In Which I Am Irritated And Disapproving Of English

At the start of this, let me say two things:

1. I am an unabashed admirer and user of The English Language. I also defend it passionately.

2. Having been the constant companion of a carpenter/home builder/project manager for almost forty years, my knowledge of construction and its associated tools and hardware is incredibly extensive. I don't watch HGTV; I have lived it most of my life (much of it against my will).

Now then, let's Get On.

One evening Rick and I were having some wine, sitting looking out over the lake, remarking on how many people had their boats in, who had new boats, whose properties were spiffed up--just neighborhood chat in general. In order to do this, however, we had to resort to our nicknames for these neighbors since we have no idea who everyone is.

"I wonder if the Green Fence House will even have a boat this year," I said. "I can't remember the last time I saw one at their dock."

"The Ninja's boat cover doesn't match his patio umbrellas now, but they look better," Rick said. "They match his house."

"I'm just glad the Portcullis House has a boat in," I said, with a sigh of satisfaction.

Rick looked at me warily. Then he shook his head slowly with a sad and disapproving look. "Nance," he said. "I know who you mean, but I keep telling you: that thing you keep calling a Portcullis is not a Portcullis. It's just not."

"Oh, hell. Then what is it?"

"It's an arbor. That's all it is."

"Then what the hell is a Portcullis? And how did I come up with it? I'm going to google it."

It was at that point that I lost all faith in The English Language, because here, Dear Readers, is a Portcullis:

By Kevin King from Pensacola, FL, US of A - Ireland 2009, Cahir Castle Portcullis

I'm sorry, English Language, but you cannot be serious. The word Portcullis sounds far too gentle and sweet and...gardeny to be that. I mean, can't you just hear Scarlett O'Hara flirting with her many suitors and saying, "Fiddle dee dee! Now why don't you all bring your mint juleps and join me down by the portcullis where it's nice and cool?"

Right? I call for a Do Over, English Language.

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TGIF: Yes, That *Is* What Day It Is

Welcome to Friday, everyone! Here in NEO it's gloomy and rainy again, so a few outdoor projects are on hold. Some of these are the same projects I put on hold because of the ridiculous heat and humidity we had earlier this week. I am getting way better at this Patience thing. I'm also getting a little better at writing here more regularly, but let's face it: it's not stellar or profound stuff. Today will be no different, just a little TGIF.

T: Trying. I'm Trying to get back into knitting again this weekend. I haven't knit a stitch since my horrendous fall and subsequent injuries back in November. All of you knitter bloggers have gotten to me. Knitting has always felt very therapeutic and relaxing to me, too, so I've decided to grab up some yarn and needles and see how I feel. After all, I gave Reading another chance, and I've been so happy with that result.

G: Garden. We have such a teensy tiny backyard that long ago, we simply tore out the grass and had the whole thing landscaped into a garden area with ornamental shrubs, plants, rocks, and a small, natural-looking pond. Rick built a swing on a trestle, which is in a corner. Last fall I planted a whole bunch of daffodils and tulips, and they all came up. They were beautiful...until the chipmunks began to--one by one--chomp the tulips off at the base of the flower and leave them lying on the ground. What will this mean for next year? Will I get any more tulips? Will this be a hundred years' war? If only I had known, I'd have planted daffodils exclusively.

I: Impossible. I almost feel as if I'm in shock when I watch the news. How is it possible that this is my country, my government, my citizenry? There is so much open bigotry, ignorance, and hatred. I've heard it said that it was always there; it's just that it feels safe now to come out of the shadows. I get that, but there are no curbs or checks on this indecency. And it started well before this impostor took the reins. It began when Bush 43 crowed about his own mediocrity and sanctioned torture. And the architect of that administration is now working to get this one another four years.

F: Food. I'm so disinterested in food these days. Rick is, too. On the weekends we eat boards of cheese, braunschweiger, grapes, crackers, summer sausage, apple, crackers, and mini naans with our wine. Or we make huge salads and slice in chicken breast, a grilled steak, or some ham. And wine. As of this moment, I have zero idea about dinner tonight. Sigh.


I look forward to hearing from you. Enjoy your weekend and take care of yourself.

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Me Today

Today was an unexpectedly beautiful Springtime Day in NEO. Sunshine broke through the cloud cover, no rain threatened, only a light breeze stirred the vibrant green leaves newly burgeoning after so much rain. After I ran my two errands--fully masked, my hand sanitizer at the ready in my car--I came home to a Joyful Task. I was finally going to get everything out on the front porch. My patio out back was already done (and had gotten snowed on twice!), but it isn't really The Season until my bright red, vintage metal chairs are out. Once I was done putting out all my furniture and doodads, I sat out there and read and enjoyed the rest of the afternoon.

I did move to the back patio at one point to enjoy the birds, get a little sun, and escape the sound of lawnmowers and leafblowers. What a gorgeous day!

Today, I am:

Wearing--My Uniform. Black leggings, black Skechers slip-ons, and a long-sleeved top, this one a swingy V-necked white tee with narrow black horizontal stripes. Yes, I do remember way, way back when I said I'd never, ever wear leggings in public. What can I say? I've learned to never say Never, I can tell you that.

Reading--Educated by Tara Westover. I am enjoying it very much, but I seem to be on a run of books about women who grew up in eccentric homes with mentally ill fathers. I'm just so thrilled to be reading again!

Working On--As always, Maintaining My Zen.

Hearing--More lawnmowers. A dog barking. Birds. The dog barking is making me think of Zydrunas, who now resides three doors down. I may have to walk down and see if he can come out in the yard so that I can have some Z time.

Making For Dinner--It's already late in the day, and dinner is made. I made tuna pasta and peas. It's chilling now as I type. Rick drove some stuff down to the lake in preparation for the long weekend, so we will be eating late. I'm thinking of sticking a bottle of sauvignon blanc in the freezer so it will be cold in time.

Thinking About--Making better use of my mornings. I've fallen back into some bad habits.

Planning--I've really come to hate planning. It stresses me something fierce. I prefer not to plan, which I know is ridiculous in The Real Adult World. Still--not a fan and would Rather Not.

And there you are! That's Me, just for Today. Do have a lovely weekend.

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Holy Crap, We Are Old Now

Scene opens on the living room. Rick is in his chair, researching something with his laptop. Nance sits on the couch with her laptop open, reading the newspaper online. Behind her are perched the two cats, mildly interested in what lies outside the window. Maybe.

Rick: So if we have Amazon Prime, we have Amazon Music, right?

