Who Knew Salad Could Be So Racy? Sign Language Saturday On A Tuesday

Photo Dept. of Nance

Great sense of humour over at the ad agency in charge of the layout of this ad, which arrived in my mail today for a local grocery store.

Too bad it's the Baby Spinach that's "washed & ready to enjoy."  What a missed opportunity.

It Started With The Coffeemaker

On Saturday, Rick repaired--again--my coffeemaker. I'm inordinately and irrationally fond of this coffeemaker, a Cuisinart drip model circa 2004-5, and I refuse to let it go. When I first discovered it was leaking a month ago, he took it apart and replaced a hose. My Gratitude and Joy were boundless. Last week, when it started leaking again, all Rick did was to mildly berate himself for not replacing both hoses when he had the thing apart the first time, and set about taking it apart again. This time, unfortunately, the repair was more difficult and tedious.

Lucky for him, my own tasks took me in and out of the kitchen so that I could check on his progress help. On one of my sojourns through his work area, he asked me to hold the light so that he could use both hands to maneuver the circuit panel/board back into place and put everything back together.

But it wouldn't all fit back in. I watched my husband's face carefully for clues: was my coffeemaker terminal? did he really know what he was doing? was I going to have to get dressed and do my hair in order to go get coffee in the morning? WAS LIFE AS I KNOW IT OVER?

My search of his features yielded nothing. His expression was one of Placid Determination and Quiet Concentration. Clearly, I was going to have to Get Involved.

"Maybe you should just untie that bigass knot in the cord there," I suggested helpfully. "It seems to be holding up the whole shebang."

"It's not that."

"Okay." He moved around a lot of wires and cords and the panel/board thing. He tried a couple more times to get it all to fit. He looked at a piece of plastic that fit on the back near the power cord. It was obvious that my expertise was necessary here. I thought carefully about Strategy, Tact, and the cost of Marital Counseling.

Then I decided to speak up anyway. "Hey, Rick? Maybe they just tied that knot in that cord because of some UL regulations about cord length or something. You know? I feel like--"

And suddenly, right in front of me, Rick was screwing the bottom onto the coffeemaker. Just like that.

"Hey!" I said. "You got it! Yay!"

"Yep," he said. "Nance, that knot in the cord is there to keep the panel from being yanked all the way out."

"Oh. Well, you could have said that from the beginning! Why didn't you say that before?"

"I just thought about it."

I boosted myself onto the kitchen counter to keep him company while he finished up. We needed to test the coffeemaker to see if it worked and to see if it would leak again. "And how did you do all this tedious, frustrating work without swearing? If it were me, I'd have been a few Eff Words deep and then some."

"Because every time you hear me swear while I work, you think something's wrong. And then you worry. So I learned not to do that."

For a moment I was floored by this.  It showed a depth of understanding and concern that truly touched me.  It showed that Rick had listened to me over these many, many years!  "Wow," I said.  "That's really true, and I very much appreciate that, but okay, hold on. Of all the fantastic advice I've given you in all the years we've known each other, what percentage of it would you say that you've actually listened to?"

Rick held the coffeepot up to eye level to measure its contents before pouring it into the machine. He plugged the coffeemaker in, flipped the switch, and without turning around said definitively, "Seventy percent. Your coffeemaker is working."

My heart was full. I was so happy! As soon as that red light came on and I heard the sound of water successfully burbling through My Precious Coffeemaker, I almost gave Rick a pass on his preposterous answer. Almost. "Seventy percent! That's ridiculous. No way is it seventy percent. I'd put it at forty percent, tops. Especially if you figure in follow-through, like when I say you should ice your leg or take a naproxyn or stay off screens after 9PM. And you don't."

"Look under here when I lift this up," he said. "See if you see any water." He carefully raised the coffeemaker, and I craned my neck to see beneath it. A few drops of water were collecting on the newly-replaced hose. A wire clamp dangled, too. I reported these to Rick, who sighed patiently. "I can't believe I forgot to put the clamp back on after all that."

"Don't burn yourself. Be careful. Why don't you wait until it cools way down? It's easy enough just to put the clamp on, right?" I leaned over to provide Support and show Concern, so much so that I almost fell into the sink. I needn't have bothered; by the time I had expressed my Profound Sentiments, Rick had unscrewed the bottom of the unit, replaced the clamp, and started to screw it back in place.

"Why don't more people take my advice?" I asked him. "I'm not talking about the people on TV; I know they can't hear me when I tell them what to do. More people need to do exactly what I say. And immediately. Everything would be better."

"Maybe a lot of people do take your advice. They just don't tell you about it."

A final check of the coffeemaker proved successful. Hopefully, I'll have another fifteen years of Good Service and Good Coffee from it.  I'll let you know.

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Free For All Friday: Some This 'N That Bric-A-Brac Gets Thrown Out (And It's Not Even Thursday)

Let's have a bit of This 'n That, which also happens to be the weather forecast for NEO. Please don't mistake that for A Complaint; I can look out and see grass in the Dept. front yard, and yesterday it was 58 degrees. Today, although it is a full twenty degrees colder, we are not anticipating sn*w, so...Good News.

