Cows (And I) Hate That

Scene opens on Rick and Nance in the car. They are driving to go pick up their taxes at the accountant's office.

Nance:  Why are you going straight? Why didn't you turn left? This is an odd way to go.

Rick:  I don't know the best way to go, honestly. There is no good way to go. 

Nance:  Hm. This just seems--Oh look! Cows! How wonderful!

Rick:  (turns his head toward the window at the cows)  Mooooo!

Nance:  (big sigh; disapprovingly) Cows hate that, you know. They hate being mooed at.

Rick:  They do? How exactly do you know that?

Nance:  Oh, Rick. Everyone knows that. It's disrespectful and demeaning. It's...it's like going up to a Native American and (raises one hand, palm out) saying "how."

Rick:  But how do you know that?

Nance:  I would think the analogy I just gave you is example enough. Good heavens. 

Rick:  Okay, but what if a little kid was in the car with us and said Moo to the cows? What would you think then? You'd think it was cute.

Nance:  It would depend. If it were a sweet little kid, I'd probably think it was cute. But if it were some mouthy snotty kid who is always yelling and being a brat, I'd hate it. And I'd tell him the same thing I just told you. 

Rick:  Wow. What are you trying to say? 

End Scene.

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I'm Nance, And I Am A Parking Lot Avenger

Let me say at the outset that I am not one of these fussy parkers that has to circle the lot a hundred times to find a spot close to the door. I prefer to start my shopping inside the store. Unless the weather is rainy, I often choose a spot quite far from the door since I am able-bodied and don't find walking objectionable. 

I am also not the parker who sits idling in the middle of the lane, waiting for someone to pull out so that I can pull into that spot. That behaviour frosts my cupcakes to no end. Why must you have that spot? Is it climactically perfect? Are its coordinates your lucky number? Or are you just a jerk?

Here's another thing that gets me:  designated parking for "special" people. Mother-to-Be spots. Family Only spots. Spots for Veterans. I'm sorry, but what? When I was pregnant, and hugely so, I walked up three flights of stairs to a third-period study hall five days a week. And my school covered an entire city block, so I did a lot more walking than from a parking lot to a store. My doctor never suggested I walk less. And why would a Family need a special spot? Do mothers and fathers no longer tell their kids to hold hands and stay with Mom and Dad, that a parking lot is Just As Dangerous As A Street? That was Standard Operating Procedure for our family everywhere we went (with no special parking spots, either). A special spot for a Veteran seems condescending and ridiculous to me. How about that business really honors their service and gives them ten percent off every purchase, every day? I park in the Mother-to-Be and Family spots every so often when I'm feeling snotty. (Not the Veteran spot--stolen valour.)

On Friday I had to make a trip to the warehouse club, and you know how those parking lots are. It's a free-for-all, and most people are driving bigass SUVs and up-armored urban assault vehicles. I drive a Prius plug-in, and it was like I was driving in a canyon, the place was so crowded. I finally saw a parking spot, but no! some selfish snot parked astride two spaces. I drove farther on and parked, but I was so irked by this moron's selfishness. Even if it were an accident, why not, upon getting out and seeing what a horrible job he did, get back in the car and park it correctly? 

I felt the need to Avenge This Wrong, so on my way in I grabbed a huge cart from the cart return and parked it carefully--broadside--against the rear of the offending car. That way, the idiot knew it was on purpose; he had to move the cart before he could open his hatchback to unload his own cart; he had to deal with two big carts; and he was inconvenienced, too. 

It made me feel pretty damn good, I have to say. Later, when I told Rick of my Parking Lot Coup, he said, "I just worry about your safety when you do stuff like this. Especially when you're by yourself." He acts like I do Stuff Like That all the time. 

I don't, by the way. But every so often, I like to...rebalance the scales in my world. Don't you?

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My Life In Dogs

 

One thing I do before I leave for my daily walks is to grab a few small dog biscuits from the jar on the counter and tuck them into my pocket. Ours is a dogful neighborhood, and I'm on a first-name basis with many of them:  Sophie, Beethoven, Milo, Onyx, Clover, Bruno, Copper, Oswego, Therese, and, most recently, a very impressive and sweet pair of bloodhound sisters named Gracie and Delilah. We were walking toward each other and Gracie let out a perfectly wonderful, breed-standard baying Hello. I greeted her almost as enthusiastically, and her Dog Dad simply let their leashes go and both girls loped over to meet me. Needless to say, it was the high point of my walk that day.

I have to say that the Dogs Of My Childhood were not nearly as charming or fun as the Dogs Of My Maturity. They were certainly full of strange personality, and it's definitely true that you can't blame the dogs; you can only blame their owners. 

Right across the street (and that's East 38th Street) lived Tuffy Ward, a morbidly obese cocker spaniel, pet of Marge, also enormously fleshy. Marge and her husband frequently ate Hydrox cookies out of a huge tin and so did Tuffy. So did I, as a matter of fact, as a favoured and regular visitor. I don't think I ever heard Tuffy bark, only huff, puff, and wheeze. At one point, he had to be helped up and down the porch steps.

Two doors west from us lived Candy Schroeder, a small black terrier mix who looked like she swallowed a propane tank. She was one of the ugliest dogs I ever saw, and she perpetually had a snappish look on her face. Every so often, Marie, the long-suffering matriarch of the house, used to holler out the front door at Curt, the youngest son, "Cu-urt! Come take Candy for a walk!" Curt, who was my sister Susan's best friend, would sigh deeply and trudge home. A few minutes later we'd see him pulling his red wagon with Candy sitting in it like a terrier Buddha up one side of the street and then down. 

Two doors eastward could have been Candy's cousin, Ladybug Rigo. The difference between the two was probably about ten pounds and mobility. If Ladybug wasn't tied up, she'd come after you, all snarling and snapping. Years later, the family inexplicably got a beautiful English Setter and named it Pete. (I know; how British!) This dog...something was terribly wrong with this dog. Unpredictable and mean, it would often get loose and gallop the neighborhood, terrorizing everyone.  Pete also had some sort of seizure disorder or something:  every so often, he would suddenly stop--a little off balance, neck sort of wrenched, legs stiff--then immediately recover and start running like hell. It was legitimately frightening to find Pete in your yard.

