WanderLost: The Missing Link In My DNA Needs A GPS

One of the stories my mother loves to trot out in order to embarrass me is The Communion Story.  It matters not at all that A) I have ceased to be a Good Sport about it; B) the hearer has probably already heard it; C) it happened eleventy thousand years ago; and/or D) there are several billion other charming stories starring Yours Truly that she could and should tell, but this one remains, inexplicably, her Favourite.

In a nutshell, here it is:

When I was about ten, our parish got a new church built, which was round.  We had a good-sized congregation, and when it was time for communion, it was common practice for two priests to administer it.  We formed two lines and went up.  Well, one time, the priest on my side of the church, at the head of my line, ran out of wafers.  I was directed by a helpful usher to the other line, got communion, and had to circle the entire church to get back to our pew.  I promptly got turned about and became lost.  I could not find my parents and siblings.  I kept looking and walking more and more slowly.  My father, seeing my panic, stood up so that I could see him.  Relieved, I quickened my pace and slid into the pew.  The end.

Well, to hear and see St. Patsy tell this story, it was an epic event replete with emotion and nonverbal histrionics on both sides of the battle.  She really gets into it.  And I sit there while everyone marvels at how anyone could become lost inside a one-roomed area!  And they all look at me as if it just happened yesterday when I was fifty-three and oh how funny!  Good thing you made it, or you'd still be there today!

Sigh. 

In 1981 I was married there, by the way, and made it out just fine.

Anyway, I wish I could say that The Communion Incident was an isolated one, but it wasn't.  I've been getting lost regularly forever.  I used to think it was from not paying much attention, but it really isn't that.  I can go to the same place for years and years, and I can still get turned around.  There just isn't that sort of Logical Orientation Thing going on in me that there is in everyone else.  My mother, especially, has an unfailing sense of direction.  Her problem, though, is her inability to be able to communicate it to others.  Here is a typical conversation between the two of us:

Nance:  Which way do I turn?
Mom:  North.
Nance:  What?  How the heck do I know which way North is from here?  I mean right or left.
Mom:  Oh, Nance.  Of course you know.  North is where the lake is.  So go in the direction of the lake!
Nance:  Mom.  We are nowhere near the lake.  How in the hell do I know where the lake is from here?  We can't even see the lake.  What a dumb reference.  Just tell me right or left.
Mom:  Oh for pity's sake.  You have lived near the lake all your life.  How can you not know where it is?  It's North.  North.  The lake is always North.
Nance:  Mom.  We did not live "near the lake."  We didn't even go in that lake.  And I know where it is, but Not. From. Here.  I'm going right.
Mom:  You were supposed to go left.

I'm the person who gets off the elevator and hesitates because I can't remember whether to go left or right.  Every time.  Give me directions with landmarks because that is a tangible guide for me.  Better yet, come with me and I'll follow your lead.  Yes, you can drive.  (Rick--and my friends--always did before I got my own GPS.)

Can you imagine how overjoyed I was to read this article?  To find out that my defect/disability is probably a genetic disorder?  It was immensely comforting to find out, after all these years, that "individuals with Williams syndrome have strong language skills and are extremely social, but they have trouble...navigating their bodies through the physical world."  Instead of having the chromosome for reorienting one's body in a space, people with the syndrome are unable to construct a sort of geometrical mental map of their surroundings.  They cannot, for example, look for spatial cues to orient themselves.  Their surroundings always seem random, regardless of prior experience with them.

That's me.  And, to a lesser degree, one of my sisters.  And I'm not entirely certain that my dad wasn't a closet Lost One, either.

I'm not going to feel any less cranky when St. Patsy hauls out The Communion Story this Easter (she's way overdue, and that's the next family gathering), but in my quiet heart of hearts, I'll feel vindicated.

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If You're Happy And You Know It, Use Your Words

Here at the Dept. we've had discussions about words we'd like to see banished from the language, and we've totted up the words we have great fondness for.  Now, after reading this article, I'd like to chat a bit about Words That Make Us Happy.  Now, while the compilers of the original list of 25 of the so-called Happiest Words used a bunch of mathy stuff and algorithms and sourced Facebook and Twitter, (and also allowed several forms of the same word to be counted as a separate word, i.e. laughter, laugh, laughing), I am going to set up far more intuitive parameters and use a better sample.  You, of course, are The Sample, and here are the parameters:

1.  The word makes you happy.  It is not a humorous word, per se.  It inspires a feeling of happiness, contentment, and evokes pleasantness.

2.  Any form of the word is acceptable, but it is assumed that all its forms are inherently happy.

3.  No phrases (birthday cake), no proper nouns (Johnny Depp, Nine Inch Nails), no fair saying "this" and hyperlinking to something that would, of course, be a bigass long name.

4.  No more than 5 Happy Words, please, but feel free to explain them completely with as much or as little commentary as you wish.

I had hoped that Jared would join me for this post, but he is very busy with his column over at the Great Blue North website.

Onward.

Here are my Happy Words, in no particular order:

1.  Summertime--As a former teacher, this one is obvious.  It meant freedom, no bells, no grading, and endless hours of no job responsibilities.  It also means no more cold weather.  It hums when you say it and look at it, like the cicadas in the trees.  It says relaxation, sunshine, fresh herbs and tomatoes, gardening, and being outdoors all in one word.  I smile just looking at it.  There's even a great song for it.

2.  Carefree--Look how those E's just trail off at the end, like your hand fluttering and waving goodbye to all your worries.  I want to be carefree; I want my clothes to be carefree; I want St. Patsy to be carefree.  "If you do/buy/install/take THIS, your life will be carefree."  Okay!  I'll take it!

3.  Cuddly--Yes, please.  My cats are cuddly, my two new nieces are cuddly, and Rick is cuddly.  Even if I'm not cold, I wrap up in a fleece blanket in order to simply feel cuddly.  Sam, in his baby/toddler/little boy days was the Ultimate Cuddler.  He was very willing and very toasty all the time, like a little personal space heater.  See those two d's in the word?  Tell me they're not cuddling.

4.  Strawberry--They are the cutest fruit with the most personality.  They are bite-sized, red, freckled (I was always so envious of people with freckles across the bridge of their noses!), and taste wonderful.  Stuff made with strawberries is either red or pink, which are two of my favourite colors.  Also, I could listen to a British person say this word all day long (STROWbry).  I read a book called Strawberry Girl when I was little, and there was another one in which the horse was named Strawberry (a Trixie Belden mystery?).  And Smucker's Strawberry Jam?  Wonderful, wonderful stuff.

