November Challenge Post #10--A Few Of My Favourite Things

 A subject like this can be easy to write about or it can be a nightmare. I'm choosing not to take it too terribly seriously or overthink this. I have a long list of things that are my Favourites in categories that range from shampoo (Pantene Sheer Volume) to shortbread (Walkers), from books (To Kill a Mockingbird) to basketball players (Patrick Ewing forever). Showing you just a few is relatively easy. I'll just pick out the ones that I use most often in a normal Nance Day. 

Here then, in no particular order, are 

A Few Of My Favourite Things

1. My Sisters Comforter:  I call it this because my grandmother and both of her sisters (Ethel, Grace, and Bertha) worked on piecing and sewing this at the Senior Citizens' Center when they were all still alive. It's not hand-sewn, and I think its colours are hideous, but I love it. My parents got it for me when I went away to college in 1979, and at one point, I had put it away. But I remembered my grandma saying how silly it was that people didn't use things like antique mason jars even when they were still serviceable. I knew she'd want me to use that comforter rather than simply store it. I use it every single night, even in summertime, cuddling under it on the couch, watching TV, usually with a cat or two curled up on it with me. It's backed with flannel, which makes it even cozier. It's coming apart now and fraying, so I'll need to find a way to get it fixed.

2. Generic Volumizing Root Lifter:  I usually try to get this stuff at Sally Beauty when it goes on sale for 4 bottles for $20. It's like magic. I spray it at the roots of my slightly-damp hair, then blow dry. I don't have to do anything else, and I like that. I'm way past the days of wanting to futz around with my hair. And my once-thick tresses are sadly Not That anymore. This really helps me look nice without a lot of bother.

3. California Olive Ranch Extra Virgin Everyday Olive Oil:  This stuff is my go-to olive oil, and for the longest time, it was hard to find. They came out with a Destination label, which blended in internationally-sourced oils, and I didn't care for it as much. But my warehouse club had a big stock of the all-California oil, and I got several at a very good price. I really like this oil.

Looks like I'm all done here! You know what to do in Comments, and how I love our Chats.

November Post #9--I'm Freestyling And Talking About President Joe Biden And Vice President Kamala Harris

Topic #9 is supposed to be My Best Physical Feature. To be honest, I have no earthly idea. There have been times that I have walked by a mirror or store window and not even known my own reflection. I have an odd perception of what I look like. So, I'll let someone who knows me answer this one, perhaps. The whole idea makes me uncomfortable.

Besides, don't we have something more Important and Wonderful to talk about? I'd say that we do!

How many of you smiled and took a full, deep breath just seeing that picture?

Here's another reason to smile.

While this election should never, ever have been as close as it was (and that does make me shake my head in wonder and dismay), I choose to see it as a full repudiation of Chaos, Incivility, and Corruption. The individual wallowing in the White House and tarnishing the Office of the Presidency will continue to do so, but his time is thankfully limited. His bootlicking lackeys can bluster and blow right along with him, but It Just Doesn't Matter. His cult can drive their gas-guzzling trucks with their flapping flags up and down the highways and dirt roads, but It Just Doesn't Matter. He can tweet in all caps about stolen votes and fraud and taking it to the courts (or Court), but It Just Doesn't Matter. He's Out, Gone, Done, and in his own obnoxious word, Fired.

I, for one, feel lighter. Joyful-er. Safer and more secure. I can be Proud of being an American again. Pretty soon, I can watch the national news and not roll my eyes at yet another stupid, outrageous, or infuriating spew of crap coming from the White House. I can, perhaps, retire my #Resist.

Wasn't it uplifting and affirming to listen to a President speak about caring for the country? One who said he was humbled by the trust we placed in him? Who spoke truly lovingly about his family and his wife? Who spoke of unity and not division? My heart was so full as he spoke. I could feel years of stress and pain begin to slough away.

His partnership with President Obama may very well be the way he will view his relationship with Vice President Harris. Since she joined the Senate, she has been a standout. Her questioning of Kavanaugh was masterful and still riles the old white guy republicans in the Chamber. She will be a Force in that office. What a vibrant, vital, and welcome replacement for smarmy, duplicitous Pence.

One of 45* 's ghostwriters said that 45*'s favourite strategy is to create so much chaos and trouble that the other people simply become exhausted and give up. 45* himself said, "I am a whiner and I keep whining and whining until I win." Well, our democracy doesn't work that way. As President-Elect Biden's campaign manager said, "The United States government is perfectly capable of escorting trespassers out of the White House."

How I'd love to see that!

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November Post #8--My Worst Habits

I wonder if I should consult my husband Rick for this particular post. He would probably have a much better perspective on my Worst Habits than I would. Presently, he is napping in the recliner, having already been awake for a strenuous three and a half hours, most of which were occupied by watching the Sunday morning political chat shows. Apparently, they took a great deal out of him.

While he rests, let me take a shot at what I think might be

My Worst Habits

1. I Cannot Sit Normally:  Most people sit on a chair or sofa with their feet on the floor. I fold one leg underneath me and then sit. Eventually, both feet end up under me or I sit cross-legged. It is a gargantuan struggle for me to sit with both feet on the floor like a normal adult, even at a dinner table.

2. I Sleep In The Fetal Position Always:  Even in a king-size bed, I cling to the edge and never, ever stretch out my legs. I now have to wear night braces on my wrists to keep them straight and prevent daytime pain. 

3. I Am A Leaner:  My mother, St. Patsy, called me out on this constantly as a child and teen. If I sat next to her on the sofa, I leaned on her heavily. I lean to one side on the couch now, resting on an armrest. I do the same thing in my big chair. I even lean to one side in the car, both as driver and passenger. Even when I walk on the sidewalk, I tend to drift. I often wonder if my center of gravity is off or what.

4. I Need Symmetry And Order:  I hate when the big rug in the dining room is askew and must straighten it. I have to have the light switches synced--if one is in the Off position, but is actually On because the other switch was used, I have to make it right. I immediately fix any crooked picture, mirror, or clock. I hate if the wrong pillow is in the wrong spot. I'm working on it.

5. I Can't Get Going In The Morning:  After 30 years of exploding into my morning full-blast and in high heels with a room full of relentless teenagers, I looked forward in retirement to easing into my days. Now, I've taken it to the extreme. I might wake up at 7:00 or 7:30, but I will fritter away my time for three or four hours reading the newspaper, blogs, and other sites while I sip my two cups of coffee. I answer my Comments, make comments, answer emails, and do all sorts of procrastinating activities before I finally truly Get My Day Started. It's by far My Very Worst Habit.

