July 31, 2021--Uncommon Instrument Day
I miss some things about the classroom. Now and then, I get weepy walking down the school supply aisle, especially when the store has brand new file folders and bulletin border trim. I also get nostalgic about teaching when I smell the new shoes in stores like Walmart or Target. It's not that I go up to them and sniff. You can just smell the fake leather and glue when all of the Fall shipments have arrived. It wafts across your shopping cart as you meander by. Once when I was still teaching, I had a student in my classroom with no shoes on his feet. Only socks. When I asked him where his shoes were, he replied, "Home." After a bit of useless questions that ended up sounding like the Abbott and Costello routine, "Who's on First?" I ascertained that he had left his shoes at home because his mother is a school teacher as well, and they had to leave their home at six a.m. with everything they would need for the entire day. Only somehow this kid had forgotten his shoes. The ironic thing was that I had him in my class eighth period, the last class of the day. He said that no one had questioned him or asked him where his shoes were for the entire day until he came to my classroom. I decided to just let it be. I had already invested too much time in finding out too much information. I guess that I am lucky that I only had to leave my home by seven a.m. Never again will I need to frantically try to change my bedtime to adjust to the rude awakening of getting out of the house with everything I and two other humans will need for the day. Every. Single. Thing. As anyone could imagine, there were times when I may have been a little punchy or irritated by the end of my work day. This attitude can be traced directly to my overwhelming responsibility to remember all of the things. ALL OF THEM: the phones, the lunches, the snack items, the show-and-tells, the extra pencils, the crayons, the projects, the poster boards, the back packs, the lunch money, the water bottles, the classroom Kleenex, the forms to the nurse's office, the permission forms, the field trip forms, the Valentines, the teacher Christmas gifts, the co-workers Christmas gifts, the baby-shower/ wedding shower gifts, the food-for-faculty items, the coffee kitty items, the letters requiring my signature, the classroom pet food, the classroom pet, the science projects, the baking soda for the live volcano, the ARD papers, my gradebook, my laptop, my purse, my car keys, the raincoats, the sweaters, the gym clothes, the uniforms, the costumes, the umbrellas, the extra set of shoes (why?), the binkies, the bottles, the diapers, the blankies, the loveys or yubbies, the nap mats, the soccer balls, the kneepads, the volleyballs, the leotards, the jazz pants, the batons, the pom-poms, the car breakfasts, the textbooks, the homework, and last, but not least, my own sanity. Every year of my marriage, Mister has had to leave the house before me, whether by design or obligation remains a mystery. One year, I wrote this very dumb verse about his going back to work day. It fits today's calendar celebration, but I think I only wrote it back then because I liked the challenge of using the word, 'glockenspiel.' It goes to the tune of "You Picked a Fine Time to Leave Me, Lucille," "You picked a fine time to leave me," I'll play on my glockenspiel. "Two hungry children, and a dog in the field. We've had some glad times. Lived through some time rad times. This time my rhyme won't appeal. You picked a fine time to leave me," I squeal. July 30, 2021--National Paperback Book Day
I had a sense that I was in trouble on the first night of the book club meeting. We met at Susan's house. A complete party spread was laid out on her dinning room table. The kitchen counter held enough booze for a college New Year's Eve party. After we sat in her den for a while politely sipping our drinks, Susan stood up and said we should go around the room taking turns to introduce ourselves. There were women present of all ages, about twenty in total. While listening to the other women talk about themselves, their children, where they had vacationed, and who was the best therapist in town, I started to think that this group was much too big for a book club. We would never have time to get into a long discussion if everyone wanted a turn to talk. When the introductions finally got around to me, I glanced at my watch It was already 9:15. I hoped my husband had successfully tucked the children in to sleep. The lady next to me yawned. I introduced myself in the shortest way possible. I later realized that my method of introduction probably made me look curt. When I was done, there were five more women who had yet to introduce themselves. Someone spoke up from across the room, "It's after 9:00. I need to get my kids to bed." Susan spoke back, "By all means...," she swept arm around the room. "If anyone else needs to leave, please feel free." Several women stood up to go. "What about the introductions?" asked someone. "If you didn't get a turn, just email me what you would have said, and I'll write it up in our newsletter, said Susan brightly. I watched as two of the introduction leftovers rolled their eyes. "What about voting on what books we're going to read?" asked the woman who had yawned. "Oh, that's alright. I already choose enough titles to satisfy everyone," Susan breezed. People were starting to leave, so I took the opportunity to follow suit. As we bunched up near the front door, taking turns getting out, Susan made one more announcement. "Oh Girls," she gushed. "It has been brought to my attention that our previous method of soliciting new members is, well, against the law. Therefore, we will no longer use that way. Instead, we'll just rely on word of mouth." I hung on to the book club for a whole year. Little by little, I started not reading the books. We hardly ever discussed them anyway. Susan's house was always generous with food and libations, and I had made a couple of friends--the two women who rolled their eyes at the first meeting. The night I was told to leave and never come back was when Susan went completely psychotic on me. Well, not just on me, but on anyone who had obviously not read that month's book selection. She had started actually asking questions about the book, pointedly calling on the weakest links in the room. When she got to me, I was befuddled. I had never volunteered an opinion in the whole time I had participated. She started screaming and running around the room grabbing copies of the book from women's laps. Then she started ripping out pages and throwing them into the unlit fireplace. "And to think," she screamed, "I gave you everything. Free food, free drinks, enough for an open bar at a wedding! I had your babies!" She was crying by then, sinking down to the floor in a muddled heap, make-up running down her face. My friend whispered, "I don't think she's talking about book club anymore." "I don't think we're in Kansas, anymore," I replied. We left with almost all of the other members. After that night, book club just fell apart. A few people tried to hold it together by hosting meetings, but I never went. I had heard that someone in the original group had been carrying on an affair with Susan's husband. Their house went up for sale soon after that. They divorced, and Susan moved away. I'll always wonder, though, if I was one of prime suspects in the unraveling of her marriage. July 29, 2021--National Anti-Boredom Month