Nance: Yes. Which reminds me, earlier this week, when I was coming home from the store, I had the radio on, and--

Rick: (whole face brightens; looks doubly interested) I can't believe I just heard that.

Nance: I know, right? *I* was listening to the radio. Did you know you can change stations right on the steering wheel? I just discovered that. There's a little button right on board, and--

Rick: Haven't you been reading the book? I thought you said you would read the book.

Nance: I have been, but it's terrible. It's all over the place.

Rick: And it's vague.

Nance: Yes. It's vague. Anyway, I had the radio on, and Lose Yourself by Eminem came on, so I cranked it up.

Rick: (grinning and wholly amused) I cannot believe what I'm hearing right now. Go on.

Nance: What? That I like that song or that I cranked it up?

Rick: All of it. Go ahead.

Nance: By the way, you can crank it up using the same button that changes the stations. So, I'm blasting Eminem and doing some car dancing and it's really alleviating my stress from shopping, and then it's over. The next song is some boring song by Diplo and somebody.

Rick: Who? Who is that? I never heard of him.

Nance: Not important. Anyway, I don't feel like listening to that, so I switch stations and try to find something else. I find something briefly, then I decide to go back to the original station, figuring Diplo is about done. Next thing I know, here comes Eminem with Lose Yourself again!

Rick: What the heck?

Nance: I know! So I crank it back up and car dance like crazy. All I can think is that a lot of these stations are automated now. They don't even have DJs anymore, just preprogrammed lists and ads and it's all autopilot. It's probably a glitch in the program. So as I'm sitting at the light acting like some hyped-up senior from 2002 on the last day of school--in my Prius--I'm laughing and wondering if the next song is going to be Diplo again.

Rick: And?

Nance: I was already pulling into the driveway, but I actually sat in the garage and waited to see if Diplo was next. It wasn't. They must have fixed that glitch. But now that I'm thinking of it, I want that song on my phone. The Eminem one. I'm going to download it now. (looks at Rick, who is shaking his head and laughing) What?

Rick: Just...everything. All of it.

Nance:  I know. It's a lot.

End scene.

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Three On Thursday: The Road Trip Edition And An Early Happy Mother's Day

It didn't seem like more than a week ago since my last post, but the calendar does not lie. Here's a quick Three On Thursday to remedy my laziness.

1. We spent the weekend at the lakehouse, where Rick is replacing the deck. Sunday was an unexpectedly gorgeous day, and we spent a large amount of it sitting on the dock in the sunshine. Since it was my birthday, we did a little Day Drinking and waved at the people who floated by in their boats. We were more than a little envious that they already had their boats in the water, but since warm days are so few and far between right now, we know we still have time. Right now, the deck is Priority One.

2. On our way home, we talked about what the heck to have for dinner. We were very tempted to stop at the ice cream stand on our way home (you know the one), especially when we saw this:

They were doing a decent business, and there was a moderate amount of social distancing. No specialty pizza was offered because this news was Too Big to share the sign. It was on both sides.

3. Sam was recently behind this truck and snapped a photo. He sent it to me immediately. I know you'll be positively astonished by its awfulness.

You don't no weather two laugh or cry, due you? Sigh.

****

I hope you have a lovely weekend. For those of you who are Mothers, have a lovely Mother's Day. For those of you who, like my brother, are not technically a Mother but have been one for all intents and purposes, it is Your Day as well. It will likely not be like other Mother's Days past, but it does not change the fact that you are a Mother, no matter what.

And chocolate is back!

In Which We Suffer Yet Another Wildlife Invasion (And By "We", I Mean "Me")

About a month or so ago, I said to Rick--even though I knew I might as well tell Piper or Marlowe, the two implacable cats in residence--"Hey, I smell something really awful in the garage. It smells like dead animal or something in there."

Rick, who was either reading Flipboard on his phone, catching up on the family group text, or perusing the mail, gave no sign that he even knew I had spoken. This is standard, unfortunately, and I have to perform a sort of Evaluation Ballet. Did he hear me? Is he Thinking About It? If I repeat myself, will he get testy? Dammit, why can't I ever remember which one is His Good Ear?

Finally, he turned to me. "Hm."

I let a few seconds go by, and then I said, "Well, did you hear what I said? I mean, it really smells bad in there. Something's dead in there. I'm serious."

"Yes I heard you. I don't smell anything. Besides, there's no way anything could get in there anyway. It's just damp."

Oh, Dearest Readers! I know you all remember the last time he assured me there was Nothing In The Garage. Who was right that time? And I didn't even tell you about the summer before last when I suggested using a hose to rid the garage of a raccoon up in the rafters and was pooh-poohed for that idea. Guess how we finally got it down? Let's just say it was one wet and unhappy raccoon when it left.

But I digress.

I continued to smell The Smell, and Rick continued not to. He even cleaned out the garage one warm and sunshiny day and found nothing. Luckily, I was not in the garage too often, thanks to having nowhere to go. But a day came when I wanted to repot my kitchen window geranium, a 4" plant I brought in to winter over. It has become mammoth, rewarding me with nonstop blooms all winter (and now spring) long. I headed out to the garage for a larger pot and some potting soil.

And there it was, That Smell. It was still horrible. But I grabbed a pot and saucer and dragged over the bag of soil. I dug in with the saucer, but I couldn't dislodge any soil. It had gotten really clumped and hard. I reached in with my hand and felt...hair. Because this:

I absolutely felt my stomach right there in between my tonsils. Gagging and retching, I sped to the house to wash and rewash my hands. I could not stop feeling sick. Finally, it passed, and long enough for me to go and grab the bag and drag it out and into the driveway.

Later, Rick came home from work. He walked in and said, "Is there something you want me to do? I see the bag of dirt in the driveway."

"Yes," I said. "Yes, there is." I went out with him to the driveway and explained what I was going to do with the potting soil. I invited him then to look inside the bag.

"Hm," he said. "I even moved that bag when I cleaned out the garage. Never even thought to look inside it."

"But didn't you smell it?" I said. "How can you not smell it?"

"I smell it now that I'm right up against it."

He then walked into the garage and came out with a shovel. He headed over to the bag of soil. "What are you going to do with that?" I asked him.

"I'm assuming you want to keep some of this potting soil that's still good," he said.

"After all the bodily fluids have been seeping into it? No, I do not. What I want you to do is to chuck the whole thing into the trash for me, please."

Later, I recounted for him my whole awful, sickening, frightful encounter. I told him how I had actually touched that horrid dead thing. I told him how it took me a while to stop feeling like I had to throw up. I explained that it was so gross and horrible and my stomach was actually sore from clenching.

"Hm," he said. "I never even thought to look in that bag."

