...But just barely. Holy crap, what a ridiculous, screwy, confusing almost-week it's been. You know I won't get into a bunch of Medical Details, but I want to let you know what the deal is so that those of you who have been so kind and concerned are all squared away on Things. Plus, "My Condition", such as it is, will be informing my life for a bit of time to come here, and that will affect my posts here at the Dept.

Anyway.

Surgery did not quite go as planned. Once the doctor got the instruments into the four portals in my shoulder, he found that there was NOT a bigass tear in the rotator cuff. The MRI had provided a false read. It was, as I had known all along, my second case of adhesive capsulitis--this time in my other shoulder. The adhesions were horrible, and he birsed them all away and cleaned up the area. It was only after he did so that he was able to finally fully raise and rotate my arm. My "rise" from the anaesthesia and return home later that day was largely unremarkable--those of you who have had surgery know all about the labors of trying to sleep and the post-op discomforts, etc. That is nothing out of the ordinary. I had to keep my arm in a sling for two days.

After those two days, I went to physical therapy and the doctor and got all the tape and packing and the four small stitches taken off/out. The sling was taken away, and I was given the first round of physical therapy, and the doctor's blithe philosophy, which is: "It's going to be hell for the next 4-8 weeks. Intense. And I don't believe in pain meds. It's pretty much Aleve and suck it up."

Okay.

So let me tell you this: I don't "believe in pain meds" either. I had adhesive capsulitis before. And the pain is excruciating. I cannot describe it except to tell you that it is like knives at one time, then like insistent throbbing the next, then like someone taking a rope and wrenching your arm out of the socket when you least expect it. And this could all occur in the space of, say, two minutes. Over and over again twenty-four hours a day for months and months. Aleve does not even begin to do it. So, doc, don't give me your bullshit, okay? How about this instead: "I know you'll be in a lot of pain, and believe me, I'm sorry. But pain meds bring along a whole other set of problems and I'd rather not set you down that road. Let's be realistic together and agree that therapy will be painful, but it will be worth it."

Yikes.

Sorry. I'm being a bit negative. Sigh. Here's the thing. I'm not real sure the surgery was entirely necessary at this point. As I said, I've had this before, and I got through it without the surgery; it merely ran its course, and I had therapy at the end when it "thawed", when I was not in as much horrible pain. Now, I'm still in the terrible pain I was in before surgery, and I'm in pain from post-op, and I have the soreness and stiffness of working the joint and muscles that are slack from not being used. I don't get it.

I am very grateful that I didn't have the torn rotator cuff. That surgery is nasty to come back from. I'm grateful to be able to start school on time, but I feel so weak and tired and not 100%. I start in just a few days! It feels impossible. And I wonder how they (both my family doctor and the surgeon) could have been so wrong with the MRI. Last time, the other surgeon (this guy's brother, ironically!) looked at the MRI that had been read as a tear and immediately diagnosed adhesive capsulitis and that it was a false tear. No one really answered my questions adequately, and it's really just too late now. "It is what it is" and the best I can do is just do my therapy and get over this hump.

I want very much to be well. And soon.

This is sounding un-Nance-like. But we all have our Off Times. I am a firm believer in Wallowing When Necessary. I know many of you will want to suggest Drinking Overmuch as my Home Therapy. I have considered it and discarded it for now as Dangerous. I like Drinking as an Indulgence, as a Happy Thing or as a Rewarding Experience. Drinking now would seem like a Desperate Thing. Not good.

Ah, well. There it all is. But, I am back. And soon, the Rest of Me shall be as well. I don't often wallow long. But I do think I have reason.

IT'S ALIVE!

Thanks so much for all your kind emails and encouragement in comments. I'm doing very well, and I'll be back here in a day or two. There's lots to talk about.

In The End, It's All Politics--But The Politics Never Ends

Like the Obama campaign, I have been trying to calculate when to release this post so that it gets as much attention as possible and gives me the maximum bounce in the polls and is not overshadowed by the 2008 Olympics Live from Beijing. You know...8-8-08 and all that crap.

There is, quite possibly, only one thing that I am sicker of in the news these days than The 2008 Olympics Live from Beijing (8-8-08), and that is Brett Favre. So, let me just say this: Brett Favre is just a football player. He did not discover a cure for AIDS or cancer. He did not build low-income housing for the poor, nor is he rescuing millions of people in danger in Darfur. He did not biologically engineer a new species of drought-resistant grain to feed the starving, nor did he build a fuel cell that will allow my car to run on water. He is a snarky prima donna who has decided that he can't live without his little sport and wants to return to it and is astonished that people moved on without him. SO! PEOPLE! MOVE ON!

Moving on.

(Note to general media and ESPN--see how I did that?)

I will say one little thing, however, about The 2008 Olympics Live from Beijing (8-8-08), and this it is: the government there has the right idea. They have published and distributed to their citizenry a little booklet that instructs them all in the finer points of acceptable dress and behavior. I am certainly on board with that. This is exactly what we in the United States need Government for. It is painfully obvious by a cursory glance in any public venue that Most People are simply unable to do this themselves.

This booklet in China was written by--get this title--the deputy director of the Office of Capital Spiritual Civilisation Construction Commission. Holy crap! It contains these fashion admonitions:
*don't wear your pajamas in public
*don't wear white socks with black shoes
*don't wear more than three colors in your outfit

It also contains these behavior rules:
*no spitting
*stand with feet slightly apart or in the shape of a V or Y when standing
*no public displays of affection
*handshakes should last no longer than three seconds

As you may recall, I have offered to make the Department of Nance a bona fide Government Office and take it upon myself to be the Authority about such things as these. I wouldn't even expect a bigass title like the Chinese guy up there. (Although, wow. That's way impressive.) I also find the Chinese rules to be reasonable and would echo them in my own booklet. But, how do you get your feet in the shape of a Y? Hmmm....

I would probably add a few, as you can guess:
*no Crocs or flip-flops at all; you cannot control yourselves
*no miniskirts or belly shirts if you are over 25
*no sweatpants in restaurants, ever
*no visible underthings of any kind ever on anyone
*no talking on your cellphone at a cash register
*no talking on your cellphone in the restroom
*no children under 17 in any movies rated R whether an "adult" is present or not
*no food or drink allowed inside a live concert or play or musical venue during the performance

That's just a preview, plus my arm hurts. A LOT.

Finally, let me say this--I live in Ohio, also known as The Swing State to Rival All Swing States. We are bombarded with television ads from both candidates on the half-hour. And I have to tell you that I find the McSame ads so incredibly offensive, so obviously mudslinging and defamatory that I cannot even begin to tell you how angry they make me. The one where he actually asks the question "And who is to blame for high gasoline prices?" and then shows a picture of President-Elect Obama and plays a track of a crowd chanting Obama's name makes me ill and is so patently absurd that I cannot believe it is still running. It's even been mocked by members of his own party. And do NOT get me started on the "Celebrity Ad" where he compares President-Elect Obama to Britney and Paris. And his comment to a questioner at one of his "events" was that this ad was him "just having a little fun." He reminds me of the odd, slightly creepy uncle who likes to tickle kids until they beg him to stop, but he doesn't; they start to cry and then he says, "Oh, come on! We're just having a little fun!"