5.  Jelly--I know.  I just got done extolling the virtues of jam.  Truth be told, I don't even eat jelly.  My father preferred preserves and jams, so we never ate jelly--NEVER.  NOT EVEN GRAPE JELLY, which is the Fifth Food Group For Children Everywhere.  But I love that word.  It makes me smile because it just looks happy to me.  It is automatically a Kid Word.  And all kids--little kids--sound very Little Kid when they say it.  I want to go on a Mission to get every kid in the USA some sort of stuffed animal or pet and name it Jelly, just to hear a kid say it.  Jelly Jelly Jelly.  Dare you to ask any little kid you know to say the word Jelly and then try not to smile.  Cannot be done.

6.  Joy.  I know that using a synonym for "happy" is very pedestrian, but have you ever noticed this?  When someone jumps for Joy, he or she spells the word. 



Now it's your turn. What words make you Happy? Share the smiles in comments.

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joyful jumper image found here

Plan Your Trip To Guam After Spring, And Please Pack Plenty Of Tylenol (And Maybe A Helmet)

Readers, back in 2008, I made you this vow:  When there is a good animal vs. human story, I am all over it.  Proudly, I have never shrunk from this promise, nor have I ever shirked this responsibility.

Today, it is no different.  I am happy to say that Your Government, beset as it is by Gridlock and General Fussiness, is still able to maintain some sense of Priorities.  I am speaking, of course, of its Program For Dropping Toxic Mice Over Guam.

Hey!  Before you get yourself all in a self-righteous uproar, let me tell you why the Feds are flinging rodents around.  Trust me:  for you, and especially for me, it made a big difference in how I viewed this Enterprise.  It is in order to kill snakes.

See?  How can this not be a good thing?

(Personally, my phobia of snakes is so deep that I cannot even view them on television, in a magazine, or in any photograph.  When I once encountered one on a long-ago camping trip, I screamed, ran away, screamed again, took a breath, then screamed again.  Then I remembered why I had screamed, and screamed once more. I just now got hit with a wave of nausea, simply from recalling it.)

Anyway.

The brown tree snake, which can grow as long as ten feet, arrived in Guam from the South Pacific as stowaways on US military ships after WWII.  It infested the island and decimated local wildlife, especially some avian species.  It now even knocks out electrical power by slithering onto lines; it bites residents, especially sleeping children since it is nocturnal.  Their population is estimated to be approximately two million strong.  And growing.

So the US government, in the forms of the Dept. of Agriculture's Wildlife Services, Dept. of the Interior, and the Dept. of Defense came up with a plan.  They would take advantage of two idiosyncrasies of the brown snake:  one, it didn't mind eating already-dead prey and two, it is defenseless against acetaminophen.  So they loaded up some dead mice with generic Tylenol, grabbed a helicopter, and were ready to go.  But they had to make sure that the Mickey Mice (sorry, but really--no way to resist that!) didn't land on the ground.  They had to stay up in the canopy of the trees so that nothing else would eat them.  What to do, what to do...?

Aha!  Researchers "developed a flotation device with streamers designed to catch in the branches of the forest foliage, where the snakes live and feed."  Wonder what that looked like...


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The Toxic Mouse Drop is set to begin in April or May.  And it isn't just Guam that is hoping for its success.  Three thousand miles away, another island, a more familiar Tourism Mecca is holding its breath.  That would be Hawaii.

 

Because just as the brown snakes found their way to Guam on the hold of a ship and ended up liking it so much they made their home there, these snakes could board a 747 or cargo plane to Hawaii and relocate. 

 







Oh, if only it were that easy, Samuel L.  If only!  Like Guam, Hawaii lacks natural predators of these motherf--, er...brown snakes to keep their numbers restrained.  One spokesperson for Hawaii's wildlife agencies complained that native Hawaiian birds "literally don't know what to do when they see a snake coming."  (They could try my method, outlined above, but I am doubtful it would save their lives.)  She became even more dire, "Once we get snakes here, we're never going to be able to fix the situation." 

So, I love this idea.  I think it's a winner all around.  We knock off some snakes, some mice, and we save some Tourism Havens.  We save some naive Hawaiian birds.  We boost the production of acetaminophen.  We give a few people a great ice breaker at parties:

Her:  So, what do you do?
Him:  I drop dead, Tylenol-filled mice wearing tutus out of a helicopter.
Her: (choking on a vodka tonic) You what?!
Him:  Yeah. It's true.
Her:  But why on earth...?
Him: So that the government wipes out brown snakes.
Her:  Er...which government?
Him:  Ours.  The US government.
Her:  Oh. I see.  (looks wildly around)
Him:  Yeah. We don't want them getting on planes and boats and stuff and going off to Hawaii.
Her:  Are you here with anyone?  Should someone be with you?

Oh, yeah.  Love it.

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In The Throes Of Winter's Discontent: SAD Is Making Me Crabby

Like the proud people at Maker's Mark distilleries, I was unwilling to dilute my content here at the Dept. just to satisfy demand.  Although it has been a long time between postings, and I know that I am retired and should be posting something far more often since I have loads of time and something to say about everything, I didn't want to throw any old thing together. 

Then I thought, Oh hell.  If I wait for something erudite or wonderful, it might be April before I hit Publish again.

So in my severe and advanced state of Seasonal Affective Disorder, I have brought together this Flotsam And Jetsam from my winter-numbed brain, encased as it is in polar fleece and cat hair. 

=*= How Hard Is It?  A few days ago, the Walgreens near me, which is astonishingly busy at all hours of the day, advertised this on its electronic sign:  WHOPPING COUGH SHOTS.  This is the same store that I called regularly to correct when it advertised DEODERANT.  You have the label!  Look at it! 

Similarly, the Catholic church has been running a recruiting ad in our area.  Sponsored by the diocese, it features a woman who has decided to return to the faith.  At the end of the ad, it had a graphic that included the phrase "at your Catholic CHRUCH."  That ad ran with that misspelled graphic for weeks.  I went to the website to contact them and tell them--as a polite and helpful person--but there was nowhere to do it.  The ad on the website had been corrected.  Eventually, it got corrected on air.  Boy, first the Catholics' proofreader quits, then the Pope. They can't catch a break!