There is a house in my neighborhood that I call the Psycho house. Not because of the people who live there. I don't know the people who live there. And even if I knew them, or knew about them, and it turned out that they were in fact, psycho, it would be rude of me to refer to their home in that way. No, I rather prefer to call it the psycho house because of its exterior. It is an attractive home, to be sure. It is a newer build, and it sits supremely on a corner lot. I call it the psycho house because of only one feature that it has, really. That feature is an upper story single window along the third floor roof line. The house that I have pictured here is from the Bates Motel. The only thing different between the house in the movie, Psycho, and the television series, Bates Motel, is the color and how it is shown. In the television series, we get to see the house in broad daylight, and it is newer than it is in the movie. In broad daylight the home of Norman Bates and his mother does not look all that intimidating. The house when shown in the movie is terribly frightening. It looks further away from the Bates Motel than the one on the T.V. show. It is only shown at night, or near dusk, and always from crazy angles. And it is always shown with ominous music playing in the background. The house in my neighborhood that I like to compare to the home(s) in the Psycho franchise is not Victorian. It is not even made of wood. It only shares this one feature--a small window on the third floor. Also, unlike the window in the television show, which is round, the window in my version of a Psycho house is rectangular. Why my obsession with this house and with the house in Psycho? I don't know. All I know is that every time I ride my bicycle past this house, all I can think about is Norman Bates, and his poor, pathetic mother--what she became and what he did to her. If I lived in that house, I would definitely place a rocking chair in that window, and at Halloween I would go all out and put a skeleton dressed as a grandma in it. Then I would record an old woman saying, "Norman!," on a loop and play it for all of the trick-or-treaters. I could even dress myself up as Mrs. Bates and sit in that window. There would not be anything really freaky about that until I made a sudden movement and scared the bejeebers out of someone. Many people would not get the reference to Psycho, the movie or the television series. I would have the get help. I would have Mister dress up as Norman Bates. And he would answer the door by saying, "Hi, I'm Norman," just in case someone still didn't get it. And for the really slow ones out there, I would need one more item. There would need to be a sign in the yard. It would have an arrow pointing away from the house, and it would say, Bates Motel Vacancy Private Rooms Hot Showers Low Rates July 28, 2021--Plastic Free July
We are damned if we do, and damned if we don't it seems. Today is a day to celebrate Plastic Free July. Unbeknownst to me and probably to you, we, as a species, should have been going without plastic all throughout the month of July. I would love to live in a world that is plastic free. It is not possible at this time, however. In my usual manner, I will now explain why I believe this is so by detailing the suggestions from the Plastic Free Foundation website. By the way, make sure you log on to the link above and take the Pesky Plastic Free Quiz. For the sake of the argument, I will divide their ideas into what they say and what I say:
While I like the idea of going plastic free, it will be difficult, if not impossible to go completely plastic free. One thing that I do not do is drink water from plastic bottles on a regular basis. When I was going to work and bringing my lunch, I tried to go plastic free as much as I could. And I always pick up trash, but only if it isn't gross with someone's DNA still clinging to it. You know, this whole go without/reduce plastic thing is one big mixed bag. I guess we better make sure that bag is a biodegradable one, though. July 26, 2021--One Voice Day
Today is One Voice Day, and after copious research, I'm still not sure what it means. There is a document called the Universal Peace Covenant that is supposed to be recited and read to as many people all around the world as possible today. However, I can go one more level with it. I will copy and post it here, and the tell you how it is affecting my immediate surroundings.
July 25, 2021--Auntie's Day
Auntie married a man named Earl, so they were Earline and Earl. When I visited Auntie's home, I was always mesmerized. Today we would call it a two bedroom bungalow or a cottage. Only God knows when it was built, but it sat on piers with a low crawl space underneath it. I was always told to stay away from the crawl space because there may be rats. No one had to tell me twice. The house had all wooden floors except for the kitchen and bathroom which were ceramic tile. The bathroom had tiny white octagon shaped tiles lined in black, while the kitchen tile matched the counter top tile. The bathroom had the usual toilet, but an unusual clawfoot tub and a pedestal style sink. The bath tub had a pink shower curtain, and interesting tubs containing Auntie's talcum powder and hairpins sat on a shelf nearby. Once I peeked behind the shower curtain, but it felt invasive. So I stopped. The kitchen had ceramic tile going almost all the way to the ceiling and a refrigerator like a tank. It also housed a Formica table with four plastic seat-cushioned metal chairs. There was a kitchen counter peninsula that had two open shelves on the end. On one of those shelves sat two white Polish pottery pitchers with electric blue stripes. I have those pitchers today sitting in my breakfast room on a low shelf that I painted to match them. I think of Earline Haye every time I look at them, and I wonder, "Where did they come from? Did she buy them? Where they her mother's? Did Earl bring them to her from his home when they married" Her house had a screened in back porch that had been added after the fact of the house. There was a window in the back bedroom that opened right onto that porch. You could hand someone a cold drink right through it, but no one ever did. That porch had a wooden swing where you could sit and drink a real coke from a bottle because that is all Auntie kept on hand. She would also feed you a doughnut or slice of cake from grocery store, usually a Sarah Lee. I never knew cake could come in a box like that until I was old enough to realize that Auntie always had one. Earl was either always fishing or at his shop. I don't even what kind of shop it was, to tell you the truth. I think he was a mechanic, but how can I be certain? There is no one left to tell me exactly what he did. On the rare occasions that Earl was home, he could be found in the back bedroom listening to the Houston Astros on the radio, and then later watching them on their new color television. Auntie's house was not air-conditioned, so when Earl was home, as we sat dreaming and drinking coke on her back porch, we could always, always hear the baseball broadcast drifting through the open window--as if to remind us that summer was here at last--as if the screened in porch, the swing, and the tingling sensation of ice cold Coca-Cola weren't not enough to do it. July 24, 2021--National Tell an Old Joke Day
When entering Galveston, Texas from the main causeway, if you continue straight onto Broadway heading toward Seawall Boulevard, you will pass a large cemetery where the graves are enshrined in mini-mausoleums above the ground. This is to protect them from flooding and hurricanes I suppose, but it has always creeped me out a little bit. Growing up, my grandfather had two jokes that he always told us kids. And they were both told on trips to this famous seaside town. The first one had to do with the flora and fauna of the island. There is a line of oleander trees along the route. Grandpa would always say, "You know those bushes will talk." Silence. "Do you know what they will say?" Crickets. "They call out to their long lost lover. They say, 'Oh, Leander.'" The other joke he never failed to tell us was about that cemetery that we would pass on the way to the beach. As we drove past it, Grandpa would say, "If you go up to one of those gravestones and touch it, it will talk to you." All quiet on the Western Front. "Do you know what they will say?" Someone would yawn. "Nothing." The lack of enthusiasm from his audience did not curtail this performance. There is something about having a captive audience in close quarters while speeding down the highway that brings out a person's inner comedian. I find myself repeating his repertoire of jokes on family trips to the beach. However, it could be worse. I could tell the jokes that Mister tells when someone queries him for his best two jokes. I will write them here for prosperity.