By the way, Rick surfaced a moment ago and I asked him to weigh in. After several minutes of thought, he said, "I don't think you really have any bad habits." Bless his heart. I love him so much.

Your turn, if you feel like 'fessing up. What are your worst habits? Do we share any?

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November Challenge Post #7--What's In My Bag

First, let me apologize for the lateness of this post. I was on St. Patsy Duty. She required a trip to the hair salon for a shampoo, perm, cut, and style, and ice cream afterward. I hope that's a good enough excuse.

Today we are supposed to look inside my bag. I'm not sure how edifying that will be, but okay. I think it's more important that we look at my bag, actually. And, I prefer the term purse. Bag sounds kind of ugly and homeless-lady-on-the-corner to me. Here's my favourite purse, and the one I carry in fall and winter.

Most of you know of my Cow Obsession. My dear friend Leanne got me this purse years ago, and I adore it. She sent it to me out of the blue one day, and I fell in love instantly. I get more compliments on it than any purse I carry. My grey cat Marlowe loves to curl up next to it on the chair and sleep with it.

Inside this purse you'd find

1. a little red leather wallet

2. a migraine pill

3. a Shakespeare pillbox

4. my keys on a bright pink furball keychain

5. two Target gift cards

6. a receipt from the warehouse club

7. a drugstore coupon

8. a Burt's Bees lip balm

9. two pens

10. a key to my brother's house

11. a hairbrush

12. my sunglasses

Thrilling, right? I'd ask what's in your purse, but instead, tell me what's the weirdest or scariest thing you've ever had to carry in your purse. I'll think about what mine is and get back to you in Comments. Or just tell me what you think about my Cow Purse. 

Sixth In The November Challenge: My Pet Peeves

 

Oh, dearest Readers, today, to quote one Mister Rogers, is A Beautiful Day In The Neighborhood. In my corner of NEO, I am enjoying blue skies, warm sunshine, 68 degree temperatures, and (dare I say it?) an impending announcement of an impending Biden Presidency. Thank you, Pennsylvania. Thank you, Arizona. Thank you, Nevada. Hang in there, Georgia.

It's almost too smiley of a day to talk about today's topic, but I have taken on this Challenge, so discuss it I must. My only fear is that once I get started, I might not be able to stop listing, in no particular order, just a few of

My Pet Peeves

1. Apostrophes used to make words plural

2. Pajama-wearing in public

3. Masks worn with the nose uncovered

4. Use of the non-word "irregardless"

5. People who say "I could care less"*

6. Overuse of the word "like" in conversation

7. Smokers who hang around doorways

8. Scratchy pens

9. People who must tell you that they don't even have a TV

10. Blogs that make you click to Read More

11. Bloggers who don't acknowledge or answer comments, yet want you to leave them

12. Cat hair

13. When a product I love is discontinued

14. The ridiculous variations in sizing for women

15. People who say, "Tell me how you really feel" when you express strong emotion

*it's "I couldN'T care less (please tell me that you knew that)

Honestly, I could go on and on and on. I guess this is really more of a Bitch Session than a list of Pet Peeves, isn't it? Or are they the same thing? It doesn't matter. None of these things is enough to make me get truly angry or do more than just sigh or, on a bad day, want to smack someone. Sometimes, they even make me laugh, like the people who say loftily, "Oh, no, I don't watch TV. We haven't even owned one in years." I did laugh at that once, and when I recovered, I said, "I haven't heard something so ridiculous in my whole life!" I may have been a bit inebriated at the time because I don't remember anything else.

But I digress.

Please, take a load off and tell us a few of your Pet Peeves. Do we have some in common?

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Fifth In The November Series: Fears

Before I get to today's November Challenge Topic, allow me to address the Commenting Challenge Topic:  Disappearing Comments. Some of you have experienced your comments flashing away suddenly as you are typing them. This is happening because of the slow loading of my sidebar elements. If you wait until my page completely loads and then begin typing your comment, everything will be fine. I have no idea why the sidebar is so poky; I've stripped away all that I can. Thanks for your patience. You all know how I value your Comments.

Now, on to the subject at hand.

I know I've discussed my Fears before, so I won't belabour them by going into big long explanations. As I've aged, some have become more prevalent and others have receded. I do try not to dwell on any of them, really. Life, as they say, is too short. Here, then, in no particular order, are

My Fears 

1. Getting Alzheimer's Disease/Dementia

2. Becoming Poor

3. Falling Down Steps

4. Snakes

5. Rick Dying Before Me

With regard to #5, I am Rick's Care Manager, and I take extremely good care of him. He has even given up doughnuts for me, and I cook with very little salt for him (out of deference to his high blood pressure). He has sworn a solemn oath to outlive me, and I hold him to it. I also remind him every now and then so he doesn't forget and become tempted to take any chances or eat Krispy Kremes. I feel it's the least he can do since I've told him he can remarry or take up with trollops after I die.

Your turn. What are your fears? Do we share any?  

Fourth In The November Series: Songs I Currently Love

Let me say at the outset that I am Not A Music Person. Unlike my husband, who usually has at least one earbud in his ear whenever he is puttering around or mowing or trying to fall asleep for a nap, I rarely listen to music. I will put some on in the car now and then, or I'll play music if I'm preparing something sort of worky in the kitchen, but usually I like things fairly quiet.

Thirty years of noisy hallways, listening to the sound of your own voice talking about English, and paying attention to student presentations and discussion will do that to you.

Every once in a while, however, I hear a song or two that I like enough to download onto my iPhone and play in those rare moments when I'm in the mood to hear music that I choose. (Don't you get annoyed flicking around on the radio to find something? And no, I won't invest in Sirius. Why pay for something I rarely use?) I kind of go in spurts, listening to the same sort of songs or artists for a time, and then I don't listen to much of anything at all. And I'm all over the timeline as well, from the 1960s to today. What can I say? I'm very specific--yet ambivalent--when it comes to music.

Here then are the

Songs I Currently Love (Maybe Not Love, But Like A Lot At The Right Time)

1. Blinding Lights--The Weeknd:  This song could be about bass fishing for all I know. I don't listen to its lyrics, nor do I try to. I like its techno edge and its peppy tempo. 

2. You're All I Need To Get By--Aretha Franklin:  I heard this in a commercial and immediately thought, "Why don't I have this on my phone?" The original of this was by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell. It's good, but there's something about Aretha...you know. 

