Clearing Out My Cranial Clutter: Drugs For The Elderly, The Dress, And Marcel's Philosophy On Blog Comments

 Let's start right in, shall we?

After three days of suffering a vicious migraine that my meds would not even touch, I called my neurologist for a cycle breaker. This is a steroid med pack (6 the first day, 5 the next, and so on). I put on my sunglasses and drove the short distance to CVS to pick it up and gobbled the first 6 in the parking lot like an addict needing her fix. It was only when I got home that I looked at the attached paperwork and saw this very Disheartening missive:

I am the Older Adult In The Combination

Because I have reached The Magic Number, I'm now asked a bunch of questions I never got a year ago. Like Do you feel safe at home? (Honestly, I think every patient in the ER should be asked if they feel safe at home, don't you?) Anyway, so much for the whole Age is just a number philosophy.

 
Some of you asked to see my dress for Jared and Jordan's wedding. The photo isn't very good, but here it is:

Just imagine my head, arms, and legs poking out, and my feet wearing great shoes

What you can't see is that the skirt is split at the side wrap with cascading ruffles, and the front is shorter than the back, like a cutaway. Here is a link to the actual dress online, but it's not that great of a photo, either. Regardless, there it is. 

One more note about the wedding. Last weekend, Rick and I hosted the family along with Jared and Jordan's parents at the lakehouse before they had to fly back to Colorado. We talked more about the wedding, and I said I realized I didn't cry a single tear during the whole thing. Not one (and I had even bought waterproof mascara). Jordan said, "I know. I was watching you. You were so incredibly calm. But you were radiating Joy." I agreed. I said that I simply felt complete--contented and complete. I knew that everything was right and perfect about their marriage. I felt like I was watching the natural next step, the culminating event. I was just so happy.

Finally, during my Migraine Days this week, I was edgy and restless. I couldn't do much, but I didn't want to just sit in a darkened, silent room. I could read on and off, or watch television if it was something quiet. I found the movie Marcel The Shell With Shoes On, a film which had intrigued me a while ago, but I had forgotten about.

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 It's a lovely little film with an endearing protagonist and a dear, yet important, message that resonated with me. And it expresses my philosophy about blogging, specifically the Comments section.

Over at Kyria's place, several bloggers spoke about not answering Comments at all, and others spoke about not checking back to even see if their Comments had been answered. To be blunt, I find that dismissive and rude.

In the film, Marcel reluctantly goes online to find his family. Instead of receiving help, he gets fans and followers. At one point, he says something like, "This is an audience, not a community." And that's what those kinds of blogs are to me. People who don't engage with their commenters are just looking for an audience, not a community. Wouldn't a Like button serve the same purpose for them? I don't know. I know that I choose carefully who I read and want to spend time with.

Thank you for spending time with this broken down, yet joyful, old lady who feels quite safe in her home (both of them). 

Have you reached a Milestone Birthday, and did it come with some unexpected baggage? Have you seen Marcel The Shell With Shoes On? Do you cry at weddings? Chat with me (and everyone else!) in Comments. 

What I Did On My Summer Vacation

When I was in junior high and high school, I used to write my own Excuse For Absence notes and sign my mother's name. I had her full permission, always. She rarely wanted to take the time to do this herself, so she was happy to have someone else do it. Trying to get all of us to eat something in the morning and get us out the door to school was enough of a project without adding to the process. It is entirely possible that I wrote my brother's and sister's as well. Anyway, consider this post my Excuse For Absence from this space for the last four months.

In May I celebrated a milestone birthday, becoming an Official Old Lady. Thank you all (in the USA) for your contributions to the government coffers so that I can be a Medicare recipient (even though it took many irritating phone calls and one morning of standing in line in the cold sleet to prove to a clerk that I was worthy).

June found Rick and me in Niagara-on-the-Lake again, celebrating with our friends at our favourite winery and restocking our cellar. I started looking in earnest for a dress to wear for Jared and Jordan's wedding in September, a mission which proved to be nearly impossible. My requirements:  long or 3/4-length sleeves, lightweight, not clingy or tight, not black, not high-necked; and harmonious to the wedding colours of burgundy, gold, navy, pumpkin. 

The whole family spent Independence Day Weekend at the lake house. It was wonderful. Theo loves the boat, and we had so much fun together. To make it even more special, Theo said Mama for the first time ever! Once he realized the power of saying it, he couldn't stop. July ended with me actually finding my dress--two of them, in fact. The family came over one day, and I let them choose between the two. They all chose the same one. (It was the one I liked the least.) Here's the best part--I got it online from TJ Maxx on clearance for about twenty bucks. 

Another note from July--Unfortunately, in this month I also had a terrible fall. I was on a 6-foot fiberglass ladder on our new concrete patio taking a bird nest off the gutter. The ladder failed--it actually split near the bottom--and I fell about 5 feet. I never lost consciousness or broke anything, but when I felt my head, it was wet, and when I looked at my hand, it was full of blood. Luckily, I always have my phone, and it landed right next to me. I called Sam, who was at home three doors down, and he came right over to take me to the ER. I ended up with a mild concussion and five staples in my head. Thank goodness they didn't have to shave any hair off! It didn't take me long to recover at all.

View from my bed in the hallway, parked in front of this

In August we only made it to the lake one day. We were so busy with wedding things and babysitting Theo, who is such a happy, goodnatured baby. Rick finally got his insurance settlement from his accident three years ago. It was less than what we had hoped for, but at least this case is finally over. If Rick were younger, they said, the amount would have been more, but because he is 65, the lingering effects of injury won't have as great of an impact on the (shorter) remainder of his life. Insurance companies, huh? Nice.

Rick mowed, we took a boat ride, and then ate ice cream for dinner before going home.

On September 1st Jared and Jordan were married in the Cleveland Botanical Gardens. The ceremony was a very personal one, a perfect reflection of them both. I did a reading from Jane Eyre, a favourite book of theirs (and mine!)--an excerpt from Chapter 27, a bit of Mr. Rochester's impassioned speech. Their vows, which they each wrote themselves, were poignant and funny. And at the reception, Jared and I danced to "I'll Stand By You" by The Pretenders.  Sam gave a heartfelt Best Man speech that made everyone know what a strong and special bond he and Jared have and just how seamlessly Jordan fits into it. It was such a joyful day. Oh, and Theo came down the aisle pulled in a wagon that gave Jared and Sam countless rides around their neighborhood so many years ago.