=*= Will You Visit Me At The Home?  My sister Susan, my mom St. Patsy, and I had another game night Saturday night.  It was a marathon, and let me tell you why.  It's because we are old and pathetic women.  Naturally, we had to play THE GAME.  (Memory Game, the nostalgic wayback machine Susan bought for $50 on Ebay that is like Concentration.) Well, Susan, whose memory is sharp, was distracted because she had one teenager due home from work on a snowy night and the other at home entertaining two friends;  I have Menopause Mind and am working through a bit of stress at the moment; and St. Patsy is 82.5 and on some new pain meds for her hip.  St. Patsy turned over one, same card ON EVERY SINGLE TURN.  And she was surprised every single time.  I kept forgetting where one of a pair was as soon as it was turned back over.  Only Susan was drinking.  And she won.

=*= I Hope They Donate Their Bodies To Science.  While I was cowering under a fleece blanket in my fleece pants and fleece slippers, some yahoo on television was blathering about Cleveland winter weather.  All I heard was "blah blah blah Well, what do you expect in Cleveland in February?  But I love the snow!"  and then I picked up my space heater and heaved it at the tv.  Okay, so I didn't do that last part, but what I did do is start in on a rant about People Who Say They Love Snow (aka People Who Are Stupid/People Who Shouldn't Be Allowed To Speak Aloud/People Who Make Me Forget That I Am Against Assault Rifle Ownership).  People Who Love Snow are also These People, then:
1.  People Who Love Shovelling
2.  People Who Love Sitting In Traffic Due To Slippery/Snow-Covered Highways
3.  People Who Love Cleaning Off Snowy Windshields
4.  People Who Love Walking Like Penguins On Icy Surfaces
5.  People Who Love Hideous Looking Salt-Marked Cars, Shoes, Pants, Coats
6.  People Who Love Wearing Bulky Garments
7.  People Who Love Dry Skin And Hair
8.  People Who Love Chapped Lips
9.  People Who Love Getting Bundled Up To Simply Take Out Trash
10. People Who Are Sadists And Masochists, Obviously

I got spoiled last winter, The Winter That Never Was.  This year, I feel put-upon and ill-used.  And all those other negative, hyphenated adjectives.  And crabby!  Really, really crabby.  So, commiserate with me in Comments, and don't you dare try to Cheer Me Up.  Let's crank around first.  You know me:  Right now, I just need to wallow.

Easy Does It

Listen, I don't mean to get all philosophical on you or anything, but (and maybe you've already noticed this) Life Is Hard.  And I am all about Making Life Easier.  Oh, sure, Americans have taken this to ridiculous heights with things like spray cheese and vending machines that sell birth control, but there are several appliances that I have come to appreciate for making my life much comfier and less of a hassle.  Here they are, in no particular order:

1.  Snowblower.  When I was much younger and living at home, we kids had to do all of the shovelling.  My dad had a really bad back and four able-bodied kids.  Why shouldn't we have?  When I left home and eventually got a house as a wife and mom, Rick and I shovelled a lot.  So did the boys, under duress (once they got wise to the idea that it wasn't "fun").  Finally, we got sick of all of it and in 2005 we bought a snowblower.  Holy crap, was that one of The Best Days Of Our Lives (and one of The Smartest).  What used to take us forever now takes Rick about half an hour.  Oh, once in a while I go out there after a snow and shovel off the deck and a path to my car, and I clear off the front steps and walk for the mail lady.  But for the Big Job, I wait for Rick and the snowblower.  So wonderful.

2.  TV Remote.  Don't laugh.  I cannot be the only one who remembers The Old Days when there was no remote control, or at least a day when the remote got lost.  (There was one horrifying day here at the Dept. when all four of us had a debilitating flu, and no one could see the remote.  Not one person could move to look for it.  We were stuck watching PBS for about ten hours, including a terrifying period of Elmo on Sesame Street.)  I am almost daily amazed by the remote.  Volume, channel, TV Guide, go back to previous channel!  Set your sleep timer!  All from the comfort of my chair with a cat on my lap while playing Words with Friends against my almost-daughter Kait on my iPhone.  The only remote my parents ever had was, again, four kids.  "See what's on 3!  Bring me the TV Guide!  Go turn it down."  All while we sat the required three feet away so we didn't ruin our eyes.

3.  Mini-Chopper.  My mini-chopper came as an attachment to my hand blender, which I also love.  But I would miss my mini-chopper more if I lost it.  Need half an onion diced up?  In about ten seconds it can be done and tearlessly.  And if you needed a clove of garlic and a jalapeno, too, just put it in at the same time.  So convenient.  It has revolutionized and streamlined my guacamole production.  I've chopped up mushrooms for meatloaves and whizzed up overripe bananas for cakes and quickbreads.  Who wants to haul out a bigass Cuisinart all the time, or stand there and dice up everything?  And I'm not going to pay someone to do it for me by buying overpriced precut stuff at the store.

4.  In-the-Door Icemaker/Water Dispenser Combo.  Oh, I know.  This is the same contraption that viciously and supernaturally attacked me right before Christmas.  But it and its predecessor are terrific inventions.  How terrible and tedious is it to have to fill and refill ice cube trays?  How irritated and irate do you get when you find an empty tray in the freezer?  The icemaker eliminates all of that as well as the loss of skin on your fingers from them sticking to the frozen trays as you handle them.  I can just press my waterglass to the lever and the ice clamors into it. Then I move it over a bit, and a freshet of filtered water joins it.  So easy.  I am admonished by my medical professionals to stay hydrated.  This makes it a pleasure.  (When it is not looking to kill me.)

Modern Life, despite its advances, remains a challenge for all of us.  Computers own our very souls and SmartPhones have turned our society into a strange place where we are isolated, yet loudly sharing our lives with strangers. 

In spite of that, there are machines that improve our lives daily.  What are some of the appliances or overlooked machines which you now realize are the Heroes Of Your Life?

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This Post Is The By-Product Of NEO's Freezing Temperatures: Doing My Part To Reduce, Reuse, and Recycle

Right this minute, my house is so clean that I am afraid to move in it.  This is what days of frigid temperatures and snow will do:  force me into Domestic Activity.  I even did a few things that were Not Pressing, such as:

1.  Polish a silver tray.
2.  Finally take all of my high heels up to the spare closet.
3.  Update a few pictures in the picture frames.