Anyway.

Here's some Brain Bric-a-Brac I need to download (or is that upload?  I always goof that up):

1. Teacher Tuesday On Friday. I feel like the cumulative IQ of Our Nation is dropping precipitously, thanks to 45* and the moronic spew he emits as well as the elevation of the ninnies who elected him. Everywhere I look I see errors in...well, everything. Not too terribly long ago, I read this comment online: You really nailed it on the head! This individual obviously customized the well-known idiom You hit the nail on the head, which is already perfectly fine and makes more sense.

I also would like to clarify the meanings of the words in this group: pique, peak, peek, also found misused online. Here they are, used correctly in sentences.

The new cat toy didn't pique Webster's interest one bit.

It's not like Fabio is at the peak of his career.

I'm ready to give you a sneak peek at the new me.

2. A Discontinued Product Is Back! Way back in 2011, I lamented and cursed the demise of Reynolds Plastic Wrap. It was such a great product, mainly because its box had a slidey little cutter thing that made using the wrap so easy. Well, it's back! I wish I could take credit for its return after a seven-year hiatus, but I cannot. Instead, I will chortle in my joy and hope that some other Discontinued Products That I Miss will return as well (Oil of Olay facial bar soap, hear my plea).

3. Monday Meme On Friday: Quick Fact Rundown.
~*~My fantasy basketball record right now is 14-3; I have the second-best record in the league (and am the only woman).
~*~I watched Big Little Lies on HBO Now and was enthralled by the acting but stressed out by the stories. So good!
~*~I'm feeling so much better that I have been Primary Snow Shoveller here at the Dept.
~*~I started another knitting project and sorted stash yarn for yet another.
~*~I have Thrown Out Thursdayed even more stuff.  (And discovered moth damage in my yarn. Sigh.)

Check in, won't you, in Comments?

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As Seen On TV...Almost

Scene opens on Living Room. Dinner is over; it is approximately 7 PM. Rick is in his chair. Nance enters from the bedroom where she has just changed into her pajamas and heads past him to the small trunk where she keeps blankets. She draws out a patchwork quilt backed with flannel and heads to the couch. Out of nowhere, both cats trot over to her, waiting.

Nance: Holy crap, do you see this? It's ridiculous. (curls up on couch, spreads out comforter, and both cats jump up onto it, with enormous orange cat claiming her lap)

Rick: (chuckling) Well, that's what you wanted. You wanted a cat to keep you company and be on your lap.

Nance: I know, but this is all the time. Every single time I sit down. (orange cat begins snoring) And now, I can't move. I simply cannot move.

Rick: Nance, it's a cat. You're bigger than he is. Maybe not by much, but you are. If you need to move, just move. You know he'll come right back.

Nance: That's not nice. Piper knows he's fat. But I hate to bother him when he's not feeling well. He's been so stuffy lately.

Rick: I know. I can hear him over the TV.

Nance: (getting fussy)  Both cats rushed me, and now I can't move. I want this light off, and I can't reach it.  (sighs, then brightly)  You know what I need? I need The Clapper.

Rick: You what? The Clapper?

Nance: Yeah. That thing for old people. Then I could just clap this light off. It would be great!

(Rick is looking at her with increasing suspicion and disbelief. He is not sure if she is serious or, at this point, even sane.)

Nance: (continuing excitedly) What would even be better is if The Clapper could multitask. Like, right now, I can't reach the light. But I also can't reach my water, my phone, or even my iPad. What if The Clapper could get those things for me? Now that is something I really need.

Rick: (in the spirit now) It could clean the shitboxes for you, too!

Nance: I don't really mind that job. Litter has come such a long way that it's almost nothing to do it. But if The Clapper could put my jammies on me and wash my face every night while I just sit here on my couch under my blanket, I'd take it!

Rick: How about if it just finds your Chapstick?

Nance: (big sigh) Yeah. For sure...that, too.

End scene.

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A Winter's Tale: Sadly, A True Story

Even with large doses of Vitamin D, I still fight through Seasonal Affective Disorder during NEO's interminable winters. I employ lots of different strategies with varying success. Trying to stay physically and mentally active can be frustrating, and I often find myself wondering if I'm losing the battle.

Like The Day I Lost My Chapstick.

This winter has been taxing on my skin, hair, eyes, and lips. I'm trying everything to stay hydrated, and I've never gone through lip balm like this before. I've taken to having three tubes at the ready: one in my purse, one on my nightstand, and one in the living room on the table next to my chair and couch corner. I've finally found one that works great for me, and I'm hanging onto it like Grim Death because I know damn well it is Destined To Be Discontinued like every single other product I have ever loved and gotten attached to.

But I digress.