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Saturday Sillies: A Photo Collection Of Shopping In The Good Old Days (Like Three Months Ago)

Way back in the Pre-Corona Days, when we used to be able to run out Willy Nilly for Doo Dads and Whatnots whenever we needed them, I snapped a few photos of things in the stores that caught my eye. "Someday, I can use that for the blog," I wisely said to myself.

That Someday has arrived, Dearest Readers. I need some Mental Chex Mix--you know, just a bit of light snacky stuff right now. Here we go.

1.  Back in January I was looking at my grocery store's Closeouts section for some cheapo memo cube paper. I wanted to use it for my Good Things Jar. In my search I came across this wonderfully perplexing item:

Are Seniors these colors, or are these colors only for Seniors? Am I yello?

2.  It was a December trip to my grocery store that produced this find. I was dawdling through the Closeouts department (imagine!), unmasked and ungloved, browsing leisurely, probably looking for stocking stuffers, when I saw this ridiculous item. It's ironic and irritating, yet fabulously vexing in its way.

Because nothing says Civilized and Elegant like black vinyl and a misspelling!

3.  I like to keep a running list of items I need from the grocery store, adding to it as I think of them. As a result I've become a big fan of the long narrow pads of lined paper with magnets on the back. I get them at dollar stores, and that's where I got this next snapshot, also in December. These signs were hanging literally everywhere I looked in that store, but I waited until I was driving away to take the photo. I didn't want to offend the person who made them, should he be the same individual ringing me up or stocking shelves as I shopped not a few feet away. (Ah, the Good Old Days!)

NO CASH BACK IN ANY DEVIT CARD. But your debit card--a different story? 

Happy Saturday, everyone.

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Words For 2020: #5 Accept

Accept is probably the most difficult word I deal with every single day. Just now, I rewrote that first sentence four times. I might even rewrite it a few more before I hit Publish. Such is the life of a Serial Control Freak and Perfectionist.

It's not easy Being Me.

When I was younger--a little kid--the idea that I had any control over anything never once occurred to me. I Accepted without question that my parents were in charge and our lives were the way they were supposed to be. If other kids did things or went places or had things that we did not, well, that was because those things were not The Kind Of Things For Us. I never really gave them much thought. I was compliant and no trouble.

That didn't mean things were easy. I was a serious fat kid who preferred reading to anything athletic. Oddly enough, the only person who ever teased or bullied me about my weight was my older brother. And he did so brutally and unrelentingly. My mother's only response was to tell me to ignore him, which everyone knows is not effective or helpful. My father either never heard him or didn't think it merited his intervention. Nothing I said to my brother in retaliation ever bothered him; he was unassailable. It went on for years and years, and I learned to Accept that it was an unfortunate part of my life. But I never got over it, this having to Accept and having no control.

My father raised us to feel self-confident and empowered, ironically, and to feel pride in who we were. "Don't follow the common herd" was one of his favourite sayings. I was proud that I was smart. He had very high expectations, but he was an idealist. He was an idealist and a philosopher who worked at the steel mill. He wanted much better for all four of us, and sometimes his passion for our future could be frightening. His disciplinary lectures were so intense that we often felt faint. Our parents never once hit us, but standing and listening to a lecture was enough.

I set about planning the rest of my life with as much control as I possibly could. And I followed my plan, almost ruthlessly. I planned out my college--done! I planned my wedding--done! I even planned my two children so that I could be pregnant during the colder months and have them in Spring, thus ensuring I had all Summer with my babies. Jared was born at the end of March and Sam at the end of April. I had enough sick time with both births to end the year.

Parenting and Teaching are the two most Control-laden jobs in the world. After a childhood of no control, I was Control Central. I thrived in both environments--organization is one of my strong suits. I can motivate, command a room, come up with ideas quickly, and delegate tasks easily. And I can make all those things seem like fun for everyone.

These days, however, I'm learning that all that Control has cost me. As I wrote in an earlier post, I always seem to be in a hurry. And I feel as if I should be doing something all the time. Often, I get irritated at something and feel as if I should mention it to the person who said/did it. Sometimes, a small thing that Rick does will fray my nerves, and I want to explode. Or I'm driving and I get behind yet one more red pickup truck driven by an old man in a hat and it's poking along and I cannot pass it. The Fate Of The World does not rest on any of these things, or my actions concerning them. I need to Accept and move on.

I've learned the difference between the Acceptance of my childhood and the Acceptance of my adulthood. It is Choice. And it is often a Choice born of Necessity. I will be 61 in May. I don't want or need control of so many, many things anymore. I want Peace. I want Serenity. I want Simplicity.

Naturally, right now, there's very little anyone can control. We all have to Accept. This is Life right now, and we make the best of it. I'm heartened and uplifted by what I have read in your posts and comments about how you are all getting through These Times. I feel fortunate to have a circle of Virtual Friends because, for us, nothing has changed in our relationships. How very comforting that is.

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Words For 2020: #4 Read

Back in 2016 I shared with you my profound distress that I had been unable to Read a book for well over a year. After a lifetime of Reading, it was not only a shock, but a terrible loss. I truly grieved; books were my life as a child and adolescent. Every spare moment was taken up by Reading. Whenever I was punished--sent to my room or confined to a chair--it was always with the caveat that I could not take a book with me.

I would Read in trees, in bed, on a blanket outdoors, and by the thin light of a closet door ajar illicitly late at night. I was forever grateful to Miss Mamie, the town librarian, who eased the book limit for me and let me haul out huge stacks from our little storefront library each week. She recommended the best books always, and I'll never forget her. I Read constantly throughout high school and college, thrilled that Reading was basically my curriculum as an English major. I always Read every novel I assigned right along with my students, every time, even though I'd Read them a hundred times already.

So it was particularly hurtful when my inability to Read surfaced and lingered for years. I would try and try to Read, but it was a chore, not a pleasure. I wasn't having the same experience as before; there was no Joy in it. I wasn't getting Lost In The Book. I may as well have been Reading a textbook, just chewing up information that I wasn't particularly interested in or attached to.

Then I had a breakthrough when I was refocusing on other parts of my life and getting a handle on my stress. I suddenly was able to Read again, really Read and enjoy it. I started tearing through books again like before, and it was so rewarding. The best time of the day was when I was done with everything else and could nestle in with my book among the couch pillows and the quiet (or the cat's snoring). I would look at my book stack on the table and smile every day. Books once again appeared on my Christmas List, and my sons happily indulged me.

