They arrived with presents, one huge backpack, athletic gear, assorted hats, gloves, boots and sets of keys. The immaculately decorated house immediately took on the aspect of chaos that it used to have when children lived here permanently. Christmas had begun.
The schedule was planned by Charlie, and it included some shopping, riding around to see the lights, holiday performances, and dinners out. We had a barbequed turkey on Christmas night, complete with coleslaw and made-from-scratch baked beans. This was an innovation-—we wanted a change from the tired old stuffed turkey that usually graces our table. I would bet thousands that not one family in America leaves the table after Christmas dinner unbloated, and this family was no exception!
The opening of gifts at our house is an all day affair. The champagne we drank on Christmas Eve proved very soporific, and so none of us awoke before ten. Even the dog slept in. With coffee and egg casserole to fortify, we opened gifts for the better part of three hours. Since this was an “austere” year, gifts included boxes of cereal for one daughter, cookbooks from the shelf in the kitchen for the other. The dog opened her gift, and then chewed her way through a few others. We ate and drank coffee for the better part of the day, remaining parked in front of the fire. Fun, fun, fun.
As suddenly as they came, the daughters were gone. Despite assiduous packing, here is what we discovered that was left behind: One hairbrush, a complete set of workout clothes (still sweat covered), a red sweater that had to be retrieved from the restaurant where it was left, two boxes of the “gift” cereal, and various beauty products.
Also left behind was an air of emptiness, and echoes of laughter and late night television. There is silence where there was chattering and shouting, and here and there are remnants of the holiday: a shred of gift wrap under the coffee table, a stray ornament in the corner. The stockings are deflated, hanging there to remind me of those girls.
I have a bad cold. I don’t feel like putting anything away today. So I sit, wrapped in a blanket, thinking about past Christmases, and the days when the kids were still at home. Between coughs, I remember: Marion having strep throat just about every year, and all the Amoxicillin doses. Annie asking for a new saddle every year, and not receiving one (they cost the same amount as a CAR, for Pete’s sake!). The year Nintendo games were all the rage, and our girls didn’t get one. The arguments that resulted from “Trivial Pursuit.” Charlie falling asleep during “family time” watching Christmas movies. The messes that were made in the kitchen by well meaning cooks. The noise, the disruption, and the activity. It was exhausting!
So now I sit, with blanket and coffee. The house is quiet, and there are no cell phones texting, no Ipods recharging, and no hair dryers blowing. There is still more coffee in the pot. I have not tripped over one gym shoe in twenty four hours. The bed in the guestroom is MADE.
The children are where they belong. I am home alone. There is order in the universe.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO ALL
While I enjoy the holidays with my family, going to restaurants and overeating, wrapping gifts, watching "On Demand" movies, trying to keep up with all the mess in the house, and generally making merry, I want to send all of you my very best wishes for a FANTASTIC holiday with your families.
Eat an extra cookie. Go out and buy ONE MORE stocking stuffer! Take a ride and look at holiday lighting displays! Sleep in an extra hour. Make a new recipe. And be sure to think of me when you laugh!
I WILL BE STANDING UNDER THE MISTLETOE, WAITING FOR SOMEONE INTERESTING TO PASS BY...
Eat an extra cookie. Go out and buy ONE MORE stocking stuffer! Take a ride and look at holiday lighting displays! Sleep in an extra hour. Make a new recipe. And be sure to think of me when you laugh!
I WILL BE STANDING UNDER THE MISTLETOE, WAITING FOR SOMEONE INTERESTING TO PASS BY...
Thursday, December 10, 2009
CHESTNUTS ROASTING
I would love to write a nostalgic post about my many Christmas memories. Stockings, carols, turkeys, Santa, the works. The truth of the matter is that my childhood memories, collectively, would EASILY fit on the head of a pin.
I have been challenged by a Facebook friend to get with it and THINK BACK. I have been brain racking (wracking??), and I have managed to come up with some details of my Christmases past to share with all of you. Dickens I am most certainly NOT, but I do have some memories perhaps worth sharing.
FAMILY. My mother was a gifted artist who spent her life as a housewife. Her genius was expressed through flower arranging, sewing, cooking, and crafting. She let herself go at Christmas! We always had at least five kinds of cookies stored in Christmas tins in the garage (!), and every night after dinner, we brought them upstairs and gorged on nut crescents, little pecan tarts, Slovak (my Mom, a true Bohemian peasant) jam tarts, and various other delicacies. I have never made a cookie that doesn’t come in a roll from the grocery refrigerated section.