Last week, I must have retrieved my Livingroom Lip Balm eleventy hundred times from the floor (and under furniture) because it suddenly became a Cat Toy for Marlowe, the grey cat who, every once in a while, knocks stuff down that belongs only to me. It was largely okay, until the day that I really needed my chapstick. And couldn't find it. I had been folding laundry, and I reached over for it, and...not there. I looked over on the table. Nope.

With a heavy sigh, I took Marlowe's name in vain and got down on the floor. I searched under the couch. Nothing. I grabbed my phone for a flashlight and looked again. I looked under both chairs, the huge ottoman, and the coffee table. Nothing. By this time, I was just outright aggravated. Because now I knew that it wasn't Marlowe's fault anymore. It was my own. I had probably grabbed it and put it in a coat pocket when I went out for a walk or something.

In the closet I went through the pockets of both coats I wore--twice. "God. Damn. It," I said, carefully raising the level of my voice after each word. I dropped to my knees on the floor of the closet and looked around. It wasn't there.

I was outraged. I was incredulous. My lips were chapped! This was becoming a Sanity Challenge, and I had to win.

I emptied my purse onto the table in the breakfast nook. Not there. I rooted through the drawer in my bedside table. Not there. (But did I use the lip balm in that drawer? HELL NO! I AM NOT A QUITTER! I AM NOT THE KIND OF PERSON WHO BOWS TO EXPEDIENCE IN TIMES OF CRISIS!  I HAVE INTEGRITY!) Next up, my clothes closet: all garments with pockets yielded nothing. Ditto the dresser drawers.

Throughout most of this search, I was talking to myself--loudly--but not in encouraging terms. "Where in the hell IS it? I only put it ONE PLACE! This could not BE any more FU**ING ridiculous! I am losing my goddam mind!" Finally, I admitted defeat. I dragged my shameful, chapped-lipped, weary sadness into the living room and plopped on the couch like the addle-brained loser I was. Piper immediately jumped into my lap. I felt somewhat comforted, despite the shower of hair that came with him.

I was exhausted. I leaned over and grabbed my huge tumbler of ice water and gratefully drank several gulps. When I turned to put the water glass back on the coaster, I saw it, my chapstick. It had been there, hidden by my bigass waterglass the whole time.

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Our Finger Is On The Pulse Of The Nation: A New Feature Here At The Dept. Of Nance

Ladies and Gentlemen, we here at The Big Simple Polls, LLC, have our collective finger on the pulse of the nation. At times like these, it's important to know what Joe and Sally Citizen are thinking. Too often, talking heads, policy wonks, and Washington insiders get caught up in D.C. skulduggery and beltway mumbo jumbo. It's up to regular people--like us!--to bring all that political jibber jabber and Internet noise into focus and boil it down to something clear, easy, and basic. That's why we call ourselves The Big Simple: we ask the big, simple questions to people just like you and get answers that are, well, big and simple!

Here are two questions we polled recently and their responses below. We have given you two easy-to-understand pie charts to assist you. I think you'll agree that The Big Simple Polls, LLC, has not only assisted you in understanding these issues, but also distilled them into their most basic form.

Question 1: Is the current president doing a good job?

Question 2: Would you trust the current president to tell the truth under oath?

Until next time, Keep It Simple!


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Whoever Said Money Can't Buy Happiness Probably Didn't Feed His Pets Blue Buffalo And Have S.A.D.

Let me warn you now: my brain has turned to Polar Mush, and I take no responsibility for the coherence of this post. Yesterday, I literally Gave Up at 3:30 PM when I realized that my furnace, even after running continually, still had not attained its Goal Temperature. Which meant that I was not going to attain mine, either. I hurriedly (and shivering-ly) finished prepping dinner, made stuff for Rick's lunches for the remainder of the week, and then zoomed into the bedroom where I put on my fleece jammies with the feet attached. This roused the attention of both cats, whose bliss was complete once they saw me grab my grandmother's flannel-backed comforter and hit the couch with my pillow and remote.

When I Give Up, I Mean Business.

I'm tired of Winter. I'm sick of being trapped inside by single-digit wind chills and icy walkways. Snow is not pretty if it's been sitting out there for weeks making everything so much more difficult and being tracked inside making things wet. (I don't think it's ever, ever "pretty.") The glare off that stuff is impressive when the sun shines; I don't need to put any lights on in the house all day long. It's hell when I have a headache.

I know: bitch, bitch, bitch. And I was going to behave myself and count my Blessings forever. I still do, but there's no halo on my head or wings hiding under my sweater. This isn't the Dept. of Pollyanna.

But here's a Happiness! And like many True Happinesses, it caught me completely by surprise and came in an unassuming, ordinary conveyance.

Rick came home from work and retrieved the mail from the porch. Sometimes I dread this--particularly when I'm crabby or have just cleaned up the living room from all detritus--because he will often toss any and all junk mail addressed to me on my lap, even though he knows it belongs in the recycle bin. The rest of it goes onto the coffee table, waiting.  It just makes more work for me, and I don't even bother to open it. Or, he'll toss financial statements with my name on them to me, again knowing that he is the one who deals with them, not me.

But I digress.