As a teacher, here are a few reasons I'll be voting AGAINST McSame:

*he supports a plan that would base my salary on students' test scores. That's like your dentist being judged by how well you brush or floss at home. Who controls parenting/the home environment/nutrition/access to materials? (AP 7/8/08)

*he wants people to buy their own health insurance on their own rather than get it from their employers. He proposes a new tax on people who do get health care from their employers. (CNN 4/29/08)

*he voted against 5 billion dollars in public school funding while voting for 70 billion dollars in tax cuts for millionaires. (vote #269, 10/26/05; vote #83, 3/21/07)

*he supports No Child Left Behind, but voted to kill efforts to fully fund it. This single piece of legislation is hamstringing our schools and teachers and, ultimately, our kids. (CNN 11/3/05; AP 4/13/07; H.Con.Res.95, vote #114, 4/28/05; S.Con.Res.18, vote #68, 3/17/05).

Go here to get a free Obama button. Be on a mission. Be the change you wish to see in the world. Get enough to give to friends or leave in places for people to pick up. You never know.

In Which I Share, Complete With Intimate Photos

Entering dangerous territory here. I'm not a Sharer By Nature here at the Dept. But posts are about to get fewer and farther between, and you need to know why.

Well, it's been a rough summer overall. As you know, the maintenance of EmilyCat had become increasingly difficult, and I was her sole caretaker. She suffered two "episodes", and was losing weight alarmingly, despite the fact that all she was able to do was eat and sleep. Finally, after she became obviously confused--she kept wandering and whimpering--and unable to consistently use her litterbox, we had to put her to sleep. Here she is a few days before Her Final Rest, when we decided to let her have a day of wandering about the garden.

For the first time in 18 years, we are petless. It's a little odd--a little disconcerting. I don't really miss Emily because in her last year or two she was not very...interactive. She was, in a word, bitchy. But I miss the idea of her. I do still actively miss TravisCat, who was very cuddly and funny puppy-like.

The Big Deal, the one thing that is most upsetting and has been affecting me all summer is this:

That is my MRI. It is my shoulder. It is a picture of my torn rotator cuff which has made my life a litany of pain for months now. Thanks to The Insurance Company, I had to suffer through a month of physical therapy--which actually made it worse--before I could even GET the MRI which showed that I needed surgery, which I will now have on August 12th. Right before I have to go back to school. My entire summer has been an unceasing routine of doctor appointments, physical therapy sessions, and pain. ALL OF WHICH COULD HAVE BEEN AVOIDED IF I COULD HAVE HAD AN MRI IN LATE JUNE.

And yes, there is an undercurrent of fear flowing along with all this anger. I. Am. Terrified. I do have absolute faith in this orthopedic surgeon. It is an arthroscopic and an outpatient procedure; I'll be home the same day, thank goodness. I have had orthopedic surgery before, though, so I know about bone pain and rehab. But I am terrified. I hate hospitals, no matter if I'm in them or visiting them. I am scared of hospital infections.

And it's--of course--my right arm. I'M RIGHT-HANDED. I can't even begin to think about what all this will mean when school starts and I'm in one of those horrid goofy slings for six to eight weeks. It's overwhelming.

So! I'm behind on posts--especially at The Tie Report-- because, quite frankly, it hurts to type and I have to rest a lot while I do it. And I'm not feeling like myself. And once I have the surgery...well...I just don't know how it will all shake down at that point.

Sigh. It all sucks. Can I get a Do-Over?

Day Two--So Much Wine, So Little Time (But We Made The Most Of It)

Sunday dawned pleasant and partly sunny. We lingered over breakfast and decided that we had no real agenda other than to visit Rosewood Estates Winery and Meadery in nearby Beamsville. Our charming innkeeper Tim had thoughtfully printed out directions ("straight from Google!") from the front door of the inn to the drive of the place. We packed up our cooler and snack bag, piled into the car, and set out.

The winery is in a lovely setting complete with a pond and honking Canada geese, for whom we stopped (and then made Ali get out and chase from the side of the road. One of them hissed at her and stuck out its tongue. They are really mean.). The building itself is stately and gorgeous. We were the only visitors, so we were able to get very personal service. We tasted their wines, but of course we were anxious to get to the meads, of which they produce two. The traditional mead is their Harvest Gold dry; the other is a varietal called Mon Cherie, which is a rosé mead made by adding cherries. None of us had ever tasted mead before, so we had no idea what to expect in aroma, taste, appearance...anything. And it was different than we thought in all of those categories! First, I expected it to be a little thicker, kind of like syrup since mead is, after all, fermented honey. I also expected it to smell like honey and nothing else. Finally, I expected it to taste very sweet and sugary, but still like wine.

It was none of those things! The mead was just the same viscosity as wine or water. It had a sort of floral smell overall, then a bit of a honey note. (The Mon Cherie did have that bouquet of cherries also.) But there was also a sort of musty, lavender smell. Finally, the taste: I almost cannot describe it. I'm not even sure I like it! It's a bit musky, floral, a touch of vanilla in the finish, but not an overwhelming amount of honey, nor was there the expected sweetness. The Mon Cherie had the cherry note, but it was not a primary note. It was the oddest sensation, to drink "wine" and not have the sensation of "grape" or "fruit." Rick bought two bottles of it, though, so I will have time to culture my palate a little and see what I think. In addition to the mead, we bought a bottle of their Meritage. This is a variety of wine I had been tasting with intent to purchase at each winery, but I had been mightily disappointed until Rosewood. Meritage is a red wine that kind of reminds me of a "Gentlemen's Club", in that it evokes a paneled study, leather-bound volumes, a good cigar, and a big marbled steak. It's oaky but not too tannic, has a little bit of plumminess and almost a cocoa finish. So! Our big Mead Adventure accomplished, we inquired about wineries in the vicinity. "There are tons right along this road!" said our tasting guide. "There's one right next door; didn't you see it?"
We had, but because it was made of material and had architecture so similar to Rosewood, we assumed it was part of their winery. It was, in fact, a place called Angels Gate.

I won't spend much time on this winery because we didn't spend much time there, and I don't recommend you do, either, if you are ever in The Bench area. It's beautiful, yes, but it's not very welcoming and although they had a positively orgasmic Old Vine Chardonnay there (at $25 a bottle, steep if you are buying a case, I think, and too good for just one or two bottles, thereby making it just too darn pricey) their Gamay Noir is what I need to warn you off of. When I went to taste it, the smell of it was downright nauseating. It smelled exactly like what a wet load of laundry reeks of when you've forgotten it in the washer for a day or two on a hot day--that sort of wet, used, three-day old dishrag smell. Funky, mildewy...urgh. I gently said to the girl, "Could you smell this, please? I think something is amiss." The girl smelled it and sort of wrinkled up her nose a bit. Then she called on another girl, and this girl (who was all of 25), after hearing a brief explanation, poured a sample, swirled it, and took a whiff. She looked at the other girl, looked at me, and said very patronizingly, "That's what it smells like. There might be a bit of bottle shock, but it's fine." What a load of bullshit. Bottle shock makes wine tasteless or a bit lackluster and watery. It doesn't make them stink like wet dog. Besides, if a winery is serving brand new wine at a tasting bar before it is past the danger of bottle shock, then they have no idea what they are doing, and I am not confident in their product or their staff. I said, "Oh. Well, thank you then." We ended our tasting immediately. And left. But I will say this: that Old Vine Chardonnay was incredible--smooth, butterscotchy with a hint of vanilla and a bit toasty. Heaven. But one bottle would just make me crazy for more, and it's too pricey.