July 23, 2021--International Yada, Yada, Yada Day
I'm sure we all remember the Seinfeld television show from the 90s. In that series, the characters used the phrase, "Yada, yada, yada," as filler when telling a story. I, however, contend that the 'yada' phraseology had been around for a lot longer than that. I went to college in the '80s and people were turning the 'yada' phrase right and left. Here is an example of how it might have been used during this time period, I went skating in my shoe skates yesterday with my head phones. I had my Journey cassette tape playing full throttle. I didn't see the lady with her yappy little dog on its leash and yada, yada, yada--now I got this large vet bill. -- Or-- I was typing my research paper last night on my home computer. I had just finished, but I forgot to save it, and yada, yada, yada--now I'm sacking groceries at my local Kroger because it's too hard to explain this chain of events. Let's just say that I'm working my way back from academic probation. I know a man who knew a man who used "and ever-thang..." as his story filler. For example, it might go like this, We was opening gifts for Christmas and ever-thang, and then we was having Christmas dinner and ever-thang, when all of sudden, Grandma starts choking on a turkey bone and ever-thang. We all went to the hospital and then Grandma was o.k....and ever-thang. Using any kind of filler in a story is tricky. You can't get so bogged down in details that you loose track of your main point. Some people have a special gift of using this too-many-details-technique. They are hard to listen to. But on the other hand, some details are better than just saying, "and ever-thang." One of my favorite story fillers, though, is "Botta bing, botta boom!" It comes from mafia type characters in television shows and movies. What it really does is fill in for a plan, usually devious, such as, Tony will tell the guy to hand over his wallet, and then, "Botta bing, botta boom," we're sitting pretty with the boss man, see? However, I like to use it as just plain filler. For example, One day in English class, I forgot my book. This guy sitting on my right offered to share his book with me. So we scooted our desks closer together. During our book sharing, he accidentally brushed his foot next to my mine, but I didn't move my foot away. So we sat that way during class, his foot almost touching mine. It lingered there for a good while, and all that time, my foot got hotter and hotter, even though we were both wearing full on shoes and socks. The heat radiated up my leg to my thighs, opening new ideas of opportunity. Just from that light brush from this man's foot. Then, next thing you know, "Botta bing, botta boom," we're sitting in a near empty house, married for thirty-three years with two grownish kids, waiting to see what they're gonna become before we start our full blown retirement. So, "Botta bing, botta boom", that is my tale of story fillers. Story filler is also called exposition, or rising action, and ever-thang. Sometimes there is filler after the climax of a story, and yada, yada, yada, the story is done until the next plot twist. July 20th, 2021--International Ambigram Day
We are two days away from the middle of summer. And that means we should be in the middle of the summer doldrums. We have plenty to do to keep ourselves from having the doldrums around here though. For example, sometimes the mister and I just sit around watching the grass grow. Or the clock move. Sometimes we get on-line and try to learn something new. For instance,, today I came across something called an ambigram. I used my walking dictionary (the Mister) for support. Our conversation went like this: "What's an ambigram?" I asked. "A scrambling up," Mister replied. "What?" "You know, like, 'I am Lord Voldemort' scrambled up is 'Tom Marvolo Riddle.' " He must have misheard me. He was describing an anagram. "I don't think that's what I mean." I said. "It says here, 'Twenty-twenty two.'" The website I was looking at had "2002" in a fancy font. "Do you mean palindrome or anagram?" "I mean the word that is the same going forwards or backwards." "Then it would not be twenty-twenty two. Do you mean two thousand and two?" "I mean two-zero-zero-two." "That's two thousand and two, not twenty-twenty-two. Two thousand and two is a palindrome." "It says here it's an ambigram. But what's an ambigram?" "I don't know then. Look it up on-line." "I am looking it up on-line." "What does it say?" "It says I need to get some cookies." "You mean those gummy bears you're eating aren't enough?" I google, 'I am Lord Voldemort.' It comes up anagram. I yell into the kitchen where Mister has disappeared to. "Lord Voldemort is an anagram. You are right. But what is an ambigram?" "Google ambigram and then look at images or examples," said Mister who has come back into the room. So I do that, and it shows me different fancy fonts to write something that then says the same thing forwards as backwards. I explain my findings to the Mister. "It's like what we did in kindergarten when we wrote our names on manila paper with a crayon and then folded the paper in half. We then took our safety scissors, lefty safeties in my case, and rubbed the folded paper until the crayon rubbed off our names backwards and upside down on the other side of the paper." "Sounds like you knew what it was all along," he says. "Well, I didn't know you could make one on your computer." "Don't go trying to melt crayons in our printer." "I wasn't planning to." The website I was looking at gave directions on how to create an ambigram in five easy steps. It started with, "Pick a Font." Then, "Match similar letters," and "Select a suitable case." The last step was actually three steps. It was, "Try, discard, correct." In other words, the final step should have simply read, go through trial and error. That turns out to be way more than five easy steps. It actually is four steps and then a never-ending, day-long marathon, printer-ink-wasting, who-can-afford-this madness? while trying to create an ambigram. And just like that, my summer doldrums were kaput. Here's hoping yours are, too. July 19, 2021--Palace Day
The movie, Marie Antoinette (2006), directed by Sofia Coppola and starring Kristen Durst, is a candy coated romp about the French monarchy during the French Revolution and is about as accurate in meaning as Santa Claus is to Christmas. Yet, it is so compelling. Watching it, we get a glimpse inside the palace Versailles as it may have been seen through the teenage eyes of one Marie-Antoinette-Josèphe-Jeanne d'Autriche-Lorraine. We know we are watching a train wreck about to happen, yet we cannot look away. Word is that sales of macaron cookies went up after the release of this movie. If you have not seen it, it is the equivalent of a modern day music video, all fluff and color, and devoid of any seriousness. Perhaps this lack of weighty matter is the meaning of it after all, but it brings to mind the opulence of the interiors surrounding the particular royal residences portrayed therein. Today is Palace Day. The Network of European Royal Residences invites its members, cultural and political institutions, historic houses and their audiences to celebrate their heritage (i.e.--take a tour). And for the first time this year, the royal homes of India (referred to as heritage houses) will join the celebration. The long and the short of it is that these homes are living museums. There is a website that shows all of the participating residences. It is kind of fascinating. I had no idea that India held so many palaces. Suddenly, the movie, Aladdin, makes so much more sense. I hope that you spend some time today arranging colorful shoes and eating flavorful macarons or Madeleines. May you be at this very moment splashing around in your private fountain or watching fireworks from your personal balcony. One of these days, I am really gonna get ahead of it, you know? If I had known that Palace Day was today, I would have dusted. I would have prepared a dessert with butter cream frosting and made a pot of tea. As it was, I barely got the kitchen cleaned and a load of laundry put away. Just another day really, but perhaps a day to think about how the other side of humanity lives. I hope today finds you safely ensconced inside your own stately home. Even if your home is not stately by the measurements of European Royal Residences, it is home to you. So whether that dwelling be a cardboard box a grand chateau, or anything in-between, may you find peace within it and may you be, "King... of all you survey." July 18, 2021--World Listening Day