Next door to Pete was Skippy Losh the Pomeranian. Skippy was a cute dog, but nippy and unapproachable. He spent a lot of time outdoors tied to a clothesline so he could run up and down the length of his back yard, which he did with infinite zest and zeal. The sound of Skippy's bark, however, sent every single woman on East 37th, 38th, 39th, and part of Tacoma Avenue out to bring in her laundry off the line, and it made me hurry on my paper route. Kids at Homewood Park knew they had very little time left to finish their baseball game, and other kids knew they'd better get off the swings and monkey bars and get home. It was uncanny--the only time Skippy barked was when rain was imminent, and he was never, ever wrong. 

Right next door to us was Katie Lesh the black chihuahua. She was owned by Helen, who was not much bigger than Katie and was the smallest grownup I ever saw. Helen carried Katie constantly, and like most chihuahuas, that dog always looked miserable and nervous. She wasn't, I'm sure, because Helen treated her like a baby and was constantly fussing over her. Sometimes I wonder if my general disdain for chihuahuas is due to Helen and her annoyingly nasal voice always calling Katie's name and hauling her around, or if it's just because of how they're so trembly and seem like they need some heroin real bad or something.

I had a paper route for years on my street and a couple of the surrounding ones, and one of the houses had an enormous dog. If I had to guess, it was likely some sort of mastiff. (I think his name was Brutus, but I'm not sure.) He was owned by a Russian couple, and he used to be outside in his fenced-in yard when I delivered the paper. As soon as I came near the driveway, he'd start barking and stand up at the fence. I knew if he really wanted to, not only could he take that fence, he could make short work of me. But his owners would give a command in Russian, and he'd get down and be quiet. After some careful listening, I tried to say the same thing in an equally forceful voice. It worked!

I vastly prefer my present-day neighborhood dogs. They are far more pleasant and well-behaved. Perhaps it's just that Dog Ownership is largely different now. Most people are more compassionate and humane about their pets. There's more of a Pet Culture, and there's definitely a Dog Culture. And maybe I have more appreciation for dogs now because I have a granddog and because I'm not out there delivering papers. Despite my Joy in neighborhood dogs and even in seeing dog heads hanging out of cars, one thing is forever certain:  I'm not going to get a dog of my own. For me, Other People's Dogs is my favourite breed.

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Catching Up Old-Style

 

Oh, hello. 

It seems we have some Catching Up to do. Let's get started.

*I Am Old And They Are Liars:  For 30+ years I wore high heels with pointy toes for 8 hours a day. My students and my colleagues appreciated (and envied) my shoe wardrobe. I seldom wore flats or sneakers, ever, even in my off hours. Fast forward to now, 12 years later:  I wear flat shoes with good support and a wide toe box like all the Experts recommend in order to Take Good Care Of My Feet. And for the First Time Ever I had to buy a corn removal product at the grocery store like an old person. Adding to my outrage was the fact that I had no one tangible upon which to focus my anger and resentment. How I'd love to go back to wearing my wonderful, beautiful career shoes in some audacious display of self-righteousness! Alas, however, I'd look ridiculous since I am constantly in leggings, skinny jeans, and comfy shirts.

*Am I Old Or Not And What Is She Trying To Say?  I've written here before about my funny grocery store and its astonishing Closeouts section where customers can buy anything from a Ben Franklin bobblehead to Subway restaurant visors to a bathroom vanity cabinet (no top). A couple weeks ago, I found a New York Times page-a-day crossword 2023 calendar for 25 cents. It also includes a free one month subscription to NYT Games. I grabbed it immediately. My favourite cashier, Sunshine, was ringing me out and she couldn't get over the price. "This is 25 cents?!" she said. "That's crazy!" I was bagging my stuff (reusable bags, of course) and agreed, "Right? I stood there for a minute trying to think of anyone else I could buy one for. It's such a great deal." Sunshine unintentionally clouded my skies with this remark, "Well, any old person, really, would love it." Thank goodness this was not the same day I had to buy my corn pads, or I probably would have smacked her.

*Speaking Of Old People, This Weather Alert From My Mother, Age 92:  Here in NEO, we've had an extremely mild winter. As in, I've only shovelled snow once SO FAR. Oh, we've had a bit of snow here and there, but nowhere near where we normally would be.   Nowhere near. And I've seen lots of robins around, along with my daffodils poking up several inches and the silver maples already budding red and getting their fringe. This, according to my mother, is Bad. "It's not good for this area of the country not to have snow this time of year. It's not good for the trees or the birds or anyone else. It's bad; it's not natural." I'm sure you all remember her Dire Warnings back in October of a Hard Winter. True, we still have March and at least part of April to go. And we did have a nasty snowstorm in May that broke down so many lovely blooming crabapples. But right now, I'm inclined to say YOU BLEW IT AGAIN, MOM.

*But Some Things Never Get Old:  I'm still taking tremendous satisfaction from quite a few Simple things, like my daily walks, which are full of happy encounters with neighborhood dogs; reading good books, most recently The Dictionary of Lost Words by Pip Williams (highly recommended for any lover of words); a hot cup of coffee and Biscoff in the afternoons while watching Judge Judy or, more recently, Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee with Jerry Seinfeld. (The latter is a show on Netflix which I'm completely charmed by. I love hearing people talk passionately about their work, and I love listening to the perspectives of these comedians--how they see things so differently from the rest of us.) And I find constant Joy in our family group text. I'm crazy about my kids; there, I said it.

How are you feeling about your age these days? Lied to? Almost insulted? Silly? Grateful? Thanks for waiting, and chat me up in Comments.

The Word Is Diplomatic, And I Wonder About Its Nuance

 

Before I get started on my Random Word, I want to take a moment and catch you up on a couple things happening here at the Dept. Firstly, I am somehow managing to exist without my dear Biscoff cookies these many weeks. Each trip to the grocery store(s) has been dismaying and sorrowful. Is there a National Shortage like there is with sriracha? I am bereft and there is no suitable substitute. Secondly, it is Cold here, too. We did get the polar freeze, but since we are not New York, Chicago, D.C., or Philadelphia, you would not know of it. Way back in 2016, when Cleveland hosted the RNC (ugh), we were briefly featured on weather maps, but that was short-lived. Once again, I'd like to acknowledge the Kindness of my Canadian Friends who selflessly shared their weather with us and again ask that they Not Do That Anymore.

On to today's word, which is Diplomatic. 