My fantasy basketball team is falling apart due to injury.  I won't bore you with the details, but suffice it to say that this week, no amount of research and tinkering will get me the win.  My big men are all hurt; my lineups are decimated.  I've decided to take the week off from the NBA.  Instead, I've found all kinds of interesting things on the Interwebs as I try to forget the fact that the West Egg Gatsbys are losers.

1.  I found out that Ferrero Rocher, those lovely chocolate hazelnut candy orbs, exist because the company that manufactures Nutella wanted to do something with the byproducts remaining from making their signature product.

2.  Do you have a cat?  Do you live in New Zealand?  If you answered yes to both of these questions, you might have a problem because NZ is considering a ban on cats.  An economist, Gareth Morgan, is concerned that cats there may wipe out native species of birds and rodents.  He characterizes cats as "neighborhood serial killers."  Sigh.  In my town of 53000 residents, there are supposedly 14000 feral cats.  How anyone arrived at that number (quoted once in an out-of-state publication), I have no idea.  I see the same two or three stray cats every week.  They drive Piper and Marlowe crazy.  The only killing I've seen is when Marlowe killed a mouse from our basement.  I was thrilled.

3.   John Boehner said recently,"Given what we heard yesterday about the president's vision for his second term, it's pretty clear to me that he knows he can't do any of that as long as the House is controlled by Republicans. So we're expecting over the next 22 months to be the focus of this administration as they attempt to annihilate the Republican Party. And let me just tell you, I do believe that is their goal -- to just shove us into the dustbin of history." Wow. He sounds bitter and upset.  But it reminds me of...what was it now?  "Our top political priority over the next two years should be to deny President Obama a second term."--Mitch McConnell.  I'll let My Dear Readers come up with the line for this one.

4.  Does/Should anyone care whether Beyonce lip-synced the National Anthem?  I didn't think so.  There are other things far more worthy of our distress.  Besides, if Aretha says to back off, that's good enough for me.

5.  I found this quote about Aging.  The fact that it came from a goofy article about what happens when hot girls get old, where they mistakenly attributed it to Hunter S. Thompson, dulls it in my esteem (if only it came from Dorothy Parker instead!), but I still like it:

Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, wine in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and screaming 'WOO HOO what a ride!'"

Those who know me know that I cannot even pretend to be the "skidding in sideways" type, but I like the idea of the whole thing anyway. 

6.  Finally, Jared sent me this ridiculously silly viddy clip.  He loves to send me Interwebs Inanity, and this one made me laugh and laugh and laugh.  I hope it gets to you that way, too.

What silly/interesting/fun things do you have to talk about?  And did you laugh at the viddy?

Those Drops Of Ink That Make The Millions Think...

"One must be drenched in words, literally soaked in them, to have the right ones form themselves into the proper pattern at the right moment." --Hart Crane

Oh, where was this splendid quotation when I was teaching vocabulary to my students every Monday for thirty years?  Yet, even if I had typed it in bright red enormous font and put it up on the SmartBoard, the few who read it would have been mightily unmoved.  "Big deal," they would have thought, "I'm not going to be a writer."

Sigh.

But holy crap, I love words.  True, there are those words that I really dislike saying or hearing, as Jared and I discussed way back in September in this post.  Words that bugged us include sketchy, succulent, squat, and pocketbook.   If you recall, we sort of promised that we'd follow up with a Favourite Words post.  TA DA!  Without any further procrastination on Jared's part ado, let's get to it! 

List of Favourite Words:  Jared

1.  Duration. I love the way it sounds. I like the fact that simply saying those three syllables eliminates clunkiness like “length of time”, “time period”, “however long it lasts” and other such ridiculousness. I work in an industry where time periods (durations! See!?) are critical to us, our customers, and our financial well-being as a company. I recently said to a customer, “Assuming you don’t go over the weight restriction and do not exceed the duration that we previously agreed upon, you are done paying us.” This guy says to me--I shit you not--“Boy, I don’t understand a word of what you just said, but I won’t be curing anything.”  OK then.

2.  Blister.  I like that as soon as you say it, the reaction is visceral. Everyone knows what it is, and everyone hates them more than anything in the world. Get a blister on your foot, you’re out for a week before you can regain your normal gait. Try saying it in a sentence like this, using it as a verb: “The Cavs just got BLISTERED by the Lakers last week.” See!?  Now, say that same sentence and sorta let the “BL” sound flop out of your mouth behind a small forced breath.  It almost pops and rolls out of your mouth with a sort of force that I find nice.

3.  Flabbergasted.   No word in the English language does a better job of fitting an emotion perfectly. It just makes me think of someone so confused that their only logical recourse is to weep while they shake their head from side to side, spit flying, spectacles becoming unwitting projectiles. Because at the point where one is in a state of Flabbergast, there can be no words spoken. One’s mouth does not make words when one is in this state, let alone a complete sentence. Plus, I like the way the word feels when I say it. Like, the way it forms in my mouth.

4.  Scrotum.  Hear me out. Think about some of the other awful and juvenile names for that part of the anatomy. Tell me scrotum isn’t better than all of them. You cannot tell me that unless you are a liar, because that is a lie. It still sounds a little bit crude so that if I want to insult my baby brother, I can say something like, oh, I don’t know, “Quit being such a scrotum and pick your team!”  Even better?  Shorten it. Shorten it to “scrot.” With a short O sound. Throw some talc down there;  prevent scrot sweat.  Tell a friend to “quit it or I’ll sock you in the scrot.” It’s very satisfying.

List of Favourite Words: Nance

1.  Alacrity.  This word gets a lot done.  Even its pronunciation conveys its meaning.  It has that flat little short A in the second syllable, followed by the hard C. Does it mean brisk AND cheerful AND efficient AND ready AND willing? Yep. All of that.  It is the caffeinated assistant who is wired and chipper and anticipatory who also brought you in a cupcake AND your favorite kind of pens AND already did the whatevers BEFORE you even asked.

2.  Horrid.  Looking at the word is like seeing a shudder.  It is wide eyes, crawling skin, cobwebs in your face, and all the creepiness anyone can imagine.  It starts with that huffy H and ends with a sudden DUH.  If you say it with the right emphasis, it can even sound like you're throwing up or retching.  Try it.  So good.