Have you ever watched one of those YouTube videos where a deaf person hears for the first time due to their cochlear implants? They are quite emotional and show how much we non-hearing impaired people take for granted. Here is link of a compilation of these moments if you have never seen one. If you have been hiding under a rug, and you have never heard of a cochlear implant, they are small medical devices used to improve hearing and must be surgically implanted. They work by stimulating the cochlear nerve to help send signals to the brain. Watching these videos makes me want to improve my own listening. I am guilty of just going on autopilot with people I know very well when I should be focusing on what they are saying more. Here a recent conversation between me and the Mister in my house: Mister: I pulled all those weeds growing behind the garage and even though I was wearing gloves, I tore my fingers to bits. Me: Well, if you had ever listened to me, you would have worn the gloves. Mister: I just said that. Me: I don't know how many times I have told you to wear gloves. Mister: That's what I just now said. I was wearing gloves. Me: What? You just now said that? Mister: Yes. and my fingers still got torn up. Me: And you were wearing gloves? Mister: Yes, I was. Me: Dang, that must have been some thorny weeds. Mister: I think I pulled them all. I just wish my fingers weren't all cut up. Me: Should have worn the gloves. We can get ourselves into trouble by not practicing the art of mindfulness when others are speaking to us. We should pretend we are near the train tracks all the time and, "Stop. Look, and listen." It would do wonders to our relationships with our loved ones and with those strangers whom we encounter when going about our daily affairs. For many people, a miracle occurs when they receive a cochlear implant. For our family members, it could be a small miracle to feel like they have been heard. And for my mister, if I can make it through a day without repeating a conversation I have on autopilot in my own brain, it would be no small miracle. ADDENDUM that happened as I was writing this post: Mister: I changed your shower curtain liner today because the old one was so dirty. Me: Oh, I know. I've been meaning to change it. Mister: You had the new one lying right there. Me: I know. I'm gonna change it. Mister: I just said I did. Me: Wait. What? You changed my shower curtain liner? Mister: Yes. I changed it. Me: I thought you were talking about your shower. Mister: I changed that one like two weeks ago. You also don't have enough hooks and need a better shower curtain rod. I never realized how messed up you are. Me: Oh, I'm messed up alright. July 16, 2021--Toss Away the "Could Haves" and "Should Haves" Day
I disagree vehemently with the premise of this day. It is supposed to be a day for no regrets. Today is the day to toss away the could haves and the should haves in your life. I don't believe in tossing away anything and here is why. They say you learn from your mistakes. We all make them. Some of us more than others. If you toss away every mistake you've ever made, how will you remember what you have learned? I am going to explain my perspective with a giant metaphor. I used to teach the novel, The Life and Times of Huckleberry Finn, by Mark Twain, to my advanced placement juniors. Sorry for the choice of a work related example. Well, that time of my life was way back when and before the current state of affairs in race relations in America. Regrettably, that book is full of the N-word. Stick with me, o.k.? I will get to my point. After introducing the novel, it always came up organically in class discussion. I would soon enough hand out articles on Twain's use of the word and I would talk to kids about how to approach it. I always ended with the idea that it is part of history (the regrettable use of this word, as well as the time period to which it belonged) and to leave it out of the text completely would be to somehow deny that it had been used, and if done often enough, it would eventually cease to exist in our shared cultural history. And while on the surface, this sounds like a great thing, is it really? Were we just sweeping years of oppression, unfair Jim Crow Laws, the abhorrent practice of slavery in America under the rug? Does pretending that something didn't happen mean it didn't? And given the fact that advanced placement junior English might well be the second to the last English class some of them would sit through, it was not an experiment I was willing to take. So they read the book. When reading passages aloud, I would skip over that awful word. I like Mark Twain. He's a light in the dark tunnel of American lit. I don't regret teaching Huckleberry Finn, but if I were still in the classroom, I'm not sure I would do it again. A teacher has got to be able to read a room. And in our current climate, it might not play well at all. I would need to do some questioning and surveying before committed to Huck Finn. In my work, I had the unique job of teaching really smart kids of mixed background, both socio-economically and racially. They were in search of something beyond the Hunger Games and vampire novels. Those can only go so far in formulating a person's principles. And when your world is so messed up, both publicly and personally, you've got to find those principles somewhere. To my original point, the choice of Huckleberry Finn as novel to teach is much like holding on to personal regrets as a means of learning from them. Twain happened. Huck Finn, Tom Sawyer, and Jim happened. (Well, as much as fictional characters can happen.) Slavery happened. All of it happened. Maybe the academic setting is the only place to think about it, so that is what I did. I made them think about it. This post is meandering, defensive, and preachy. Apologies. My newest way of thinking, which I stole from the internet, is this--there is no losing in life. There is only winning and learning. You never lose. You only learn. Most of us today are extremely lucky in that everything we have learned has not been by life and death decisions. Would that were so in our recent past and throughout history. July 16, 2021--Artificial Intelligence Appreciation Day
For $1500.00 you can buy a bassinet for your baby that will rock him back to sleep each time he lets out a cry. Yes, that's right. It is the first artificial intelligence baby nanny. It will also tell you in the morning how many times your little one cried out in the night and how many times he needed to be rocked. It's called the SNOO or Smart Baby Sleeper. It was invented by a pediatrician named Dr. Harvey Karp. On the website for this contraption there is a scary line, "Like a 24/7 babysitter, SNOO boosts sleep with gentle rocking....for all naps and nights." This product is rife for misuse. I only hope the company is ready for the lawsuits that will come. When my babies were infants I often wished for an automatic diaper changer. But I never thought a robotic bassinet would be a thing. I could never abide by one of these new fangled things. I would be too afraid that it would somehow rock my baby to sleep forever. Maybe I think that because I watched a short movie once about a thing that parents could buy in the near future. They would hook their baby up to a machine that would make him smarter. And just when the parent was ready to take the child off the machine, the machine company's representative would come out to the parents' house and talk them into signing up for three more months and so on until their child's infancy was over. Each time this happened, the parent would then be faced with a terrible decision. Make their child even smarter or deny themselves the enjoyment of their child's babyhood. And who can say what would have happened to the all important parent/child bond if this machine were a reality? And now, I am worried that we, as a species, are not so far away from that science fiction becoming true. What