We visited at least six more wineries, and I can't possibly go into detail about all of them, but I will give you highlights of a few of them and their wines:

Mountain Road Wine Company was definitely a highlight, though not for atmosphere, certainly: it was like walking into a small basement studio apartment. When we pulled up, there were two women eating lunch at an umbrella table at the end of the driveway. As soon as we stopped the car, they hurriedly gathered up their things and scurried inside. They were the sole employees! They were so pleasant and knowledgeable, and this winery offers a full tasting of all of their wines, including all of their icewines. This is unheard of at all NotL wineries. Icewine runs about $70 a bottle (on average), so wineries charge to taste it. Not Mountain Road! We tasted all 4 of their icewines. And let me tell you: when I tasted their Cabernet Franc icewine, I had to hold onto the edge of the counter to keep from swooning and moaning and...well, let's just say that they need to put at least an 'R' rating on that stuff. It is incredible. My eyeballs literally rolled back in my head. Rick said, "She doesn't need me anymore." Nice man...he bought me a bottle anyway. They also have a wonderful table wine simply called Mountain Road Red that would be great with Italian food or nibblies--you know, snackies like chips, cheese and crackers, grapes, etc.

Cornerstone Winery is run by a Polish couple, and the draw here is their fruit wines. If you are the type of person who likes the idea of drinking wine, but wishes it was more fruity and...well, less sharpish and aged-tasting on your palate, then these wines are for you. Cornerstone has peach, apricot, cherry, and strawberry wines that were inspired by Wanda, the winemaker's wife, who wanted something different. The strawberry is especially wonderful--the fruit flavor is bountiful and natural. It's like drinking Smucker's strawberry preserves, but not so cloyingly sweet. Next year, Cornerstone will have a port wine available, something I have never seen at a winery in NotL or The Bench.

Thirty Bench is a pretty big player in The Bench area. When we walked in, we were swooped in upon by a "Private Wine Consultant" who offered to take us on a personalized tour and private tasting for ten dollars each. We declined and were summarily shown the tasting area and given the standard Free Tasting of two wines, the house riesling and the house red. But, that was okay because the 2007 Thirty Bench Riesling is lovely. It is crisp, clean, and has a beautiful aroma of pears and citrus. The finish has a great snap of lime. I loved it and bought it.

Crown Bench is an interesting place with a Santa Clausy Hungarian vintner who is at once pretentious and passionate about The Bench area and his wines. He is also crazy knowledgeable about all things oenological. By this time, I'm a bit buzzed, so I'll pretty much talk to anyone and listen to anything, so he was shamelessly flattered. The cool thing here is this guy's icewines: he makes them in seemingly endless varieties and a tasting includes one of your choice. I chose one called "Chocolate Ambrosia" and Jared chose "Hot Ice", which was flavored with chiles. All I ended up buying was a bottle of his Verjus, a gourmet cooking item.

As I said, there were a couple other wineries--maybe three, maybe four--one of them is affiliated with Dan Aykroyd's label--and we bought wine at a couple of them. But these were the highlights of our trip to The Bench.

Now do you see why we brought home more than 50 bottles of wine? Looking back, I'm surprised we didn't end up with much more!

A Taste Of My Vaca-hic-tion--The First Two Cases (Or So)

Sigh.

Now that I've gone and told you that I crossed the border with over 50 (FIFTY) bottles of wine, some of you are curious as to just where I got all this vino, and if all I did on this little vacance of mine was to simply go meandering about the Ontario countryside, swishing and not spitting.

If only!

Of course, I jest.

Our primary focus when we jaunt off to Canada is The Shaw Festival in Niagara-on-the-Lake, (NotL from here on out, because it is such a bitch to type!). Click that hotlink when you get a chance and check it out; there are short previews of a couple of the plays available to watch, lots of information and plot synopses, and the Festival runs through Nov. 2nd. There are many great deals on tickets available, especially for students and those 30 and under. We saw two productions this time, Mrs. Warren's Profession and Belle Moral, which is a new play submitted under the newly-expanded rules of The Shaw. Heretofore, The Shaw Festival only put on those plays written during the era of George Bernard Shaw, but now they have decided to include plays that are set during the era of GBS. Both plays were extremely well done, but we vastly preferred Belle Moral, due to the preachiness, long-winded speeches, and lack of comic relief in MW'sP.

Our second reason for the trip was to score some more of Caroline Cellars' Pinot Cherry wine. We discovered this gem on our last trip up to NotL in December. And we REdiscovered it on Independence Day when we had our now infamous Liquid Dinner To Celebrate The Birth Of Our Nation. It's a gorgeous light red with a cherry finish that is lovely when barely chilled. Caroline Cellars was one of the first wineries we hit on Saturday in NotL because I wanted to be sure we could get a case. While we were there, of course I thought it prudent and only polite to taste all of their offerings. They also had a terrific new rosé, very aromatic and pretty, so we bought some of that as well, and headed out to our most favorite winery of all. This one actually was the sole reason for our road trip back in December. I know, how sad.

I had emailed Rosi at Cattail Creek that we were coming, and she emailed me back immediately. She was thrilled that we were on our way--they had a bunch of new reds she wanted us to taste with her. But she was sad to inform us that our all-time favorite wine, the 2006 Off-Dry Reisling--an award-winner for them!--was completely gone. (Ha ha! Not for us! We still have almost a case! ) We zipped over there for a huggy reunion and got down to serious business. Rosi does very generous pours...of all the wines...and we bought another case. This time a split of half Chardonnay and half Gamay. The Chardonnay....oh my. So buttery and lightly oaked and smooth that it was like biting into a piece of morning toast. Mmmmmmm. And the Gamay was like a round, plummy Beaujolais, only crisper, with a small spice note in the background.

This was our third tasting because we had started at another winery to allow Jared's girlfriend Ali to go on a full tour of a winery. By now, I've had...oh, let's just say a lot of wine. I've only dumped probably two. And we've already bought 28 bottles. It's amazing how it just adds up!

Then we simply had to go to Reif Estates Winery to visit our buddies, Carol and Dawn, two sisters in the wine boutique and tasting bar there. We met them in December and they fell in love with Jared and wanted to fix him up with Carol's daughter. (They also shamelessly flirted with Rick, which is understandable--they are in his demographic. All women over the age of 55 adore my husband, and the older they get, the more they love him. In this case, it is absolutely okay because it means free wine tasting. I'm no dummy.) Astonishingly, we see both ladies and they remember us immediately without us even saying anything! Carol is now the manager of the boutique/tasting bar, and she tells the bartender "Give these people anything they want" and shoots them The Look. We taste everything on the tasting menu at no charge. Both ladies stop by often and chat and flirt. Carol tries to fix Ali up with the young man in charge of our tasting in order to free Jared up for her daughter "who is on Facebook, by the way." As we leave, Ali is presented with a free box of icewine chocolates by Carol, who explains, "Since I was a little bit mean." Rick and I buy...oh, I forget, but I think two...three bottles...? Some. (Just kidding. We got a couple of bottles of their Gamay Rosé, which is not only pretty to look at, but has a very beautiful bouquet of strawberry and rhubarb. The finish is not tannic at all, and it is only mildly sweet. As you can tell, we're going in for light reds a bit, and rosés.)

At that point, basically, I was hammered. I'm not going to lie. We had taken along some food in the car, but I had drunk quite a bit of wine, and because we had gone back to very familiar wineries with staff we had developed a relationship with (or as Jared so eloquently put it "we rolled VIP"), we had been treated to some...extremely generous pours. We decided to call it a day after we ran into one last winery merely to pick up a bottle of wine that the vintner likes to call Darth Vader--it's a sinisterly dark and smoky 2003 Cabernet that, for some reason, I really enjoy even though I normally do not like big oaky reds. Rick and Jared have a major aversion to this winery, and admittedly, I'm not a fan, either. It smells musty and doggy, and seems sort of like it's for The Old Folks. Just gives off a really odd vibe. But that Cab--nice.