My mother always made a Christmas candle. She let my sister and me help. It consisted of a wick, blocks of paraffin, melted paraffin that she somehow whipped into a froth, glitter, food coloring, and decorative greens. The candle was assembled from the blocks, the whipped frosting applied with a cake spreader, and the glitter applied while the paraffin was still wet. The candle was arranged on the buffet with the greens; it always looked beautiful, and we lit it every night during supper during the holidays. I absolutely loved it. It has never occurred to me to try making one.
We did not have a fireplace in our house, so we never had stockings. My father acted as Santa on Christmas morning, and he did an admirable job. We opened gifts one at a time, and exclaimed over each one. I am not aware of my parents exchanging gifts—Christmas was ALL ABOUT ME, of course. I do remember Dad getting things like socks and gloves every year, and his enthusiasm for these gifts was always boundless, bless him!
GIFTS TO REMEMBER. My favorite gift as a child was a ballerina doll with pink toe shoes. I found it in my Mom’s closet at around Thanksgiving time, and took it out and played with whenever she went to the store. I am shocked that she didn’t notice its slightly shopworn appearance when she wrapped it up to put it under the tree. The worst gift I have ever received (and my daughters will back me up on this) was a pair of blown glass earrings from my husband. These looked to me like tiny little dog poos on 14k gold posts, and I never wore them. They got lost, somehow…
THE HOLIDAY RAMP-UP. Families in the fifties were not so slavish in the decoration department. I have no memories of lights in the bushes or wreaths on the front door. We had a big non artificial tree in the living room, in front of the picture window, and every year, my Dad did what all Dads throughout history have done: he put the lights on the tree and used words that I never heard during other times of the year: words like shit, damnittohell, and son of a bitch.
Our decorations were thanks to my talented mother, who managed to make a different style of beautiful handcrafted ornament-every year. We had ones made of satin ribbon, ones covered with sequins, knitted and crocheted ones, stained glass-like ones, and some she made from kits that she ordered. I have many of these still, and we put them on our tree every year. I have never tried to make an ornament. I know my limitations.
Since both parents were musicians, and my Dad played a mean concert violin, we always had Christmas music. On the stereo, I adored the Mormon Tabernacle choir. Robert Goulet sang “Panis Angelicus” like nobody’s business. My Dad played his violin for us once in awhile, and I loved it. Since my Dad was also associated with the music department at the university in our town, we also attended Christmas concerts. I loved sitting there, behaving beautifully (my Mom made it clear that one false move and I was a dead man) and letting the music wash over me. I have no musical talent myself. Charlie takes care of that with carols galore on the accordion, whether we need them or not.
So there you have it. Memories. My children, if writing blogs, would have a very different set of remembrances: about the Santa gifts with Mom’s handwriting on the tags, the trips to the emergency room on Christmas Eve two years running (a badly sprained ankle one year, uncontrolled vomiting the next), taking rides to see the lights and getting into a big fight in the car about why it isn’t in good taste to say the “F” word in front of your parents, embarrassing a boyfriend at a fancy restaurant with a family discussion about scatological topics, and the time Mom gave Dad back all of the gifts he got her because none of them were on her Christmas list…
Oh, it is a magical time of the year.
I want to wish all of you who have supported me in my writing a wonderful holiday. I will name some names: Merry Christmas to my Facebook family, especially Karl, Tracy, Diana, Michelle, Celine, and Dr. Steve. To Watson the cat, felicitations! To my Etsy friends, a hearty Yule! To my neighbors, lots of love. To the rest—Jane and Dave, Susan G. and Dave, Alison and Tim, Carl and Sherry, John and Joann, Paul and Susanne, Waynesville Vet Hospital, Joe and Dee, Sheryl and Rick, Mar and Den, Lynne, and the rest of my family—peace and love.
I will be taking a Christmas hiatus (no,Charlie—I don’t have a HERNIA) and I will be back after the holidays. Annie and Marion will be home this year, the four of us together for maybe the last time before one of them gets married.
It will be the BEST CHRISTMAS EVER.
I have been challenged by a Facebook friend to get with it and THINK BACK. I have been brain racking (wracking??), and I have managed to come up with some details of my Christmases past to share with all of you. Dickens I am most certainly NOT, but I do have some memories perhaps worth sharing.
FAMILY. My mother was a gifted artist who spent her life as a housewife. Her genius was expressed through flower arranging, sewing, cooking, and crafting. She let herself go at Christmas! We always had at least five kinds of cookies stored in Christmas tins in the garage (!), and every night after dinner, we brought them upstairs and gorged on nut crescents, little pecan tarts, Slovak (my Mom, a true Bohemian peasant) jam tarts, and various other delicacies. I have never made a cookie that doesn’t come in a roll from the grocery refrigerated section.