The next day we picked up Theo and brought him home with us for a few days while the newlyweds went on the Bourbon Trail for their mini-moon. I was catapulted back into my past, caring for a baby again, waking up at 5:30, making bottles, feeding, diapering, bathing, strollering, and watching the magic of a baby's body completely relax and give in to sleep in my arms. Sam came over every day at lunch and after work, much to Theo's delight. They are completely smitten with one another. When it came time to take him home and deliver him to his other grandparents, awaiting Jared and Jordan's return, I felt a real sense of loss (and exhaustion!). 

😢I miss that little boy.

This is a long-winded post, and I'm leaving lots of stuff out, mainly some Not So Good stuff. We all have those things that knock us off our moorings and take us out of ourselves for a time. The important thing is that we celebrate and remember The Good Stuff. 

As of August, I've been writing here for 19 years. A few of you have been with me for the whole time, and the sheer math of that astonishes me. You are dear friends to me now, and I'm grateful to have met some of you in person. I feel a sense of connection and camaraderie with my regular Commenters and Writers, too. We are a loyal and supportive clan, and I look forward to spending time with each of you every morning as I start my day. Now, I feel like my Real Life is back, and I am, too. Thanks for reading, and thanks for your affirming presence. Never forget that words are a beacon for many.

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Severe Weather Season Is Here, But Here Doesn't Exist And I Remain Directionally Challenged

 It's Severe Weather Season here in Northeast Ohio (aka NEO). What? You didn't know that we had Severe Weather here? I'm going to give you a pass on that, especially if you watch the National News. According to national media outlets, weather doesn't really happen anywhere except New York and California. Oh, once in a while, Severe Weather occurs in The Panhandle and The Gulf Of Mexico, but neither of those places really interests Chief Meteorologists until there's a hurricane or a named tropical storm. At that point one of them has to Time It Out or Track It whether We The Viewers live anywhere near it or not. 

Most often, national weatherpersons stand right in front of Ohio and much of the Midwest as they gesticulate about Severe Weather in New York or California, making wide, sweeping motions about Storm Tracks and The Gulf Stream. Sometimes, Rick and I sigh loudly and say things like, "We don't live there!" and "What about the remaining two-thirds of the country?" More often, though, we talk about other stuff, like how weather forecasting has gotten worse the more technology they have, and how bad our basketball fantasy teams are this year, and how cute Theo is, and whether or not I got the mail. 

There's one habit that both national and local weather people have that really irritates me, and here it is:

News Anchor:  Chief Meterologist Rayne Shein is here to tell us about the Severe Weather alerts raising concerns in some major areas and to time it all out for us. Rayne?

Weather Person:  Thanks, Telly. We've got a major front setting up along the I95 corridor that will bring heavy downpours in several metro areas. Out west, look for damaging winds causing problems for those along the 101. 

Here at home, our meteorologists/weather forecasters say things like:  "This storm is setting up right along I271." Or, "Those of you living east of 77 should prep those snowblowers," or "The line of tornadic activity is mainly south of Route 80." 

THAT KIND OF TALK IS NOT HELPFUL TO ME AT ALL AND I BET I'M NOT THE ONLY ONE!

First of all, I have no way of knowing--nor do I care--where the I95 corridor is, even though they talk about it constantly like I should. Please do not Feel The Need to inform me because--and I cannot stress this strongly enough--I DO NOT CARE. I feel like the only people who know Routes, Interstates, and Roads like this are people as old as my mother, who used to be able to tell you extemporaneously exactly how to get every single place in the country she has ever been, using all the exact route numbers and cardinal directions. It was uncanny. She still may be able to do it; I refuse to ask her. 

Secondly, I could not tell you immediately, unless I am in my house, which direction is north, south, east, or west. Okay, I could tell you if I was at the lakehouse. Or at my childhood home. Or in my car, which has a dashboard compass, but I would be cheating. If someone gives me directions and tells me to go east on such-and-such a road, I glaze over. Means nothing. Tell me left or right. What am I, an original Native American describing territory? A clipper ship captain using the North Star to chart his course? Speak in concrete terms to me that mean something tangible. You have a map right there; point to it. "If you live in the Avon-Avon Lake area, blah blah blah"; "counties below this imaginary line (or left or right of it), blah blah blah." I can even accept north, south, east, west if you refer to the map, but don't point to a plain old map and start rattling off a bunch of highways as if I'm a Greyhound bus driver. In New York or California. Because, honestly. People live elsewhere, too. That's just fact.

If you are having Severe Weather where you live, irrespective of which Interstate you are near, I hope you get through it with no damage and no floody basement, which I can now be assured of, thanks to a huge cash outlay and several days of people digging and working at my home. Let's not talk anymore about that. 

Instead, talk to me of Stupid Weather Irritations and BiCoastal Weather Biases in Comments. 

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Let's Ketchup--Er, Catch Up: The Flu, The Baby, The Experiment, The Siren Song Of Confectionery Snacks

 

Gosh, it's been a while, hasn't it? To quote one of my favourite lines from The Last of The Mohicans, "Things were done. Nobody was spared." Let's do an Olde Fashionde CatchUp wherein I foolishly use up a whole lot of topics, each of which could have been its own blog post.

(*)The Dreaded Illness--I'm just now feeling better more than a week after coming down with a vicious gastro bug. It left me feeling weak, sore, fatigued, and desperate. Rick got it immediately the day after I did and so did Sam, who lunches here daily. Whenever I get ill, I become irrationally angry. That does not help with Recovery. I also stay impatient to become well. Did I have my regular flu shot? But of course. Did everyone get well before I did? But of course. Did I miss some beautiful walking weather? Please. Upside:  I am about ten pounds lighter. 

(*) Theo!--Theo went on a business trip to Florida and stayed at a resort with his parents. Jordan's company paid for Jared and him to accompany her while she had to be there for meetings, etc. He was, in the words of his father, "a rockstar for the whole trip." Rick and I babysat for him while J&J went to Cleveland for a matinee performance of Funny Girl, and he was perfect:  all smiles, chuckles, and cuddles, and nary a fuss for Nana and Grandpa. He will be four months old in about a week. He is a cute little roundheaded boy and I wish I could show you one picture. Note:  I think I took my first airplane trip when I was about eighteen. Just saying.