do I need to do to prove that losing sleep during your child's infant stage is worth it? First of all, way back in the day, I could never fall asleep myself until my babies were asleep. And then I would still wake up to check on them if they didn't wake me up first--hungry or needing a diaper change. You know that scene at the beginning of Terms of Endearment where Aurora (Shirley McClain) climbs into baby Emma's (Debra Winger) crib and then shakes her awake? Well, that was me. I never climbed into their crib, but I checked on them. I obsessively put my hand on their stomachs to make sure they were still breathing. I totally get why the character Aurora did what she did. When my children become parents themselves, I believe they will forgive me for my intrusiveness. In the meantime, I just remind them of the facts. It is a fact that my daughter never wanted to sleep alone. Never. Ever. She slept with us until she went away to college. Well, that's not completely true, but it could be. I still have not recovered from the sleep I lost as a new parent. And it is a badge I wear with honor. All parents are eligible to earn it, but not if they shell out fifteen hundred bucks for the SNOO. I honed my singing skill by rocking them to sleep. And even Mister Baby-Daddy sang to them. Babies like the bond that is created when they are held by either parent. And I believe that the parent also finds it enjoyable, even though we don't like to admit it. We would rather complain about losing sleep. You know, even when children are out of the infant stage, a parent still loses sleep. Oh, yes, waking up with baby to rock them back to sleep is only the beginning of a parent's troubles. I am wondering if there will be an artificial intelligence invention to keep parents from losing sleep for rest of their lives. Because, guess what, ladies and gentlemen? It never stops. Why I would gladly wake up at two a.m. for the rest of my life just to hold that little joyful bundle again and rock it back to sleep. Dr. Harvey Karp, I don't believe that is even your real name, but guess what I do believe? You, my friend, went to same school as P.T. Barnum. And your major field of study? Suckerdom, from the college of "One Born Every Minute." July 15, 2021--Give Something Away Day
I have a habit of giving away sewing machines. I have, over the years, given away three perfectly good sewing machines that I wish I had back right now. Why do I need three more sewing machines? To create my own sewing machine museum, of course. It's just such a damn shame that I have acted so foolishly. When asked what I would take with me if my house was burning down and I could only take one thing with me, my answer would be my current sewing machine. My thinking is thus--I can create a beautiful new living space and fashionable new clothes after my house burns down. And if I still need money for living expenses or to cover whatever my insurance does not cover, then I can design and sell products that are hand (or that is machine) sewn. A sewing machine is a beautiful thing. First introduced in France in 1830, many designs of this machine followed. Finally, in 1849, Issac Singer came up with a design of the sewing machine that was unique and different and the world changed. Clothing could be mass produced. The invention of the sewing machine is greater than the invention of the printing press and the automobile. Second only to the cotton gin in greatness is my opinion. We would all still be running around in silk, muslin, and hand knitted wool it there were no sewing machine. And we would likely only have one or two sets of clothing. Because of the sewing machine, our moods can change like the wind. Feeling goth? Get rid of all of your clothing, except for the black items. If your mood changes back to non-goth, use your sewing machine. Need something pink to wear on Wednesdays? Go to your sewing machine. Just tired of wearing what is in your closet? Shop ready made clothes produced by a sewing machine or sew something of your own. The three sewing machines I gave away all held meaning to me, and were each given away by mistake. The first one was sold by Mister-Baby- Daddy at a garage sale for five bucks. It had been a wedding gift from my grandmother. And it was pink. I loved that machine. I sewed my son's nursery ensemble on it. It was negotiated that I would get a newer, better machine. Some twenty six years later, I did. It is the work horse machine that I use now. Why did I wait so long to replace it? I guess life and babies got in the way. The other two machines were the antique kind. The first one belonged to my great grandmother and was not electric. It came in a wooden cabinet and had a push peddle thing at the bottom and still worked. I gave it away because I had too much furniture, and it needed to be resurfaced and re-stained. A relative took it and had it redone. It looks beautiful in her home, but every time I see it, I am panged with jealousy. The last one I gave away was also old, but it was electric. And had its own cabinet. I bought if from a friend who selling it for someone. I almost electrocuted myself on that machine. It was so old, the wire came apart and the breaker box in our house shut down. I had my mister turn the breaker back on, then proceeded as usual. The second time it shut down, there were sparks that flew out of the machine. It was a bit of a calamity, but it had a happy ending. This near electrocution led to the purchase of my current machine. And like Mr. Issac Singer's first one, that machine has changed my world. July 14, 2021--Grand Marnier Day
Marnie is a psychological thriller movie directed by Alfred Hitchcock and released in 1964. It has nothing to do with today's celebration, however. It's just that when trying to pronounce "Marnier" it sometimes sounds like 'Marnie' with a funny accent. Marnier is an orange liquor. I once had a bottle in my pantry, back when all I was responsible for was bringing the cranberry sauce to Thanksgiving dinner. Those days are long past now, though. These days Thanksgiving dinner is largely completely on my shoulders. And even though Mister says he doesn't care one way or the other, I always cave and do the Thanksgiving dinner tango in my kitchen. Marnier is a cognac, the thing that Sherlock Holmes drank, when he was not shooting up cocaine, that is. A cognac is a brandy, by the way. Brandy is a distilled beverage made from fermented and mashed fruit. Cognac is brandy made only in the Cognac region of France. Oh, those smarty pants French people. They have names and rules for the making of everything. Why isn't brandy a wine? I suppose it has higher alcohol content. Wine is usually and most often made from grapes. And although wine is distilled, brandy is distilled further so that the alcohol content is higher. The word brandy comes from Dutch and literally means 'burnt wine.' If I may be so bold, I imagine it happened one day when a bunch of Dutch farmers or sailors or something were making wine and went a bit too far so that it distilled too much. A bunch of methanol gas was released and when all was said and done, those men left standing decided to try the dangerous liquid. I say men here because women would not be that dumb. They would not fall down dead in an alcoholic explosion and release of methanol gas. They would have too many babies to feed and food to cook and kitchens to clean and clothes to wash to let themselves get all dead in a case like that. Also, they would not have burnt the wine in the first place. So these dumbass Dutch guys were probably like some waiters I once knew. After a big event, like a wedding, in the hotel where they worked, they would drink all of the liquids left in the glasses of the room where the party had been held. There is some serious drunk a person can himself into by doing a bonehead trick like that. Probably the dunderheaded Dutch brewers said, "Hey, why let a good explosion go to waste?" They drank the stuff still left in the barrel, and, as the French would say, "Quelle surprise!" A strong and lovely beverage to drink after dinner, or add to your homemade cranberry sauce was born. July 12, 2021--National Eat Your Jell-O Day