Rick got the mail and tossed me an envelope. I rolled my eyes and then looked at the return address. It was from Blue Buffalo Litigation, Settlement Department. "Oh, hey!" I said. "I forgot about joining this Blue Buffalo pet food class action lawsuit. Geeze, it was such a long time ago. It was something about...I don't even remember. I read about it online and filed online, too." As I was talking, I was opening the envelope and taking out a check.

And then my eyes popped out of my head, fell on the carpet, became covered with cat hair, and Rick had to go rinse them off before he could stick them back into my face, where my mouth was hanging open like a drawbridge welcoming the procession of the Knights Of The Roundtable returning from a quest.

Because the check was for $108.69.

I got OVER ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS OF FREE MONEY IN THE MAIL. From a class action lawsuit. It's incredible.

I've joined lots of class action lawsuits that I've been eligible for in the past, and the most I've gotten has been maybe fifteen bucks. I could not get over it.  Almost as good as seeing a patch of grass in my yard...someday.

Warmed me right up.

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A New Year's Story (Somewhere, Charles Dickens Is Smiling)

Last Thursday, after grocery shopping with a lighter heart since Things Are Back To Normal, I was steering my Prius back home, barely grimacing at That Horrid Taco's Sign. It was so cold, but at least it was sunny, and I had a car full of groceries, good news from the doctor the day before, and dinner already planned in my head. It was such a Good Day!

I almost didn't see the man standing on the street corner at the busy three-way stop. He was muffled in a scarf and hat, and he was wearing a brown canvas coat that didn't look very warm. As I came up to the intersection, he turned around, and I saw he was holding a sign:
 PLEASE HELP
 HOMELESS AND HUNGRY.

The snow around the sidewalks where he was standing was piled up about fourteen inches, and in the extreme cold, had turned to ice. There were deep frozen ruts about a foot into the street, making his chosen spot a precarious one. It was also not a very smart one. Traffic coming from one direction had no stop at all, and in order for him to reach any car that did manage to stop and block this very busy intersection, he had to navigate terrible terrain. Had he merely moved to a small parking lot across from the Taco's sign fifty feet away, he'd have had a much easier time of it.

Traffic nudged me, and I had to move along. But instead of turning left at the light a block ahead, I turned right, circled back, and came around again. I was lucky--traffic had slowed, and I could stay in my lane to call him over. He was jumping up and down a bit in his tennis shoes, trying to get warm. I honked my horn a little over the noise of a loud truck idling nearby to get his attention. He turned around, and I leaned over in the seat toward my open passenger's side window.

He carefully stepped toward my car, picking his path through the icy mounds and slippery ruts. I wasn't sure if I should look at him: would it embarrass him? I glanced at him briefly and glimpsed some of the tiredest eyes I think I have ever seen. I could see that he was young, and I felt a surge of pity. "Here," I said, as I offered him a ten, "I--"

"Oh, thank you! Thank you, ma'am, and God Bless! God Bless you, ma'am!" His blue eyes glistened and he had a West Virginian accent. His cheeks were red and patched with cold, white places.

I became almost overwhelmed with...what? Embarrassment? Shame? "I hope things turn around for you soon," I said. I checked my mirrors and drove on into traffic, headed home, thinking about my December worries and how they stacked up--or, more accurately, didn't--to this man's.

To many, many people's.

When the Universe strives so mightily to Teach Me A Lesson, it is important that I not miss the opportunity to Learn It. This young man on the corner was sort of my New Year's Jacob Marley, but I won't need to be introduced to the rest of the cast.

Message Received.

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In Which I Update You On December And Forge Ahead

I'm just going to jump right in and Flex My Writing Muscles with a Spontaneous Post. December was a long and arduous month, and just getting through it felt like a Full-Time Job. Wouldn't it be nice if Christmas could be during the summer when zipping around is easier and you're not all bundled up like a first-time mom's new baby in about a hundred layers so that when you try to do anything you're rolling around, or worse yet, waddling? Ugh.

And yes, I know, not all of you are reading this in the grips of The Polar Vortex.

Anyway.

December.

1. Not Merry: On December 1st, Rick was fired. Long story short, the company that recruited him to start up and run a new division decided to all of a sudden not have that division. They gave him no severance. Then they contested his unemployment benefits (of course, it took all month for that to be deemed meritless).

2. Nance Meltdown: Needless to say, this was not something I was ready for. Without getting into all the boring minutiae of my health, let me simply say that it was a concern for both Rick and me. The strain of worry about finances, both immediate and long-range, was enormous, and no amount of reassurance--from anyone--could help me.

3. Living Together: I am used to being home alone (with cats Piper and Marlowe) all day long. There is a certain ebb and flow to my days, and I am a creature of habit. It was extraordinarily difficult to share that time with Rick, who would wake up, come into the living room where I was silently having coffee and reading the paper, and turn on the television (loudly) so that he could watch the morning news. I felt edgy and...watched. As if I had to Have A Plan. "What are you doing today?" he would ask innocently. My first reaction was to feel bristly and almost defensive. It was Completely Insane, and I knew it. I was on a hair trigger; things were Not Normal, and it was all just Fear.