But once again, I'm stuck. Experience would tell me that Something Is Broken, that I need to look at my Stressors or How I'm Coping with Everything Out There. I know by Reading over at your sites that many of you are having the same problem. We can't concentrate. I know in my case, I worry for my husband and sons, still out there, working in "essential businesses." I try not to, but I fear for them every day. And I miss my sons and their girlfriends and families. Like everyone, I find the physical isolation difficult. I feel disconnected.

Now more than ever, I want to Read, and Read More, and Read More Often. Reading isn't just an escape for me; it's a way to connect with part of myself. Reading is a Solace. I would lose whole chunks of time when I opened a book. Who couldn't use a Fast Forward Button these days?

I would love you to share your childhood Reading Stories. And if you have any tips on Restarting Our Reading, share those, too.

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Words For 2020: #3 Write

When I was in college about a hundred years ago (actually, I graduated from undergrad in 1981), my professor in Classroom Methods was like so many back then--hopelessly out of touch. The guy hadn't been in a highschool classroom in decades. He didn't teach us much of anything at all that was of Value. It was a lot of Sixties stuff, like Rap Sessions and Creative Listening and junk that bordered on Being A Mime. He drove us all nuts because we knew it was crazy, this hippie crap, and that if we even attempted it, those teenagers would tear us apart.

Little did I know that school systems everywhere were already wrenching their English programs into the far less demanding-sounding course called Language Arts, and embracing things called Whole Language, Sight Reading, and for the upper grades, Journal Writing. By the time I was in an English classroom teaching five classes of sophomores, Journal Writing was a Thing, and we had to make them do it at least once a week. We had to come up with a topic, give them classroom time, and give them credit. At our department meeting we all griped about the prospect of grading these journals. Merely lugging them around was bad enough, but do the math: the sheer volume of grading was staggering and downright punitive. All of us lamented our college majors; why hadn't we chosen phys ed or art? Or music?

Several veteran teachers shrugged and admitted they didn't read them at all. They marked them with a check and gave a grade for completion. Others said they read only a select few and graded those. Others said they told the students to choose their best three for grading and if they didn't complete all the entries, oh well, they simply had fewer to choose from. A few rebels admitted to me that they refused to give journal work to their kids; they thought it was stupid and a time-waster for everyone involved.

I have to admit--I eventually became one of those rebels. And it didn't take too long, either.

Let me explain why.

I value Writing. I value it highly. Good Writing or Writing with purpose means a great deal to me. No one should disrespect someone's Writing. If a student is going to be asked to Write, then that Writing should be read. At the very least, it should be read and reacted to. The idea of someone sitting there, flipping pages of student Writing, making checkmarks on it, bothered me. That Writing represented that student's thoughts. It's like ignoring that student and saying his time or her thoughts were inconsequential.

(It also bothers me when kids are punished by Writing sentences. All that does is teach kids to hate Writing. Please don't make learning or self-expression a vehicle for punishment.)

Writing is my preferred method of communication almost always. Even though I was a verbal communicator/teacher (and a good one) for thirty years, I still prefer Writing. It gives me time to think, to unwind my thoughts, to pick the best words, to organize my ideas, and to refine everything I want to say.

I don't hate Journals, either. I keep one semi-daily. I Write in it at about the same time, a time set aside specifically for Writing. (And I use a certain kind of pen because I need a gliding pen, not one that blots or scratches.) I pick it up, Write the date, and just start in. It is private, very personal, and in it I can sort out all kinds of thoughts and ideas I want to untangle. I can celebrate in it; I can bitch in it; I can mourn in it. In short, I can be myself in it, unedited. I keep the previous pages of the Journal under a rubber band so that I don't go back and read them, and I never go back to previous Journals, either. Why go back to the Past? If I'm near a dollar store, I grab a few cheap little Journals in there, and that's what I use. Nothing fancy. And, believe it or not, I don't worry about my punctuation as I'm Writing in my Journal. It looks a lot like Emily Dickinson in there with all the dashes. It's very liberating.

Back in January I decided to try harder to Write here more often. That is still my intention. So, for 2020 and beyond, Write is one of my Words.

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Words For 2020: #2 Meditate/Reflect

It's my habit to park in a space distant from the entrance at the grocery store. It gives me a little more exercise, and I don't have to worry about finding a place to park or some distracted driver backing out and hitting me. Today, however, I had no choice; those were the only spots left. As I pulled in, the woman in front of me, whose hatch was facing me, was unloading a cart full of Kleenex boxes. I'd guess she had at least fifteen single boxes, and she was tossing them into the back of her car with a grim face.

In no way was I prepared for what I walked into. People were steering carts that were overflowing. The line at the deli was across the length of counter and three customers deep. I checked my list and tried to pick up a little speed. I was starting to feel tense and uncomfortable.

"Attention shoppers. We apologize, but we've just received the following instructions from our corporate office and must place limits on the following items. Isopropyl alcohol 70% to 90%, one bottle per customer. Bleach, one bottle per customer. Sanitizing wipes containing antibacterial or bleach..." and I stopped listening. I started to feel like I was in a Stephen King novel--like The Stand. Stores had been out of hand sanitizer for days and days now. (Even though every single healthcare professional has said that washing your hands was far more effective, there has not been a run on soap.)

I finished my shopping--and encountered several hastily made signs listing the limited products once I got to the cleaning supplies aisle--and realized that I was starting to feel panicky and almost sick. Another announcement was added, this one apologizing for the long checkout lines.

They weren't kidding. Part of the reason was that many people had two carts. I looked down at my cart and wondered again if I was being foolish for not stocking up. I keep a pretty good pantry and freezer as it is, but who knows? The governor has shut down schools for three weeks beginning on Monday. All shows, sporting events, and large expositions (Sam's Piston Powered Show this weekend!) are cancelled. I could feel this struggle begin welling up in me, this fight against the surreal.

I couldn't wait to get home. I needed a walk and some time to decompress and breathe. And then I needed to Meditate and Reflect.

Walking helps a great deal. The physical activity, the reconnection with Nature, the breathing of fresh air--all of that recenters me and grounds me again. But I also need some time for Meditation/Reflection. I use that quiet time to check in with myself and relax my tension. I'm not a Traditional Meditator in that I don't sit cross-legged or use a mantra or any accoutrements. I don't get all jazzed about Clearing All Thoughts From My Mind or all that. For me, that's nearly impossible. I'm a Chain Thinker. One thought leads to another to another to another and pretty soon I'm thinking about the time many years ago that I forgot a bag of frozen peas in the car for like two weeks.

