About five minutes later, there she was again, blocking my path at the dairy cases, phone in hand again. Standing stock still. And...I heard it again! How is this possible? Is she just a Serial Farter? Is it an app or a text alert sound that one of her grandkids put on her phone and she can't change it? I know it's Not Just Me; I only heard it when I was near her. What is going on?

Any goofy stuff in your days lately?

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Your True Hero, Scabs And All

"Here," said the gods of Irony, "because you have been trying valiantly to be A Good Girl and stick to your Wellness Regimen, and because your hideous haircut has finally begun to Grow Out Into A Decent And Presentable Style, we are going to Screw With You."

And so it was that Tuesday, on my brisk walk, I fell face-down, full-length on the sidewalk. And in case you haven't ever done that, it really, really hurts.

Walking in our neighborhood is no mean feat. Our tree-lined sidewalks are a mishmash of old rocky concrete, recent cement, and original sandstone full of holes, waves, and sometimes grass; many of them are lifted by the roots of innumerable old trees that may or may not be around anymore. And an ongoing gasline project has introduced The Sidewalks That Are No Longer There, which are uneven mounds of dried mud and gravel allsorts. I try desperately to keep my eyes on my path, but after a while, I have to look up or I get dizzy.

The first thing I thought of once I reckoned with my sudden fall was my teeth, which a quick assessment told me were all there and intact. I carefully rolled onto my side and attempted to get up--slowly--so I could see if I had any injuries that would keep me from getting home on my own. I was lucky; aside from being scraped and bloody, nothing was broken or sprained. Once I got home--two blocks away--I could more fully see what I was working with:

1. Bloody--but not split--upper lip and philtrum
2. Scraped chin and cheek
3. Two scraped knees
4. One scraped elbow
5. Bloody skinned shoulder
6. Damaged prescription sunglasses
7. Wounded pride and vanity
8. Confirmation that Exercise Is Bad

It is important here to note that I Did Not Cry.

Not even when I realized that, for the next Eleventy Thousand Days, I will have a scabby upper lip and look like a female Hitler. I even kept a medical appointment FOR THE SAME AFTERNOON. IN ALL MY INSANELY BLOODY GLORY. And pain.  (Holy crap am I sore.  Everywhere.)

And people say There Are No More True Heroes.

It is to laugh.

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The Greatest...Because I Say So

One day late last week I stepped out of the shower and I heard a fanfare of music; then a stentorian voice blared from the television in the bedroom. "Broadway's greatest musical is coming to Cleveland!" it announced. Immediately a list of contenders ran through my mind--none of which interested me, I might add, since I am not a fan of musicals--and I waited to hear the title, just out of Idle Curiosity. When the announcer finally did speak the name of The Musical, I was completely floored; there was not a single chance I'd have ever guessed it to be Broadway's Greatest, and I made up my mind to ask my mother, St. Patsy, Film And Musical Maven, her opinion.

So I did. I gave her the scenario and then gave her three guesses. Hers were stellar and completely plausible.

They were also, like all of mine, wrong.

I told her the answer, according to the commercial, and she was outraged. "Well, that's just ridiculous! Who said that's the greatest musical? I can only name one song from it!" And from there we both began naming all the other Better Musicals and the wonderful songs that came from them. Obviously, Broadway's Greatest Musical was NOT coming to Cleveland after all.

So, in the spirit of that dopey ad campaign that thought it could decide What Is The Greatest Of All, let's just declare what we think Is The Greatest in these random categories below. You don't have to explain your choices; just own them!

The Greatest...

1. Pasta Shape
Farfalle (Bowtie)

2. Vegetable
Asparagus

3. Ketchup
Heinz

4. Book
To Kill a Mockingbird

5. Band
The Beatles

6. Ice Cream
Häagen-Dazs Coffee

7. Actor
Daniel Day-Lewis

8. President
Abraham Lincoln

9. Poem
Tie: Annabel Lee and The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

10. Candy
Peanut MM's

There!  These things are The Greatest because I say so. Now you can say so, too, in Comments. (Oh, and the Greatest Broadway Musical, according to that ad campaign? Hello, Dolly. Yeah, I don't think so, either. )

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