4. Projects: Aside from Finding A Job being Rick's job, he tackled cleaning out his area of the basement, which gave him plenty to do and kept him safe from me. I also continued my own Throw It Out projects, expanding my reach to several of my bureau drawers, a storage closet upstairs, a section of my closet, and next on the list is my upstairs linen cabinet, home to all the bed linens for the house.  And there was also the biggest project of them all...

5. Christmas: This year, we plundered our stash of Secret Money and had a Cash Christmas. Nothing on the credit card to pay off in January.  Rick and I did all the shopping together as well as the wrapping.  I cancelled the Big Family Christmas Eve Open House, traditionally held at my home for the past 30 years. I knew the stress and workload would flatten me. Jared and Sam came over and we had wine and heavy appetizers and relaxed. On Christmas Day, Zydrunas came too, and we hung out, resurrected Wii Bowling, and watched Z destroy a toy. On the 26th, Rick and I took down all the Christmas, put the tree on the curb, and took some deep breaths.

6. Wine Therapy: Although I am not one to recommend drinking as a medication, I will say that our wine cellar played a large role in my December Survival. Without it, I would have spent the entire month brittle, fragile, tightly wound, and probably never smiling even once. Bonus: I am even more adept at food and wine pairings now.

7. Saving The Best For Last: Today, Rick started back to work. In a rare and truly wonderful twist of Fate, he is working at the company where he was previous to the one that fired him. He left there on good terms; his boss knew that Rick had been given an opportunity which, at the time, was one he couldn't pass up. He's been welcomed back with such warmth and good cheer that it's overwhelming.

And now, I am done sharing all that Unpleasantness. Certainly--and I know this for a fact--we are not the only ones to have had this hardship, and we are in much better shape than so very many people who have been--and are still going--through it. I am grateful for our resources and know how fortunate we are.

I do think, however, that it's Important in this Age Of InstaPinFace to put some Real Life out there once in a while. My December wasn't picture perfect with each day bringing its own little Christmas Miracle. Some days were good, some...not so much. Some days I had to Just Let Go and hope things would get Better. As many of you know, that's a tough one for me.

But here I am.  And On We Go.

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And Suddenly, December...

Wishing you Peace and Joy

However and Wherever

You may find them.

The Dept. will be back up and running in January.  Until then, stay warm, stay safe, and take some time for yourself each day to rest, refuel, and read something Smart.  

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Throw It Out Thursday: Kitchen Table Linens (Supposedly) Drawer

One goal of mine has been to eliminate Junk Repositories from my home. I detest cutesy Crap Containers, so-called Organizers, any flat surfaces designated for detritus to accumulate, and all manner of Clutter. Part of the reason is that we have a very small house; another is that I am home now for a large part of the day and have to deal with it/look at it.  (I dream of getting rid of my coffee table, but we do use it.)

When we went to set the breakfast nook table for our Informal Thanksgiving, the Kitchen Table Linens Drawer quite simply exploded. In the search for tablecloth and matching napkins, (and a placemat for Zydrunas's dishes on the floor), stuff was rooted through, and only with superhuman effort would the drawer begrudgingly close again...almost. Rick and I rarely use an actual table for meals now, opting for more casual dinners on the couch while watching the evening news. The Drawer, therefore, had become neglected, and while I was aware that it needed editing, I was unaware of exactly what had been squirreled away in there of a decidedly Non-Linen nature.

Here, then, is what got Thrown Out of the Drawer today:

First of all, that Lowe's receipt is so old, you cannot even read what the item was or how much it cost.  It was stuffed way in the back.  The little plastic tub was not in the drawer, but it is overflowing with the doodads that somehow found their way into the linens:  screws, a plastic bag of hooks from before my subway tiles were installed, a key safe, a light timer (like for when you go away and want burglars to think someone is home), a broken cover for my refrigerator's water filter, a partial tube of silicon adhesive, some hooks for my pot rack, and a slew of other stuff, including a ceramic cow's ear for a cow I no longer have in my collection.  Rick will have a little sorting job to do.

(I'm sorry to see that cow hook up there get tossed.  I love it, but I have nowhere to put it, and while the repair is an easy one to make, it will also be easy to see.)

And yes, those are actual linens from the drawer I'm either tossing, donating, or selling cheaply at the next garage sale.

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Way Back When Wednesday: Baking For My Father

Saturdays were a very special day at our house when we were growing up on East 38th Street. My mother always baked something on Saturday afternoons so that we had it for dessert on Saturday night after our baths, and sometimes we had it for breakfast on Sunday mornings before twelve o'clock mass. My father adored fresh pastry, pie, cake, and every once in a while, a homemade pudding like tapioca or a meringue-topped bliss entirely misnamed Graham Cracker Pudding when it should have been called Fantastically Wonderful But Horribly Worky Sweet Delight.