 (*)History Bears Me Out--Every so often I just cannot take it anymore and I perform The Experiment, even though I know it's Not Good For Me. Even though I know that all it does is raise my cortisol levels and make me crazy.  I mentioned The Experiment before, in this blog post way back in 2006. It just goes to show you that I don't learn from my own suffering. Anyway, this is a photo of my latest Experiment:

That bag of jellybeans behind the candy jar is EMPTY. Rick filled his candy jar after I went to bed--desperately ill--and left that empty bag there. FOR OVER A WEEK. He looked at it every day FOR OVER A WEEK and did nothing. Meanwhile, I refused to throw it away because of The Experiment and my own Disappointment and Frustration. Which leads me to History, and this article from the Smithsonian Magazine, which is titled What Is the Dominant Emotion in 400 Years of Women's Diaries? I bet I don't have to tell you, do I, Women At Large? Hint:  It is Frustration.

(*) Warning! Do Not Ever Make This--Remember how I made Christmas Toffee with mini pretzels and said I was going to try it with potato chips? Well, I did. 

Do not do this. Do not use Wavy Lays to capture every bit of the buttery, brown sugary wonderfulness. And instead of putting the semisweet chips on top of the pan of hot toffee-covered potato chips, do not instead melt the chocolate and drizzle it on. And don't sprinkle a bit more flaky salt on top. Because, after the requisite cooling and breaking, you will sit with the entire bowl of these and eat them ashamedly and continuously. Black Box Warning:  They are the Siren Song Of Confectionery Snacks. 

There. I think you're all caught up. Let's chat in Comments. 

The Skin I'm In

 This morning, after I washed my face in cold water and observed it closely in the mirror, I struggled to choose a moisturizer from among three jars on my dresser. Did my skin need moisture and brightening? Did my skin need moisture and sculpting and tightening? Did my skin need extra moisture and a boost of collagen repair? As I stood there deciding, I could feel my face draw and dehydrate. In truth, I needed all of them--immediately. 

What has become of me?

I am the girl who used to wash her face with whatever soap was available in the dish back on E. 38th Street:  Safeguard, Ivory, Caress, Irish Spring, or Dove. My skin was constantly oily. I used to use straight rubbing alcohol on a wad of toilet paper dabbed on my nose and forehead to rid myself of the shine and the greasy feeling. All of us had that skin, a gift from our Croatian father whose own swarthy complexion never got a wrinkle as he aged. I abused my skin for years, according to dermatologists, using harsh soaps and astringents, Laying Out for a tan and using baby oil. Even well into my thirties, forties, and fifties, I never understood all the Women Who Lotion religiously. 

I am also the girl who had storybook-worthy thick hair. I wore it long, and I had to shampoo it every single day or it would look greasy and stringy, especially at the scalp. It was incredibly frustrating. At times, I even washed my hair with dishwashing liquid, again using whatever was available at the kitchen sink, where all hairwashing was done since we had no shower. (You try washing long, long hair while taking a tub bath.) Forget conditioner because it made my hair lie flat and look--you guessed it--oily. On date nights, I washed my hair in the morning and again when I was getting ready to go out.

Now, I have dry skin and wash my hair about twice a week. My skin drinks in even the richest, most emollient creams and lotions like water. My lips are as dry as that old-fashioned onionskin typing paper. My gorgeous thick hair is a shadow of its former self, and I condition the ends.  I also use a volumizing spray at its roots. It all seems incredibly cruel to me. And terribly unfair.

Perhaps there should be a product for us, The Extremely Dry, that is Industrial Strength. It could come in a huge drum, and we could put on a bathing suit and merely stand in it, up to our nostrils, for about a half-hour each day. We could conveniently locate it near a television so that we could be occupied for that time and not be fidgety. When our time is up, we'd carefully emerge fully moisturized and ready for our day or for our restful night's sleep. Certainly, there are Safety Considerations, and Sanitary Ones as well, but that's for other people to figure out. I cannot be bothered with those sorts of Engineering and Science-y details. 

I feel a little better now, having thought of a Possible Solution. Do you have one? Share it--and your feelings about all this Unfairness--in Comments.

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Walt

 

Authorities found the body of one of my former students on 12 February. Walt had been missing since late August when he failed to show up for lunch with one of his kids. They found him in a wooded area out past some hiking trails not so very far from one of my grocery stores. I drive past that area on that pretty road fairly often. There are nature preserves there, and some dog owners like to run their pets in the clearing. 

I remember when Rick came home and told me Walt was missing. It was sad and terrible news, and I knew it was ominous. "This won't end well," I said, "unless Walt is somebody else now." 

In October, the family and some friends organized a search party. "I feel so bad for the family," I told Rick. "Do you want to show up and help?" he asked. "No," I said. "I was his sophomore English teacher; even then, only briefly. And I don't want to go out and look for a body."

My time with Walt was, indeed, brief. He was added to my third period Basic English class about midway through the year. I already had his brother, who was a star running back for the football team, in my other Basic class. It was probably around 1983. Walt came from a juvenile facility where he had spent quite a bit of time. (You might recall from my story about Jeremy that my class was the usual landing spot for such kids.)  He was on probation and a short leash, but I didn't get any details. He was merely plopped into my class with a transfer form. As usual.

He gave me no trouble as far as routine discipline. He sat where assigned. He was respectful. He wasn't late to class. But did he bring a book, pen/pencil, paper each day? Not usually. I didn't make a big deal out of it and supplied whatever he lacked, as I did for everyone. No, the problem with Walt was that he was high almost every single day, and he often couldn't stay upright or even in his seat. He was a mess. Even so, when Walt wasn't too obliterated, he could be funny and charming. When he could manage to be sober, he was a gentleman. And he tried.

I found out from my usual Reliable Source--a smart, peppy girl from their neighbourhood named Darla--that Walt's dad and uncle were in jail. That Walt figured he'd end up there and share a cell with one of them at some point. He ran with a bad crowd that he'd hooked back up with the minute he'd gotten out of the facility. 

I decided that I wasn't going to send Walt out for being high. It was better to keep him in the room and try to get him to do something. One day two assistant principals knocked on my classroom door, called me out into the hall, and asked, "Is Walt in there?" When I assured them that he was, one asked, "Does he have his yellow gym bag with him?