As a Teacher in a large (2100+), urban public high school, I had a great deal of practice with this word. Not only did I have to practice being Diplomatic with students, but more often, I had to exert an enormous amount of Diplomacy with their parents. Parental Contact was the number one mantra at our school, and to talk to the principals, you'd think it was the panacea for all concerns. Every single problem taken to a higher-up that involved a student was met with, "Did you talk to the parent?" Tardiness, cell phone usage, failing performance, violent behaviour, absenteeism, missing work, you name it, a call to the parent had to be the First Line Of Defense. Many times, the parents were baffled as to their student's behaviour, and many times my Diplomacy was put to the test, especially at conferences when I was face to face with parents, step-parents, grandparents, legal guardians, and/or probation/parole officers.

I will say that my Usual Way is always to be Straightforward and Honest. I'm naturally Direct, and that can sometimes come across as bitchy or mean. Of course, this is largely because I am a woman. If I were a man, it would be a non-issue.

It is not, however, difficult to temper Honesty and Directness with Kindness. It took me a little bit of time to discover that, and I think that was due to being a small woman in a tough school. It was important for me to establish my authority and learn how to command a room, to keep order and convey my expertise in the subject matter (along with my passion). 

But, after all, isn't being Diplomatic simply being Kind? Diplomacy is "handling people and situations so as to cause no feelings of ill will." It's the reason I used to bring in tubs of crackers, cookies, and granola bars for everyone in my class to share even though I was really making sure that the four or five kids I knew were going hungry would get something to eat. 

Perhaps Kindness is Diplomacy With Heart:

 "This haircut is terrible. I'm really unhappy with it," says your friend.

Diplomat says, "I'm sorry you're unhappy. What don't you like about it?"

Kind says, "Oh no! You're beautiful and I'll help you fix whatever you don't like."

What do you think? 

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The Word Is Plane, And I'm At War With Disney And Air Travel

January's weather is killing me, giving me horrid headaches and recovery days full of fatigue. Thankfully, there has been no meaningful snow, so I've been able to walk outside when I feel up to it. Another assist has been provided by NGS over at her spot The Time for Change--the idea to use a random word generator to give me a blog topic when I get stuck. Today's word was Plane, so here's my Plane story.

I was returning from visiting my dear (now late) friend Ann in Orlando, Florida. She was a vice president for a major resort company (second only to Disney), and had invited me for several days to relax at their properties and take drives into Georgia and North Carolina as well, where we visited some lovely places and just had a Ladies Getaway. It was wonderful.

She dropped me at the airport in Orlando, and while I was still unnerved by the somewhat overwhelming presence of the National Guard, I felt a little comforted. It was October 2001; the attack on the Twin Towers had occurred less than a month before. I also resigned myself to being pulled out of the line and wanded separately again. It had happened on my flight from Cleveland to Orlando, and I chalked it up to my olive complexion and almost black hair. Sure enough, I was pulled again despite not having set off any alarm. Soon enough, I was on my way.

On the plane my seatmate in the middle was a woman of about forty or so. Nonetheless, she was wearing her Minnie Mouse ears and was clutching a pair of winter white fur Mickey and Minnie plush figures. Her husband had the window seat. Inwardly, I rolled my eyes so far back in my head I could see my spinal column. There is nothing that annoys me more than an adult with a pathetic Disney fixation, and here I was, sitting next to one for the next two and a half hours.

I had brought a book, and I pulled it out. I always bring a book with an off-putting title, and this one was about the Salem witch trials (The Devil in Massachusetts). Unfortunately, this didn't deter her for long. Pretty soon, it started:  Was I coming from Orlando? Did I go to Disney World? Why not? Oh, she and her husband celebrated their anniversary there, and she just looooves Disney. And she was soooo happy to get these Special Edition White Mickey And Minnie Dolls! And on and on and on. I smiled and nodded and kept trying to look at my book.

Finally, I said, "I'm sorry, but I'm expected to present at a panel discussion tomorrow. I really need to study this," which was a complete fabrication, but I was desperate. She apologized and left me alone.

As we got near to Cleveland, the pilot spoke over the intercom, "Ladies and gentlemen, we're going to have to delay our arrival in Cleveland for just a little while. They're not quite ready for us yet." Everyone sighed and grumbled. My seatmate futzed with her fluffy friends and wondered aloud what was going on. Our plane circled and wandered, and I looked out at the night sky, hoping that Rick knew our flight would be late and wouldn't be worried.

It seemed like we were waiting forever. No one knew anything. It was the Age Before Twitter. Before Smartphones. We were virtually disconnected.

My memory is a bit fuzzy on this detail:  I cannot remember if we landed and were held at the gate or if we were still in the air at this precise moment, but I finally pulled out my credit card and grabbed the AirPhone from the seat back in front of me. I called Rick and asked him if he knew what in the hell was going on after telling him what our status was.

"Nance," he said, "the US just bombed Afghanistan. And some idiot in the airport ran past security at this concourse. They shut the whole thing down and are making every single person go back through again. No flight is allowed to come in until everyone here has gone through security. They're being very careful because of the US action tonight. I'm sure they're worried about terrorism."

As Rick was talking, I couldn't help but react. "We bombed Afghanistan?!" As soon as I said this, Disney Fan lost it. She clutched her Special Editions and half rose in her seat, facing the rear of the plane. "We just bombed Afghanistan!" she announced dramatically.  "Oh My God!" 

Please remember, SHE WAS WEARING MOUSE EARS THIS WHOLE TIME.

Obviously, this night--October 7, 2001--was stressful and auspicious. I remember feeling dread, confusion, and anger about the invasion itself. My overall sentiments about this war and its instigator are well-known to longtime readers of this blog.

But what I remember most about the night of the actual bombing is that Plane ride and my incredible annoyance at Disney overall. As a matter of fact, that night put together two of the top things on my Most Annoying Things Ever List:  Air Travel and Disney Cult Members. Someday, perhaps, when I'm very, very old and really, really crabby and somewhat demented, I may even conflate Disney and the Afghanistan war and hold all of Disney responsible for it and for making me take my shoes off at the airport.

It's the Circle Of Life.

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Out With The Old And In With The New

 

It feels pretty late to tell everyone to have a Happy New Year. Also, it feels a bit prescriptive and even silly. Of course I want you all to have a Happy New Year. I also wish you had a Happy Old Year; did anyone? Someday this coming week, I need to sit down and really look back at 2022 and see if it was a Good Year. Lots of people bitched about it pretty solidly near the end, and I wonder if it was as bad as all that. 

(I did manage to end the year with one minor fall--up my basement steps with my arms full of stuff--right on my face. The first thing I did was check my teeth. They were intact--hooray!--but I split my lip. I put ice on it immediately, so I just looked like I had a collagen injection. Talk about 2022 going out with a bang, huh?)