My father often requested terribly complicated and labour-intensive baked goods, and my mother, for some reason, complied. I can vividly remember sitting under our kitchen table while she made strudel dough, stretching and stretching it thinner and thinner, its transparent edges hanging long over the sides. Every so often, I'd reach out from under the table and tear a bit of dough off to taste it. She would sometimes see me and reprimand me, but she never made me get out from under the table.

When my mother made pies, she often had leftover pie crust and allowed me to use it to make my own creations which she would then bake along with her pies. I would roll the bits of pie crust into pinwheels or shape them into flowers or animals. Then I'd sprinkle them with cinnamon and sugar, or if I was given enough crust to form a small tart or two, fill them with jam. When they came out of the oven, I'd be so proud of them! Carefully, I'd look them over and choose the nicest of them to present to my father on a pretty saucer.

My dad was always so complimentary and loving about whatever I had made and given to him, but he never ate a single thing when I presented it. "That looks great!" he'd say. "I don't want to eat it right now. Have your mother save it for me and pack it in my lunch, and I'll have it at work with my hot tea." Always disappointed, I'd say okay, and take it back to the kitchen and relay the message to my mother, who would put the plate away. I would snack on the remainder of my little treats that I had made myself and think no more about it.

I can't tell you exactly when it finally occurred to me that my father never, ever ate any of the little treats I baked for him. Embarrassingly, it was probably not too long ago, relatively speaking. As I've said before, when it came to my Childhood, I was Blissfully Unaware a good ninety percent of the time, trusting always in The Grownups and spending most of my life with my nose buried deep within books. Like cookies put out for Santa, my little pie crust treats were never consumed by the person for whom they were intended.

My father was, in his own way, a bit of a germophobe, and had deep misgivings about the Unknown Ingredients in my cookies. Had I licked my fingers as I sprinkled on the cinnamon sugar? What if I had not thoroughly washed my hands before I prodded that dough? Perhaps my mother had not made sure my pigtails were pulled back and not able to brush across the cookies' surface. Worse, what if I had coughed on them? There was no way to be sure, so there was no way he could possibly eat them. Instead, he spared both of our feelings with his kind fiction, and I remained happy for the most part, if a bit puzzled.

I buy my pies, except for two pumpkin pies every Thanksgiving, at a local pie shop. I buy premade pie crusts, and there are never any leftovers; you just unroll a circle of dough and push it into the pie pan. It's very easy to do, and when you're done, you're done.

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Teacher Tuesday: Quick Language Pricklies

This is the last Teacher Tuesday of November, and it's a gorgeous, sunny 62 degrees here in NEO! I want to spend a little more time outside, storing up some natural Vitamin D before Nature looks at her calendar and corrects her mistake.

Here are a few Language Burrs that sneaked under my saddle this week and caused me some discomfort.

1. On Accident. I read this online, but I've heard it said time and time again; e.g. "Travis locked himself out on accident." The correct phrase is "by accident." The mixup most likely occurs because of the converse phrase "on purpose."

2. A Real Trooper. I'm pretty certain that this is going to go the way of many, many olde fashionde sayings and because of its constant misspelling lapse into tolerated and grudgingly accepted usage. The proper spelling is "trouper" after the word "troupe," which is a group of performers. Just as the old saying attests, "The show must go on;" a trouper, therefore, is a performer who keeps going on despite problems and hardships.

3. Lightening/Lightning. This drives me absolutely crazy. If you are making something paler or blonder or weigh less, then you are lightEning it. That is a three-syllable word. If you are referring to bolts of electricity in the sky (which one of my junior regs once told me Benjamin Franklin invented), then you are writing about lightning. That is a two-syllable word.

Going outside now! This warm weather is bliss.

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Monday Meme: Firsts

Someone or something always has to Be First. A few Firsts are memorable, pioneering, momentous, and life-changing. Others are mundane, routine, and incidental. Let's take a look at a few

Firsts In The Life Of Nance

1. First thing you'd do if you won a million dollars?
Call my financial planner and ask how much fun we can have with it.

2. First real grownup job?
Bank teller

3. First thing you do when you get bad news?
Wallow in fear and look for solutions as fast as I can.

4. First place you lived on your own?
My college dorm, then my apartment with my husband.

5. First thing you look for on a restaurant menu?
If it's a nice restaurant, seafood or duck. If it's a casual place, pasta.

6. First choice for dessert in restaurants?
Creme brulee

7. First choice in career?
I always wanted to be a teacher, but had a brief year and a half of veterinary medicine study before I went back to education.

8. First book to make a significant impact on you?
It's a tie between A Tree Grows in Brooklyn and To Kill a Mockingbird. I read them at about the same time and was deeply affected by both. But TKAM has had the most lasting effect on me.

9. First movie you went to without adult supervision?
The Sound of Music

10. First thing you do in the shower?
Think about how cold I am.

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Sign Language Saturday: The Huh? Edition

Okay.