"Yes, he does. Why?"

"Okay. We have information that he has a gun in the bag. You need to send him out here and make sure he brings the bag with him."

(Dear Readers, you and I know now, in 2024, how much is So Wrong about this conversation. But it was 1983; I was 24 years old and in my third year of teaching; school shootings were Unheard Of.)

I was too dumb to even be in shock, I think. I merely went inside and said, "Walt, they want you to go to the office. Please hand in your book and your work, and be sure to take all your things with you." He did exactly that, and I never saw him again. 

Every so often his name would pop up in the local paper. He'd be arrested for a rash of break-ins at gas stations or convenience stores. He'd threaten the cashier, say he had a gun, but he never did. I'd read the article and shake my head. Poor Walt. 

Poor Walt, found dead under the trees in the brush. I feel sad and helpless and impotent. What in the hell did I do for him, all those years ago? Him or Jeremy? Sometimes it feels as if what I was up against was insurmountable. For some of my kids, they were in a hole so deep, my ladder couldn't begin to step them up and out. A lot of people who lay blame on our education system and teachers need to shut the hell up. They have no idea.

Despite the life that Walt led, he didn't deserve to lie cold and alone in the woods. I hold him in my heart.

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In Which I Lighten Up My Life And Get A Little Airheaded

 Let me just say this:  I'm feeling delightfully lighter in February. After 48 straight days of Absolutely No Sunshine Whatsoever, we've been treated to several bright, happy days of sun. Yesterday and today, I took my daily walks without a coat or a jacket in 60 degree temperatures. Yes, it will all come crashing down next week, but until then, I'm basking in this Joy. 

And fresh air! My windows are open! Can you even imagine that--in Northeast Ohio! in February! What luck!

Another reason I'm feeling lighter is that this morning, I watched as a volunteer from the Vietnam Vets of America came to my home and picked up bags of clothes and several boxes of dishes, shoes, purses, and two pieces of furniture from my porch. All that stuff is now G O N E from my home. Hooray for decluttering and giving to a good cause.

Now let's see if I can declutter my head a bit and dump off a few things here.

1.  This ad was in the Cleveland Plain Dealer a little while ago and hurt my eyes and my feelings:

First of all, absolutely nothing in this estate sale interests me, thanks to the ad's key words and phrases:  Every room full (they were hoarders); CB radios (no one ever left the house or had contact with the outside modern world); precious moments (dust bunnies galore and stuck in the 80s); bennie babies (Precious Moments turned out NOT to be the moneymaker they thought, so they glommed onto these, which tanked even worse, and, again, dust); seasonal (my experience with this is that many Collector-type people also collect tons of Xmas and holiday tchotchkes which also sit around collecting dust; these types of items do not sell, even at garage sales, trust me). 

Also, let's talk about The Spelling now, shall we? Obviously, it's Beanie Babies, not bennie babies, like some sort of homage to Bennie and the Jets or the drug benzedrine. And it's collectibles--the noun form--not collectables--the adjective form. An easy way to remember is "if it's an Investment, it's a collectIble." Sigh. I know, I know, I should stop reading the Classifieds.

2. On my walk today, in addition to a dandelion, I saw this and it made me smile:

I apologize for the quality of this photo. I couldn't get very close because this is not a friendly cat. It's also Not Their Cat. Did you think I was just posting this for the Irony?

This is a neighbourhood stray who hangs around on various porches. It's the first time I've seen it on this particular porch, however, and I'm rather surprised. This is where a St. Bernard lives. There must be something really good inside that Chewy box. You know what they say:  no risk, no reward.

3.  Finally, this conversation occurred on Monday night:

Nance:  I'm exhausted. I was so busy all day. (proceeds to list all chores accomplished that day)

Rick:  Wow. Well, thank you. That was a lot.

Nance: Oh, and by the way, I barely had enough battery left to finish using the leaf blower on the porch. Then I saw the charger wasn't even plugged in. What's up with that?

Rick:  You what?

Nance: I used the leaf blower to blow all the peanut shells and sunflower seed detritus off the front porch. It's ridiculous out there, you know? And the battery went dead, and I had to put it in the charger, but first of all, the charger was crammed behind stuff on that shelf, and then it wasn't even plugged in.

Rick:  I unplugged it.

Nance:  But why?

Rick: (carefully, looking right at her) Because I assumed that we wouldn't be needing A LEAF BLOWER in the WINTER.

Nance:  (light finally goes on) Oh! 

So tell me--What's lightening up your life in February so far? (And do you have the Winter Dumbs like me? Sigh.)

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The One About Potato Peelers

 

Vincent Van Gogh

Sometimes, I am dismayed by the way my Life is Awash In The Mundane. The smallest, most pedestrian things earn my laser focus. This happens most often during the winter months when I'm forced to be inside more, and I become a little...well, crazy. 

Anyway, this post is not about that, per se. This post is about Potato Peelers.

About a month or so ago, my Potato Peeler (aka Vegetable Peeler, or whatever) simply stopped working adequately. I was incredibly annoyed, for the obvious reason, but also because it was bright red, matched my kitchen, and hung conveniently (and cutely) on the wall within reach. Here is a photo of one just like it, because in a fit of pique, I threw mine in the trash with a lot of profanity.

Thank you, Ebay, for this photo.

That Peeler gave me many years of good service, but it let me down, so into my Journal Of Wrongs it went, right next to my can opener. That meant that I had to use Rick's Peeler until I could find a new one. Rick's Peeler was THE Peeler many years ago until it displeased me mightily, and then it was demoted to backup status when I got Big Red.

Rick's Peeler:  Barely Usable

His Peeler isn't sharp enough and doesn't peel away from me as well as it does toward me. I hate that. It also has separation there at the neck where the Peeler part fits into the handle. I hate that, too. And the whole handle is too big for my hand. 

So I was really on the hunt for a new Peeler, and I found one at Marshalls where I was also the Victim Of Rude Cellphone Usage. It looked okay, was a brand name, and was only $3.99. The handle looked small for my hand. I went ahead and took a chance.

Farberware+Marshalls=Fail

I could not have been more wrong. This dumb thing didn't last even one potato. (And that potato was a Yukon Gold, not even hard to peel. Come on!) I berated this Peeler loudly and vociferously the entire time it struggled to get the peel off the potato. Did I use The Eff Word? Yes, I did, and as several parts of speech. It went immediately into the trash. Enter Rick's Peeler again.