This is also That Time Of Year when everyone's Spirit Of Resolve plucks up again, and we decide upon Guide Words or Programs or Philosophies that we hope will make us happier, better, or more purposeful going forward. As I always say, I am on a Continuous Path Of Self Improvement, so I don't usually use January 1st as an impetus for change or growth. Often, just ushering Christmas out the door makes me feel such a vast sense of Relief and Renewal that I get a rush of energy and a lift of my mood. I feel the urge to get things organized. I'm ready to throw things away.

(I have to tell you:  one thing I threw out was the remainder of a batch of Christmas Crack I made. Do you know of this stuff? It's aptly named. I was eating it for lunch, snacks, and anytime I passed the refrigerator. It's addictively wonderful. The day I dumped it in the trash can outdoors was liberating. I may never, ever make it again.)

We enjoyed some uncharacteristically warm weather for several days, and I was able to air out the entire house in January, and go walking in just a sweater. We were in the low sixties, and I was in heaven. My parsley perked up in the herb garden! I saw a dandelion in bloom on my walk! Strange days, indeed.

(Some strange things here lately:  we're both eating a lot less; I'm really sick of cooking; I'm observing Dry January; I'm listening to more music.)

About that last one--I'm listening to more music partly to drown out the persistent whine of our furnace, which needs a new inducer motor. Every time our furnace revs up to get to temperature, it sounds like an airplane getting ready to take off. Then it simply settles into a high-pitched whine. This will go on until mid-January when they come and replace it for a whole lot of money. A whole lot. Definitely not a high point of 2022.

But Winter has returned with her frosty mantle and icy breath. A sprinkling of snow covered some high spots this morning, and I shivered as I took out the trash and fed the blue jays their breakfast buffet. Lately, some squirrels have gotten wise to the free food and grab some peanuts, too. Oh, well. We don't exclude or discriminate at our restaurant. All are welcome, and my cats are entertained.

I'm hopeful for 2023, as I am for every new year, and I'm sure you are, too. Let's hope that it makes us joyful, content, and satisfied. And let's do everything we can to make it so.

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Some Pre-Christmas Stuff From The Dept. (I've Lost My Ability To Be Clever In The Title)

Christmas for me this year was not a Journey, but a Destination. I'm not sure why I'm so Grinchy, but I sort of wish Christmas would hurry up and leave me the hell alone. The shopping is finally done, however, and soon wrapped packages will be under our tree. 

I'm eager to show you a new outdoor decoration that popped up in our neighborhood this year. I have to admit that I'm a bit charmed by it despite my overall disdain for most holiday yard characters. You all know my antipathy for inflatables, except for the one-time appearance of a small and endearing Christmas Eeyore many years ago. I still look for him wistfully (and unrequitedly) every year.  

But I digress.

Here is a photo of the newest Holiday Resident on my walking route:

Noel The Narwhal. I'd lose the scarf, which I think is Too Much, but other than that, how cute? And, as I found out on an evening errand, the horn blinks. I deem it Acceptable.

                                                                 *******

In other Holiday News, the following conversation occurred Saturday night.

Scene opens in Rick and Nance's living room. Rick is on the recliner; Nance is lying on the couch under her quilt and both cats.

Nance:  What's your plan for tomorrow?

Rick:  I thought we'd get out the bows and wrapping paper and wrap. What do you say?

Nance:  Yo.

Rick:  (chuckling, surprised) Wha-at?

Nance:  Well, you were talking about rapping and rap.

Rick:  That went right past me. You know I don't have your street cred.

Nance:  True. (pause) I didn't choose the thug life, Rick.

Rick: (after a moment of surprised sputtering) It chose you?

Rick's Apple Watch:  Here's what I found on the web!

End scene.

And that about wraps it up. 

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How The World Cup Is Ruining My Life And Some Other Stuff I Feel Like Chatting About

The world's population is estimated at 8 billion people as of 15 November 2022. Incredibly, of those 8 billion people, approximately 3 billion of them are soccer fans, according to a bunch of people who sit and gather statistics about such things. I don't care. There are exactly zero (0) people (and cats) in my house who give a damn about soccer, yet it is having Undue Influence on my life. 

Allow me to explain.

Each day at 3:00 PM, I look forward to being done with all my Necessaries and sitting down to watch/listen to an hour of Judge Judy while I knit. However, thanks to the World Cup, I have been unable to do this. Their matches are preempting Judy.

I am a creature of habit. I like my rituals and my routines. I do not like soccer. I do like sassy Judge Judy and her soft spot for dogs. And I like rewarding myself for doing tiresome and tedious Domestic Goddessing. 

Example:  Today I ran errands and finished scrubbing woodwork in the kitchen. I even hit my head (like an idiot) on an open cupboard door. After I dragged the garbage and recycling cans to the curb, I wanted to sit down in front of Judge Judy with my knitting, but no! The Endless World Cup is still on. Will it be on forevermore? Truly, does it never end? Is this just my life now? 

An aside:  Another of my 3PM Rewards is a nice cup of decaf coffee and a few Biscoff cookies. I can't remember why I decided to buy my first package of Biscoff, but I'm forever grateful that I did. What a satisfying, wonderful little thing that cookie is. So simple yet complex. And so perfect with coffee. I'm even eschewing the 3PM Biscoff and coffee for now. It feels...wrong.

And why can't the World Cup be shuffled off to a streaming channel? That's what those heartless shits did with The Dog Show on Thanksgiving! Do you know how bereft I was without The Dog Show on Thanksgiving? Oh, sure, they ran it again the next day or whatever, but by then, I already knew who won ( I did not know that dog), plus who watches an event like that after the fact? Come on!

 My head hurts and it's the World Cup's fault. Cheer me up in Comments.

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How's Your Thanksgiving Prep Going?

 In the true spirit of Dept. Holiday Preparation and Appliance Loyalty, I am awaiting a visit from the HVAC company. Our furnace is leaking--has been, apparently--and forms not only a little lagoon around itself, but a nice little group of tributaries that wander off in search of the drain.

Additionally, on Sunday I discovered the condition you see above, under my kitchen sink. It seems our faucet had been leaking, too, from its pull-out sprayer. Rick remedied that, thank goodness, and on Monday morning I could put stuff back under the sink. All it cost us was a new faucet and most of his day. (Does anyone ever make only one trip to the home-improvement store?)