3.  Vast.  The irony of a little, monosyllabic word conveying enormity of space is not lost on me.  When I see this word, I always imagine someone sweeping his/her arm wide over a horizon.  The short A becomes automatically elongated by the sibilant S, which softens the T at the end.  I like to use this word hyperbolically, almost exclusively.

4.  Snark(y).  This is a relatively new word, and one I jumped on immediately.  It's another word that packs a ton of nuance.  Rather than load up on adjectives and say, "Verdele was acting smug and gossipy and snotty and bitchy and arrogant and a little snitty," we can just say, "Verdele was snarky."  Also wonderful is that it can be so flexible. Snark can be a verb (Don't snark at me; I was just asking!); it can be a noun (I didn't appreciate the level of snark in your voice, Mona.); it can be an adjective, as used above with Verdele; it can be an adverb (The waiter rather snarkily told us the specials.).  Because of its origins as a tabloid word, it has an admittedly short existence.

Jared and I have a lot of favourite words, but these are a few which we use often and which came to mind immediately.  Now, of course, we must know yours.  What are some of your favourite words?  Do share in Comments!  (And if you want to read some more of Jared's (and my, and our shared) lists, you can always go to our now-hibernating blog Stuff On Our List.  Click here.)

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In Which I Give You A Great Legacy. You're Welcome

When I was a little kid growing up in a steel town in NEO, we were strapped for cash although I never had any idea.  My two sisters and my brother and I never once heard our parents say anything about money being tight, and I don't recall ever feeling like I was missing out on anything.  Oh, sure, my friends went places like Cedar Point amusement park and the drive-in movies, but it never occurred to me to even ask if we could go to those spots.  I automatically assumed that, if those were Our Kind Of Places, then we would have already gone there.

One thing my father made sure we always had was plenty of really good food.  And St. Patsy could always throw out the chow.  In addition to her own collection of farmstyle recipes from her own family, she learned a bunch of good SerboCroatian and other European recipes from living with my dad's parents early in their marriage and from living in such a melting pot town.  My mother's food is still, all these years later, wonderful.  Dad was always brutally critical, however, and Patsy dreaded his forays into the kitchen while she prepared any meals.  He cautioned her about the height of the flame on the burners, asked if she had washed her hands, and wondered aloud if there should be a lid on that.  On one memorable weekend morning, Dad critiqued her pancakes.  Mom threw one at him and vowed to never, ever make them again.  She never did.

All of us kids looked forward to Saturday nights because it was Steak Night.  If it was nice weather, Dad would set up the backyard charcoal grill and cook them outside.  I don't know how they managed steaks for six people--it was always pinbone sirloins back in those days--but they did.  Invariably, as he grilled, a neighbor would mosey over and say the sentence my father always dreaded:  "Must be nice to be able to afford steak!"  The observation was always delivered with the same hangdog look, followed by a sort of admonishing expression of disapproval.  Dad detested it.
He wanted to tell them off, but he always said the same thing in a cool and level voice:

"Well, I don't smoke, drink, or chase women, so...."

Most of the neighbors who butted in and commented did one or more of those things, so that shut them up pretty quickly.  Not to mention the fact that its implication--that my father saved money by not having expensive habits; therefore, he spent that money on something nice for his family--had the added effect of making them feel a little diminished.  It really was a perfect response.

We all loved that rejoinder and started using it for anything we spent our money on.  All of us had jobs, from babysitting to paper routes, so we had some pocket money every so often.  If any sibling made fun of what we bought, we'd simply say, "Well, I don't smoke, drink, or chase women." Dad has been gone for more than a decade now, but years and years later, we all still use it. 

Case in point:  My sister Susan confided in me last month that she was in a bidding war on Ebay for a game.  It was a game from her childhood, one that we had played and played and played together (at least when we were getting along).  Both of us loved it, and we had even made up another game using its pieces.  It had attained mythological status for us, but, sadly, it had become lost long ago.  She sent me the link for it.  At one point, the price soared to over thirty dollars.  Thirty dollars for a game that had probably cost six bucks back in 1970, when she first played it!  But Susan is a Nostalgia Junkie.  She is hooked on her childhood.  And that is why I wasn't the least bit surprised to find out that she was the winning bidder.  At FIFTY-ONE DOLLARS.  "Holy crap, Susan!"  I said.  "That's a lot of money!  Who will play the game with you?  Wow!"  With her usual aplomb, she responded, "Look, I don't smoke, drink, or chase women.  And you're gonna play with me, duh.  And each time you do, I'm charging you a dollar."

Except that she does smoke (every so often), and she does drink.  It is true, though, that she doesn't chase women.

Be Careful. Your Microwave Might Know My Refrigerator And Your Car Might Be In On It, Too

Perhaps you remember last year during The Holidays when I was victimized by my house.  How my refrigerator quit right before Thanksgiving, the garage door refused to go up, and the fireplace billowed smoke into the living room, among other Domestic Tragedies.  What I neglected to confess to you in a later post was that my oven also went on strike in the middle of Christmas Cookie baking.  Luckily, a repair was all that was needed, not an entirely new stove.

This year, I felt confident, knowing I had a new refrigerator and a newly repaired stove and garage door.  We understood the fireplace's quirks, and I had posted a sign on the front door that the doorbell did not work, so no delivery person would ring in vain.  I was ready for The Holidays!

Oh, ha ha.  It is to laugh. 

Thanksgiving.  I went to pick up my fresh turkey on Tuesday afternoon.  "It seems a little...frozen in parts," I said to the butcher.  "Oh, no!" she said cheerily.  "It's a little frosty on the wings, but stick it in the fridge and it'll be fine for Thursday!"  Thanksgiving morning, after feeding the cats at 7:30, I pulled the turkey out of the basement fridge and unwrapped it.  It was frozen solid inside; I couldn't even wrench the neck and giblets out of it.  Panic.  Water bath thawing and cursing.  After all that, the damn thing popped its timer a whole hour early anyway. 

Christmas Eve Party Prep.  I go to the grocery store for a big shop.  When I come home, in the snow, I push the button on the keyfob to pop the tailgate so I can unload the groceries.  Nothing.  I go to open it manually.  Nothing.  I re-lock it and unlock it again.  Nope.  I'm standing there in the slushy driveway and the snow and cold with a car full of groceries.  So I go back in the garage where I have to wrestle with the backseat--fold it down, crawl in the backseat and the backend, and pull out the groceries.  And is this my only errand requiring the capacious tailgate?  Of course not. I have to go to the warehouse club and do all of this all over again. 