3. Lose Yourself--Eminem:  I do listen to these lyrics. They're wonderful, and the song has such a raw energy and driving beat. It's very energizing. 

4. Stay With Me--Sam Smith:  This is a lovely and sentimental love song with a great deal of that blue-eyed soul. What a voice!

5. Born To Run--Bruce Springsteen:  A true American blue-collar poet. This is an anthem. Cleveland's most popular rock station used to play this at 5 o'clock on the dot every Friday to start the weekend. I play it whenever I feel lots of joy.

6. One Headlight--The Wallflowers:  This is just a darned good song. Julie from Thinking About mentioned it a while ago in Comments, and I immediately downloaded it. Every so often it wanders back into my playlist, where it has been lately.

What about you? What songs are you listening to lately, and what do you think about my playlist?

Third In The November Series: Ways To Win My Heart

Today's topic seems a little sappy to me. It makes me think of Dudley Do Right, that cartoon from the old Rocky and Bullwinkle show. He was a cleft-chinned Mountie who always defeated the arch-villian Snidely Whiplash. Snidely constantly tied Nell Fenwick to the railroad tracks and Dudley constantly rescued her, trying to win her heart. (This never worked, however; Nell said Dudley was simply "too good.")

I, however, never liked Bad Boys, and ended up with one of the best Good Boys. He didn't so much win my heart as come to the same conclusion that I did, almost immediately, that we were simply a complete set.

If I were going to break it down now and look at it in a more general way, I'd say that there are definitely several ways to win my staunch love and loyalty pretty much forever.

Ways To Win My Heart

1. Be Authentic:  I'm always exactly who I am, no matter who I'm with and no matter where I am. I might clean up my language a little, but what you see (or read) is what you get. I believe in being forthright, direct, kindly honest, and I don't pretend to be someone I'm not. I would expect the same from you. My father called it "being down to earth", and he valued this in people, too. We don't have to have the same tastes in things. We can disagree on some philosophies and do it respectfully. I respect individuality and people who are genuine.

2.  Be A Listener:  I've been in a lot of one-sided relationships where I've done all the emotional heavy lifting. I've done all the supporting and listening. When it came time for me to unload a little of my own emotional baggage, they didn't want to hear it. Or they simply turned the focus back onto themselves. Or they said, "I can't handle that right now; I have my own stuff to deal with." It's vital to me to have someone who not only Listens, but Hears what I'm saying.

3.  Show Compassion:  And not just about me, but the world at large. I want to know that you care about people and animals and nature. I want to know that you think of others, and not just the people in your own back yard or state or country. Are you moved by stories of suffering in communities that are not your own? Do they compel you to kindness? It's important to me that you are humane and not afraid to show your feelings. 

4.  Say The Five Words:  There are times when I get overwhelmed or just batshit crazy about things. I might be stressed about legitimate demands or emotional circumstances, or I might be overthinking something relatively mundane. That's when I need to hear The Five Words:  I'll Take Care Of It. Ah! Instant relief, like stepping into air conditioning from the heat and humidity of an oppressive August day. Those Five Words are verbal jammies. They are a linguistic massage. They tell me that I can stop being the grownup for just a little bit, that I can have my dessert of deep breaths before my dinner of responsibility and obligation. Pour them into a stemmed glass, and you have a fine, fine vintage.

Now that I've let you in on the secrets of winning my heart, so to speak, you can answer one or both of these questions in Comments:  What are the ways to win your heart? or Which of my four ways is also the key to winning your heart? 

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Welcome To November: My Favourite Quote

 

"There are no ordinary lives."

I wish I could remember when I first discovered this quote. It has made such an impression on me that you'd think I would, but I have no idea. All I know is that when I read it or heard it, the quiet gravity of it struck me immediately. The statement is simple but immense. The words convey a sort of silent explosion of clarity.

Too often, we dismiss our lives as small or routine. We think that because we aren't doing things on a big scale, we're inconsequential. We look into our past and don't see the usual trappings of a hero, so we feel that we have a bland personal history. I'm challenging you to look again.

There are no ordinary lives.

When I was in high school, I tutored underserved elementary kids in reading in a church basement. I made all my own materials--a huge portfolio of creative stuff that I later donated to another tutor. I know I made a difference to those kids.

When I was in college, I tutored a Vietnamese boy named Ricky whose parents were boat people. I helped him with English and also helped him try to overcome a stutter.

When I was teaching, I used to take food in for my Creative Writing kids. I said it was to help them be creative, but I knew at least a few of them were food insecure and needed a snack before lunch.

I've set aside countless hours to phone call, text, write letters and postcards, and contact representatives and senators to fight for changes that will ensure a cleaner environment, protect citizens' rights, save precious lands for Native Americans and indigenous species, and codify voting rights, women's rights, and LGBTQ+ rights. 

Like you, there are many, many more things I have done, but they are quite personal and don't belong here, in this forum.

I'd love it if you'd think of one or two things that you've done in your life that show you weren't as ordinary as you may have thought. 

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Welcome To November: It's All About Me

 As if 2020 hasn't been challenging enough, I've decided to take on the November Blogging Challenge that's floating about the Interwebs. I'm well aware that I was to start yesterday, on November 1st, but I was busy dogsitting Zydrunas (Best Granddog Ever) and feeling Morose about the s**w whipping around outside. 

Actually, I was feeling Irritated and Put-Upon. (About the weather. Never about Zydrunas.)

So, here I am, catching up. I'll have to do two posts today in order to get on track. Sigh. That's okay; it will give me a break from my Stress Cleaning. (I think you know what my Stress is about. #VoteHimOut)

Here is Yesterday's Prompt:  20 Things About Me. Goodness, I have no idea how I'll come up with that many without boring you all to pieces. 

20 Things About Me

1. I hate being late. (Ironic, I know.)

2. I don't use artificial sweeteners.

3. I don't drink soda or anything carbonated.

4. My favourite bird is the blue jay.

5. No one ever touches my feet.

6. I have no sense of direction.

7. I have three kinds of olive oil in the kitchen at all times.

8. I don't wear any jewelry, including my wedding and engagement rings.

9. I don't know how to swim and won't go in water above my shoulders.

10. I almost died from a burst appendix when I was nine.

11. I read deeply about President and Mary Lincoln.

12. I taught high school English and Creative Writing for 30 years.

13. I designed the curriculum and was the sole instructor for Creative Writing.

14. I once wanted to be a Roman Catholic nun.

15. I wear my sunglasses at night.

16. I only eat white albacore tuna.

17. I don't like white chocolate.

18. I've never seen Casablanca, and I don't want to.

19. I get angry at stupid women who diminish us all.

20. I love Walkers shortbread.

Usually, I'd pick a few of these and chat about them, but I have another post to write. I'm happy to say more in Comments, however, as usual. (Especially if we share some of these traits!)