Today, as I await the furnace repairman, I got busy dusting. I grabbed the yellow can and set to work on all the tables and the leather furniture. Only when I went to put it back did I notice that I had been liberally spraying and wiping with Lysol disinfectant, not Behold furniture polish. 

Am I going back and doing it over? Hell. No. I'm coming off of a three-day migraine and Thanksgiving is tomorrow. If the furnace repairman gives me some bullshit about parts and delays, I might swat him with my (hopefully fully thawed) turkey. Violence, however, solves nothing; it's more likely that I simply cry.

"These are the times that try men's souls," said Thomas Paine, who was clearly not talking about The Holidays. Every single person in the world knows that Women are the Holiday Bringers. 

Keep your fingers crossed that I make it out of this one. Happy Thanksgiving.

I'm Back, All Stocked Up, And Feeling Pretty Good About November

 Apparently, I needed about a month off.

I wish I could tell you that all that Time was Time Well Spent, but in truth, most of it was taken up by Slothful Malaise. All of you know that I have the Best Intentions, but they all fall by the wayside because I am not a dedicated writer. Few things receive my Dedication, actually, one of them being Dickinsonian capitalization. Obviously.

Anyway, I digress.

One of the wonderful things that took up my Time was a jaunt northward to Canada for a few days, specifically to Niagara-on-the-Lake again, our favourite place. We had last been in June for a party at my International Husband's winery, and we needed to restock. This time, we were on a hunt for one wine in particular, Cabernet Franc. It's hard to find as a single varietal in the States, and Ontario does it beautifully. Our search was rewarded and our cellar is smiling.

We had another three hour session with Andrzej at Big Head Wines where we tasted pretty much everything in their portfolio plus some wines still in the tanks and barrels, and wines yet to be released but bottled. At one point the table was so full of empty glasses that his wife wheeled a cart over and admonished him to load it with the empties before they started running out. As usual, we were enthralled listening to him explain the processes and decisions that went into each wine. Not only does it delight the Wine Nerd in each of us, but it also enhances each bottle we open to drink later on:  it immediately evokes those memories, and we are right back there again each time.

Six cases later we were back home, enjoying not only gorgeous wine, but the same lovely weather we had in NotL. The autumn colours hit their peak in NEO, and the trees were in their glory, especially those with orange leaves. They're all but over now, down on the ground so that I can shuffle and crunch through them on my walks, but they were spectacular.

November is being much kinder so far than October in weather. Some of October was downright shitful--the rain, the cold, the endless cloudiness. I thought it might do me in, either with arthritis or gloominess. My arthritis is still here, but I feel less like smacking everyone (and myself), so that's Progress.

Catch me up on your Wine (do you know/like Cab Franc?), October Jaunts, and Start Of November in Comments.

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In Which I Talk About Fall, Robins, Lovely Views, And The Little Tree That Could

(This quote was NOT said by Daisy, but by Jordan. It's a lot of work to redo this graphic, so this correction has to do.)

Not much is happening except for Fall trying to figure itself out. It is definitely here, but it is having a hard time settling in and unwinding. We've had a few frost warnings, many days of blustery north winds off Lake Erie, and more rain than I care for. Sunshine has been in short supply, but there were two magnificent days of low seventies, slight breezes, and warm autumn sun that revived us all. On those days my walks were glorious.

The robins, who had disappeared sometime in August, are suddenly back. When they vanished, it was incredibly strange because it was all at once and completely. One day there were simply none at all anyplace, and it is the same with their return. A few days ago, they were everywhere again, on my walk, in my yard, and in neighboring trees. I'd mention it in conversation with my mother, but she interprets everything now as a sign that it's going to be a hard winter, and I am sick of hearing about it. Lots of pine cones? Hard winter coming. Less leaves turning colours this month? Hard winter coming. See a chubby squirrel? I think you get my drift. 

I won't be showing her this photo; I took it on my walk yesterday. It's either a crabapple or apple tree, and it's put out new blossoms on a few branches:

There are more in several other areas of the tree, but this is a representative sample. (I know:  it's going to be a hard winter, right?) I don't know what's up with this odd occurrence, but I like this tree's attitude, and I told it so. 

I have a good relationship with a great many trees on my route. I've just grown fond of these two baby redbud trees based solely upon their fashion sense. They've mastered the Art Of Ombre:

These sisters are in the same yard, and they're going to be even more beautiful when they start producing flowers. 

This Fall is full of mysteries so far. Many, many of our trees are still lushly green. Some trees have only a few big limbs that have turned colour completely. Yards still need to be mowed regularly when it isn't raining. In the herb garden, only the basil has been pulled out. The rest of the herbs still flourish (an understatement when it comes to my sage). A juvenile redheaded woodpecker frequents my feeder; isn't it awfully late for young birds?

This weekend we are dry-docking the boat and putting the deck furniture in the storage shed. Lake season will officially be over. We never completely close up the house, and we'll probably still weekend there from time to time. Here's a sunrise photo taken from the bedroom view on a September morning:

The fog soon lifted, and we had another lovely day.

Earlier in September, we had this sunset:

No need for filters--it's an awe-inspiring display on its own. I'll miss boat rides; they afforded us the best views for sunsets. Still, it's not good to become spoiled.

Talk to me of your Fall in Comments. Are you noticing, like me, anything unusual?

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Look What I Found!

 Quite unintentionally, I found some fun stuff last week. Now you get to look at it, too.

I have a terribly sad history with Cheetos. In 2003 I had to break up with them after they turned on me in a gastric episode that stays with me still. When I saw this bag of Lay's Cheeto flavoured potato chips, I literally did a double-take. Then I stood there, trying to decide whether to take the risk and try them. The amount of hemming and hawing I did was ridiculous and pathetic. I'm sure that someone saw me and commented about it on their Twitter account: Some crazy woman is mesmerized by the new cheeto lays chips. Shoot me if I ever get that enthralled by snacks.

Anyway, I bought them (of course I did) and we tried them. 

Meh. 

And they ended up making me a little bit nauseated, so Cheetos--we're still broken up after all.

Spiders, especially the daddy longlegs kind, and spider webs are the bane of my existence at the lake. Every weekend I'm trying to get rid of the damn things in every conceivable nook and cranny. I found this duster at my goofy grocery store and bought it. It's on a nice long handle. I took it and my groceries up to the cashier, a diminutive elderly man with an impeccable haircut.

Cashier:  Wow, look at that thing!

Me:  I know. It's ridiculous.

Cashier: They should have put trump's picture on it.