It was definitely time to pack it in. We were seeing a play that night, and we had to get cleaned up, find a restaurant, and get some dinner. We had succeeded in our Plan For The Day, which was to get a case of Pinot Cherry, take Ali on a winery tour, and go back to visit Rosi and her new reds at Cattail.

On Sunday we had the Entire Day To Do Wineries, and we had A MISSION. We had heard of a Winery & Meadery in a town about 40 miles away. For years, I had read about and taught about knights and lords and ladies drinking mead. I wanted to try it! Sunday would be the day. And while we were there, we'd investigate the other wineries in that area, known as "The Bench".

I'll take you with me in the next post. Bring a bottle of your favorite--excuse me, that'd be favourite--vintage, and a lovely glass.

Back To Life; Back To Reality

It's over. I have returned. I vastly overpacked but wore all three pairs of shoes. My wardrobe was appropriate, but my hair (thanks to an abundance of humidity) looked terrible every single moment except for the first evening's play, where I considered asking them to keep the house lights up so that everyone could appreciate it--my hair, I mean--but decided it would be vain. After all, the audience had gathered there to see a professional performance of George Bernard Shaw's Mrs. Warren's Profession, not my coif.

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On the way to Canada, the following dialog took place:
Me: Hey, did you see that?
Rick: What?
Me: There was a guy standing on top of that water tower!
Rick: Did he have a gun?
Me: No...
Rick: Then don't worry about it.
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Approximately three blocks from our house, we discovered that we had left for our four-hour trip without amassing any CDs to listen to. Rick said, "Oh, don't worry. I grabbed some out of my truck." There was a long moment of silence as Jared and I absorbed this news. I turned to the back seat and exchanged a horror-laden glance with him. "What?" Rick said defensively. "Nothing," we assured him. But we knew what we were in for. Rick's musical taste is...eclectic in the extreme. And his CD collection consists of burned discs of not names, but graphics like a blue Sharpie cloud scribbled on it, or a red Sharpie cloud scrawled on it, or the dreaded blank CDs which are like reaching into a grab-bag and drawing out a prize wrapped in tissue paper: you have no clue what might be inside. Thus, we immediately instituted a Two-Skip Invocation Rule, whereby anyone in the car can invoke two skips. If a song comes on that a listener cannot abide, he or she can simply state "Skip", and Rick (who has audio system controls on the steering wheel--I know, how cool is MY NEW CAR!?) will simply skip that track, no questions asked. Well, let me tell you...we had a wild, unconventional potpourri of Earth, Wind & Fire, Keith Urban, Carl Orff, Wang Chung, Eminem, Wayne Wonder, Seal, Edwin Starr, The Cars, oh...the list is endless and incredible. He tried to sneak some Kid Rock and Alan Jackson in there, but I invoked. Oooh, baby, did I invoke. All I can say is, thank heavens for Blue Cloud Disc. Wait...or was it Red Scribble? Never mind.
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Things got a little sketchy at the border coming home. I am all about BORDER SECURITY. I really am. And I realize that, perhaps, four and a half cases of wine seems like a lot for just four people after only a long weekend. I do. But really, isn't asking, "What are you going to do with 50 bottles of wine?" kind of...dumb? And disingenuous? And did the Customs Officer have to preface his question with "Oh my God! That's like...fifty bottles!" Geeze.

Trying to make me feel bad.

Ready To Pack It In For A Few Days

Sigh. Is there anything more vexing about getting ready for a little vacation than packing ? I detest it. One has to be a veritable seer in order to do it effectively. "What might the weather be like? (Yes, I've heard of weather.com, but that isn't foolproof, you know!) How many pairs of shoes will I really need? Can I get away with wearing this dress twice since I'm going to two different theaters? What might I feel like wearing? What if I spill something, tear something, lose a button on something, bloat and feel too fat for something? Can I both walk a fair distance and feel presentable in these shoes? Will this sweater match more than one outfit? "

Aaaarrrrgggghhh!

Thank heavens I'm riding to Canada and not flying. This means full-size toiletries and unlimited amounts of them. Contact solution, shampoo, styling gel, lotion, deodorant, makeup, toothpaste...I MIGHT JUST GO GET WAREHOUSE-SIZED INDUSTRIAL DRUMS OF THESE THINGS BECAUSE I CAN! The airlines can go screw themselves. Hard.

I also have to think about Road Food: this part of the trip can be critical. No way am I allowing snacks like Cheetos or Doritos or melty chocolate stuff in my still-pretty-new-and-therefore-unsullied car. I must choose wisely. Also considered must be the perfect balance of savory and sweet, salty and not-so-salty. And I cannot have tons of room taken up by a bigass cooler, either. And--Road Food becomes Room Food. Must remember that.

Right now, there is laundry in the dryer, dinner waiting to be made, most of my Jaunt Wardrobe laid out on the bed, and what's left of my sanity dangling over the precipice. I hate getting ready to Go Away.

If it sounds like I need this little jaunt, it's because I do. I'm hormonal. I'm snarky. I'm fussy.

I'm sure I'll be fine. See you in a few days.

Barack, Boozing, Guilt, And Cruising...Good Lord, Strap Yourselves Down

Put on your seatbelt, and consider taking me up on the offer of that helmet. It's time for a ride on the Bullet Train Through Nance's Brain. There's no set route, and stops are random and frequent. Here we go:

• Hey, Barack! Stop wearing The Flag Pin. What is Up With That Lately? One of the big reasons I respected you so much early on was how you calmly dug in and politely told all the zealots to go pound salt about it. About how wearing a flag pin didn't make you a True Patriot. Now you're wearing the hell out of it and, quite frankly, doing some pandering to the moderates and Reagan Democrats, whatever those really are. I have to tell you, I liked you better before. Let's remember the Primary Campaign Barack and get back to Him. And fast. Oh, and those of you who are all about The Flag Pin and The Yellow Ribbon Magnets and The Car Window Flags and all that other Fake Patriot Bullshit? How about you do some real Patriot-ing and do what I do? Donate to the USO. Put your money where your mouth is.



• Speaking of patriotism, can we please call Fourth of July "Independence Day"? It sounds much more dignified and really speaks to what we are celebrating. I don't call my birthday "Third of May." We don't call Christmas "Twenty-fifth of December" and we don't call Thanksgiving "Third Thursday of November." Besides, to be historically accurate, what exactly happened on July 4, 1776? Look it up; you'll be surprised, I think.

Now I'm getting cranky, aren't I? I promise to stop being so snarky for the rest.

• Today, I said, "I really need to get the backs of my legs tan. The fronts look fine, but the backs are pretty pale." I was immediately struck by how terrible that sounded. In what shallow, pathetic universe is that even a permissible goal to have? At this very moment, people are saying things like, "I need to take my mother to chemotherapy" or "I need to work on the cure for AIDS" or "I really need to find a job" or "I've got to find a good tutor for my autistic son" and I am saying "I need to work on my tan." I am disgusted by my hideous, skewed summertime priorities. But really, the back of my legs are pretty white and I am going to be wearing sundresses on vacation next weekend. And I will not be fake-baking, so it's not like I'm paying money for the tanning. Do you hear me just now? I am actually justifying my depravity! I'm so sorry.



• Last night for dinner we (Jared, Rick, and I) had: 5 bottles of wine and some shrimp cocktail. It was a holiday. Don't judge. It's entirely possible that we had something else and I just don't remember. Small triumph--no one had a hangover.



• It has been about 3 weeks since a shoe purchase. I am very proud of myself and I do think this proves that I have considerable fiscal responsibility, maturity, and restraint.