Even after the viewer overlooks the missing apostrophe (and two upside-down S's), this sign has problems.  I'm struggling to find its message and meaning or any semblance of coherence.  It's as if there was a sign meeting and

Chairman of the Sign Committee:  Okay, everyone.  What should our Holiday Sign say?
Member 1:  Technically, it doesn't say anything.  People read it.  It's not a talking sign.
Chairman:  Ha ha, Joyce.  Okay, anyone else?  I'll write down everyone's suggestion on this legal pad.
Member 2:  Happy Holidays!
Member 3:  How about Welcome to Cinnamon Lake?
Joyce:  That's always on the sign already.
Member 3:  You don't have to get snotty, Joyce.  And it says "Welcome To Cinnamon Lake A Great Community", if you want to get technical.
Member 2:  Come celebrate Christmas with us!
Chairman:  Well, not everyone will be coming just for Christmas.  Over at the Lodge, we're having a Thanksgiving dinner, and also, don't forget the Christmas Eve Bunco Game and our New Year's Eve Euchre and Trivia Countdown Party.
Member 4:  I have to leave early.  Carl moved the Recycling Committee meeting to tonight.  We need to move this along.   
Joyce:  What's on our list?
Chairman:  Okay.  I think I got enough.  Meeting adjourned.

Free For All Friday: A Little Throw It Out Thursday Gets Accomplished In This Thanksgiving/Dog Show Recap

Did you all have a pleasant Thanksgiving or Thursday or both? It was important to me that I take the day off from Something, so Writing was that Something. Truth be told, I also took the day off from Behaving Myself a little bit, and did quite a bit of Curse-Filled Pontificating And Narrating during the Dog Show. Once again, my most favourite dog in the universe, the Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever did NOT win, nor did it get any camera time beyond its speedy introduction as part of the Sporting Group. To add Insult to Injury, the Brussels Griffon won Best In Show, and I was completely outraged. Here, you tell me:

Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever

This dog did not win.

Ugly Brussels Griffon Icky Thing Dog

This one did.

I think my point is made.  I only hope the Canadians don't take it personally and stop making wine for me in Ontario.

This Thanksgiving taught me that, in addition to Throwing Out some pretty good Swear Words and Rants Against Lesser Dogs, I could also Throw Out the following:

1. Rolls
2. A second vegetable side dish

I fussed and fumed about not finding The Good Rolls this year, and went on a ridiculous 3-Store Hunt for them. After finally securing this coveted item and putting out said Good Rolls on the Thanksgiving Table, they were assiduously ignored and forgotten, left untouched to be put away, pristine and puffy, likely to be frozen for less festive meals in the future.  I also made the Executive Decision to serve only one vegetable--Jared's sauteed Brussels sprouts (the best thing from Brussels, ahem!) with onions and balsamic glaze--and it was more than enough.

So, to recap, here's What I Threw Out On Thanksgiving Thursday:
1.  Lots Of Indiscriminate Profanity Directed At Dog Breeds And Dog Show Judging
2.  Any Notion Of Ever Serving Rolls (Even The Good Kind) At Thanksgiving Dinner
3.  The Idea That A Second Vegetable Dish Was Necessary
Oh, and--
4.  All Pretense That I Can Make "A Lot Less" Stuffing

We were one less at the Dept. for dinner this year since Sam was vacationing in warmer climes.  I was determined to make A Lot Less Stuffing.  I still have NO IDEA why this did not happen.  I truly feel like I did not buy the same amount of ingredients I used to; I honestly feel that I mixed, chopped, sauteed, and seasoned way less.  YET, when I finished shaping the little balls of stuffing, I still had three pans full of them.  Each and every time I had to get out another pan, I was stunned and amazed.

I was not even drinking. No lie.

Speaking of drinking, we served two wines with dinner, an oaked Chardonnay and an unfiltered Pinot Noir, both lightly chilled.  And both Canadian. 


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Way Back When Wednesday: The Lesson Of Dessert

When I was much younger, lots and lots of our extended family get-togethers (like most people's) involved sharing food. The aunts would bring casseroles and Jello salads and pies and cakes and vegetable dishes that made filling a plate a Logistics Nightmare. Very rarely was there a clunker on the table; besides, my grandfather would eat anything, and plenty of it.

One of my aunts, Aunt Eileen, married into the family, played golf, drank booze, and was fiercely loving.  She also made terrific desserts.  She once brought a towering bowl of butterscotch pudding topped with billowy whipped cream to a family gathering. I kept my eye on that bowl for the entire meal, but by the time I got to dessert, it was gone. My heart is still not healed from that, but it taught me a valuable lesson that I put into practice at a subsequent event.

The family was having a big eat-for-all at my grandparent's cabin, so we went down for the day to visit with the relatives, swim in the lake, and eat a lot. We met first at Grandma's, and my Aunt Eileen dropped my cousin Tim off there to go down with us since they weren't coming. Tim arrived with his bathing suit, towel, and one of Aunt Eileen's double chocolate cakes.