On Thursday I went to my grocery store and lo! and behold, hanging on an end cap in the Closeouts Section, were THREE bright red Potato Peelers. They were arrestingly red, a little odd-looking, and even better, priced at $1.99. How could I not try one? I tossed one in my cart immediately and hoped for the best. (I also scored a Carter's brand set of babywear for Theo for only $7.99, but this is not about that. Still, a major deal for 3 shirts and 2 pants, right?) Here's that Peeler: The handle is made of bamboo! It's so red and shiny! And cheap!

I put my new Peeler to the test the next day, and it astounded and delighted me! It flew through carrots and potatoes. It made short work of apples for an apple crisp. It fit in my hand perfectly and sturdily. 

IT'S EVEN DISHWASHER SAFE. I'M IN LOVE.

It has only one drawback--its hole is not big enough to fit over the hook where its predecessor hung. But that's okay! I've placed a pair of red and white kitchen scissors there, and it's proven to be a very handy place for them. (And you all know about me and Scissors.)

This week I'm going back to the grocery store to see if any of the Peelers are still there. If so, I'm buying whatever remain. I simply cannot go through this again.

Talk to me about your Potato Peelers in Comments. Or any other Kitchen Utensil Persnickety-nesses.

Is It Women? Is It Marshalls? Is It Cellphones? What's Ruining America?

Over the years here at the Dept.,  I've written many posts about the Casualization Of America. I've lamented Khaki Pants, men wearing baseball hats everywhere but baseball games, and the godforsaken crocs and jammies in public. I've sighed about people wearing flipflops to restaurants and flipflopping their detritus upward toward everyone's food. I've tried to be a Good Sport about all of this; truly I have. My eye-rolling has diminished by a good 70% or more as I've aged and learned to Let Go and understand that there are things far more worthy of my distress.

Like what I keep encountering when I shop for a shirt at Marshalls.

Every once in a while, I get sick of my clothes and pull stuff off of hangers and out of drawers to put in a donation bag. It's usually items that I realize I've stopped wearing or that I haven't seen in a long time. Once that's done, I see that I need a couple of things to fill a gap in the wardrobe. Marshalls is across from my grocery store, so it's a convenient trip.

Anyway, my point--and I do have one--is that I don't like what keeps happening when I shop at Marshalls, and it's women who are doing it.

The last time I was there, a woman was on her cellphone in the racks across from me. "So it was just so weird," she said. "I got him up, and he was perfectly fine at first. Then he started sort of spinning--literally--out of control. I got him settled down, gave him his meds, fed him, and he seemed okay. Then he started the spinning thing again. I didn't know what to do. I'm like, do I just go ahead and send him to school or what? So I put him in the car and take him, and I tell his teacher everything and she says she'll keep me informed."

At this point I started feeling a little uncomfortable. Clearly, she's talking about a special needs child. It felt like something I shouldn't be privy to, but here I was, in a store, looking for a sweater that wouldn't show a lot of cat hair. What was I supposed to do?

"Well, I'm just shopping right now," she continued. "I'm sort of waiting to hear. She didn't seem too concerned. I just wonder how much of it is diet, how much of it is environment, how much is you know..." I casually looked in her direction, just in case she wasn't aware that there was someone else so close. She barely looked at me and continued talking in the same volume, as if she were speaking to someone who was standing next to her and about something as mundane as the placement of buttons on the shirt she was looking at. 

I wasn't too surprised. The last time I was at Marshalls I heard a woman on her cell tell someone about her daughter's MS diagnosis and her entire consult with the specialist. This woman didn't think much of the doctor, by the way, and she felt that the way he was going about things was totally wrong. If it were up to her, she'd leave that practice entirely and go with Cleveland Clinic all the way. This guy had zero idea what he was doing. But her daughter was grown and engaged to be married, for heaven's sakes, so all she could do was be there for her, but if you ask her, she really needed to see someone better.

Anyway, the woman with the spinning child wandered off to look at makeup, and I decided to look in Shoes for a pair of winter boots. Suddenly, I heard a woman tell me, "You shut up! Shut. Up. Right. Now." She had to be talking to me--even though I had yet to say a single word--because I was the only person in Shoes besides her. My eyes widened and teared involuntarily. I was almost afraid to move for a moment. Then I saw her. She came around the corner and suddenly started laughing. "Oh god! You have got to be kidding me! Shut it! You're sick!" She barely glanced at me and pushed her cart down the next aisle. 

Who in the hell are these women who A) cannot modulate their voices if they must be on a phone; B) must be on a phone call whilst shopping; C) don't care if they blab their/their family's personal medical conditions in public; D) have so little concern/awareness for Common Human Courtesy and Basic Manners that they do this in the first place? We have become a nation of crass and selfish idiots.

People like this have already ruined Going To The Movies for me. I haven't seen a film at the theater since Lincoln with Daniel Day-Lewis. Even the Tuesday afternoon showings were full of people using their phones during the film, talking during the film, and being inconsiderate in general. It's a Sadness that so many people simply act as if they are in their own living rooms when they are out in public, and this cuts across all age groups. "If you have a problem with it, then stay home" seems to be their attitude. 

Kindness Is My Default has been my mantra for years and years, and it will remain so. I will continue to work on my Patience.  

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Happy New Year And I'm Back With A Recap Of My Getaway Weekend

 

Happy New Year! I took some necessary Time Off to battle a series of migraines and to travel to Niagara-on-the-Lake for a party and some relaxation. 

Migraines:  The changeable weather is killing me. We've had so many ups and downs with temperature and barometric pressure and rain, then snow, then high winds that I knew I was in for it. My fantastic neurologist Dr. B. told me long ago to watch the isobars:  When they start packing together, that's a bad sign. I had a 48-hour migraine already in process when we left for NotL on Saturday 1/6, and meds weren't touching it. Talk about miserable. We arrived at our favourite inn, and all I could do was hibernate in front of the fireplace in our suite. Resting helped quite a bit, and we briefly went out for a quick dinner, then spent the rest of the night in. The weather was cold and inhospitable anyway.