A few days later, I grab a glass to get some ice water from the handy dandy dispenser on the front of my year-old side-by-side fridge.  I press my glass against the ice lever and suddenly it belches a mixture of crushed and cubed ice with incredible force.  I remove my glass hurriedly, expecting the ice to cease, like it's supposed to.  But it doesn't stop.  IT KEEPS VOMITING ICE ALL OVER THE FLOOR WITH RECKLESS ABANDON.  I scream at it to stop, but it doesn't, of course.  I open the door, and it stops ejecting ice, but the motor keeps running.  I shut the door, confident that I've stopped the...cycle...and it starts spewing ice at me, at the floor, at the cabinets opposite in some sort of mad celebration of Appliance Independence.  I'm truly scared at this point, and I grab a wooden spoon and start poking, poking, poking at the lever, but it only spits ice at me faster and with more volume.  I open the door again, and it stops blurting ice, but the motor runs incessantly.  Frantically, I search for an ON/OFF switch, and I find one blinking red.  I throw it to OFF, but nothing happens.  I close the door and the avalanche begins anew.  Flinging the door open again, I take the ice bin off its pedestal on the door while the motor drones on.  Fearfully, I shut the door and I kid you not the thing still throws ice on the floor, but how? How? HOW!?  I grab my cellphone and call the appliance store that sold me this Hellish Beast.

Store:  Hello, and thank you for calling Appliance Store.
Nance:  I need Service, and hurry!
Service:  This is service, how can we help you?
Nance:  Hi, I bought my KitchenAid refrigerator there a year ago, and right now it's going crazy. It won't stop throwing ice all over the place.  I've switched it off, but it won't stop. Please send someone.
Service:  Well, the girl who usually schedules is at lunch and--
Nance:  This isn't something to schedule!  I need someone here now!  This thing won't stop!  The motor keeps running and it's throwing ice all over my floor! I need help NOW!
Service:  I understand, but I don't even know where the service guys are right now. I'm just filling in while she's at lunch.
Nance:  Please give my message to someone there that can help me as soon as possible. (hangs up)

To get to the final act, my icemaker spit out one last enormous clump of frosty ice, and then it shut off.  The appliance store called back and scheduled a service call for the 27th, and I had no icemaker for my Christmas Eve party of over 25 people.  One bright note in all of this?  The store agreed to backdate the repair so that it would be covered under warranty since the warranty ran out on November 26th.  The fridge needs a whole new circuit panel, which would also explain why my produce and cheeses often froze in the refrigerator side. 

I've been nothing but nice to that refrigerator.  My car, too.  The turkey's vengeful behavior, I could understand, but not that butcher.

And So I'm Offering This Simple Phrase

 

May you find the magic of the holiday and may it last the whole year through.

 



Merry Everything from the Dept. of Nance.

Catharsis

Picture found here

The horrific tragedy in Connecticut has affected me--as I'm sure it has so many of you--on a variety of levels.  As I watched the news and learned more and more of exactly what happened at Sandy Hook, a school, for heaven's sake, I wept.

I wept because, of course, they were just so little.  And all they did was go to school.  They went off to school for a day of reading and learning and laughing and having lunch in the cafeteria and smiling at their teachers who were there to help them.  Maybe today would be somebody's birthday in their class, and they would have  cupcakes or little mini Snickers bars. 

Instead, someone blasted his way into their school with an assault rifle and slaughtered their classmates and their teachers. And instead of Sandy Hook becoming the first name ever associated with a school shooting, it joins a community.  Instead of Sandy Hook being a rarity, it lands on a fairly lengthy list.

After the two teenaged gunmen strode the halls of Columbine in April of 1999 and killed fifteen people, including themselves, nothing meaningful regarding sensible gun regulation happened.  I was teaching at the time, and our school's reaction was to devise a security protocol and institute student I.D.'s.  My students wanted to talk about the I.D.'s, mainly how silly of a response they were.  "The Columbine shooters were Columbine students!" they pointed out.  "That's not the reason," one student said darkly.  "They want to be able to identify the bodies."

As I was watching the coverage and crying, I was also angry.  Angry because Columbine had meant nothing, obviously.  Angry because it seems as if politics is more important than, ultimately, commonsense safety of our schools and our neighborhoods.  Why is the NRA allowed to bully our legislature?  Do students have to die so that people can take their guns to National Parks?  Buy guns freely at gun shows?  And do you mean to tell me that guns make us safer when the USA has more guns than any other large nation, yet we have more gun violence and gun deaths than any other large nation?  If you put fifty people in a room and give them all a gun, does that make the fifty-first person who goes into the room safer?

I also became angry because I thought of those poor teachers who went to school that day prepared to teach, yet walked into a survival situation.  I thought about how our country as a whole does not value teachers.  How many times do I hear about how teachers are merely overpaid babysitters?  How they only work nine months a year; how "those that can, do and those that can't, teach?" 

I became angry when I thought about the shooter, who was only a twenty-year old young man.  How disturbed he must have been!  Did he ever get any help, or could his mother, who was his custodial parent, not get assistance because of some problem with insurance?  I thought about all of the baloney that Rick and I sometimes have to go through just for prescriptions.  Why is our health care system such a mess?  Was this a contributing factor?

Lisa, over at Anali's First Amendment, said she was trying to write it out.  Write about the Sandy Hook tragedy as a sort of catharsis, to release her grief and make some sense of her feelings and reactions so that she could regain some serenity. 

That's what this post is, too.  I couldn't put something up here in this space without first acknowledging this event.  It was too vast for me to go unmentioned.  And it was too much with me to go unwritten.

The writing is not as refined as I would normally like.  I didn't go for style.  It's not pretty.  It's not impeccably researched.  It's probably not even coherent.  Now, look out for this last part because it's raw and ugly, but it's very, very much what I want to say.

I knew that this time, because the victims were very little children and because there were so many, that there was a better chance of getting some real discussion on gun control.  Maybe not actual Gun Control Capital G And C, but at least some substantive talk.  Because no one gives a good goddamn about teenagers getting shot up, it would seem.  I do, but who cares what I think?  But we all know that until some poor deranged shooter goes into the Congress and shoots a bunch of these stodgy old men right in their zippers(which seems to be the only thing that they do care about), no one in Washington will have a sense of urgency regarding commonsense legislation about regulating guns in this country. 