Me:  Ugh. Then I wouldn't have bought it.

Cashier: (fixing me with a keen look) Oh sure you would. 

Me: Oh, so I'd have the pleasure of getting him all dirty? Yeah, maybe so!

Cashier:  What a crook! You know, my wife is the most laid-back, gentle person. But any time she hears his name, she goes off. That guy...what a jerk. What a crook.

(Woman behind me laughs and nods)

Me:  I couldn't agree more. 

Finally, I found this treasure in my Cleveland Plain Dealer over the weekend. Yes, it's rife with grammatical errors, but that's not my favourite thing about it. I know once you read it, you'll be as delighted as I am with what you find. 

I certainly hope you are similarly Up To Date and feeling fine because of it. Regularity is often something for which to be Thankful, is it not? 

Enjoy your week, and I hope you find things to brighten it up. Talk to me about Finds in Comments.

The Soundtracks Of My Life

My life has a lot more Music in it lately. Jared included us in his Music streaming service plan, and being able to listen to exactly what I want to hear with no ads was revolutionary. Now I understand why both my sons sit for a few moments in the driveway after we said our goodbyes; getting one's Music set up is sort of a big deal.

Because I'm old, I immediately started a playlist of a bunch of songs I loved from forever ago spanning the 70s to the present. Do you want to hear Carole King or Carly Simon? I've got you covered. How about a little Matchbox 20 or Bruce Springsteen? Here you go. Eminem, John Mayer, Steely Dan, Sam Smith, Aretha? Of course. Jeffrey James or James Bay or maybe The Weeknd? Let me play Al Green first. And that's just a little sampling (I even have Milli Vanilli; I loved those songs) because I keep adding more songs to this big bloated playlist rather than make a separate one. Why make things workier than I have to?

Sometimes, though, I need some Music that's very serene and relaxing. I don't want words and I don't want a melody that my brain has to follow. I needed that desperately a few weeks ago, and thankfully, I found a ready-made mix called Mellow Cello. That led me to Yo Yo Ma, and I discovered that I have a deep appreciation for cello Music. It's calming and beautiful, and Yo Yo Ma's artistry is profound. 

I like that this service tries to figure me out and make mixes for me, too. Sometimes it does a pretty good job. Other times, it bores me to death or strikes out terribly. It also has a pre-made mix of something they named Yacht Rock, and I have no idea why it's called that. Do aging rockers really sit on expensive boats and listen to songs like Africa by Toto, Brandy by Looking Glass, The Pina Colada Song by Rupert Holmes, Into the Night by Benny Mardones, and Summer Breeze by Seals and Crofts? 

I will say that when Sam and Jared have joined us on the boat this summer and we drop anchor to do a little day drinking, they are in charge of the Music. They do not choose Yacht Rock. Instead, Sam brings his bluetooth speaker and fires up Hip Hop BBQ. This Music also gives my brain a break because I don't know any of the songs except for a few words here and there. Once in a while, I make reference to how many times the rappers/artists say "In da club," and the boys assure me that only Old School Hip Hop Artists say that anymore. I'll take their word for it because they would know and it's not my genre.

Quite often I'll simply tune into WCLV, the classical Music station, as I'm driving. I've discovered that there is a great deal of classical Music that I do not care for. Some of it sounds like they're throwing their instruments down a flight of steps. Some of it sounds like jazz, but with an orchestra. At times, violins irritate me. I've listened to enough Debussy to know that I don't like his stuff. 

I still like my Quiet, and it's rare that I play Music at home when I'm alone. I also don't play Music when I take my walks. It is, however, good to welcome Music back into my life. 

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For The Birds

I have a long, long history as a Bird Enthusiast, documented already in this post from years ago. It's perplexing how I can retain so much Bird Knowledge, yet forget where in the heck I set my phone down or on which streaming service the show we're watching can be found. Right now I can hear a cardinal outside the window. I don't even have to go and check to see if I'm right.

This, however, was supposed to be The Summer Of The Blue Jay. If you remember, I was setting peanuts out on my porch in a ceramic dish every morning, and a blue jay was coming for breakfast. My goal was to get that blue jay (which I named Sassy) to eventually take a peanut from my hand. Well, that didn't happen, and I sure didn't think up enough names for my Breakfast Club.

I did try to sit out on my porch quietly, but my blue jay just screamed its annoyance and stayed away. Because I am a little bit of an anthropomorphizer and a little bit of an empath, I had to give up after several tries. It just made me feel bad. So I settled for calling, "Sassy!" after I placed the peanuts, and went in and sat on the couch by the window. Very soon, Sassy would come, and I'd say his (? her?) name a few times softly as he took his time choosing the right nut. Then he'd fly away, returning quickly for the next.

It wasn't long before Sassy's Peanut Buffet became common knowledge among the Blue Jay Community. At least four different blue jays are now breakfasting at my house, observed not just by me, but by the resident cats, Marlowe and Piper, too. Even when I put peanuts on the table directly under our gaze, the blue jays hop up and grab their meal. The jays never eat together, but always wait until each one leaves before swooping in.

I'm calling it a Win. 

In other Victorious Bird News, I have successfully repelled squirrels from my backyard feeder by stirring cayenne pepper into the birdseed. It's astonishing how effective it is. It's dramatically cut down the chipmunk traffic in the yard as well. Now if I could find a way to keep starlings away, that would be even better. Redheaded woodpeckers are abundant, even at my little stick-on window feeder that entertains the cats. The robins, who appeared in February this year and were everywhere, suddenly disappeared midsummer. I'm noticing more female cardinals than males. Does any of this mean anything? Who knows. 

Finally, here's a bit of an Oddment:  In my entire life I've never found a cardinal feather. I've found countless blue jay feathers, starling and grackle feathers, and brown feathers from any number of sparrows or whatever. At the lake we find goose feathers quite often, and we've found duck feathers, too. Have you ever found that beautiful red feather?

Enjoy your September now that we're in its midst. How did that happen?

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Cheers To Seventeen Years: The Dept. Of Nance Is 17

 

I just realized that the Dept. of Nance is Seventeen this month. It seems impossible, but I've been writing here for Seventeen years. Aside from marriage, motherhood, teaching, and voting Democrat, I'm hard pressed to think of anything else I've devoted myself to with that sort of determined longevity. 

Admittedly, writing here has not received the same sort of fervent attention all along that the other four above have consistently enjoyed. As my students used to say years ago, My Bad.(And that would be eleven years ago, by the way. I retired from teaching high school English in 2011. It's one of the many milestones recorded here at the Dept.)