Let's hope November is kind to us all. And let's see if I can keep up this month.

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A Cranial Clear-Out--Some This 'N That For You To Pick Through

 It's time for a general Cranial Clear-Out, so here are a few of the bits and bobs that have been taking up space in my cerebellum.

~*~I have a new nextdoor neighbor, and I have fallen deeply in love with him. His name is Oakley, and he is a rescue puppy. On Friday, it was so warm and breezy out that I had all the windows open, and I could hear his squeaky toy. It gave me such giggly joy.

~*~A few ads for cosmetic procedure clinics here use the slogans "You're worth it" and "You deserve it" to hawk their services. That drives me crazy. Just because I'm worth it and deserve it doesn't mean I can or should have things. I'm absolutely worth a live-in maid and chef. I'm definitely worth a tummy tuck and a house in Italy. And hell be damned sure I'm worth a lifetime supply of peanut MM's (I'm addicted). And I honestly think I deserve them. I even know many other people who deserve those things. But that doesn't mean that we should automatically go out and get them. If I went and got everything I deserved or was worth, we'd have declared bankruptcy hundreds of times over. It would be the same for you.

~*~My porch furniture and my deck furniture are still out. I'm a little in denial and a little bit lazy. We hit near 80 on Thursday and Friday, and I made the most of both outdoor spaces each day, partly because it was so gorgeous out and partly because I wanted to make myself feel better that my porch furniture and my deck furniture are still out. For those of you scoring at home, it is the last week of October. Sigh.

~*~I have been doing something terribly juvenile for the past week or so, but it provides me with a rather cathartic feeling. As I drive, I give the finger to each and every 45* campaign sign I see. I'm not aggressive and vicious about it; I don't roll down the window and jab my hand out or anything. I simply raise my hand slightly and flip the bird. Perhaps I'm merely "sinking to their level", as my late father would say, but I honestly don't think so. I think I'm engaged in a little therapeutic exercise and releasing tension. 

~*~Northeast Ohio has hit Peak in Autumn Colour, and my walks are sometimes not walks at all, but a series of Stop And Awe moments. I spend an inordinate time standing under trees and looking upward, marvelling at their brilliant displays. Here are a few examples from Thursday (or was it Friday?) when the weather was downright glorious and the trees were a fiesta.

 

Let's leave it there (no pun intended), shall we? I hope you had some joy, some beauty, and some stress-relief in your life this past week. And we must all do our best to find more in the week to come.

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Bug Stuff, The Movie!

 

I just could not Let It Go. 

I'll be back here in a day or so--which you all know is NanceSpeak for a week, more likely--with something more substantial. But this damn Technical Difficulty was not going to break me. 

You were going to watch this mantis eat her mate whether you cared or not. Gosh, I feel better.

Carry on.

Bug Stuff (And There's Supposed To Be A Movie But Blogger Is Ruining My Life)

When I was a kid about a hundred years ago, I feel like there were more creepy crawlies around in Nature. I can remember catching dozens of lightning bugs (you might call them fireflies) and putting them in a jar with some grass and a twig or two. Now, I rarely see them, and yes, I do look for them. It wasn't odd at all to see the occasional turtle wandering in the yard or even on the sidewalk. And toads were everywhere. Once, when we were at my grandparents' cabin, hundreds of the tiniest frogs I had ever seen came out one night and clung to a tree. Some covered the ground below it. I was instantly in love and wanted to take dozens and dozens home with me. They were no bigger than a dime. By morning they were all gone, and I never saw anything like it again.

I remember a lot more butterflies, too, and moths. Big summertime moths that beat against the screens and porch lights. Grasshoppers were around as well, and when I held them, they'd "spit tobacco" in my hands. We'd play with big grey potato bugs (you might call them pill bugs) and get them to roll into tight balls, tucking their legs until all of them disappeared. I can't remember the last time I saw one. 

Every so often--very, very rarely--a praying mantis would appear. They were almost mythical creatures, and I had heard from someone (my brother, probably) that it was against the law to kill one. I would be almost terrified to see one, afraid that I'd somehow cause its death and get into terrible trouble.  Add to that their odd appearance and weird movements, and I'd just as soon not see them, period.

Obviously, once I got older, I wasn't so naive about the praying mantis; instead, I was fascinated by it, especially its famous mating ritual wherein the female bites the head off of and then consumes the male. I couldn't imagine how that frail-looking head and tiny mouth could accomplish such a feat. Plus, how cool is that, really?  And besides The Internet and documentaries like Planet Earth, when would I ever get a chance to see that up close?

Well, it turns out that This Week is the answer to that question. For quite some time now, a pair of praying mantises (mantii?) has been living on and around my back deck. They climb the back of my house, walk across my deck, and meander among the bushes and grasses nearby. Yesterday, I was about to walk into the back door and noticed them hanging onto the bench like so:

Apparently the male had already lost his head. Since I wasn't really interrupting anything sensitive, I shot a short video:

VIDEO NOT AVAILABLE BECAUSE BLOGGER WON'T UPLOAD IT

(That would be Marlowe, my female crabby cat, protesting in the background. So needy. IF YOU COULD SEE IT AND HEAR IT. I'll keep troubleshooting it.)

There is no sign of the now-single praying mantis today. I looked for her this morning when I left to go vote and again when I came home. I searched when I went out for my walk and when I returned. An obnoxiously loud fly slammed into the kitchen window above me, and I saw a particularly ugly fat grey spider, but not the praying mantis.  Perhaps, her mission accomplished, she has moved on.

Fingers crossed that the multitudes of wee tree frogs are next on the horizon.

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Politics For The Concerned

Yes, I'm still here. September has been...uninspiring...and I have to tell you, I'm not feeling particularly Chipper, Centered, or Grounded lately. I'm leaning on my Coping Mechanisms (walking, journaling, reading, meditating, weekending at the lake) and referencing this article more than a few times. As my favourite doctor, Dr. B. Neurologist Extraordinaire says, I am a great observer and know my body well. It is telling me that I am in need of Gentling (and if that's not a word, it should be) and Radical Self-Care (and that's a term I'm borrowing from my buddy Shirley). 