• (Yes, I do see the irony of those last two adjectives after the previous bulleted item.)



• I am getting A Haircut on 8 July. Naturally, in preparation for this event, my hair has looked Fantastic for an entire week now. Previous to this, my hair has been hideous and Uncooperative In The Extreme. I am a teensy bit bored with my hair, though, and I am fighting this feeling with all my might since the last time this happened, this happened. Followed immediately by this. "Just get a trim," I am repeating to myself, mantra-like.



• Speaking of hair, I don't get convertibles. One went zipping by us on the highway the other day. In it were two teenaged girls with long blond hair whipping in the wind. It was about 85 degrees outside, sun blazing, they were going about 70 mph, and I was stymied by the whole thing. I mean, I absolutely cannot stand wind: when I am in the car on the highway and Rick has his window down and I have mine even a tiny bit down, not only is the wind annoying, but the noise! The radio--forget about it. You cannot hear it unless it is turned up to eleventy thousand decibels and then it's impossible to enjoy. And those girls' hair had to be lashing their faces and getting in behind their sunglasses, whipping them in the eyeball...how is that pleasant? And the heat! Coming up off that asphalt...oh, and let's not forget the road detritus flinging up off the pavement! And bugs! And then, when they arrive at their destination--the aftermath of the ride on their appearance! Yikes. How is it all worth it? Wasn't putting a roof on the car an improvement? A technological advancement? Hmmmm....

Hope the ride-along in my brain wasn't too awfully bumpy. I warned you. And you did have the option of putting on the helmet.

If It's Cheese, It Leads

As an English teacher, I like to think I appreciate a good metaphor. I find our second-floor school lounge computer's Star Wars-esque mousepad extremely satisfying, emblazoned as it is with the slogan Metaphors Be With You. This is why a recent news item has me somewhat stumped.

Sculptor Troy Landwehr has chosen a one-ton block of Wisconsin cheddar as his medium and reproduced John Trumbull's painting "Declaration of Independence." Now, if you're not sure what painting this is, simply open your wallet or purse and withdraw a two-dollar bill, turn it over, and look at the back. There it is. (Or, click this handy link! Never let it be said that I don't run a full-service operation here at the Dept.) Here is my issue. I don't happen to find this painting particularly cheesy. I mean, there is no attempt on the part of Mr. Trumbull to insert himself in the painting, or to make the signers look dramatic or florid, or to have anyone draw a sword or stand atop a chair or table as if making a heartfelt patriotic speech. The style is realistic, the skill level good, the balance fine, and the subject matter admirable. So...I don't get the whole Cheese Metaphor. Why this painting? Why cheese? I have to say, I'm even a little offended. Last year, Landwehr did a replica of Mt. Rushmore in cheese. Even worse! President Lincoln--Abraham Lincoln--is on Rushmore!

So, I am offering my assistance to Mr. Landwehr. I want to make sure he avoids the same pitfalls next year, those being A) offending American Patriots (me being one) everywhere; B) appearing to make fun of American historical giants (i.e. President Lincoln, Thomas Jefferson); C) completely missing the point of metaphorical humor/expression/irony.

Here are my suggestions for next year's subjects to be carved in the Cheese Of His Choice:
1. Dogs Playing Poker: These depictions have been the Epitome Of Cheesy Artwork forever. Let's face it. No one except college students, bachelors, or bachelor college students would hang these in their homes. The fact that they exist in a series is just incredible to me. Look, I think they're funny and all, but come on. Cheese factor is like...limburger.

2. Elvis On Velvet: Please. Do I really have to even talk about this? Fact: you can buy these off of individuals who park on the side of the road and have them draped over their cars. This one is especially unbelievable. I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit. Cheese factor...Velveeta on a toothpick served as an hors d'oeuvre. With ketchup and mustard mixed together and served as a dipping sauce. Blech.

3. Anything by Thomas Kinkade, self-proclaimed "Painter of Light." (AKA "Painter of Crap" and "Painter of Kitsch" and "Painter of I'm-The-Franklin-Mint-of-The-Middle-Middle-Class") Here is all you need to know about this guy: He is now painting NASCAR race scenes. He's gone from cozy little cottages with flowered gates and haloes of light to "43 mighty race cars thunder[ing] by as "The King" himself, Richard Petty, waves the green flag for the start of the 50th Running of the DAYTONA 500®." Doesn't matter; his stuff isn't art. He's finally realized his audience and he's exploiting them. Cheese factor: Low-fat Kraft American Singles.

4. Precious Moments figurines. Honestly, what is the deal with these things? Normally sane grownups have cartloads of these; moreover, they display them in their homes. Where other people will see them. Certainly I can understand if one has a gaggle of these doe-eyed aliens as the result of a childhood collection. But...it's time to put them away. They're juvenile, they're scary, they're...frankly pastel and fetishistic. Get over it. Not art. Not even close. And oh so very cheesy. Cheese factor: String cheese. Because IT'S FOR KIDS.

Okay, I feel like I've done my part. For Troy Landwehr, for art, and for America. Oh, and for cheese.

"Jug Of Warm Piss" Or Not, Tell Barack I'm Ready To Serve

So I'm watching Meet the Press on Sunday and Joe Biden is on and he gets The Question. It's inevitable, and I'm loving it because I love Joe Biden who is so bombastic and truthful that it's a little like watching a cross between Howard Dean and a pit bull on steroids go after a republican holding a raw Tbone. Here's the most germane part of the exchange verbatim:

MR. WILLIAMS: You interested in the vice presidency?
SEN. BIDEN: I am not interested in the vice presidency.
MR. WILLIAMS: You're not interested in the vice presidency.
SEN. BIDEN: I'm not interested.
MR. WILLIAMS: MEET THE PRESS, April 29th, 2007, Tim Russert asks Joe Biden, "You interested in being vice president?" "No, I will not be vice president under any circumstances." But in a different answer, you answered you'd have to say yes. I don't know, so...
SEN. BIDEN: Well, no. The bottom--look, the--when I was asked that question, I thought I was still going to be president. Now--number one, I, I am not interested in being vice president. I've let the candidate know. If the candidate asks me to be vice president, the answer is I got to say yes. But he's not going to ask me. Look, you cannot walk away...

Exactly, Joe Biden! And therein lies the point of my post today. If Barack Obama asked Joe Biden to serve as his Vice President of the United States of America, he would say yes. Who the hell wouldn't? When called upon to serve, you serve! This is your country we're talking about, ladies and gentlemen! In case you haven't noticed, it's in a big stinking mess, thanks to the republicans. It's time to roll up your sleeves and get to work on cleaning things up around here. Time to recall the words of a famous Democrat and put your own affairs aside and get on with the job.

This is exactly what I said to Rick and Jared as we watched MTP's segment. (Among other things. I also called Sen. Lindsey Graham an Old Lady Fussypants and referred to South Carolina's secessionist tendencies, but I digress.)

Me: You go, Joe Biden! Everyone would be Vice President. Or at least they should. I would!

Rick: You'd make a great vice president.

Me: I would be Barack's vice president in a heartbeat. Wouldn't you, Jared?

Jared: No.

Me: What?! Of course you would! You have to! This is your country we're talking about! If Barack Obama needed you, you would serve.

Jared: Nope. I would be a nightmare. I would tell everyone to go f*ck themselves.

Me: No you wouldn't. You would want to help. You're a student of history. You would care deeply about our country!

Jared: It sounds like a lotta work to me.

Me: Jared! Besides, you get a motorcade and all kinds of cool stuff.