I don't remember how we managed to do it, but Tim and I hid that whole cake from Grandma, my mother, and everyone.  We hid it at Grandma's, and we hid it in the car on the way to the cabin, too.  We probably draped his swim towel over it, but more likely no one paid much attention to us. We sneaked that magnificent cake up into the loft in the cabin, hid it under a bed, and later, when no one was going to notice, we grabbed two forks that we had sneaked up there too and ate gorgeous, chocolatey cake at our leisure and by ourselves.

With absolutely zero regret, shame, or guilt.

And it was delicious.

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Teacher Tuesday: Reader Mail For The Dept. And Me (Or Should That Be I?)

Devoted and Long-Time Reader John from Gettysburg sent me an email today questioning me about this sentence in yesterday's post:

The parade will provide several opportunities for Rick and I to exhibit our complete lack of awareness in the areas of Broadway Musicals, Cartoon Stars, and B/C-List Celebrities...

wondering specifically about the particular phrase for Rick and I.

I wish John did not live so far away in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, because he really needs to be right here in Northeast Ohio to give me a Good Hard Smack. Immediately and with Great Alacrity.

Because, holy crap, what a Rookie Mistake. And if I saw it or heard it anyplace, I'd be all over it like...well, Me On A Grammatical Or Spelling Error Made By Someone Who Knows Better.

I'm so mortified, my face is falling off.

But every Mistake is a Learning Opportunity, so here is the reason why the phrase should have been for Rick and me:

"For" is a preposition; therefore, it requires an object, the objective case pronoun "me." One way to check is to remove the compound ("several opportunities for me"). You wouldn't say "several opportunities for I", would you? No, nor would I, even though I made that silly error.

"Perhaps this will make Nance more forgiving and less of a Language Martinet," some people may be saying. Sadly, they would be wrong.

And yes, of course I corrected yesterday's post.

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Monday Meme: Thanksgiving

I had to make a Final Grocery Store Run this morning. Suddenly, I was out of foil. And garlic powder (Rick can no longer abide real garlic) and plastic storage bags and cat litter. And no one had Brussels sprouts or the Good Dinner Rolls, so I'm Over It. SO Over It.

Say hello to the first ever Thanksgiving Grinch.

But it's Okay. "Maybe Thanksgiving doesn't come from a store. Maybe Thanksgiving...perhaps...means a little bit more!"

Let's see what it means to Me, at least, in these Thanksgiving Questions:

1. Turkey--white meat or dark?

Dark meat. Tastes better and isn't as dry.

2. Cranberries?

I insist on making cranberry sauce, plain, and I prefer it warm. Rick makes cranberry-orange relish.

3. Single most favourite food of Thanksgiving Dinner?

Turkey gravy. I do make my own, and I think turkey gravy is the best gravy. I wish I didn't have to put it ON food, but could merely eat it like a soup.

4. How do you feel about stores being open on Thanksgiving?

I'm decidedly against it and disappointed by it. I wish the employees could be at home. I wish there were one day besides Christmas that commerce could take a break. But it's disingenuous to be so lofty and idealistic, isn't it? The truth is that some people don't have Thanksgiving: they don't want to or can't be with their families; they welcome the chance to work and earn some holiday pay; or they don't celebrate the holiday, period. And if brick-and-mortar stores close their doors, they'll lose out to online retailers who never close for the holiday, and who are struggling to maintain their status in the marketplace as it is. They're serving a Need, and whether Created or Existing, if it didn't profit them to do so, they wouldn't.

5. Dog show, football, or parade?

All, in bits and pieces, but sadly, the primary focus of the TV will be football. I would prefer it be the dog show, which I find far more interesting, exciting, and fast-paced, but I will be outvoted. The parade will provide several opportunities for Rick and me to exhibit our complete lack of awareness in the areas of Broadway Musicals, Cartoon Stars, and B/C-List Celebrities as we continually turn to one another and say, "Who the hell is that?" and "What did they say he/she was in?" and "I never heard of any of them" and "What is that a balloon of, something from a movie or a video game?"

6. Pies?

I make two pumpkin, but I don't eat any. I dislike pumpkin pie, which to me is boring in the extreme. Instead, I eat a bowl of whipped cream with chocolate syrup and chopped nuts. Perhaps this year I will eat some of my Hagen Dazs coffee ice cream.

7. Are pets invited?

Zydrunas (the granddog) will be here for the holiday, which means Piper and Marlowe (resident cats) will be safely tucked away in the upper stories of the Dept. While Z is a guest here, he is not a Full Participant in the actual meal, except to be with us in the dining room until he has tired considerably of (usually) Jared's comments, at which point he leaves with a huff and retires to his chair in the living room. And yes, I do have a recent photo:

8. Do you have a dress code?

Oh, my. That would be the day.


I await your 8 and more in Comments.




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Sign Language Saturday: Meet My Nemesis

This sign.  I drive by it every week, and each time I feel as if it's mocking me.  Other signs on this scrolling marquee advertise plural things, too, but only this noun has the errant apostrophe, not Fridays, not Games, not Events, not Nights.

I wish they'd change Tuesday to Chili Night.