It's not something I'm going through alone; I know that. Those of us who are Concerned Persons feel a sense of desperation and endlessness at times. That sense of being directionless. Those of us who care about others, not just those whose skin colour, race, sex, or gender match our own, feel a sense of almost constant outrage mixed with sadness. We feel a shadow of panic as we see the representatives of our elected government not only enable criminal and immoral activity, but encourage it with impunity. I know I feel a sense of dismay and profound disappointment when I see evidence of support for those people proudly displayed in campaign signs and flags in my own community. I wonder at their embrace of such cruelty, bigotry, and degradation.

I don't even have to mention the stressors caused by the pandemic. We're all living them, unless we subscribe to the Magical Thinking of the deniers and nihilists who are making it worse for everyone by selfishly refusing to follow safety protocols. We all miss our Former Lives, but not nearly as much as those who have died from the virus, alone and afraid, miserable and suffering. We who are Concerned Persons don't simply dismiss them and deny them. We mourn them and know or know of them and recognize the senselessness of their deaths. They weigh on us, and we grieve them.

The current resident of the White House supposedly rode in on a wave of disaffected voters who felt unrepresented. These so-called Flyover State Voters were sick of being ignored; they were tired of Coastal Elites calling the shots in Washington. Is this really what the middle of America comprises, a herd of racist bigots who flock to facebook to spread hideous conspiracy theories? I can't even begin to express my shame for Ohio, which has become more red and gun-happy than Texas. And thanks to savage gerrymandering, it will remain so for this election. So much for the reputation Midwesterners had for being so welcoming, kind, friendly, and...well, you understand. 

Excuse me for seeming jaded; I feel the same way about so-called Christians, too. Let me just leave that comment there. I'm sure you understand what I mean.

And here's the thing:  nuts and bolts, my basic life has not drastically changed during this administration. My family all have been employed, we've been fortunate to have retained our insurances, we've escaped this virus thus far even though my husband and sons are all essential workers. As one of 45*'s supporters said, we can still gas up our vehicles, put food on the table, and get our booze on the weekend. I know we are incredibly and magnificently fortunate.

But as Concerned Persons, my family all know that It's Not Just About Us. It never is. It's about our Democracy. It's about our friends, our neighbors, our international family, and our status as a world example. It's about the people who need more than we do. It's about standing up for those who are overlooked. It's about adding volume to the voices of the voiceless. It's about righting wrongs. It's about being proud of what we stand for, what our President says and does, and what he or she represents to the world on our behalf. It's about Liberty And Justice For All.

This isolationism, this Only (White) America mindset is small-mindedness to a fault. I'm reminded of the quote by Thomas Paine, political activist and American Revolutionary, "'Tis the business of little minds to shrink; but he whose heart is firm, and whose conscience approves his conduct, will pursue his principles unto death." Only one candidate in this presidential contest can claim true heart, conscience, and principles. As a Concerned Person, I can only hope that others see this and vote to restore heart, conscience, and principles to the White House.

I will be voting early, in person with mask and gloves, and I will be voting Democrat down the ballot. I am voting to send a message and I am voting not just for myself, but for my country and for those who need rights restored. I've had enough.

How about you?

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I Saw These Things In My Bathroom, And Now You Have To Look At Them, Too

I wish I could say that I noticed these things because I was meticulously cleaning my bathroom, carefully wiping away each speck of dried soapsuds or polishing the porcelain and chrome knobs of the vanity faucet. Oh, I wish.

Actually, what I really wish is that Someone Else came in once a week to clean my bathroom. Hell, while I'm at it, I wish that Someone would come in and clean my whole house. Yes, I'm retired, but housework holds no charm for me.

But, I digress.

Here are a couple of things in my bathroom that snagged my Normal Filter. Let's see if It's Just Me.

1. I Am A Lousy Mother.

This tag is on my blowdryer. As you can see, I am a Rule Follower and DID NOT REMOVE IT! I did not, however, ever warn my children about the risk of death by electric shock. Ever. By some miracle, both Jared and Sam are still alive more than thirty years later. And I had blowdryers in the house the entire time! And bathtubs! By the way, neither my blowdryer nor my bathtub looks like the one pictured in the tag. I'd have to consult Rick, but I'm pretty sure that building codes do not allow an outlet right there by a bathtub. I'm absolutely positive, however, that Rules Of The English Language do not dictate that set of quotation marks. Just sayin'.


2. What Kind Of Mixed Messaging Is Happening Here?

This is my shower curtain liner. We have incredibly hard water, so I end up getting a new one about every four months. No amount of washing/soaking in various solutions will completely take out the ugly orangey residue. I just replace the liner, and I get nice cloth ones at my wondrous grocery store for two bucks. This one made me laugh. I'm pretty sure no sultan ever got his linens from China, and if he somehow did, they were not 100% polyester. I think about all the beautiful fibers and textiles made in the geographic areas of the Ottoman Empire, and then I look at my $1.99 shower curtain liner. I imagine entire desert tents, perhaps, made of shower curtain liners flapping in the warm nighttime breezes as the sultans clap for a servant. "Send to the Chinese for more of these polyester linens!" they command. "They are durable and cheap, and lightweight for easy travel." Of course, there is the Sultan of Brunei. He could certainly get his linens from China, but he is worth about 28 billion dollars, so I doubt he'd be surrounding himself with 100% polyester anything, let alone polyester shower curtain liners. He probably has a Himalayan Pink Salt cavern shower, no curtains needed.

My bathroom has nothing like that, just a death trap blowdryer and a wannabe royal shower curtain liner, both good for a couple of laughs.  Thank goodness I noticed them both.


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The Dept. Of Nance Is Fifteen!

...And they said it wouldn't last.

Actually, no one really said that. Maybe I did a few times, and a few times I almost did quit writing here. But here I am, Fifteen and hanging on.

By the way, I'd never go back to actually being Fifteen. It wasn't terrible, mind you: I was editor of the high school paper, had lots of friends, did well in school, and from what I remember, pretty much enjoyed my life that year. But Memory being what it is--soft and blurry and unreliable--tends to shield us from some Crummy Stuff. Fifteen is hard.

I taught sophomores for the bulk of my 30+ year career, and I know of what I speak. I loved teaching sophomores. They weren't as crazed as freshmen, not as caught up in romance or jobs as juniors, and not as lazy and stressed as seniors. (Yes, seniors are lazy and stressed at the same time. Trust me.)

In honor of my Fifteenth Anniversary here, I'm going to share some of the questions I get most often about my Teaching Career.