Rick: Nance, it's perfect for you. You finally get to live in D.C., and have a staff and a driver.

Jared: Oh my god. Mom. You just had me drive you around the other day for six hours while you shopped for a purse. And you called and had Ali meet us at the mall to help. There's your driver and your staff. And you boss me around like nuts. You're already vice president.

Summer Sojourn Part I

Had an impromptu outing with my sister Patti yesterday, and I have to say it was a real shot in the arm. Shamefully, we don't get together nearly as often as I'd like, despite the fact that we live near each other and are terrific companions. We talk about absolutely everything, but she does like to get me fired up about The Politics more often than not. I think she knows that I have serious Perspective Issues, but I'm owning that; I embrace it, and even though she does take a serious risk hauling me around in her Brand New Car when I get all excited slagging off on the republicans in general and The Angel Of Death in particular, she knows that the Entertainment Value alone is well worth it.

So, yesterday, while we were leaving the tearoom and walking toward yet another Shoe Shopping Indiscretion (it's only June and I've already bought 6 pair--but none at full price!), I notice one of those "Support Our Troops" yellow ribbon magnets on the back of a van in the parking lot. "Geeze, I hate those frikking things," I say to Patti. "They're pointless and worthless. Not to mention meaningless. Do you know how many of those kinds of ribbony magnet thingies there are now?" We climb into her car and start driving. "There are approximately eleventy million," I continue. "There are pink ones for breast cancer. Light blue for prostate cancer. Puzzly ones for autism. Black for POWs. And by and large, none of them were bought with any of the money going toward that cause. Some of them even say things like 'I heart my rottweiler' or 'I heart the Gators.' And the whole thing came from some dorky song by Tony Orlando and Dawn about some convict in prison who was coming home from serving his sentence! Is this really the context we want for America's servicemen and women? And get this! I used to take them off the back of cars and throw them away! What do you think of that?!" I banged on the dash of her car for emphasis.

Patti looked over at me calmly and smiled. "I'm not surprised at all. And, for the record, I never liked that song."

*More of our outing in the next post.

EmilyCat Hits The Reset Button, And I Am Haunted And Taunted By Pet Longevity

As you know, EmilyCat is 18 and is now merely sticking around to annoy me. She is nearly deaf, walks as if she has no knees, has about half her teeth, suffers from occluded vision, is shockingly lax in her personal grooming, and detests everyone. She must be fed three times a day the most disgusting canned hideousness in the universe and I must add hot water to it and mush it up until it is the consistency of cake batter.

I know. How wonderful am I? Can you see my myriad of halos shining from there?

Anyway.

About a week and a half ago, Emily had "an episode." She started wavering and rocking and her back right leg went completely numb; she looked all sleepy and out of it (moreso than usual), and I thought this is it! Emily is going to go to that Kitty Condo in the sky! She was sort of whimpering and she couldn't get up the steps. I called for Rick who picked her up gently and cradled her and said all wet-eyed, "We'd better call The Vet."

"Are you KIDDING!?" I said. "This is Sunday. They will charge us eleventy billion dollars for an emergency call. Let's give her a little while and see how she does."

Cut to the chase: Emily ends up sitting on the floor watching Jared and his girlfriend Ali play Scrabble for three hours. She goes to bed. The next morning, I get up and Emily bounces out of bed, trots to her dish on all her pegs, and barks for her breakfast. She has not peed all over the floor since, and she is fine.

Gimme a break. This cat is going to live forever, and who the hell is going to take care of her while we are in Canada in July? Reminder: SHE HAS TO BE FED DISGUSTING MUSHY HOT FOOD THREE EFFING TIMES A DAY. AND GIRLFRIEND IS GOING WITH, SO NO HELP THERE.

Which leads me to the next part of my post. Which is better, in that it is about a bunny, but devastating in that it is about yet another annoyingly long-lived pet. Here he is:
This story was sent to me via email by Anali, who I'm sure was trying to be nice and had no idea that it was going to be a source of irritation.

This bunny, George, is now in the Guinness Book of World Records as the Oldest Living Rabbit. He is 14 years old, which is about 160 in human years. The average life expectancy for bunnies is 6-8 years. That's pretty good, but what makes it so extraordinary is to what George's owners attribute it. Joe Breton and his wife Amy joke that "the Pez and Doritos they fed George in college are part of the reason he’s still alive."

Oh, ha ha, you might say. But get this: Amy's profession? Veterinary technician. Possibly realizing that she might be coming off as, er...less than credible...Amy offered up this quote to the reporter: “I would never recommend for anyone to feed that to a rabbit but he was a college dorm room rabbit so maybe that helped with his longevity,” she said. Wow, Amy. Good save.

For the record, EmilyCat has never eaten a Pez and she does not like Doritos. And today, she woke me up at 7:23 for her breakfast. It did not matter that I wanted to sleep in. She is such a bitch.

And so far, the record holder for Oldest Living Cat is a Burmese called Kataleena Lady who lives in Melbourne, Australia. Kataleena Lady was born on March 11th, 1977. THIRTY-ONE FREAKING YEARS OLD. Holy crap.

"Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince, And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!"

Oh, my heart is broken.

A Few Little Happies; I Can Afford It!

I am officially on Summer Vacation 2008. It would, therefore, stand to reason that I am Blissfully Blissful. Happily Happy. I am at my leisure all day today, and gosh darn it! I'll be at it all day tomorrow as well! Try not to hate me.

In addition to just being able to Sloth Around (and, apparently, Randomly Capitalize), there are a few other things that are making me smile contentedly. It doesn't take much, I'll admit it. Thought I'd share:

1. A florist shop near me runs daily specials that they post on their spiffy electronic sign. They offer a free rose to people with certain names. Past recipients have been Donny and Marie and Fred and Wilma.

2. Jared, my English major son, is rabidly managing his fantasy football team. Its name: the Pencey Red Hats.

3. Also earning Brownie Points for Jared is his Kerry/Edwards sticker still steadfastly clinging to the back of his car.

4. Here are pics of my latest major shoe bargains. Got all three pair for less than the SRP* of the first, thanks in part to Jared's "Former Employee Discount." (*Standard Retail Price)

The orange snakeskin peep-toe pumps are actually rather coral, and they perfectly match a summer sweater I have. The kitten heelish flats have that cute little ruffle trio on them, so they look smart, don't they? Nice for skirts or pants. Honestly, if I told you what I paid, you'd throw up. So I won't. But trust me, it was next to nothing.

5. Here's what was making me happy three whole years ago when I first started up this blog. That stuff would still make me plenty happy today.

What's making you happy these days?

Reality Bites, And Someone In Marketing Really Should Have Thought Of That

So I look at the mail today and there's this huge blue envelope addressed to my husband and me. On the outside it says in big white letters: reality enclosed.

Yikes.

I'm thinking: This is not the best marketing tool. I mean, the last thing I need--really--is more reality. Now, it's not like I have this horrific Dr. Phil-worthy life or anything. But, come on. One thing I've got plenty of right now is reality.

1. Took EmilyCat, age 18 years, to the vet today. She is wheezing, coughing, and randomly peeing and pooping all over the place. Dr. examines her and Emily is a complete and total hissing evil bitch. Dr. says, "She is old. I could run a bunch of tests, but how much do you want to invest in an aging cat? Chances are she has urinary tract and kidney infections, but with her temperament, you're not going to be able to force a pill or dropper down her gullet three times a day. Let's see how she does in the next few weeks, then if you're both still unhappy, call me and we'll maybe make final arrangements at that time." We get home, and Emily pees on my snowboots in the basement which are two feet away from her pristine litterbox. Vet bill: $50.