Every strong Southern woman should have a signature dish. This is the dish that she brings to any party, covered-dish supper, or to anybody in the neighborhood who is sick or in need of sympathy and support. It should be something that she can make at a moment's notice and should also travel well. All the females in my family have had their signature dishes. Granny could make just about anything, but the one thing I remember her bringing along with her to family gatherings was kolaches. She supplied enough of them for my multi-ethnic education class that I took in college, and then later, I talked her into making enough of them to be served at my wedding reception. She never balked at my crazy requests, even if she should have. My mother's mother (my other grandmother) made a mean grasshopper pie. She also could make a great rum cake. She made her famous rum cake for my twenty-first birthday party which was also a cast party. That cake was a huge hit, even if all of the alcohol baked out of it. My mother-in-law was also an excellent cook. She kept the secrets of food from New Orleans where she grew up as her calling card. One that she often made that also travels well is bread pudding. That woman never let a loaf of stale bread go to waste. And hers came with a very good lemon sauce. My grandfather even had a signature dish which he carefully prepared for friends and family. The recipe for banana pudding was from my grandmother, but after she passed on, Grandpa made it to bring with him to his bowling league and family celebrations. We all got sad when he discovered that instant pudding mix could be substituted for the eggs, sugar, vanilla, and milk that created the original custard. His banana pudding was never quite the same after that, but he started making it by the bucketful. In fact, he got so prolific at it that we nicknamed his banana pudding "Buck-o-pud." All of these strong Southern women and one Southern gentleman making such great carry out or carry over dishes leads me to discuss the one signature dish that just made no sense. And that would be my mother's signature dish. Where ever we went, to any event, she always brought Jell-O. There's no accounting for it. I mean she did work full time and therefore, conceivably had less time to cook. I used to love her lime Jell-O salad. It appears, still, on the menu at Luby's Cafeteria. This is the salad that is made with lime flavored Jell-O, cottage cheese, and I don't know what else. Walnuts or pecans are part of it though. Mom made this fairly regularly when I was growing up. And then one day, someone introduced her to pistachio flavored instant pudding. And a new signature dish was born. The Watergate salad became my mom's signature dish. I don't know if it was named for the Watergate cake which it is similar to, the Watergate Hotel, or the Watergate Scandal. Anyway you mix it, though, it was easier than the lime Jell-O salad in that you didn't even need to let it set. Soon Mother was bringing it everywhere. And leave it to her to get creative with the ingredients. She started leaving out the pineapple, and sometimes the nuts. Without those ingredients, it just becomes pistachio pudding. On the salad bar. Watergate salad looks a lot like lime Jell-O salad. It is a disappointment though when you are expecting lime and get pistachio instead. Maybe it should be called April Fool's Salad. Or maybe it is called Watergate salad because it covers up any hope of lime that you ever had. You know, at least Mom had a signature dish. I can't say that I do. When invited to someone's house, I would just as soon bring a bottle of wine than something made by my own hand. This lackadaisical attitude could be from having been surrounded by so many women who could pull off great culinary triumphs. I mean why try when everywhere you turn were great examples of food that traveled well? Yeah, that could just be a copout on my part. On the other hand, but I promise not to bring Watergate Salad to your next get together. July 11, 2021--World Population Day
Our world has expanded, but sadly we have not kept pace with the ever expanding universe. If we had, then there would be no need for a day like today. World Population Day is another one of those days provided to you by the United Nations to raise more awareness. Awareness that we are living in an overpopulated planet is what I'm talking about here. And overpopulated is scary because it is not only a matter of more people taking up more space. We have to be able feed everyone who is here. I watched a video this week about how pesticides and insecticides have polluted up our world. It had great graphics showing the circle of life--the dirt gets sprayed, it goes into the soil, the plants absorb it, people eat it, it goes back into the dirt and water, it evaporates, then becomes rain, and burrows into the soil again. Kind of like an unnatural pestiphotosynthesis. By the way, if you still don't think this planet is overpopulated, just try driving down the freeway. Any freeway. Any time. Or how about trying to get a spot at the beach on a week-end in July? Impossible. There is a severe need for cheap housing as well. It's a sellers market out there (so I have been told). And speaking of things that are way up (due to the spread of chemicals through modern farming) the preponderance of auto immune disorders is also increasing--at an alarming rate. Asthma, Crohn's Disease, Alzheimer's, Parkinson's, celiac disease, thyroid disease, diabetes type 1, multiple sclerosis, attention deficit disorder, and autism spectrum disorders are all rapidly spreading through the population. Autism spectrum disorders alone have increased to one in every thirty-six births, world wide. The most chilling statement of all in the video was, "By 2050, we will see a diagnosis of autism in one out of every three births. The world can not sustain a population where every third person has an autism spectrum disorder." This day would not be needed if only we could have interplanetary travel. See, I told you we have not kept up. Or at least science has not kept up. If people could migrate to other solar systems and other planets, our space and food problems could be dissipated. In another solar system, an unpopulated place could become filled in with the surplus of the world population. If you wanted to raise a family without the risk of any of your loved ones getting one of the above mentioned autoimmune disorders, then you might be interested in moving planets. Whoever wanted to go, could go. Elon Musk could be in charge of taking applications, but the launches for U.S. citizens would all be done by NASA (because who trusts an upstart?). Other countries could apply to send their citizens also. Or they could use their own space travel systems. I am around a person with autism every day. Every. Single. Day. And my son has many friends on the spectrum as well. It is a spectrum because there is a varying degree of needs with the way the disease is presented in each human who has it. But the truth hurts, and the truth is that many/most of these gifted and loveable humans are incapable of managing all aspects of their lives. The amount of help they need varies. Only imagine if every third person was on the spectrum. Nightmare. The new planets could be ready for habitation if only we had a way of getting there. Humans could become the first settlers, much like things were in old, New World. Besides alleviating the obvious over-population, farming on a new planet would be better. The new planet would still be in need of development. Agriculture in a new world could be all natural, with no chemical pesticides to pollute the dirt, the water, and the very air we breathe. And one more thing. Just because there is a Power Ranger on the autism spectrum, several televisions series that feature a character with autism, and countless stories in the news about how a person with autism overcame insurmountable odds and went to Harvard or made the winning shot in a basketball game, that doesn't mean that every single person who is diagnosed with an autism spectrum disorder is going to follow suit. We could not sustain any life with every third person here diagnosed with autism. I need a change. You need a change. Our world needs a change. This post is only somewhat speculative fiction. The facts are the facts. The world we are leaving to our babies is a filthy, dirty mess. I don't have any real answers, but I have made you aware which is what this day is all about. Good luck trying to sleep with your newly acquired knowledge. May the Force be with you. ,July 10, 2021--Clerihew Day