1. Do you miss Teaching?

The actual Teaching, yes. I really do. I especially miss sharing the wonderful American Literature poetry, novels, and plays I got to introduce and read along with my sophomores. I loved watching them grab onto the nuances inherent in them, the colour symbolism in The Great Gatsby, the importance of the motifs in The Catcher in the Rye, the huge humanity in the works of Walt Whitman, the subtleties in Arthur Miller's stage directions for The Crucible. I appreciated their dogged determination as they plodded through grammar and the real triumph on their faces when they suddenly grasped the formulas of complex and compound sentences and could identify them in real writing, like President Lincoln's Gettysburg Address. It was The Best.

2. Why don't you substitute teach or volunteer at a school?

First of all, subbing on the high school level in my district (and surrounding districts) is NOT teaching. It's the worst parts of being a Teacher: taking attendance, crowd control, discipline, boring worksheets or idiot lesson plans. It's like the first day over and over again. Volunteering at a school? Same thing. Not Teaching. I don't want to run copies for someone or make endless cutouts for someone or sit and grade papers. All of that is stuff I hated about my job--the Not Teaching Stuff.

3. Do you miss the kids?

Yes, I really do. I miss being around teenagers. My job kept me informed about What Was Cool, What The New Slang Was, and all the current important business in the world of The Youth. I also miss being around people who are just fun a great deal of the time. And who don't talk about problems, health, or politics. They were always refreshing and always interesting. True, they were often too focused on themselves, but once they got out of their own bubbles, they were fascinating to me. I taught in a huge high school with an enrollment of 2000 with a significant minority population and more than 60% of students qualified for free or reduced lunch. Many led lives I could not imagine. Many drove me batshit crazy. Many made me cry with empathy. The majority gave me great joy.

4. Why don't you...?

People are always tossing suggestions at me for other career moves. Why don't I teach at a (fill in the blank) program? Why don't I write a book about my career? Why don't I look into this or that? First of all, perhaps you did not get the Memo. I AM RETIRED. And I love how people act like writing a book is just a simple nothing. It's a lot of work, and in case you have not noticed, I have enough trouble showing up here on a semi-regular basis. I AM RETIRED. Besides, my career was not special in that it would make a wonderful book for anyone but me, and I have the Memories.

5. Do you remember your students?

Oh, yes. I remember a great deal of them. Some I remember by name. Some I remember by face. Some I remember only in a little scene or snippet. Some I remember in a combination of those. Several have become treasured and cherished friends. Still others are friends of my sons, so I see them or hear of them regularly. There are so many that I still think of from time to time. So very many. What is so wonderful is that they come into my life now and then. Most recently, we bought a car, and the saleswoman was my former student. She is still delightful and caring. That made it so much easier; I knew I could trust her. She showed me pictures of her family, and I was happy for her Happiness.

**********
I told many Teaching stories here at the Dept. of Nance while I was in The Thick Of It.  If you're interested, you can click the tags Classroom, Teaching, or School.

Thank you for reading here at the Dept. Thank you, especially, if you are a Commenter. Life for all of us is a question of Priorities and Demands. That you would take Precious Time to read--and comment!--means that you have prioritized me and my writing and thoughts. That means so very much to me.

I look forward to Sixteen.

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Don't Ever Let Anyone Tell You That Old Gas Stations Or Spelling Cannot Be Romantic

Scene opens on Rick and Nance driving home. It is blistering hot, and they are tired. Nance, perhaps unwisely, tries to lighten things up when they stop at a traffic light and, on the near corner, is the gas station you see above.

Nance:  (very serious) Rick. You must never, ever stop at that gas station.

Rick:  (tiredly) What? Oh god. That place. It's terrible. The pumps are all--

Nance:  I'm not talking about that.

Rick:  (looks at the gas station for several moments; the light changes; they drive on) Well, what then?

Nance: It's just not safe. There are (adds a meaningful pause, then says the rest in a stentorian voice) Icy Conditions. Even now, at the height of the Dog Days Of Summer, there could be sleety puddles or--

Rick:  (a little exasperated)  Geeze, Nance! And here I am, looking for misspelled words or an out-of-place apostrophe!

Nance:  I could not love you any more than I do right at this minute. You know me so well.

Rick:  (big sigh)  Yes, I do.

End Scene.

In Which I Reflect Upon Small Moments Of Pure Joy

Last week I was driving to pick up my mother (previously referred to here on the blog as St. Patsy) for one of her doctor's appointments. My mother has a team of doctors who serve as her Wellness Superheroes. At 90 she is in remarkable physical health, despite her inordinate fondness for ice cream.

On this particular day I was stopped at the traffic light and, being first in my lane at the intersection, noticed movement in the first car headed the opposite direction across the road. A great deal of movement, actually, and so I took a moment to get a better look.

The driver of the car was its sole occupant. He was giving himself completely to Car Dancing: his hands hit the wheel in rhythm; his body bounced up and down; his head nodded and shook back and forth. He was grinning as if he were the happiest guy in the world. I started smiling, too, just looking at him.

For a moment I reached for my phone. "I should video this," I thought, "and put it on the blog." Then I put my hand back on the steering wheel.

I wanted to let this simple moment of Pure Joy be just that, Simple. Not everything needs to be recorded, photographed, captured, or put on display for everyone else to see. Sometimes, just Living In That Moment is the very best thing you can do, like the Happy Car Dancing Man. I felt like I'd be ruining the moment for both of us.

I drove by and felt very lucky to have seen him. He really brightened my day.

Today I drove St. Patsy to another doctor's appointment. I saw a hawk dive for its prey and a dog head sticking out of a passing pickup truck. My mother and I snarked back at my GPS, just for the hell of it. I thought again of the Car Dancing Guy, and how happy he was. It made me smile all over again.

Why My Neighbor Calls Me Wonder Woman

Many months ago, after the battle of the Blue Jays versus the Robins was waged and the Robins won the territory of my back yard, a mama Robin set up housekeeping in the elbow of the downspout just under my roof. The nest was a tidy affair for a Robin, and it was about eight feet from my back door which opens onto my patio. She also lives above my herb garden. Here it is:

My neighbor right next door, Gretchen, and I started watching immediately for babies. We talked over her fence and texted any observations. I made sure to quietly and soothingly speak to the Robin every time I went out the back door, congratulating her on her stalwart and persistent attendance to her duties as a Mother. I called her Mama. I complimented her on her babies. She clutched (so far), astonishingly, three times. 