Winery Release Party: On Sunday afternoon our favourite winery was only open for the party, which was an intimate affair this time. It was Andrzej's birthday--a milestone one--so he was releasing a new family label of wines. I especially liked the sparkling, which spent 102 months sur lie. All of them were a tribute to his skills and lovely to drink. I was so happy that my migraine had resolved completely overnight, and I felt almost normal albeit a bit fragile. My wine intake was limited to a taste of each variety (minus chardonnay, which is a trigger for me), and I made sure I had food in my stomach. 

Perfect Getaway:  I have to say that what I enjoyed the most about the weekend was the fact that I could relax completely. There was literally Nothing That I Had To Do. No vacuuming, no dinner planning, no laundry, no errands, no little task was needling at me since I wasn't at home. I read; I watched Netflix; I browsed a bit on my iPad; Rick and I chatted with our friend the innkeeper. The weather never cleared up sufficiently to make walking pleasant, and I was so exhausted from fighting a headache for so long anyway. We talked and looked at photos of Theo. On our way home we stopped at the winery and picked up a mixed case of reds to plug a few holes in our cellar for the long winter ahead. Oh! And when we went to check out, our friend refused to charge us for our stay! He said he was technically closed anyway, and we didn't have Full Service (No breakfast--We were the only guests there.) We protested strenuously, but he wouldn't hear of it. We've stayed there exclusively for decades now, and we consider ourselves good friends. 

That's one of the things we love about returning again and again to NotL. We've made friends with so many people there and stay in touch year 'round. It's a home away from home.

I hope you have had a Gentle Entry into the New Year. Tell me about your Home Away From Home, or a Friend you look forward to seeing when you're Away From Home.

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Three On Thursday: A Holiday Postmortem

We made it. We are on The Other Side Of Christmas. We shopped, we bought, we wrapped, and we gave. We baked, we cooked, we served, and we packed up leftovers. We vowed that Next Year Will Be Easier/More Relaxed/Less About Stuff/In Costa Rica. We may have already Taken Down/Put Away all the decor (mine will be gone tomorrow). Lives will return to Normal if they haven't already. Let's do a little Post-Holiday Postmortem.

1. Theo:  It was beyond wonderful to have my baby grandson here for Christmas Eve and Christmas Morning. True, he didn't do much besides eat, sleep, coo and fuss a bit, and nap in his swing, but he was here. I held him, cuddled him, and he absolutely loved touring my kitchen with all the black and white Holstein cows to look at. Did he appreciate his gifts? Heck, he couldn't even open them, but he wore the Santa's Helper outfit (and hat!) that I bought him earlier and looked adorable. I took almost no photos, so I flunked that section of the Nana Test.

2. Food:  Last year I said I was never making Christmas Toffee again, and I lied. I made two batches, but I gave most of it away. For one batch I freestyled and used tiny pretzels as the base instead of saltine crackers, and it was a big hit. I have the ingredients to make one more batch, and I just might, but only to experiment with using potato chips as the bottom layer. Then I'll give it away, too, after I've tasted it to make sure it's good. I found little red and white metal buckets at a dollar store and used those, lined with tissue paper, to hold the gift toffee. 

3. Gifts:  So far, I have not heard of anyone needing to return anything, but I am vigilant about including gift receipts. All recipients seemed quite pleased with their things, and in spite of limited time, I was a thoughtful shopper and tried hard to be very personal. Zydrunas loves his treats and has already completely destroyed his toy, so Resounding Success there. Rick and I are returning to Niagara-on-the-Lake in January to attend a private party at our favourite winery, so that will be our gift to one another. There is sure to be another wine buy since they are releasing new vintages under a family label. Fingers crossed for good weather for us, especially through Buffalo. 

So, tell me--are you Christmased Out? On balance, was it a satisfying one? How did things stack up for you?

Happy At Last For Christmastime

My Happiness Meter is registering Glee, Joy, and Jubilation. Quite the turnaround since last week, I know. In the past seven days, I've completed my shopping, boxed and readied all gifts for wrapping (which will be done tonight), shopped and readied all food for Christmas Eve, including two types of toffee, and I even baked dog treats for Zydrunas. All that pushed me well into the Yellow Zone, above. 

Then I got a phone call from Jared on Wednesday as I was driving home from taking my mother to the doctor, and he informed me that 

Theo will be here for Christmas Eve, overnight, and for Christmas Day! 

His parents will be, too, but the important thing is that Theo will be celebrating his First Christmas Ever here, at our house. Probably you can tell, but I could not be happier. Jared said he couldn't imagine not being here for Christmas, and he and Jordan wanted Theo to be here with everyone, too.

It's strange how I can feel such Joy and Excitement, yet a sense of Calm and Peace at the same time. My Family will be here. Jared, Jordan, Theo, Sam, Emily, Rick, and me. I feel...Complete. Satisfied. Content. My Fulfillment is Profound.

May all of you, Dear Readers and Friends, find a sense of Peace, Calm, and Joy this Season. Thank you for being here with me. It truly means a great deal more than you could know.❤️

Have A Kirkegaardian Christmas And A Sartre New Year

 

My sons have asked me to put together a Christmas List to help guide their gift shopping for me. Just like everything else related to Christmas this year, I'm stymied and stuck. What do I want? What do I need? Honestly, WHAT DO I WANT?

Never before has the holiday seemed so Existential to me. Exactly why must I put up this tree, these mantel decorations and stockings, only to take them all down again in a couple of weeks? I'm not Scroogey or Grinchy, just a bit disengaged and weary. 

As I said in someone's Comment section, I feel stalked and threatened by Christmas this year. It just keeps hanging around, taunting me with its proximity, and I cannot get away from its attendant responsibilities. I haven't done any shopping yet. I don't even know where it will be yet--here or at Jared and Jordan's to accommodate them, still trying to get some semblance of order and routine with Theo.

(Not long ago, Jordan had to be admitted to the hospital for a scary situation. Jared and Theo roomed in with her. What she has gone through...calling her a warrior isn't nearly enough. And Jared has been a pillar of strength and a neverending fount of love.)

This week I am caring for my mother in my home, so there will be no shopping marathon to search for inspiration and knock out some gift-buying. Next week is The Week. It either happens, or It doesn't. I am determined that It will. (And I hear you:  I do know what day it is and how much time is/is not left and how to online shop--ugh.)