How telling that not a single pro-gun rights senator would appear on today's Meet the Press.

The Dept.'s First Annual Gift Guide

Not this.  Ever.

It's A Major Award!

Daniel Day-Lewis, who is doing a stunning turn as President Abraham Lincoln in the Spielberg film Lincoln, is known for craving privacy.  He does, however, make it a point to be present whenever he is nominated for an award.  When asked about it, he said that his mother, famed British actress Jill Balcon, told him that when someone is nice enough to give you an award, you should be gracious enough to show up and accept it.

I kept that in mind when J. over at Thinking About presented me with the Reader Appreciation Award, which came with the task of a meme.  Longtime readers here at the Dept. know that I traditionally eschew memes, but for dear J., I decided to emulate DD-L.  (Look what it's done for his career.)

::Where do you do most of your writing/blogging?  In my huge leather armchair in the livingroom.  Usually, a cat is curled up on the backrest behind my head, snoring.

::What books were your childhood favourites?  As a very little girl, I loved when my mother would read aloud the Little Golden Books The Poky Little Puppy and The Color Kittens.  I learned to read years before going to kindergarten and soon moved on to the Little House series, Beezus and Ramona, Encyclopedia Brown, and the Rupert Piper collections, all of which I loved.  I looked forward to our weekly trips to the tiny storefront library and its librarian, Miss Mamie, who not only waived the eight book limit for me, but also introduced me to so many wonderful books.  My big sister Patti loaned me her Nancy Drews, and I collected Trixie Belden mysteries.  My usual punishment back then was, "Go sit in that chair...AND NO BOOK!"

:: Who is your favorite fictional character?  This is, for any teacher of literature, I’m sure, like asking which child we love best.  I thought about this question for such a long time!  Because I know them so thoroughly and intimately, it’s natural that I should choose a character from one of the works that I taught for so very many years.  How can I not choose Jay Gatsby, who remade himself for love?  Who believed wholeheartedly that you can, indeed, repeat the past if your objective is the love of your life?  Who can wear a pink suit, call everyone Old Sport, yet still be shy enough to be afraid of a tea party? 

 And the flawed yet righteous John Proctor, who speaks so forthrightly and has such command of any space he occupies, but suffers mightily from a guilty conscience.  He is a favourite of mine as well.  This is a Puritan man who has fallen away from his God so precipitously, yet he projects his sin and guilt upon his wife, who is the very paragon of Salem virtue.  His journey back to goodness is heartbreaking and human, and he shows that the better angels of our nature can win out.

“The better angels of our nature”…I stole that from President Lincoln, you know.  And it reminds me of yet another fictional character whom I love, Atticus Finch.  I used To Kill a Mockingbird as a parenting manual.  Atticus Finch taught me to raise my kids by appealing to their humanity and with the confidence that ultimately, their better nature would assert itself and they would do the right thing.  Did they make mistakes?  Everyone does.  But they never did the cruel or criminal thing.

Oh, I could go on and on because I love them all:  Hester Prynne, Scout Finch, Santiago….  And yes, I miss them on the most passionate level because I don’t talk about them anymore.  They don't live for me as they used to.  But my all-time favourite is Holden Caulfield from The Catcher in the Rye.

I love Holden because he cannot love himself.  He wants so many things that should be so easy to get, but Holden can’t have any of them.  He wants his home, his family, love, and he wants his brother Allie back.  He wants to belong to someone or something so badly, yet he craves individuality.  He identifies with, of all things, ducks on a frozen pond; he worries where they will go when their home ices over.  Will someone come and take care of them?  He misses his dead brother Allie, but he can’t visit his grave because it’s surrounded “by dead guys”, and he feels terrible when it rains and all the mourners can seek shelter in their cars and later, nice warm restaurants for dinner.  He is overcome by guilt, knowing that his mother is still nervous and ill from Allie’s death, and now she has to deal with him getting kicked out of yet another prep school.  Through it all, Holden is by turns funny and bitter, but all the while, he is falling apart.  And searching, hunting for what and who he needs.  The mother in me hurts for Holden, and I want to take him home and heal him.  His needs are so simple and so urgent, and they have been so terribly ignored.

 

::What is your favorite time of day and why?  I love the mornings between 7:30 and 9:00.  It’s my coffee and newspaper and online time now instead of hall patrol and first and second period.  Rather than being frenetic and time-conscious, it's relaxed, quiet, and a daily affirmation of my retirement.

 

::Have you ever Googled yourself and been surprised at what you’ve found?  Yes, especially after the 2008 AP story broke about my other blog, The Brian Williams Tie Report Archives.  Now, not so much is new out there.

::Who would play you in a movie of your life?  My whole life?  Lots of people used to say I looked like Julia Louis-Dreyfuss during her Elaine days.  Now?  Maybe someone who knows me can cast it.  I don't really know who I look like.

The rest of the questions are not terribly enlightening, so in their stead, I'm offering The Major Award itself, designed and pasted up by me.  J., make sure you copy and paste it proudly at your site.  I've already done so.  And tell your recipients to Come And Get It.

 

Some of my most faithful readers and commenters are not fellow bloggers, so this Major Award is simply symbolic for Nanceketeers like fauxprof and Nancy.  J., a Valiant Commenter Extraordinaire has already been tagged and awarded.  The Bug is a Chatty Commenter whom I deeply Appreciate, so, Bug, consider yourself Awarded.  Ortizzle, Mary G., LaFF, all of my commenters, really, can answer any or all of the questions of the meme on their sites or in comments.  You all should know by now how much I appreciate you reading here, especially those who take the time to share thoughts.  A special welcome to newest commenter Ally!

I share this Award with all of you.  As Sally Field said, "I can't deny the fact that you like me; right now you like me."  And I like you right back.

Forgive Us, Al Gore, For The Dept. Hath Sinned

 

Part of Thanksgiving this year meant having a long weekend with Jared, my eldest.  He works at a job which gave him Thanksgiving and Friday off, plus the regular weekend.  Except for a night over at younger brother Sam's, Jay gave The Old Folks a thrill and hung out with us.  That's not to say that a few of Our Old Annoyances didn't pop up here and there.

 

Scene opens interior of small hallway with adjoining bathroom, master bedroom, dining rooms visible.  Doorway to upstairs suite visible, right.  Jared appears from dining room, wanders casually into bathroom and turns on shower.  Nance, in bedroom, is getting dressed.