No, usually, I listen carefully to any sounds in my environment and/or my breathing. If a thought comes in, I go ahead and think it. If a thought endangers my Zen, I just give it the Scarlett O'Hara--"I'll think about that tomorrow." Today, my stomach growled a lot while I was Meditating and Reflecting. It made me laugh, which I really needed. I Reflect a great deal on how grateful I am; how so many things in my life are Good; how many things I have to look forward to. And I make sure I take an inventory of how I've been doing that day: how do I feel? what did I accomplish? am I tensed up anyplace?

Some days I can take my time; other days I do a shorter version. Some busy days, this is actually done in bed! For me, Meditation/Reflection is some important Me Work. And I feel like I'm worth the effort.

So in 2020 and beyond, Meditate/Reflect are two of my Words.

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Words For 2020: #1 Walk

While on my Walk today, I met Sophie, a little Italian Greyhound. She was sniffing quite meaningfully around a tree lawn, and I slowed my pace considerably so that I wouldn't disturb her. Unfortunately, just as she was settling in for some Quality Time, she caught sight of me and sprang up, skittish and barking. I stopped altogether, abashed.

"She's fine; come on ahead!" yelled Sophie's pet parent, waving a mittened hand. "Sophie! Stop! Enough!"

"I'm sorry," I said as I neared them. "I didn't want to...disturb her."

"Well, I'm sorry she's being such a loudmouth. Sophie, stop being such a loudmouth!"

We exchanged a few pleasantries, and I went on my way. I love that part of my Walk--meeting a new person in the neighborhood. That I also got to meet a new dog was a bonus. That she was a cute loudmouth, even better.

My Walk makes me deeply satisfied. I purposely don't vary my route much at all. I enjoy watching the small changes daily, weekly, monthly, and seasonally. I like to see the evolution of my neighborhood and notice little things as I pace off my miles.

Today--aside from meeting Sophie and her pet parent--I was happy to see a wide sunny carpet of winter aconite brightening up someone's front lawn. On the street where nine impossibly large outdoor cats lounge on varying porches and front walks, only two were to be seen, yawning and grooming. Daffodil and narcissus fronds were poking several inches above the soil already! Behind a tent-like structure made of plastic sheeting, work was finally, actually being done on the dilapidated front porch of a run-down house. (Rick and I make fun of this project all the time; it has been ongoing for a year, done entirely by one guy who shows up about once a month. At one point, he inexplicably hung kitchen pots on the porch roof. We theorized that they were to hold nails or small tools. The whole thing is ridiculous.)

I was miffed to note how many homes still have Christmas decorations up, but it was a small thorn in my side. I listened to some raucous birds and looked up to find them. It was two red-bellied woodpeckers flashing wings and pursuing each other. A little further down the block were several robins bobbing in a big corner yard, with a pair of bluejays watching above, screeching. Cardinals were also in the yard, a male and female, and I started allowing myself--just a little--to think about Spring.

On my way back home, my visit with Sophie cost me. Just as I turned down my street, it began to rain. I had it timed perfectly according to my weather app, but hadn't planned on loitering. I didn't care too much. As my husband's grandfather used to say, "It only soaks through to the skin." And I wasn't too far from home.

It feels good to Walk, to breathe fresh air, to feel my legs stretch out, to feel my feet push against the pavement, moving it away. It's relaxing and invigorating at the same time for me. It's therapeutic.

As a child I was overweight and often sick. I didn't play sports and I was not athletic. I might have tried, but I didn't want to risk humiliation. There were a few things I could do, and one of those was to take Walks. My father used to take us on long, long Walks he called Nature Walks (more about those in another post). I also had a paper route for a few years that I walked every single day (which helped end my weight problem). I walked to school in elementary school and high school, and, in good weather, home from junior high. When I think back, Walks have generally been a positive part of my life.

And yes, I do have some residual fear from having fallen twice. (Probably more than even Rick, Jared, or Sam has!) My first Walk by myself after my second fall was scary. I know I'm careful and that has to be enough.

So, in 2020 and beyond, Walk is one of my Words.

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Finally Risen From My Sickbed

Let me just say this, and you can certainly write it down and quote me if you wish: Life Is Not Fair.

I'll give you a minute because I know that's a stunner.

...

Okay.


I just want to go On Record with the following:

1. I wash my hands constantly.
2. I keep hand sanitizer in my car.
3. And I use it as soon as I get in after I've been anywhere.
4. I use the antibacterial wipes on all shopping carts.
5. If Rick sneezes or coughs--for any reason--I will not let him kiss me on the mouth.
6. And then I interrogate him sternly, "Are you sick? Are people sick at your work?"
7. I don't eat or drink after anyone. Ever.
8. If someone near me is sniffling, sneezing, or coughing, I hold my breath until I am well out of their space.

In spite of all of this, AND A VACCINE GOTTEN IN A TIMELY MANNER (Mid-September), I got the flu. A lot of the flu. A bigass bunch of ass-kicking, no-prisoner-taking, bitch-making flu. Was I sick? Oh, ha ha. It is to laugh. My already lousy immune system rolled over and played dead immediately, taking all my dignity with it.

It was only in the last few days that I have finally felt truly well and entirely myself. And been able to go on my entire walk. The whole thing was/is completely ridiculous and I could not be more annoyed. I couldn't do a damn thing!

But let's not say another word about it. Because that would be letting the terrorist win. (One positive--I lost about 10 pounds.)

Before The Episode I had plans for this blog and things I wanted to write about. That is still my mission. And I have Things To Talk About beyond that. I'm glad to be back.

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Flotsam And Jetsam

What day is it? What year is it? And where in the heck is my Real Life? I've been at such Loose Ends since November that I am starting to feel more than a little surreal. Rick is still home recuperating, so every single day feels like Saturday or Sunday. Toss in the Holidays, and I feel as if it is The Weekend on an Endless Loop around here.

Here's a little of the Flotsam and Jetsam from the past couple weeks. (Has it been a couple weeks since the last post? No idea.)

Ice Cream And Pizza Follow-Up: In a purely selfless gesture in the interest of You, My Dearest Readers, Rick suggested we stop at the ice cream stand on our way home from the lakehouse the other day. He got a vanilla cone and spoke to the proprietor and one of the senior staff. The owner said that there is not much call for ice cream during the winter, and even less for chocolate ice cream in particular. The employee there said that she is the originator of most of the pizza flavours, and that the pickle bacon was adapted from a cookbook she received. They both said it was hugely popular and may be on their standard menu.

I Am A Grownup: For the first time in probably a decade or more, I stayed awake until midnight on New Year's Eve. Usually, Rick and I go to bed at about ten and are awakened by text messages or phone calls from Jared and Sam and my mother, all of whom have no problem at all being awake and celebratory for the holiday. In the interest of full disclosure, I must tell you that I was awake purely by accident; we were binge-watching a show on Netflix.