Here's what I really want for Christmas:

1. I want Men to share the load of Holiday Bringing.

2. I want Christmas to be less of a huge gift binge.

3. I want people to stop putting bigass inflatable figures in their yard but only inflating them at night as if we cannot see them during the day lying there like gigantic used condoms.

4. I want people online everywhere to stop using the word WOMEN as the singular form, completely forgetting we have the word WOMAN. (Not Christmas-related, but it's getting ridiculous.)

5. I want my neighbours to toss their Halloween pumpkins rather than allow them to continue rotting on the front porch where I have to see them every single day as if it isn't December, but still October.

These seem Reasonable to me. 

Please, in Comments, do not tell me how you got all your shopping done by September, or how you have all your wrapping done, or how wonderful your Christmas Spirit is this year...unless you can also give me Sympathy, Commiseration, A Killer Pro Tip, or Righteous Indignation about my Real Christmas List. 

I'm in a Fragile Place right now, and having an Existential Crisis.

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Tell Me Three Things

 

My dear friend Mary was asked this question, and she wants me to answer it, too. Here it is:

Tell me three things you like about yourself that aren’t ways you serve others.

I find this difficult. Firstly, I am usually not very good about accepting compliments. It's something I've been working on for a long time, ever since my husband brought it to my attention. He told me it was frustrating and joyless to pay me any compliment because I instantly backhand or negate it. Example:

Rick:  You look really good today.

Nance:  My hair is driving me crazy.

--or--

Rick:  Wow! This pasta you made is terrific.

Nance:  I feel like it's missing something. 

He also told me that all I have to say is Thank You. Period. And that pretty soon he was just going to give up if I didn't knock it the hell off. I don't blame him. 

The thing is, I give a lot of compliments, really good ones. And I'm happy when they makes someone's day. Why wouldn't I want the same for someone else? So, I've been working on accepting compliments graciously and pleasantly, like normal people do.

Basically, this question asks me to give myself a direct compliment--three of them, actually--and it feels like Therapy. Let's see how I do.

1. I like that I'm Smart. I have a lot of natural Curiosity about pretty much everything, so I read widely in many subjects and have done so all my life. I learned speed reading at a young age, too, so if I need information quickly, I can scan a lot of articles and get what I need. Teaching English meant I taught Life; my students relied upon me to know literally Everything in every story, play, novel, or poem. All references to people, places, and things were my job to explain or identify, so I anticipated that and made sure I knew them. 

2. I like that I have a good Palate.  Even though I am an apathetic cook a great deal of the time, I can toss any number of ingredients together and make a delicious meal. I've created many, many recipes that have become favourites and are often requested. I can balance out sauces by adding perhaps a little mustard or a little balsamic or a little butter. I'm also spot on with my wine pairings. 

3. I like that I have Command of The Language. I'm a confident and excellent writer and speaker, and I can express myself well in both arenas. I delight in the MUGS (Mechanics, Usage, Grammar, Spelling) and never have more fun than when debating whether or not a comma belongs someplace or if someone's passive voice is justified. (I still don't judge any of that in the Comments section. Honest, I don't.) 

Okay. Back in the Olden Dayes Of Blogs, I'd tag people (remember that?) to answer these questions over at their spaces. Instead, how about you tell me three things you like about yourself that aren't acts of service to others in Comments? 

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What A Great Morning!

This morning's grocery shop was going to be a big one. I made sure to get up early and be on the road by 9AM, headed to the nicer store since produce was prominent in my list. There was still snow on the ground and ice in the driveway, leftovers from the storm earlier in the week. But the temperature was forecast to be at least 52 today, so I knew neither would last much longer.

Sadly, I hit an icy patch coming out of the garage and before I knew it, I had bumped into the corner of the house. My backup camera was no help, either, since it was caked with dirty salt residue. Luckily, it was such a soft bump that there was no damage to the car, and that corner was hit long ago by Rick, so any new damage to that piece of siding was hard to discern. I straightened out and carefully pulled down the rest of the drive. 

I still couldn't see well out of the backup camera, so I decided I'd better stop and clean it off. Parking at the foot of my driveway, I saw a young man and his dog waiting to go past. He waved me by, but I got out of the car. "Go ahead," I said. "I have to clean off my backup camera so I can see what I'm doing." In an instant, his dog, a Bull Terrier mix, ran up to me joyously. "Sorry," he said, "I'm trying to train him to walk off-leash." 

I bent and petted the wiggly dog. "Oh, that's okay. It's not his fault that I suddenly came on the scene." In an instant, the dog disappeared, and his owner groaned. "Sammy, no! Get out of there! Sammy, come! Aw, geeze, he's in your car. Sammy! That's not our car. You're not going for a ride! I'm so sorry."

I turned around to see Sammy, happily perched in the driver's seat of my Prius, smiling widely, tail wagging furiously. He jumped out and ran to me, jumping up to lick my face. His owner was mortified. I was completely delighted.

"It's been a pleasure to meet you, Sammy!" I really meant it. "I hope I see you in the neighborhood again soon." 

Sammy's owner sighed. "I'm really sorry about your car."

"It's nothing! Have a good walk. You have a terrific dog," I said. It really was nothing, just a few wet pawprints that wiped away with a tissue. But the encounter kept me chuckling and smiling to myself for the rest of the morning.

Honestly, that just made my day.

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The Decluttering Saga Continues: How My House Is Becoming Audrey Hepburn, And I'm Ready To Junk Precious Metals

 The decluttering and streamlining continue at the Dept., and I have to tell you:  my house feels alien to me. Right now, instead of looking Uncluttered and Airy and Streamlined, it looks more like I'm Moving Out. It's less cozy and more cool. I feel like my house is becoming aloof and might start smoking a cigarette using one of those long holders.

My living and dining rooms now

Have I gone too far in the name of Simplicity and Pseudo-Minimalism? Maybe I just need some time to get used to it. After all, I've lived with that stuff for decades. It was just sitting around for decoration! It wasn't useful! All it did was collect dust and make it hard to clean and vacuum!

Do you know I have a silver casserole dish in the basement that has been sitting there, unused and still wrapped, for almost 40 years? It's sitting on top of a silverplate pie dish, also never used. They were wedding presents from 1981 that travelled to the house when we bought it in 1985. Today they were joined by a silver tray, badly tarnished. I just want to throw them all out and stop thinking about the ridiculousness of them all. (I already threw out a set of silverplate salad tongs; I mean, come on!)