 

Nance:  Jared!  You realize that we're leaving in less than fifteen minutes!

Jared:  (leans out into hallway)  Mom.  (insultingly calmly)  It takes me two minutes to shower.  It takes me less than two minutes to get dressed.  Seriously, calm down.

Nance:  (irritated)  Jay, you've had all morning to get in that shower.  For heaven's sake--

Jared:  (wanders back into kitchen via dining room)  Hey, Mom?  (something inaudible and unintelligible; after a moment or two, slowly wanders back in)  Never mind.  Got it.

Nance:  (styling hair now; grabs can of hairspray; applies in short, angry bursts)  Holy crap.  Hey, Jared?  Al Gore called.  He wondered why the shower has been running all this time and you're still not in it.

Jared:  Tell him 'Same reason you're using aerosol hairspray.' (walks into bathroom and gets into shower)

 

End Scene

 

picture found here

In Which I Invoke A republican To Strike Fear In The Hearts Of My Pets

Scene opens on interior of living room.  Rick and Nance are on the couch.  It is approximately 8 PM.  Suddenly, in a move completely uncharacteristic of him, Piper, the normally well-behaved cat, jumps onto the coffee table and begins nosing around.  Nance is shocked and nearly, for her anyway, speechless.  Rick is almost asleep.





Nance:  (loudly and sternly) Piper! What on earth are you doing up there?  How ridiculous!  (to Rick now)  Do you see that? 
Rick:  (drowsily)  Yes.  Yes, I do.
Nance:  No, you don't.  You were asleep.  (During this exchange, Marlowe, the chronically disobedient cat, has leapt up onto the coffee table as well. Both cats sit staring at Nance.)  What in the--!  What are the two of you doing?  Not even close!  It is not even close to your night feeding!  And on the table!  I have absolutely had it with the two of you.  And Rick, I wish you'd speak to them.
Rick: (eyes closed)  Hey.  Cats.
Nance:  (rolling eyes at Rick; speaks directly and sternly to cats in Teacher Voice)  You know, I am about ready to go right down to the Friendship APL tomorrow and march right in there and adopt the oldest, crabbiest, male cat they have.  And I am going to bring him home and name him...BobDole and have him just regulate the two of you!  BobDole will come in here and ride herd on you bad cats and shape you right up, do you hear me?  (to Rick now)  How about that, Rick?  How awesome would that be, to have a crabbyass old cat and name it BobDole?
Rick:  (rouses himself for this)  That's pretty good.
Nance:  (starts laughing)  Remember how cranky Bob Dole always was?  How he talked about himself in the third person? (breaks into Bob Dole impersonation a la Norm MacDonald on SNL) "Bob Dole won't raise your taxes!" BobDole is a great name for an old, fussy cat!  And if it had a mangled little paw, it would be even better! Remember how Bob Dole had the one hand that was---
Rick: (patting her hand)--okay, Nance, okay.  I get it.  Okay.
Nance:  I won't really adopt another cat, you know.  But the whole idea is pretty funny.
Rick:  (still patting)  I know.

End scene

cat photo found here

Gaining A Little Headspace: How's Your November Zen?

Quick!  Grab a Moment Of Zen right now because thanks to Halloween being Officially Over, THE HOLIDAYS ARE UPON US! I need room for all of that in my head, thanks to crass commercialism/consumerism via The Media (aka Target and KMart Layaway, the first retail outlets that I saw to air Christmas commercials), so I'm going to have a bit of a Cranial Clear-Out.  Here are a few embryonic thought nerfuls that have been nattering around, taking up space both in my head and on my Desktop StickyNotes.

^*^Parkinson's Law^*^ This principle is stated thusly:  Work expands to fill the time available for its completion.  First proposed satirically by Cyril Northcote Parkinson to criticize the British Royal Navy in the 1950s, this rule is now cited as often as the famed Peter Principle when skewering the operation of large organizations, most notably corporate entities.  All I can do is lament the fact that I was oblivious to the existence of Parkinson's Law when I was In Education!  I could have used it almost daily.  Every single teacher knows that no matter how long you give for an assignment, the vast preponderance of students will fritter away that time frame and still do the task the night before it is due.  OR, if possible, do it in the hallway five minutes before class.  These days, Parkinson's Law still applies to my life.  Now that I have an entire day to do, say, the laundry, grocery shopping, and cat maintenance, well, that is exactly how long it takes to do it.  Often, those chores are still incomplete at 5:30 when Rick gets home, and I am sheepishly folding towels as he walks in the door.  Oh well.

^*^I Don't Love Messes. Here's My Mommy Card.^*^ So I'm watching TV, and a commercial comes on for Clorox Clean-Up.  It shows a mommy in the kitchen, cooking/baking with her children.  Messiness and wonderful loving happiness ensue.  The mommy cheerily cleans up all of the foody messes with Clorox Clean-Up while hugging her kids and smiling.  The voiceover says, "Clorox Clean-Up...for the messes only a mother could love."  Really?  I've been a mother for over twenty-seven years, and I have yet to love a mess.  Or cleaning a mess.  And let me tell you, there have been plenty.  Even the Christmas cookie decorating messes, which are the worst, actually, with all the little nonpareils, the chocolate jimmies, the colored sugar, and heaven forbid if the food coloring gets spilled.  Did we have fun in the kitchen?  Usually, yes. But did I love the messes? Hell no.  Come on, Clorox.  Time to get real.

^*^And Yet Our Government Is Full Of Them^*^ By far, my favourite quote about men still comes from the book Bridget Jones's Diary.  The titular character's staunch friend Sharon maintains that "men--...are so catastrophically unevolved that soon they will just be kept by women as pets for sex...outside in kennels."  It is terribly mean, but think about it when you read the following dialog sent to me by Jared, my eldest.  It is a small snippet of a conversation that took place at his job, a workplace staffed almost entirely by men (They have one female employee).

Jared:  Dave, do you have the DC/Baltimore/Maryland map I created?
Dave:  No.
Gabe:  It's hanging right on your wall, Dave.
Jared:  Did you even know that that existed?
Dave:  The wall?
Jared:  Yeah.  Yeah, Dave.  The wall.
Dave:  Oh.  Yeah.  Yeah, I knew about that.  Just didn't know the map was on it.

Shake loose a few of your own Cranial Cobwebs in comments.  But hurry!  Here comes...well, you know!

illustration found here