Isn't that some of the value of writing a weblog--to have a timeline, a record of your life and your perspectives over the years? Sometimes a diary or journal can be too emotional and introspective. Here, under the gaze of intimate strangers, we can tell the stories of our lives without the asides, the footnotes, and the companion text.

Seventeen years have seen a great many changes in my life, and so many have been positive. Some of the positive changes have come from hardships and challenges. Others have come from hard work and perseverance, plain and simple. Still others have been luck--the good fortune of timing. Many have been because I was willing to learn from my mistakes. 

Within those Seventeen years has been some heartbreak as well. Most often, that heartbreak is having to say goodbye to people I have grown to love. Other times, it's letting go of expectations that are no longer possible. Sometimes, it's simpler than all of that. For someone as stubborn as I am, pure acceptance can be difficult.

And, I'm surprised to say that in these Seventeen years, I actually have learned some Patience after all. As so many of my LongTime Readers know, it has never been my gift, but I work hard on it every day. I'm learning to Slow Down--finally!--and that is helpful with finding my Patience. It may not be there for me every time, but I'm finding reserves of it more and more. 

Thank you for being with me here at the Dept. of Nance as I write about the world around me from my perspective. Some of you have been with me for a long, long time. Some of you have have joined me In Progress. I hope you all look forward to what I have to say.

Here's to more years ahead with fewer days (weeks!) in between. Again, thank you all so much for reading here. I value your presence more than you know.

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When I Went Bananas And Took My BFF And Rick With Me (And A Little Politics)

 

It's back to the Bananas War with me again. Devoted readers will recall that, back in April 2021, I introduced you to my Ongoing Outrage at the price of Bananas at my funny grocery store. I continue to not only fuss about the Banana Fee, but I also faithfully text a photo of the sign (and price) to my BFF Leanne in Maryland. 

I know she appreciates these Vital Bulletins and that they enrich her life immeasurably.

Not so long ago, it pained me to have to send this message to Leanne:

(That is not, by the way, a photo of Leanne. That is a picture of her Boston terrier, Stella.) And I truly did not buy the wretched BananaS.

The following week I went to a different town so that I could shop the same store and avoid the dumb spelling of BananaS. They were still 59 cents a pound, but I took it as a win.

Soon after, Rick had a day off, and he accompanied me to the grocery store in town. He is brave and tall, so this happened:

(Sadly, I did not have a red pen, but Rick pulled down both signs--one from each side--so that I could make the necessary correction to both:  no apostrophe for plurals!) I felt victorious and overflowing  with relief. The whole world seemed somehow righted. I smiled and felt...lighter. I didn't even mind paying 59 cents a pound for BananaS.

The following week I strode confidently to the produce department. I looked up at the sign for BananaS and was rewarded tenfold. I couldn't wait to text Leanne!

Indeed. I may be retired, but I am still Out There, Defending And Promoting The Language. Teaching In The Wild, as it were. It never stops, you know. 

Until it does.

Because here's what I found the last time I went to the grocery store.

Bless her. We have a motto, Leanne and I. Everything crummy can eventually be traced back to the republicans. And she can always make me laugh.

Want to give it a try, tracing this Sign Saga back to republicans? Do you have a BananaS Story to share? Have you ever corrected a sign? Can you relate to my Pain or are you the Leanne in this story?

Or, just natter away in Comments about the Silliness Of It All.

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Time For A Cerebral Sweep: Cranial Clutter That Needs To Be Dumped

 How about a little Random This 'N That sort of post to clear out some of my Thought Nerfuls that have been bouncing around my brain? I need a sort of Cerebral Sweep, and I don't want to fuss about format much, either. Here we go.

Stuff I Meant To Mention Awhile Back

1. I won the Fantasy Basketball Championship for our league back in...March? I beat out 9 men for the coveted virtual trophy and bragging rights. I won't bore you with the details, but I do want to mention that I was without my core of stars for most of the playoffs, and I had to pull off miracles. 

2. Zydrunas's DNA results came back and he is a mix of pit bull and American bully breeds. No boxer in there at all, which surprised me. He could not care less about this info, and honestly, either could we.

The Politics

1. I have not missed a January 6 Hearing yet, and I watch with a mix of astonishment, smug validation, admiration, and frustration. And General Outrage. Liz Cheney and I have zero in common politically, and I can't see myself championing her candidacy for much of anything, but she is laying it down in these hearings. This Committee is outstanding in its preparation, presentation, and its command of the facts in evidence. The DOJ had better come through.

2. SCOTUS is breathtaking in its corruption. The ruling overturning Roe v Wade is a travesty; Alito's writings are almost insane. The fact that Clarence Thomas is still adjudicating matters brought before the court while his wife is implicated in the Insurrection taints any and all decisions (or even debates) he is involved in. A major correction is needed, and what shape that takes (expansion to match the number of federal circuit courts or losing tainted judges appointed by a seditionist president) should be decided soon.

3. Young Sorta-Democratic voters need to stop getting stuck on student debt forgiveness and understand that there are other critical issues facing them and their future. Or--failing that--they need to ask themselves, "Who is more likely to ever forgive my debt at any time, a Democrat or a republican?" and vote with that in mind. Duh.

Life In General

1. I am feeding a blue jay with raw peanuts in the shell on my front porch at home. Every morning, early, I leave them in a little ceramic dish on the table and watch as it flies in and grabs one. If the windows are open, I talk to it quietly. (I've even named it, Sassy.)  My next move is to be out there when it comes to feed, sitting still and quiet. I am working up to having it eat from my hand.

2. Rick is on vacation this week, so we are spending a great deal of it at the lake. Jared and Sam came down for boating and fireworks and brought Zydrunas. I spent most of the hour-long show lying on top of the dog, who was trembling with terror. Eventually, as I spoke to him and he felt my weight keeping him safe, he was able to relax and feel better. 

3. I planted dill from seed that I harvested from my dill last year. It did not come up. I have dill, however, all over the place where I did not plant it. It is everywhere except in my herb garden, where I planted it. Regardless, I have a lot of dill, so Yay! I've already made quarts and quarts of pickles.

4. I was reading names of 2022 graduates, and I love this one:  Mysterious Destiny.  Obviously, I won't give the student's last name, but how great of a name is that? And how very, very true.