I also have dozens of Very Old Books, circa 1900-1920s, that I want to get rid of. I can't bear to think of tossing them, but they are not in terrific condition and likely not worth anything. Small volumes of classics, Shakespeare's plays, Poe collections, essays by obscure authors--all school texts from long ago. What to do with them? 

Who is Macaulay? Who is Dr. Frank Crane? No idea.

Right now, they are cleverly stacked on a chair slid under the dining room table. They are in a Transitioning Phase. I have to gird my loins and steel my spine for what I know I must do. It will be impossibly hard. But go they must. Perhaps I'll send them off with the silver pieces so that they feel Honoured and Worthy and In Good Company.

Sigh.

When Rick gets home from work, he will help me carry the breakfront out of the living room. It truly was serving no purpose other than decorative, holding tchochkes and more old (but beautifully bound) books under the faux Vermeer. It's going into storage in the basement or upstairs. I honestly think we bought it because it was lovely and matched other tables we bought at the time.

Pretty, but just a dust collector

I'm letting it go. It will either be donated or sold at the lake community garage sale in the spring. The faux Vermeer can have the whole wall to itself. It deserves it.

I think I'll give myself a couple of weeks to get used to the decluttered spaces, tweaking things here and there. It's a Process. But I'm fully committed. Tomorrow, I'm tackling the living room closet and all the junk that's accumulated in there. (Do you know there's actually a coonskin cap in there someplace? Trust me, that's gone, too.)

Buoy my spirits in Comments, or at least tell me what to do with that Stuff!

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It's The Word Of The Year!

Editor at large Peter Sokolowski of Merriam-Webster (the dictionary of record, apparently) made a big announcement this week that we finally have The Word Of The Year for 2023. Before I tell you what it is, let me assure you that this Word isn't chosen at random by some Word Nerds in a dusty room full of card catalogs. Heavens no! Mr. Sokolowski and his team pore over vast quantities of data, watching spikes in the words that people look up and the events in the world that correspond to those words. This year, it would seem that there was a constant interest in The Word overall, and people were always looking it up to find out exactly what it meant. What word were they looking up?

AUTHENTIC

That's your Word Of The Year, ladies and gentlemen.  Let's now take a look at the Words that AUTHENTIC beat out. These words also spiked the lookup data, but are also-rans:

1.  RIZZ:  slang for romantic appeal; possibly short for Charisma. (never once heard/read this out on the wild)

2.  KIBBUTZ:  communal farm or settlement in Israel. (this has a sad reason for being in the news lately; I already knew what this was from my reading)

3.  IMPLODE:  to burst inward. (probably spiked during the Titanic submersible tragedy; I thought this was a fairly common word)

4.  DEADNAME:  the name a transgender person was given at birth and no longer uses upon transitioning. (this is a term that I learned from being an ally and trying to educate myself)

5.  DOPPELGANGER:  a double; a lookalike. (it's so fun to say! I think it also has some nuance, like the double can also be your alter ego or opposite personality)

6.  CORONATION:  the act or occasion of crowning, as a royal. (probably spiked during the ascension of King Charles)

7.  DEEPFAKE:  a manipulated recording/video made to look like someone or something did/said something they did not. (these things are scary, and I worry about the election cycle and social media platforms like fb and Xitter, which are not very responsible or discerning)

8.  DYSTOPIAN:  relating to an imagined state of intense human suffering and misery, usually brought upon by injustice and inhumanity. (I think we can all imagine why this word spiked)

9.  COVENANT:  a formal, solemn, and binding agreement. ( Lots of talk of covenant marriages--a Supreme Court Justice has one, the new Speaker of the House has one, and the latter even uses a software app called Covenant Eyes to track his and his son's porn viewing and report back to each other. Not creepy at all!)

10. INDICT:  to formally accuse of/charge with a crime. (I can think of 91 reasons why this word spiked, can't you?)

The Word Of The Year--Authentic--is always my word of the year. As Miss Maudie said about Atticus Finch, I'm the same in the house as I am on the public streets. I was raised on it. My father always quoted Polonius to us from William Shakespeare's Hamlet--"To thine own self be true." He never quoted the rest, but I will here:

“This above all: to thine own self be true

And it must follow, as the night the day

Thou canst not then be false to any man/"

My dad was Authentic to a fault. Still, he had a lot of Rizz.

Chat me up about the Word(s) of the Year in Comments. 

Second Thanksgiving Was A Bust, But At Least There's Soup

Second Thanksgiving did not happen at the Dept. after all. Sam got Covid. My turkey was already thawed, however; it had to be roasted, so today I made Thanksgiving 2.0 with the idea of delivering leftovers. Oh well, Life happens.

I just don't know when Sam will feel like eating anything so substantial. Right now he's eating soup. Tomato soup, which is my Go To Soup. Do you have Go To Soups? Here are my 

Top 3 Go To Soups

1. Tomato

2. Lentil

3. Winter Squash

Look, I don't have to get fancy about my Tomato soup. Campbell's is great for me. I make it with water, and at the end, I add a splash of half-and-half. And I add a ridiculous amount of crushed crackers to it. Sometimes, I'm out of Tomato or I need a change. That's when I grab a can of Lentil soup. I'm the only one who likes Lentil soup, so I don't bother making my own. (I like Progresso's.) In the fall and winter, I make Ina Garten's Winter Squash soup. It's easy and has a canned pumpkin base. So good!

I like to make my own Chicken Soup, and I add a big knob of fresh ginger to it. Sometimes I make it with rice, sometimes with noodles or ditalini pasta, and sometimes with diced potatoes. I always make a huge amount and freeze it in small containers so that I can give some to others. And I found a great recipe for Pasta Fagioli Soup (is it redundant to add Soup to that name?) that's really easy to make. Still, none of those are my Go To Comfort Soups. 

My Thanksgiving 2.0 turkey carcass and any leftover leftovers (you know what those are--the pieces that aren't good enough for sandwiches or turkey pie) will become Turkey Soup. Sam can have some of that, too, when he comes for lunch once he's feeling better. After all, it's the Season Of Soup, now that the weather has gotten much cooler for so many of us. 

So, what are your Go To Soups? Do you make your own as well? Chat me up about all things Soupy in Comments.

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