2. Dinner tonight is all the foldy chips I can find from the bag of Lay's BBQ. I am disinterested in food. No one else is home for dinner.

3. It hit 90 today. I had school. In our 175-year old building. Which is un-airconditioned. Which would have been okay had it not been eleventy-billion percent humidity.

4. Got our "economic stimulus" (in reality, Angel of Death Bribery) check. In less than three days following, had to get new U-joint on Rick's vehicle, two new tires on Jared's, and received health insurance bill for Jared, who is no longer covered now on my policy.

5. I have a headache.

6. Gasoline here was at $3.96 a gallon for weeks. "Dropped" to $3.88 today and there was a bigass line! Perceived BARGAIN! Give me strength.

And this bank--who sent me the blue envelope--thinks that reality enclosed is going to get me all excited? Think again. If it said martini enclosed, then yes.

Report Cards: Results From The Quiz

It's time to pass back your virtual papers and let you see how you did on the quiz.
In a word: Yikes. Only one of you came close to passing, and that was Jenomena, who scored a 6 out of 10, which is a D. And Jen, as I tell my students, "You may be relieved, but not happy. No one may ever be happy with a D." :-)

If I got these results in my class, I would have to take a good, hard look at what occurred: Did I fail to teach the concept or material clearly? Was there a school event the night before this quiz? Or was there simply a general lack of concern on the part of the students? Hmmmmmmmmm....

In this case, I prefer to think that I am just a Woman of Mystery. A complex being of many facets and, like Thomas' English Muffins, I have lots of nooks and crannies. To my personality, not my complexion. Sigh. Let me just get to the answers before I really start something.

1. Living Room: The place where I spend a great deal of my time is decorated in--
A. Burgundy, navy, pine green. Cherry wood. Tastefully traditional, library/study decor. On the wall is a reproduction of this Vermeer painting.

I love Vermeer, and I found a place in The Netherlands where they train artists to paint in his style. I ordered this painting done in the identical size of the original for our 20th wedding anniversary. It is huge and gorgeous. My living room is very quiet and sedate and has all my hardback books on shelves, and I can sit and read and look at this painting.

2. Career: Before deciding upon teaching, I initially chose this degree path.
B. Veterinary medicine
I have always had an affinity for animals and had a variety of pets growing up, much to my mother's chagrin. I read the James Herriot series of books as a junior in high school and resolved to be a veterinarian. Shortly into my college career, I discovered a very large aversion to the sight of blood and an even bigger aversion to math. I decided to continue with an education career. I figured I could still work with animals but there'd be a lot less blood. Ha ha, get it? (insert rimshot.)

3. Name: I have always hated my name. Detested it. If I could change it, I'd be named--
C. Samantha

This name has always held such cache for me. My grandmother used to use it infrequently as a nickname for me, and I would live on those moments for days. When I found out that it was fleetingly considered as my birth name, I almost wept. Why oh WHY had they not given it to me? I once heard a story that I was named after the song "Nancy with the Laughing Face" because when I was born, I was smiling. I'm not sure I believe that, and I'm not sure it helps. My name does not suit me.

4. Politics: True or False?

I have never voted Republican in my life, and I am damned proud of it.
Oh, I have voted for a couple of them in my life on the local and state level. Back before The Election of the Dark Times (2000), I always voted for The Person and not The Party. And, someday, I may again, especially if I know the candidate personally. But these days, even if the candidate were Satan himself, I'd probably vote Democrat.

5. Trivia: At the grocery store, I:
C. Get asked advice in the Italian Foods section
As goofy as this sounds, it happens to me frequently. My coloring is such that I am often mistaken for someone of Italian heritage, and if I am lingering in the Italian Foods section at all, shoppers will ask me about products or recipes. Sometimes I just come clean and say, "I'm happy to tell you what I use, but I'm not Italian." Sometimes I just answer their questions without referring to the Italian thing at all.

6. Preferences: I chose the color of my hybrid car, and it is:
C. Black
I like black cars. Oh sure, red cars are snazzy and sporty, but I don't feel like a red car person. And I know darn well that I'd hate a yellow car after about two weeks. A black car always looks a little more expensive and elegant than any other car, I think.

7. Talents: I once won second prize for my:
C. poetry
Okay, first of all, if it were my pesto in competition, it would win first, hands down! But anyway, yeah, I submitted to a tri-county competition and got second prize. The judge was a pretty big deal poet himself, and there were lots of entries. I was happy about it and glad that I practiced what I preach to my creative writing students. At least once, anyway. LOL.

8. Issues: I am fundamentally opposed to:
A. the death penalty
I don't feel that this should be "our" job.

9. Faults: Rick wishes I would
B. Swear less
According to Jared, the answer is really "all of the above," but he only lives here part-time. What does he know? Since we got the hybrid, my braking is fully under control. And since Rick sleeps like one dead, and I do NOT snore (but admit to breathing heavily at times), the answer is clearly "swear less." My profanity is...well...unrestrained. I have to keep my mouth so leashed while at school when, obviously, there are so many curse-worthy moments, that when I am at home it's like taking the top off a pressure cooker. I am trying to use the eff-word less, but it's hard. Really hard.

10. Pet Peeves: I really dislike
A. driving, grading papers, grocery shopping
I really dislike all of these things intensely. Rick sometimes accuses me of marrying him simply because he does not mind driving. This could, in fact, be somewhat true. One of my best friends loves to drive, as do both of my children. This is an alarming trend, come to think of it. Grading papers is a horrid, terrible, awful, heinous, and tedious job. Sadly, it is a pretty big part of being a teacher. When I was a little girl, I used to get red crayons and grade pages in coloring books and old storybooks. I thought grading papers would be the most funnest part of being a teacher. Apparently, I was brain-damaged at some point in my youth. I blame living near the steel mill. And grocery shopping? Please. No viable return on your investment. Think about it. And it's ALL WORK. You walk around and find it; you load it; you unload it; you pay a ton for it; you drive it home; unload it; put it away; then you spend time figuring out what to do with it, then do it. THEN YOU FLUSH IT ALL AWAY AND START OVER.

Anyway.

Those are the Nance Quiz results. Did you learn anything new and exciting? I didn't think so. Guess I'll get back to regular programming. I knew this Sharing Thing was not my style.

The Nance Quiz

Every once in a while, I read someone's blog and feel bad that I am not very share-y. Lots of bloggers write about their struggles with some pretty intimate stuff. Or, at the very least, their day-to-day battles with illness, toilet training, or divorce. Some even post their real pictures on the Interwebs whereas I post a funny picture of a cat with sunglasses. It is a real cat, but it isn't me, and it isn't even EmilyCat or the late TravisCat, neither of whom would have put up with such shenaningans. And while it is true that I do write about my actual husband and sons and career and mother and sisters and and life events every once in a while, I am far more private than many (or dare I say, most) bloggers.

Part of it stems from the fact that I am just private by nature, and part of it is due to my job as a teacher. It's just too easy for teenagers + Interwebs = disaster. And I started my blog as a way for me to keep my writing skills sharp and to practice what I preach to my students; that is, writers write. So, I didn't necessarily start it as a means for catharsis or anything like that.

Having said all of that--I decided to offer up a little bit of me in a quiz form. I do this for my students after they've made Me a Topic of Conversation--often, they find me so incredibly Mysterious that they simply cannot Go On, and this just gets it all out of their systems. By no means do I imply that this is the case with all of you: that you are all sitting Out There paralyzed with befuddlement about the minutae of My Life. Quite honestly, I'm stuck for a post, and I thought it might be fun to find out what you imagine I might be like after just having read me for the past few years!