My House Has Turned Against Me: Since he is home, Rick is now puttering around and fixing a bunch of things that have been languishing on his To Do list for a long time. One of them was to fix the shower head and the bathtub faucet. The shower head went swimmingly, but the tub faucet required a part that was on a lifetime warranty, shipped from the manufacturer. Which takes 7-10 days. And renders my shower unusable. So, okay; bath it is. I drew a hot bath, added a few bubbles, and went to get in. Except the water was distinctly brownish. Add "new hot water heater" to the list of things to do. So far, since Rick has been unable to work, we have had to get a new battery for my car, a new printer, furnace repair, and a new hot water heater. And I have been nothing but nice to this place for 34 years!

________________________________

This year again I have not made any resolutions. As I always say, I am on a continuous path of self-improvement. I honestly do strive each day to do better than the day before.

I do like the idea of a Good Things Jar that I read on Jean's blog. I'm going to do it informally, though: each time a Good Thing happens, I'll write it down and put it in the Jar rather than do it arbitrarily each day or each week. I like that.

I also like having a Word. But rather than have one Word for the year, I'm going to use a Word for a blogpost each week or so. The word will be something I want to think about, improve, do, or change. I've been a sort of vagrant and uninspired blogger, and I don't like that. I like writing here, but sometimes I just can't get motivated to do it. I want to change that, and I think the Words will help me to do that.

Let's see how it all works out. Here's to a fulfilling 2020; may we all smile more each day of it.

In Which A Pizza Becomes A Life Or Death Matter

We've been basking in Springlike temperatures here in NEO, and that has been one of my favourite Christmas gifts. Rick, still home recovering from his surgery, decided we should take a drive and check on things at the lakehouse. Because I'm like a big old dog, I was happy to jump in the car and go.

On our way there, we passed by the little soft-serve and pizza shack that serves as the sole restaurant for one of the tiny towns on our route. I always scan the sign out front which announces its specials.

Nance: Do you think the pumpkin pie flurry is still there?

Rick: Probably. One thing we do know is that Chocolate is gone 'til at least June.

Nance: I still don't get that. Why do they assume no one wants chocolate ice cream in the winter?

Rick: Who knows?

Nance: (reading from the sign) TRY OUR NEW PICKLE AND BACON PIZZA! Wow. Pickle and bacon.

Rick: Ugh. I wonder who comes up with that stuff.

Nance: Well, whoever it is, I commend them for their bold innovation.

Rick: Yeah? Well I condemn them.

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Update: Alive And Grateful

It's a month since my terrible fall, and I'm finally able to do most of my usual activities again (even taking walks!) without pain or concerns (or splints). I can feel a knot under the skin on my cheekbone, right where the two little scars are still bright pink. It's tender there when I lie on that side, but I can do it. My knees remain sore, but only when I kneel. Sometimes, I get this feeling like I need to crack my wrists or elbows, like something inside them needs to realign or shift, pop or snap like a rubber band. It's odd and hard to describe.

All of my upper body feels slightly out of joint, honestly. In the morning I do a lot of stretching before I get out of bed, much to the chagrin of one very hungry orange cat. I keep trying to figure out how the hell I managed to hit both knees so hard and sprain my wrists and hurt both elbows and break two teeth and bash up one side of my face. The logistics defy me. I need to Let It Go.

Aside from all of that, I am happy to report that Rick's surgery was a success, and he has made a fantastic recovery well ahead of schedule. Despite it being bone surgery (two big bone spurs were removed and the tip of his clavicle was shaved down), he has had no pain post-op. His mobility is almost normal less than one month later. I am so profoundly grateful. So is he, of course.

The two of us Walking Wounded are helping each other. Together, at first, we made about a Two-Thirds Person! That meant cancelling Thanksgiving since we could not produce a large dinner, and the boys were part of Thanksgivings at their girlfriends' homes. We prepared a small dinner for ourselves and a dessert to share with whoever might come over for a visit later. And they did come, bringing goodies from their dinner to share with us. It was a lovely evening.

Rick is anxious to speed through his remaining physical therapy and get back to normal and get back to work. I'm anxious to get back to normal and be able to do ALL of my usual activities again (like knit). My quest for Patience seems destined to be Eternal.

The very best to come of all of this is the outpouring of Kindness from so many people. Colleagues of my husband's, knowing we are without his income for the length of his recovery, all chipped in and presented us with that collection. My sister Susan cooked up a storm and sent over dinners for a week. One commenter on another blog I frequent noticed my absence there, found my post here about my fall, and let everyone there know what happened. These are but a few examples of the kind of warm compassion that has enveloped Rick and me. We are so grateful.

Of course, you, my Dearest Friends and Commenters, you immediately offered warm thoughts and kindness once I posted news of my accident. I'm so happy to have your support.

As I am typing this, the tense dialogue of the impeachment proceedings is in the background. I am disengaged--above--this mess. I've had enough. Right now, I am concentrating on The Good Stuff. And there is a lot of it.

Thank you, everyone, for your Kindness, Concern, Thoughtfulness, and Support. It means a great deal to me.

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November: Good News, Bad News

The Good News is that there were no broken bones.

The Bad News is that there were two broken teeth, two sprained wrists, two deep elbow contusions, a bashed-in face, and two bruised knees. And a ton of soreness and impatience and oh, more self-admonishment than you could ever know.

Sigh. I fell again. Out on my walk, less than half a block from my home, simply keeping a brisk pace with my eyes only on my surroundings. But there were leaves and acorns hiding the uneven sidewalk joins, and down I went. Hard. So, so hard. I must have tried to stop myself by putting both arms out--big mistake--and then went right on over onto mostly the right side of my face.

Exactly one week before Rick's shoulder surgery.

My timing is, in a word, horrendous.

Poor Rick. This is his second surgery in less than a year, and the second one not covered by Workers' Compensation. He will be out for four months, and all of those with no income. Perfect time for me to incur not only medical bills but dental bills, too. I'm so angry at myself even though I know stuff just happens; I didn't have a single thing to do with how this all unfolded.

We're keeping things positive. We're a good team; we've gone through plenty of tough times before. I'm already feeling better physically. The dentist was able to cap my teeth the next day, which was a huge boost for my spirits and my Vanity. Sam is just down the street, and Jared will be chauffeuring us on Tuesday for Rick's surgery. Because, of course, a huge winter storm is dropping a bunch of snow the night before and on that day. And I don't feel okay driving quite yet, even in the best of conditions.