A Clerihew is a four line whimsical, biographical poem. The first line is the name of a person, usually someone famous. It should put them in a spurious light or reveal something unknown about them. Thanks, Edmund Clerihew Bentley for another poetry form that I had a hard time creating: So many women named Karen, The favor of whom to err in, Are not so obnoxious-- And are forming a Caucus. Sweet little Karen Allison Wished a little malice in. No one guessed she was naughty. When thinking on her, they just thought, "dotty." Walter White- Quite a sight. Tested fate-- Died by mistake. Michael Jackson, The main attraction, Wish he could still moonwalk, Instead, he tasted the hemlock. Brittany Spears All these years Wanted control. We just didn't know. Dr. Fauci, Kind of grouchy, Asked for our compliance In following the science. Donald Trump Is in a slump. Going on tour To boost his allure. President Biden Was always hiding. Talks about trouble If he steps out of his bubble. Jen Psaki Always cocky, Personal armor holds no cracks, We know she'll "circle back." Edmund Clerihew Bentley Watched people intently. A new form of poetry he invented For which hack writers are tormented. July 9, 2021--National Sandwich Generation Month
It wasn't that long ago when I was making sandwiches, putting them in plastic baggies, and placing them in a lunchbox. Now it seems that I am part of the "Sandwich" Generation. The Sandwich Generation is people who are caring for their own children or families at home while simultaneously caring for their parents. The parents may or may not live with them, but to be considered a part of the sandwich generation, all a person needs to do is to be responsible for a part of a parent's care. Even if a parent has already passed on, his or her care doesn't necessarily stop. There is the breaking up of the household (if there still is one), unpaid bills, and funeral and medical bills, for example. The list goes on and on. My dad died a little over a year ago, and while there was not much left in his financial estate, I am still dealing with much of his stuff. I am also waiting for the gravestone marker to be delivered and put into place. Did you know that you can now order a gravestone on-line and put it in place yourself? You can even get one cheap and made in China. Don't worry though. I did not do that for my dad. I figured he has been rolling over in his grave enough just for some of the things I have done after his passing on. I don't need him to start turning flips in there. He might not have liked my choice of music that was played at his funeral, for example. I had Clearance Creedwater Rivival's version of "Cotton Fields" as accompaniment to a slide show that was played before and after the service. I used this version of the song for several reasons:
These are the kind of things that haunt members of the sandwich generation, like myself. Even after our parents have left this planet, we are not out of their clutches, it seems. Actually, clutch may be a bit too strong of a word. However, I fully expect to get an earful from my Dad if I ever reach those Pearly Gates myself. He most likely will meet me there and tell the Powers That Be that I owe him an apology for the indignity of the music played at his funeral. Umm, so, "Sorry, Pops?" What I have learned from all of this is to make your own plans. Leave a playlist of your wants and desires where your loved ones can find them. Talk about them often. And if you can prepay for it, do it. My mother-in-law wrote her own obituary. I haven't gotten that far yet, but I think I could do a better job on mine than anybody else. My friends who are members of the Sandwich Generation all agree on one thing. We don't like getting squeezed from the middle. And you know what the best way to keep all of your jelly on your bread is? Don't put so much of it there in the first place. July 7, 2021--National Dive Bar Day
No one ever really needs a dog. But when Husband and I purchased our first house, we thought we did. There was a large empty yard to complement like the large empty house. We filled the yard with livestock faster than we filled the house with furniture, though. One Saturday morning found us at the local dog shelter intent on finding a pet to act as our first born child, until we had actual children, that is. Husband picked out a short haired female puppy of unknown pedigree, the kind that he had as a child. Meanwhile, I was becoming enamored with a male, wire-haired schnauzer-dachshund mix. I met husband at the cage of the puppy he had chosen. "I think we should get her," he said. "O.K., tell the man to let her out, but I'm getting him," I returned pointing to the forlorn looking older dog. And that is how we came to have four in our family. Since our house was new to us, we decided that the dogs would spend most of their day outdoors, in that large yard. However, like us, they needed shelter. And much like us, we purchased them their first home. We had to drive somewhat outside of the city to find a place that sold dog houses. The typical plastic igloo dog house that are so easy to find nowadays were newly on the market and not in abundant supply. We arrived at the dog house merchant and discovered a plethora of artesian supplies. Here in one yard, you could purchase fresh fruits and vegetables, wooden swings, rocking chairs, dog houses, and homemade brandy. It as like a Scrabble Triple Word Score. I quickly picked out a red-shingled dog house that I thought would hold both mutts. And for a while it did. Except when our daughter dog began her growth spurt. The vet confirmed that she was part German Shepherd. What luck! She was a breed that matched well with the dachshund part of the male dog and fit our last name and heritage. The female dog quickly became like Clifford, the Big Red Dog, outsizing her male counterpart by a mile. No matter though because they both would hover inside their dog house on rainy days. And because our patio was prone to flooding, we determined that the little red-shingled dog house needed to be up on stilts. Old bricks from some long forgotten garden border supplied the correct height. With that shelter raised on bricks, it took on the appearance on a lean-to, or shack. And although both animals fit snuggly inside it, there were days and days of heavy rain. And times when they perhaps didn't feel like a snuggle. So that is how the Canine Twist-and-Shout Juke Joint was born. On any given day, fights broke out in the place. And there was no real police. Only the land owners who would occasionally show up to command some respect. The old boards of the house got dark with age, the wooded floor wobbled on its four axis points, and the red shingles lost their gleam and glitter. And once in awhile, an occupant of the dog house would tumble out onto the pavement as if he had just gotten kicked or hit over the head with a bottle. It there had been a plate glass window, that would have been the point in which it shattered. Usually, the victim would stand up and try to reestablish his dignity by sauntering off to a corner of the yard for protection. Now and again, he or she would shake it off and head back inside the rickety, ram shackled place and try to attain what he had lost. Still, the place rocked. Sometimes nightly, it seemed. There were days when it looked as if nothing was shaking at all in that neck of the woods, and then without warning, the little house would start hopping. Grunts and growls would be heard coming from inside. And then the walls would quiver and vibrate. Once, even the roof got involved, joggling loose some shingles. Husband and I would look at each other, and then I would start to sing, "Grab a mug And cut the rug.... I mean this joint is jumping," from the musical, "Ain't Misbehavin." But soon enough, like the theme song from that musical, the protagonist and villain would cuddle together and fall asleep while these lines, "Ain't misbehaving...saving my love for you," played softly inside their mongrel heads. People from small towns across America will say no one really needs a dive bar in their neighborhood. And perhaps we didn't need it, but for a short period of time, we had a juke joint right in our own backyard. While it might not have added anything to the ambience of the back garden, it sure did give us fodder for talk. July 5th, 2021--National Secret Service Day