All was well with the most recent round of babies until about two weeks ago or so when I went to take out the garbage. I looked up as I always do and was shocked to see a naked, potbellied baby bird hanging over the side of the nest. It moved weakly and seemed stuck somehow. Its mother was out gathering food. I watched a few more minutes, trying to see how it was stuck. It was facing me; it seemed to be literally hanging by its neck. I went inside to think about what to do. I decided that if in fifteen minutes, the mother had not somehow saved her baby, I would do it for her.

Of course, I didn't wait fifteen whole minutes. I checked outside sooner and found the poor thing still hanging there. I grabbed latex gloves and the 8-foot step ladder. As I climbed up, the mother appeared on the wire and began chirping in distress. I had to go to the step nearest the very top and lean over. The baby struggled as I touched it; its wings were very strong. I carefully held it and dislodged it from the stiff straw and sticks then flipped it gently back into the nest. 

My relationship with Mama was severely compromised. Her trust was shattered. To her, I had not saved her baby, but had tried to raid the nest and steal it. I felt terrible.

A few days later when I was out tending my herbs, not only did Mama scold me from the wire above, but her husband hopped around, flapping his wings and yelling, only six feet away from me. I was The Enemy for sure.

This past Sunday when we returned from our weekend at the lake, Gretchen called me. "Lots of drama with the Robins," she said. "We were barbecuing and all of a sudden we heard a lot of flapping and banging. One of the babies was hanging upside down from the nest. It couldn't fly away or something. It just kept hanging there. We went in, and later, I guess it finally made it back in the nest. It's there now and it looks fine."

The robin, big enough to fledge, was still there on Monday and Tuesday, just standing at the nest, looking around. We both wondered why it hadn't left the nest. Wednesday morning, before I made my coffee at 7:30, I looked out, and this was happening (video courtesy of Gretchen):

I saw Gretchen on her back porch. I opened my dining room window and she immediately told me that this was the same thing she saw on Friday. "I honestly think she's stuck on something. Wait there a minute." She went inside and got a high-powered camera lens. "Nance, she's definitely stuck. Her leg looks red and raw."

"Okay," I said. "I'll get the ladder and get right on it."

I grabbed another pair of gloves, slipped on my gardening shoes, and went out in my jammies (an old white v-neck tee of Rick's and a pair of boxers, both XL). I grabbed the ladder, positioned it in my herb garden so that it wouldn't hurt anything, and climbed on up. This time, I swear that every single Robin in the neighborhood was there. At least ten of them perched on wires and roofs and branches, all with admonitions and, possibly, advice.

As soon as I could get a better look, I saw the poor Robin's one leg was vastly swollen at the joint. It wasn't rubbed red or raw, though. As I looked more closely, my heart ached. The baby was held fast in place by fishing line that was used as nesting material. It had become embedded in its leg and its leg had merely grown around it. It would never be able to leave the nest--unless I helped it.

I told Gretchen I needed scissors and why. She came out of her house with four pair of varying sizes and shapes. (Bless her heart; I just love her.) I chose the pair I felt would be best for the job and carefully cut the line in two places. As soon as I did, the bird fluttered madly and landed--free--on my patio rug. I felt I had to decamp as quickly as possible before more relatives arrived; I was getting creeped out.

Gretchen and I rejoiced, but she had to rush in and return to work. I put the ladder away and went in to Officially start my day. In a minute or two, my phone dinged with a text message. It was from Gretchen, a GIF of Wonder Woman running. "This is you coming out to save that bird today! Make sure Rick recognizes and rewards you for your heroic acts!" 

Yesterday, I got my ladder and gloves out again to get all the fishing line out of that nest. Gretchen told me she's seen the baby Robin several times, and I have, too. It's flying just fine. If Mama Robin goes for a fourth clutch, they'll all be safe. But, if something should happen, Wonder Woman will be On It.

Trees

I had a touch of Sadness on my walk today. Yet another of my neighborhood's towering old trees is being taken down a few blocks away from my home. It was a lofty silver maple, many stories high, its trunk straight and true. There was no way to tell why it was coming down today after decades of life. It looked tragic and undignified standing there, stripped of all its lower boughs and branches, like an old man who was nearly naked in front of a crowd of onlookers who weren't going to help him, but merely look and move along.

I have a special affinity for trees. One of the things I like best about my neighborhood is that its streets are tree-lined, and the trees are old and big and gracious. They have an almost paternal feel, as if they are sheltering and protecting the homes and sidewalks they shade. While I walk my route, I often reach out and brush the leaves of trees or pat their trunks. I notice their changes--or their staid, static presences. In the spring the flowering trees bring me incredible joy. In the fall the colours of the trees never fail to awe me. In the summer their green abundance makes me feel content and serene. 

My deep affection for trees was fostered by my father, who truly did love Nature in all its forms. Our back yard was a Nature Preserve in which he fussed over his roses and his trees with equal adoration. My father was the only person I ever knew who watered his mature trees. We had a huge maple, a box elder, a cherry tree, an apple tree, a weeping willow, a locust tree, a plum tree, and a peach tree, and those were just in the back yard of our tiny bungalow home. He never had a sprinkler, either. He'd just turn the nozzle of the hose to a fine spray, prop it up on a brick, and let it run. I can see him in my mind's eye, patting the huge split maple on its grey trunk and saying, "It's been hot with no rain. This tree needs some water, too." 

But my father didn't only love his own trees. Often, when we went to visit my grandmother and grandfather--my mother's parents--Dad would get bored. Much of what they talked about concerned people he didn't care about or know, and it didn't do a lot for us kids, either. My father would say, "I'm going to take the kids on a Nature Walk." I loved these walks, which went all around the quiet tree-lined streets and alleyways of my grandparents' neighborhood. We would stop and smell flowers and tree blossoms. We would find and look at seed pods or other interesting things. And when we came to some strong, old trees, my father would stop. "Look at this old tree," he'd say. "Look at this bark and its good straight trunk. Can you imagine how old it is and what it's seen? Why don't you give it a good hug?" 

Other times, he'd talk about the shape of the crown of the tree or if the tree needed to be pruned and why that was important. If it was a really warm day, we'd often stop and sit in the shade of a tree, right on someone's lawn. My father didn't worry about such things. "Feel how much cooler it is under a tree?" he'd say. He loved leaning against tree trunks, resting his often sore back, feeling the strength of the tree. I loved these walks, these times with my father, and my love for trees grew, too. 