Any shovelling will have to wait. We won't be going anywhere--either of us--for a little while.

I would like to write more, but it is a bit of a struggle and it takes some time. I will be back after things settle down a bit. Please send your best thoughts to the Universe to see that they do.

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October Scrapbook

October has arrived, and with it Autumn. Oh, Summer hung around a bit for the first few days, just like it did last year, but it was a Last Gasp, to be sure. We've already had the ceremonial Igniting Of The Furnace, Planting Of The Bulbs, and the Changing Over Of The Closet. (It's Boot Season--hooray!)

Sadly, we've already had our first Frost Warning as well. Yikes.

Anyway, since we've last been together, I've collected a few snapshots to share with you. Let's take a look, shall we?

Here's the Tomato Fence, the one I pass by daily on my walk. To the right of the profusion of foliage you can see a few fronds of the cherry tomato plant peeping out above and below the slats. Just so you can see my Temptor.

Sadly, I walk past this every day now, too. Longtime readers of this blog know that I am no fan of Halloween decor to begin with, but how did this mass-produced, commercially made flag get all the way to stores with NO ONE picking up on the fact that CEMETERY is misspelled? This hurts me so much.

 But not as much as this. Not only are all the gruesome Halloween...things slammed right up against the chipper Christmas stuff--AND IT'S ONLY MID-OCTOBER--there are actually shoppers looking at the Christmas stuff back there. Furthermore, I realize Thanksgiving is a Quainte Olde Fashionede Observance now, but may we still have it? At its regularly scheduled time? Please?

I need to breathe.

And possibly take a pill.

Moving on to photos from our Department Of Redundancy Department:

Oh, may I? I swear; I read this twice, making absolutely certain that Mr. Ajay Mirmira did not also refer to an ATM machine or state that you could walk in at 2 o'clock AM in the morning. I also wondered if he would say something about ink pens or tuna fish or rising up or some other horrific unnecessary doubling of The Language that would make me swear into my coffee mug.

Finally, this. Alert Husband and Reader Rick saw this at nearby Menards, a home improvement store that is, as I told my friend Jackie, a store so enormous that it is like Home Depot and Walmart had a baby and put steroids in its bottle. (A brief aside:  Rick said that when he saw this, the first thing he said was, "Damn you, Nance! I never used to notice this shit until I met and married you. Now it irritates the hell out of me." Sigh. Ours is a Unique Love Story.)  Hey, Menards! Is it ever, ever possible to "Combine Apart?" No? Pro Tip:  Just say Combine. The word itself means "to put together".

So painful.

Welcome to Fall, everyone. It's getting chilly (and a little irksome) out there.

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In Which I Admit I Have A Problem (But I'm Not Doing Much About It)

Ah, September! You are sneaking away so speedily, like the chipmunks that scatter across my deck. When I sit out on my chaise lounge, book in hand and ice water tumbler in a shady spot, I'm so quiet and still that many of them wander right up to my chair. If I've sought the coolness of my umbrella table, some will even scamper across my feet. The moment I move to grab a sip or turn a page, however, they run for cover as if launched.

And here's me, trying to think of the last time I ran. Oh, ha ha. It is to laugh.

Perhaps I shall have to run one day soon. You see, each day on my walk, I pass by a tall fence bordering the sidewalk, and peeping out from its slats are a few fronds of a cherry tomato plant. Every so often, there is a perfectly cheerful little ripe tomato, completely red and plump, hanging there to greet me. I've been picking them and eating them as I go on about my way, telling myself that it's Perfectly Okay, that they're Sidewalk Tomatoes, all the while living in fear that the gardeners will one day catch me at it and I'll have to a) run like hell and reroute my walk; or b) face up to my sin and apologize like the Tomato Thief I am.

More likely, I'll walk by one day and there will be a sign that says STOP STEALING OUR TOMATOES! THIS MEANS YOU!

All of those things sound terrible.

But today, I ate two of them and they were terrific.

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It's A Peanut Butter Thing

I grabbed my huge water tumbler just now and there was peanut butter on it. Not a lot, but enough to make me roll my eyes, sigh, and not feel the least bit amused by it. It's ridiculous how often I find small dabs or smears of peanut butter in the most out of the way places. And lest you think I'm babysitting a toddler, let me assure you that I'm not. And for those of you who are settling in for a husband rant, you're going to be disappointed.

It's me; I'm the Typhoid Mary Of Peanut Butter.

Honestly, it's embarrassing. That stuff gets all over me whenever I'm near it. It doesn't help that I'm into the peanut butter every single day, sometimes twice.

During the summer Rick eats the very same lunch every single day, a peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich. He simply cannot face anything else, especially in the heat when he's out in the field. So, every night, I make him his Smucker's and Extra Crunchy Jif on wheat bread sandwich. As you can imagine, we buy a lot of peanut butter, so I get the enormous three pound jars, which are about eight inches tall, at the warehouse store. Once the level of peanut butter goes down in those jars, it's tough to maneuver the knife in there, especially in Extra Crunchy. Why don't the Jif, Peter Pan, and Skippy people put peanut butter in wide-mouth, squatty jars? Life would be so much easier! (And can we do something about that paper disk on the top that never, ever comes off cleanly and efficiently and that I have to wrestle with, resisting the urge to use my teeth? That would be terrific, too.)

As a child I had not much use for peanut butter. Now I am suddenly attracted to it like chocolate. A tart apple with peanut butter is my favourite lunch. Sometimes, I just eat a spoonful of peanut butter for lunch. Other hungrier times, a slice of toast with peanut butter and cheese.

Later, I find peanutty smears on my wrist, keyboard, phone, or nose. They could be on my sleeve, glasses, or refrigerator water dispenser.

It's...nuts.

I'm not a messy eater, and this doesn't happen to me with other spreads like butter or mayonnaise or even the strawberry jam. During my Nutella phase aeons ago, it wasn't a problem. And when I occasionally binge on (please don't judge me) marshmallow fluff, I don't mark a trail with it, either.

No, my dear friends, it's A Peanut Butter Thing. Is it just me? And if it is, any idea how I can clean up my act?


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And They Said It Wouldn't Last--The Dept. Of Nance Is Fourteen!

It was with some Wonder and Astonishment that I realized the Dept. of Nance is Fourteen this August 2019. This will be my 795th post here, and I have to admit that I haven't an inkling as to what I'm going to write. After fourteen years of this, I sometimes feel like all the Good Stuff has been taken, you know? I've written about so many things--The Politics, two sets of cats (and their maddening hair), my teaching days, my long-suffering husband Rick, my martini-drinking days, and my two sons who are now men--that I marvel at how I can find anything at all to write about anymore.