Who in your household acts as the Secret Service? We all take many roles over here, but one role that has been repeated is the role of spy via the Find My Phone app. Husband has used it on me from time to time. Much to my dismay. When I am out and about, I sometimes do not hear my own phone ring. If I am driving, I do not stop to answer it. Both of our cars have the capability to have my phone connect to them, by the way. The reason why my phone is often not connected to the car I am driving is complicated. It has something to do with Daughter and three cars parked in a single narrow driveway. See? I told you it is complicated. If I am out shopping, I probably will not hear my phone ring. And I am still old school with tossing my phone in my purse. I know some women who carry their phones in their bra (not recommended) or in their back pocket (too hipster for me). So, I am left with the phone floating around in the bottom of my handbag somewhere. Usually, if it rings, by the time I can find it, it has already gone to voice mail. So, I let it ride. I will call the person back when I have more time. So, that leads to the husband searching for me with the Find My Phone app. He doesn't usually wonder where I am. I mean I normally only go where I tell him I will be. And any grown-ass man should be able to make it through the day without nagging his woman to find out what she's been up to. But there have been occasions when there was a longer delay in my errands than expected. And Husband has found a way around my truancy. He utilizes Find My Phone. If you don't know what that is because you have been living off the grid or something, it is an app designed to find a missing or stolen phone. I wonder how many of us use it to find a missing family member, though? You can go to it on your phone, lap top, or desk top computer and it will show you where your missing phone is located. Presumably, in my case, the owner of the phone will be with it. When I eventually arrive home after a shopping spree, I may surreptitiously leave shopping bags in the car. Even though Husband has often reminded me that I am hiding nothing, as he is a frequent on-line checker of our credit card purchases--ever since our card was stolen once. So no matter what kind of secrets I think I am harboring, I have entered our home more than a time or two, only to be greeted by, "Hello! How was Macy's?" Each time this happens, I turn into Dick Dastardly, the Hanna-Barbera cartoon anti-hero. I silently make a fist jab at my side and say, "Curses! Foiled again, Muttley. I am foiled again." If I figured out how to use the app, I could reverse this little charade, but then again, Husband doesn't stay away from the house for extended periods of errands and shopping. And when he does go shopping, he doesn't leave his evidence hiding in the car. July 3, 2021--World Seabird Day
Is is possible to capture a seagull and hold it in your hand? Can you take one home and keep it for a pet? They are certainly abundant. If one went missing, would all of his seagull buddies put out an all points bulletin? Is there a seagull rehabilitation department in our local government? Why don't you ever see a dead seagull at the beach? So many question to ponder on this World Seabird Day. Do seagulls migrate? If so, where to? I consider the seagull to be a sort of pigeon of the shoreline. They are common and ubiquitous. And like the pigeon, or like a goat, they seem to eat anything. If man was not around, I suppose they would live off of fish. But would they really? Do they dive for food? I don't remember ever seeing them do so. I know someone who is dear to my heart who once wanted a pet seagull. She was one year old when she took her first trip to the beach. At the end of our visit, I showed Daughter how to feed the seagulls. I was prepared for a frightened child when they all showed up and wanted a bite. Instead, I got a little girl mesmerized by them. She wanted to keep one. I told her that they could not be pets. She didn't understand why. I said because they liked to be near their brothers and sisters. We started to trudge through the sand to the car to go home. Well, I started to trudge because by then I had no choice but to pick her up and carry her. She was beside herself in agony. She just so badly wanted a seagull to keep. Her wee little mind thought she could control them, I think. When we tossed up Cheetos and bits of bread, they had all dutifully come to us. She most likely believed she was in some Disney movie. All the princess had to do was to beckon to her animal friends. They had to come. It was for the greater good, after all. When I put her down near the car and began to organize the backseat for her, she looked up at the sky. Her voice screamed out trying to get the attention of the birds once more. She couldn't even pronounce their name clearly, such a small tot was she. It sounded like, "See gu!" Over and over she called to them. "See gu! See gu! See gu!" The sound of her voice on the near empty beach at the close of a day still haunts me. So shattered and lonesome. Much like the isolated and outcast sound of the familiar whippoorwill that is found in wooded areas. Her strong and sturdy core would not give be shaken. A promise of ice-cream would not do the trick. A commitment to come back to that very same beach and visit her beloved seagulls would not satisfy her longing for a bird friend. I had many jumbled thoughts on the long drive home. After a great deal of time had elapsed, she finally gave up. Asleep with her blanket and a stuffed animal in her car seat, through my rearview mirror I could watch her safely rest. After initially thinking that she was destined to become a vet or an ornithologist, I kept returning to my own feelings. Was this meeting with the seagulls her first defeat? At one year old, she pretty much got whatever she deemed necessary. Taking a wild bird home for a pet was completely necessary to her way of thinking. Why couldn't it have been the same to mine? What other defeats and small deaths lay before her? As an adult, I knew there would be many. Yet, I felt bad that her heart would be broken in two over such a silly thing, and yet what was worse, that it had to happen at such a tender age. I just wanted her spirit to remain intact, steady, and resolute. That baby is twenty-two years old today. We laugh together at her first foray into the survival of the fittest nature of nature. She never got her seagull pet, but she is my best beach buddy still. And I know that deep inside both of us lies that indomitable psych. Dormant at once, yet waiting and waiting. Waiting for that next "No" to happen. July 2, 2021--I Forgot Day
Today is a day to remember all of the things we have forgotten. I think I have a pretty long list. I apologize that this post is in list form. It's just too hot to form complete sentences, though.
July 1, 2021--Second Half of the Year Day
Happy New Year, everyone! Today is the beginning of the second half of 2021. Time to revisit those New Year's resolutions and take stock of what still needs to get done. Today is the first day of the rest of this year. If your year has not been off to a roaring start, well you have six months to get it back on track. Whatever your personal circumstance may be, I'll guess that your 2021 has been better than your 2020. So, there's that. There's no way but up from here. O.K., that all sounds like some schmaltzy Hallmark greeting. My apologies. To tell the truth, I don't even remember my New Year's resolutions. Did I even have any? A few clicks of copious research proves that I did have some. I will now inventory my list and report back to you, dear reader, on my progress. I hope to serve as an inspiration to you all by doing so.
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AuthorKaren Schwabenland--Keeper of a daily blog of written matter, reporter of events large and small, and charlatan extraordinaire Archives
September 2022
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