Today on my walk it was warm and humid. I chose the shady side of each street, welcoming the cool dim shadow of the trees as they gave me respite from the summer heat. I reached for the soft fringes of the magnificent pine on the corner, marveling at its new growth. I noticed small pods of buckeyes already formed on the tree a few paces away. I smiled at the crabapple tree full of chattering sparrows, barely visible in its leafy crown. 

It's been hot here lately. The trees need water. I hope it rains soon.

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If Only Masks Filtered Out The Stupid

I was subjected to this conversation in the waiting area of a medical center this week because I had to finally have my overdue appointment with my neurologist. Unfortunately, it is a shared waiting space with another practice in the same conglomerate, but physical distancing was possible. Audible distancing was not, however, so while I filled out some repetitive and useless forms, I could not help but overhear this discussion between a woman (probably in her sixties) and her elderly mother, who was the patient.

We join it as I did, already in progress.

Daughter: It's the destruction that I don't get. Why destroy everything?

Mother: Well, what'll they come for next? Disney World? Disneyland?

Daughter: It's better ways to get your point across is all I'm sayin'. (at this moment, I glanced up from my forms and she looked my way) That's my personal opinion.

Mother: Have you thought about supper?

Daughter: I want to get stuff cleaned out of that fridge. Pulled pork. The rest of that potato salad.

Mother: There's not nary enough of that potato salad for more'n two people.

Daughter: Well, we're gettin' rid of all of that stuff. I have a delivery comin' tomorrow. I sure will be glad when I can just go wherever I want to go whenever I want to go. It sure would be nice to travel. Get back down to South Carolina.

Mother: It's down in South Carolina, too. The virus is all over the country. It's everywhere.

Daughter: I know. (big sigh) At some point, you just gotta live your life, you know? You just gotta live your life. That's just how I feel about it.

(Both pause while they consider this philosophy)

Daughter: Dogs are lucky, though! They already have a vaccine for the Covid.

Mother: What?! Are you serious?

Daughter: Yep. Says so right on the package: protects against fleas, ticks, heartworm, and the Covid. Course it's not the same Covid as we humans get, but it's still the Covid.

Mother: Well, I'll be. Course isn't everyone worried now about the H1N1 coming now, too?

Daughter: And the Ebola! But those are in Africa right now. OF COURSE. That's where it all starts.

Mother: (shakes head) Like we don't have enough goin' on right here, right now.

It was at this point that I finished my paperwork, so I took it up to the window. When I came back, it was mere moments before I was called in to my appointment. As usual, it was delightful; Dr. B. and I dispensed with the business end of my visit quickly and efficiently and spent a good long while chatting about other more pleasant things. He continues to be a light in my life.

But my time in the waiting room impressed upon me that my vote just got more important. Smart people everywhere need to vote.

The Politics: Grab Your Helmet And Strap In

I have reached the End Of My Patience with anyone and everyone who is finding a reason to support the individual currently occupying the White House. There is simply not a single reason--not one--that will justify tolerating his presence there. I don't care what kind of defense is offered. I have heard them all, and the only one that flies with me is this: "I am batshit crazy and I don't know what the hell I'm doing."

Sadly, without using those exact words, that is The Number One Reason much of his base will cast their votes for him. We all know the Number Two and Number Three reasons. They are, in no particular order, "I am, to some degree or another, a racist, and I am afraid of losing my privilege and my place atop society", and "I am voting with my wallet, which is an extension of my penis."

It's not lost on me that these reasons may all be interconnected and blended into One Big Reason for many people. Fear is a great motivator. And fear-mongering has been a tactic of republican campaigns for decades. Or republicans in general. 45* and his campaign people are merely studying previous campaigns, both real and fictional (he got some of his pointers from the TV show The West Wing: "Let Bartlett be Bartlett"), hence his reliance on catchphrases like calling himself a Wartime President and harping on Law and Order, a la Nixon.

Another Reason, and one which I find so terribly frustrating, is for the Single Issue Voters, and that is abortion. A segment of the electorate will overlook a raft of egregious behaviour, a multitude of sins in a panoply of categories, if this individual purports to be against abortion.

Which leads me to this: is anyone truly, enthusiastically for abortion? That's not really what the issue is, now is it? I resent that the people who are Anti-Choice are called Pro-Life. What bullshit. I. Am. Pro-Life. I am all about Life. I am against the Death Penalty. I am, however, Pro-Choice.

But I digress.

I know of one 45* voter who said, "I wish he'd just shut up. And stop tweeting." Why? Why is this a dealbreaker for you? This is Who He Is. These are his words, and they are his thoughts. This is the man you voted for. If he embarrasses you, if his thoughts and words shame him and you, then what do you think of his actions? This same voter STILL HAS NOT MADE UP HIS MIND ABOUT WHO TO VOTE FOR IN THE GENERAL ELECTION IN NOVEMBER! He said, "I have to wait to hear from Biden."

!!

Really? Haven't you heard enough from 45*? Immigrant children forever separated from their mothers; staff now in jail; impeached; under active investigation by the state of New York for financial crimes; accused of sexual crimes and rape by more than a dozen women; mocking and disrespecting government leaders; a bungled and slow response to COVID-19 that cost more than 100,000 lives and he takes no responsibility; he threatens his own citizens with their military...the list is endless. What could you possibly hear that would be worse than this?

These people are Part Of The Problem, and I'm done being tactful and pleasant. All of them are getting Blunt Truth from here on out. I'm just Over It. And that includes diehard Bernie people who are whiny toddlers at this point. It's Blue No Matter Who and Go Joe. Don't you dare give us 2016 again just because you can't get your way. Step up and do the Right Thing this time.

My anger and frustration are minuscule and do not even begin to compare to what the black community is feeling and expressing since the murder of George Floyd. How can anyone view the recorded evidence of these episodes and not be shocked and outraged? I cannot begin to imagine the heartbreak of having to raise my own sons with a talk about how to behave when approached by law enforcement, knowing it could be a life or death situation. There is a cultural shift at work now that is long overdue. I'm heartened that the people are taking the initiative with commitment and resolve, knowing that there is no support from the White House for this important work.

Which leads me to this:  I became aware of a website and Twitter feed, Republican Voters Against trump. On the site, former republicans share brief video stories of why they will never vote for 45* again, and, in some case, never vote republican again. It reaffirmed my faith in human beings, especially after some of the stories I have read and seen in the news. Here is one former republican, Paul, whose story really resonated:



Please share this website with anyone who needs to be aware of it. Sometimes I listen to a video just to reassure myself that there are still some Good People out there who just made one mistake.

Stay engaged, stay safe, stay kind, but Stand Firm. Don't let the Bad Guys win.


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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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