  Talk to me of Things You Forgot To Mention, The Politics, or Life In General in Comments. And wouldn't you agree that Mysterious Destiny is aptly named? From the moment we take our first breaths in the world, little about our journeys here can be known. How different we all thought our lives would be right now, even five years ago! Mysterious Destiny's mother is a poet and a prophet.

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Wine Weekend

O, Canada! Thank you for being there after all these months and months and months of separation! The Things About You We Love Best were all still there, almost exactly as we had left them. It felt so very good to be back.

The last time we were in Canada--in Niagara-on-the-Lake, Ontario, specifically--was well before the pandemic. In the ensuing months/years, our wine cellar dwindled sadly, and we missed all of our friends. Each time we drank the last bottle of a particular wine from Canada, we sighed wistfully, wondering how long it would be until we would be able to go back.

An invitation to Big Head Wines' (our favourite winery) New Release party on 5 June showed up in my email late in May. Rick and I had been to their last big party back in 2018, before Covid made such things impossible. We researched travel requirements for driving to Canada, Rick got the time off approved for a quick jaunt north, and we RSVP'd happily that yes, we'd be there. They kindly booked a tasting for us the day before the party. 

They know us so well.

Our stay would be short--arriving Saturday and leaving Monday--with the party on Sunday afternoon. We decided that we wouldn't try to cram a lot of stuff into the abbreviated weekend, but instead focus on relaxing, reconnecting with friends, and good wine. So we did all of those things.

After some lunch and a nice walk on Saturday, we headed to the winery where we were enthusiastically greeted by all the Big Head family. We were led to our tasting bar, and although we were supposed to have tasted with another staff member since the family were all busy getting ready for the party, Andrzej (owner, winemaker, and my Canadian husband) insisted upon doing it himself. As he always does. 

This is always wonderful for Rick and me because we not only taste wines that are still in tanks and barrels, we also learn so much about how he makes wine. Even if you're not Wine Nerds like us, it's fascinating to hear about his decisions and methods (which include making wine in concrete, terra cotta, and Slovenian oak, among other vessels). We also got a sneak preview of wines that were being released at the party. 

Sunday was Party Day, but before that, we were able to reconnect with a friend of ours of many years. She dropped by our inn after breakfast for some catching up, and we had a nice chat on our private balcony. The weather was nothing short of perfect the entire weekend, and we spent a lot of time out there, sheltered by a redwood and bamboo, among other shade givers.

We made sure we were on time for the Release Party because we knew there would be a big turnout. Its guest list is usually about 500-700 people. The winery, already big and airy, had all its doors open and there were canopies set up outdoors. New wines were being poured in appropriately shaped glasses--not a fragment of plastic anywhere--and samples of all their offerings were also available at tasting bars strategically placed. 

And the food! It was catered by Treadwell's, a sustainable farm-to-table restaurant/caterer. It was delicious and smart:  mini porchetta on focaccia sandwiches, frites with garlic aioli, house made soppressata on focaccia, honey soy glazed pork belly, bbq beef cheek sliders, wild mushroom toasts, and probably more. But I could have eaten nothing but that pork belly all day. And every day. 

As it often happens, we met many truly nice people at the party and had some great conversations. Some were about wine, some were about Big Head and their new winery, and of course, some were about the state of the world. Many were about the state of America and its politics. As to the latter, they expressed support and pity, and they hoped that we'd get our collective shit together because it's concerning. I assured them that we are trying and that we more than share their concern.

Our one stop on the way home Monday was to pick up our...several cases of wine and say our last goodbyes to Andrzej and family. At the border we declared our haul and, after a bit of eye rolling and sighing, the agent justified our cargo by referring to our Pandemic Dry Spell and saying we were grandfathered in. Both traffic and our hearts were light on the way home.

Getting back to Canada and our friends was an Unexpected Joy. I am already looking forward to a return trip. If you click the link above for Big Head, you can meet my International Husband, his family/our friends, and read about some of the wines we experienced and bought there. I wish you could have come with us. 

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The World Is Too Much With Me, To Paraphrase Wordsworth

 Hello.

I've been away an awfully long time, and I hardly know how to start in again. First, let me say a grateful and slightly embarrassed Thank You to the Kind Readers who reached out to express concern. I'm perfectly healthy. I had no falls and no illnesses. I am again so astonished at the kindness of my community here.

I will say, however, that after feeling entirely Fed Up With March, I was Quite Dismayed With April. It didn't get any better, really, and Spring was capricious and slow in her arrival. I know that so many of you had the same sort of rollercoaster weather. Daffodils rose, bloomed, and were bowed with ice and snow. One day, I could take a long and lovely walk; the next, I watched in desperation as it poured buckets of rain and my furnace kicked on. What a mess.

May arrived, I turned 63, and Mother's Day was a gloriously sunny day in which my husband and sons set out my porch and patio furniture. They also got my pond mucked out, the waterfall falling, and reset the basketball hoop so that they could play Around The World and shake off some rust. Zydrunas came over and happily chewed a huge stick. Rick and Jared made dinner. It was simply The Best Day.

But I am constantly reminded of the William Wordsworth quote "The world is too much with us" and I know many of you are, too. My life continues in its orbit, more or less, but I cannot help but be affected by the suffering and madness that is outside my small perimeter. I feel outrage, helplessness, sorrow, and worry. It's a challenge to be informed and involved without sacrificing my mental health.  I am so thankful not to be in the classroom anymore, but I despair for friends, family, and colleagues who are. Actually, my heart goes out to anyone who is in the classroom now; I cannot imagine that life for any of you--teacher, student, administrator, janitors--at this terrible time in our history.

Even though I say "outside my small perimeter", all of these things affect me because I live in this world. I want it to be better. I want safety from too many guns. I want women to have control over their own bodies and their own destinies. I want people to have equal access to the ballot. I want lower drug prices. I want better access to child care for working parents. I want fair representation free from gerrymandering. I want the people who are responsible for the January 6th Insurrection at all levels to be held responsible. I want Putin to leave Ukraine alone. I want republicans to just stop it. I want the majority to matter again.

It's wearying and tiring to care. I still find Joy in so many things. We are enjoying the lakehouse and boating. Our time there is relaxing and rejuvenating. There is a bald eagle there that thrills me every time it swoops low over our shoreline, sometimes with a fish in its talons. The mallards glide so smoothly and look so dignified on the surface, like little maitre d's in a banquet hall. Now and then a bluebird will alight on the tree by the deck, and that never stops being wonderful.

I'll try and write here much more often, starting now, and starting small. Thanks for sticking around.

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