This blog was originally started to fend off any feelings of Hypocrisy. I was forever telling my Creative Writing students that writers write, period. They write as a matter of course. I wanted to practice what I preached, so I started this site and began writing, at first every day or every other day. Then I became gentler with myself, allowed myself more leeway. (The Universe, as you all know, makes other plans for us every now and then.) But through it all, I did keep writing here.

Blogging in general hit a peak for a time, and some bloggers got famous, got book deals, and some monetized their blogs--kind of like how YouTube is now, but on a smaller scale. It seemed like everyone was into SEO and Personal Branding and Hits and Niche Blogging and yada yada yada. I simply didn't want to get that worky; I already had my career. And once I retired, I didn't want another one. My blog was supposed to be my pleasure. (And, hopefully, part of someone else's.)

So, I still have an old fashioned blog where I unwind for a bit in the old style way: I write deliberately and at length about something I want to share with others; I hope it sparks some discussion; I respond to your comments directly so that it's a back-and-forth chat that includes everyone. I don't see it changing anytime soon.

Thanks to all of you who join me here. I do sincerely love having you. And, just in case I've left any stones unturned in fourteen years, here are

14 Random Things About Me

1. I like ketchup on macaroni and cheese.
2. I own seven pairs of prescription glasses (and two of prescription sunglasses).
3. I don't wear any jewelry, including my wedding band.
4. My favourite music will always be The Beatles.
5. I might like salsa if it were served warm.
6. Country music irritates the hell out of me.
7. I'm not eating guacamole often enough to suit me.
8. I don't get the allure of Twizzlers. Or Skittles.
9. I buy dog biscuits for other people's dogs.
10. I'm a firm believer in naming pets with people names.
11. Wearing peach or yellow makes my skin look green.
12. I think the acting in most old movies is horrendous.
13. I love taking the dumb quizzes on Buzzfeed.com.
14. If I lived on Pleasant Street and it wasn't pleasant, I'd start a petition drive to rename the street.

Again, thank you for reading. And for commenting. It's been a terrific Fourteen Years. Let's go for more! Share some thoughts and your own Random Things in Comments.

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I'm In A Mood: The Good, The Bad, And The Blues

Today finds me restless and a little bit fussy. I might have to go to Target just to feel smug about all the Back-to-School stuff on display.

But then I'd see all the Halloween candy and Christmas decorations and get snarky and irritated, so forget it.

Here are

Some Things I'm Cranky About

1. I'm sick of air conditioning.
2. I'm tired of figuring out dinner.
3. Cat Hair--holy effing crap.
4. No good tomatoes anyplace.
5. republicans.

You all get it, right? This summer has been a nightmare of heat and humidity, and while we're all Thankful for our AC, what wouldn't we give to shut it off and have open windows? For once? It's a goddam Hostage Crisis here at the Dept. My brain is like oatmeal from being entombed in here--cat hair covered oatmeal. Thanks to Number 5, my complaints are ridiculous, I know.

Yet, there is Gladness, too. Here are

Some Things I'm Happy About

1. I'm growing lovely basil in the herb garden.
2. We had a terrific trip up to Niagara-on-the-Lake last month.
3. Our wine cellar is restocked (and then some).
4. I'm reading like a maniac.
5. And doing crosswords in ink.

Last summer, my herb garden suffered from whitefly and some mystery ailment that spotted the basil leaves and left holes all over them. This year, better plants and the high heat/humidity are a boon to my pesto production. For those of you interested in the book "Before We Were Yours", I enjoyed it a great deal. It's a novel based upon true events. I disliked the alternating narrators/time frames construct, but it built suspense (there is a bit of the mystery element in here, too). I do recommend it. (As I do the wine from the Niagara-on-the-Lake and Twenty Valley/Bench regions.)

Oh, I would be remiss if I did not mention

This Thing I'm Sad About

Toni Morrison, who was born and raised in the same town I was, died this week. To say she was a brilliant writer is to damn with faint praise. I was lucky enough to meet her many, many years ago when I was a student teacher. She came to her alma mater, Lorain High School, for a special assembly, and thoughtful people there arranged for me to say hello. I remain in awe of her talent and her knowledge of writing. She was a writer's writer; her books are art. They make her immortal.

Now you...
Is summertime losing its charm for you? Share some Goods, Bads, and Blues of your own. Or, as always, just chat about these in Comments.


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Today's Special: Nance--A Last Gasp Quickie July Post

Hey, July! You're not going to sneak away before I get one last quickie blogpost out there. But I'm tired and I have a little case of PVC (Post Vacation Crabby), so don't expect Profound Genius. Light, simple, and easy are my guideposts of the day.

As a matter of fact, I'm stealing this idea from Pretty Much Everyone. It's an Age Old Blog Meme.

Today, Nance Is

Wearing: Shorts and a breezy, gauzy tunic bought at H&M about twelve years ago. I keep clothes forever. It still looks great; two women at the grocery store complimented me on it this morning. Naturally, my Bobs shoes and my glasses matched my outfit perfectly. Some things I cannot give up.

Reading: The fact that I am able to answer this is still a source of Such Profound Joy to me! I just finished The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls and am about 50 pages into Before We Were Yours by Lisa Wingate. Undoubtedly, all of you have already read these, but that's the great thing about books--they wait for you!

Working On: In the knitting realm, I am knitting a pair of boy and girl teddy bear handpuppets. I am also continuing work on a shawl for myself. In the more cerebral realm, I am always at work maintaining my Zen.

Hearing: Unfortunately, the air conditioner, still. While I am terribly grateful for it, I am tired of it. If it is on, it means it is too hot to be outdoors for very long, which makes me resentful. I also hear the absurdly loud clock in my office, the tick-tocking of which is laughably cliche enough to be a sound effect.

Making For Dinner: An enormous salad, to which will be added the strip steak marinating merrily away in its bath of olive oil, balsamic vinegar, fresh garlic, and spices. Rick and I will share the glass and a half of red left in the bottle from the other night while we prep and grill, then open a fresh one with dinner.

Thinking About: How when I was a little girl, I had only a couple of dreams. I wanted to be a teacher and get married and have two children. I did realize my dreams; they both came true. As I got older, my dreams changed, of course. But being a pragmatic person, I didn't really do a lot of Big Dreaming. But I know the little girl I was would be astonished at where she ended up today.

Planning: Very little. It's Summertime.


Share your Today or just Chat about mine with us in Comments.

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