Shall we begin?

1. Living Room: Is the place where I spend a great deal of my time decorated in--

A. Burgundy, navy, pine green. Cherry wood. Tastefully traditional, library/study decor. On the wall is a reproduction of this Vermeer painting.

B. Sand, ecru, black. Chrome and glass. Clean lines, modern/industrial decor. On the wall is a reproduction of this Mondrian painting.

C. Olive, bittersweet, dark mustard. Mahogany wood. Whimsically eclectic, blend of antique/personal touches. On the wall is a reproduction of this Rousseau painting.

2. Career: Before deciding upon teaching, I initially chose this degree path.

A. Library science

B. Veterinary medicine

C. Fashion design/marketing

3. Name: I have always hated my name. Detested it. If I could change it, I'd be named--

A. Mary

B. Emily

C. Samantha

4. Politics: True or False?

I have never voted Republican in my life, and I am damned proud of it.

5. Trivia: At the grocery store, I:

A. Sneak and eat grapes

B. Park in the handicapped slots

C. Get asked advice in the Italian Foods section

6. Preferences: I chose the color of my hybrid car, and it is:

A. Yellow

B. Red

C. Black

7. Talents: I once won second prize for my:

A. pesto

B. pond

C. poetry

8. Issues: I am fundamentally opposed to:

A. the death penalty

B. abortion

C. both a and b

9. Faults: Rick wishes I would

A. Brake sooner

B. Swear less

C. Stop snoring

10. Pet Peeves: I really dislike

A. driving, grading papers, grocery shopping

B. litterbox duty, grading papers, bedmaking

C. litterbox duty, loading dishwasher, folding clothes

Okay, so see how you do. I'll update with the answers once any interested parties have had a chance to give it a try. If you are readers who have specialized knowledge of any of the answers, don't cheat or tip your hand. Play nice! And if you can think of any other interesting questions you want me to answer, it doesn't hurt to ask. I suppose I can tell you what color the curtains are in my kitchen....

Find Yourself Some Bunny To Love

About two years ago, I was standing in the checkout line of one of my students. Jen was a quiet, friendly girl who had no idea that her next sentence was about to change my life in a very profound and meaningful way. Here is what she said to me:

"Oh, Mrs. D., you know, you can pick up any of the bunnies anytime! You don't even have to be buying one. As long as the top is off the little display area, you're free to pick them up and hold any one of them."

Suddenly, it was as if there was a tectonic shift below my feet. Continents collided, oceans spilled their briny and finny contents onto arid sands and arctic shelves alike. The earth held still, no longer rotating upon its axis while black holes swallowed light years' worth of galaxies and celestial bodies of planetary relics. The jet stream halted its flow and not a breath of air moved, not even a whisper of a breeze; majestic eagles and mighty condors gliding on its updraft began to plummet to the ground, saved only by genetic instinct bred of generations. A small child at a church carnival in Boise wept as her scoop of raspberry ripple ice cream fell off its cone and plopped on the hot pavement.

My pen jerked an extra "S" and I wrote "Pet Supplies Pluss" in the Pay to the Order of blank on my check. "What!?" I said, snapping my head up to meet her gaze.

"People do it all the time," she said. "That's why they're in there."

From that moment on, I have been a shameless bunny visitor to my local pet store. I go there simply to pet and hold bunnies. And I don't care who knows it.

Oh, sure, I used to pretend I was there to actually buy a bunny at first. But only if someone came by or seemed to be looking at me. And, yes, I used to actually buy something when I went. I cannot tell you how many separate cans of cat food or cat toys I used to buy. But after a while, I just went there for no other reason than to hold and pet bunnies. The nice thing about our pet store is that it is in the same shopping strip as a Target and a grocery store and a Home Depot. That makes it way easy to simply stop off and grab some bunny time.

Feeling depressed? Go and hold a bunny. Feeling bored? Go and pet some bunnies. Too cold outside to do much of anything? Go hold bunnies. Too far away from payday to feel good about shopping for shoes? Go grab some bunny time. Spring break this year was, as you know, in March. In Northeast Ohio, March is Wintertime. Spring break made me want to slit my wrists. It was cold, dark, depressing, and awful. I basically camped out with the bunnies.

Now, you might be saying, "Nance, why don't you just go ahead and buy a frikking bunny already?" One word: RICK. The husband is not on board with a bunny. He has basically said that until Emily (the blind toothless 18-year old cat) dies, there will be no more pets. (Interesting note: He tried claiming the six outdoor pond fish as pets. I maintain they do not count. Can I get a ruling?)

Jared claims that soon, the pet store people will be "on to" my bunny habit and will put a stop to it. That they'll one day come up to me and say, "Excuse me, ma'am, but you can't just keep coming in here semi-weekly and pick up the bunnies and cuddle them and then leave. In the first place, it's just weird. In the second place, at some point, you should buy one or at least have the intent to buy one. Finally, we are not licensed therapists." After I tell Jared to shut the hell up, I tell him not to worry. For, it is at this point that I plan to play my trump card and this it is: I will tell them that I am a Bunny Whisperer.

Mainly because I believe that this is true. All bunnies love me. Not once has a single bunny struggled or resisted me. They all snuggle up to my neck and chin and relax completely. I speak softly and calmly to them. And when I leave, they all look sorry to see me go.

How does that old song go? "You're no bunny till some bunny loves you...you're no bunny till some bunny cares...."

In Which I Worry Whether I Am A Bad Person Or Just Have A Sick Sense Of Humor

All right! I guess I just need a little bit of reassurance. I mean, as many DoN readers may recall, this recovering Catholic has already gotten over the whole Hell Thing. So, it's not like I'm worried about Eternal Damnation or anything. It's more of a question of whether or not...well...I don't want anyone to think I'm not a Good Person.

Let me explain.

It's this. I'm sorry, but holy crap. I laughed like hell when I read it. Just the lead line alone: "A 50-year old woman from Toledo, Ohio is recovering after a pelican dove down toward her and slammed into her face while she was swimming in the Gulf of Mexico." Are you kidding? A pelican incident? This pelican slammed into her face.

Now I'm not saying that having a full-grown seafaring bird headed straight for your face is not scarytime; it has to be. But come on. There is no way to be prepared for this when you read it in the newspaper, which is where I first saw it. I was in my jammies and robe, holding my mug of coffee, just minding my own business perusing the Cleveland Plain Dealer when all of a sudden, completely out of nowhere, this story slammed into my face!

With, as the news story says, "intense impact."

I once met a pelican. It was in Florida, at a little place called St. John's Pass. It flew down onto a dock rail and perched picturesquely on a post. A bunch of my ladyfriends and I took turns posing next to it. It just stood there, very pleasantly acquiescing to our photo session. It did not slam into our faces, nor did it even look like it wanted to. It did, however, smell terrible. It smelt of rotted fish and seaweed, which is understandable. Once our photo session was over, we wandered away from the pelican and it turned around and faced the water. I'm sure it later flew away, and probably not into anyone's face.

Sadly, the pelican in the news story did not have such an idyllic story. It died from the accident. The woman, Debbie Shoemaker, has a three-inch gash which was closed with 25 stitches. But that errant pelican gave its life.

Yet, I can't stop laughing about the whole thing. And the news stories do not help. One report felt it necessary to point out that Debbie was "not trying to attract any attention or anything of that nature." Were there pictures of fish on her bathing suit? Did she look vaguely codlike?

Sigh.

This is funny. Isn't it? Or am I just a Bad Person?