My mother always made a Christmas candle. She let my sister and me help. It consisted of a wick, blocks of paraffin, melted paraffin that she somehow whipped into a froth, glitter, food coloring, and decorative greens. The candle was assembled from the blocks, the whipped frosting applied with a cake spreader, and the glitter applied while the paraffin was still wet. The candle was arranged on the buffet with the greens; it always looked beautiful, and we lit it every night during supper during the holidays. I absolutely loved it. It has never occurred to me to try making one.
We did not have a fireplace in our house, so we never had stockings. My father acted as Santa on Christmas morning, and he did an admirable job. We opened gifts one at a time, and exclaimed over each one. I am not aware of my parents exchanging gifts—Christmas was ALL ABOUT ME, of course. I do remember Dad getting things like socks and gloves every year, and his enthusiasm for these gifts was always boundless, bless him!
GIFTS TO REMEMBER. My favorite gift as a child was a ballerina doll with pink toe shoes. I found it in my Mom’s closet at around Thanksgiving time, and took it out and played with whenever she went to the store. I am shocked that she didn’t notice its slightly shopworn appearance when she wrapped it up to put it under the tree. The worst gift I have ever received (and my daughters will back me up on this) was a pair of blown glass earrings from my husband. These looked to me like tiny little dog poos on 14k gold posts, and I never wore them. They got lost, somehow…
THE HOLIDAY RAMP-UP. Families in the fifties were not so slavish in the decoration department. I have no memories of lights in the bushes or wreaths on the front door. We had a big non artificial tree in the living room, in front of the picture window, and every year, my Dad did what all Dads throughout history have done: he put the lights on the tree and used words that I never heard during other times of the year: words like shit, damnittohell, and son of a bitch.
Our decorations were thanks to my talented mother, who managed to make a different style of beautiful handcrafted ornament-every year. We had ones made of satin ribbon, ones covered with sequins, knitted and crocheted ones, stained glass-like ones, and some she made from kits that she ordered. I have many of these still, and we put them on our tree every year. I have never tried to make an ornament. I know my limitations.
Since both parents were musicians, and my Dad played a mean concert violin, we always had Christmas music. On the stereo, I adored the Mormon Tabernacle choir. Robert Goulet sang “Panis Angelicus” like nobody’s business. My Dad played his violin for us once in awhile, and I loved it. Since my Dad was also associated with the music department at the university in our town, we also attended Christmas concerts. I loved sitting there, behaving beautifully (my Mom made it clear that one false move and I was a dead man) and letting the music wash over me. I have no musical talent myself. Charlie takes care of that with carols galore on the accordion, whether we need them or not.
So there you have it. Memories. My children, if writing blogs, would have a very different set of remembrances: about the Santa gifts with Mom’s handwriting on the tags, the trips to the emergency room on Christmas Eve two years running (a badly sprained ankle one year, uncontrolled vomiting the next), taking rides to see the lights and getting into a big fight in the car about why it isn’t in good taste to say the “F” word in front of your parents, embarrassing a boyfriend at a fancy restaurant with a family discussion about scatological topics, and the time Mom gave Dad back all of the gifts he got her because none of them were on her Christmas list…
Oh, it is a magical time of the year.
I want to wish all of you who have supported me in my writing a wonderful holiday. I will name some names: Merry Christmas to my Facebook family, especially Karl, Tracy, Diana, Michelle, Celine, and Dr. Steve. To Watson the cat, felicitations! To my Etsy friends, a hearty Yule! To my neighbors, lots of love. To the rest—Jane and Dave, Susan G. and Dave, Alison and Tim, Carl and Sherry, John and Joann, Paul and Susanne, Waynesville Vet Hospital, Joe and Dee, Sheryl and Rick, Mar and Den, Lynne, and the rest of my family—peace and love.
I will be taking a Christmas hiatus (no,Charlie—I don’t have a HERNIA) and I will be back after the holidays. Annie and Marion will be home this year, the four of us together for maybe the last time before one of them gets married.
It will be the BEST CHRISTMAS EVER.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
MONIKERS
I grew up hating my name. I still don’t like it, actually. In my generation, the only “Molly’s” were in my reading books: cows and goats always seemed to have that name. Not one girl. This held true all the way through college and beyond. Imagine my surprise when the name “Molly” became popular in the 90’s. Now I run into little “Molly’s” everywhere. There is security in having a popular name. No one makes fun of you or it, or asks you where your name comes from, etc. I have spent some time pondering names lately. It seems that one’s name can be either the catalyst for a lot of anguish, sexual confusion, resentment, or just, as in my case, dissatisfaction. A name can harness its owner with aggravation and more. For instance:
As a parent, one must think long and hard before naming a child something unusual. Bucking trends for some parents is an obsession. But before you name your daughter Prudence, however, consider the meaning behind the name. I have always wondered if those Moms and Dads choosing names like Hope, Charity, Patience and the like are projecting these qualities onto their daughters, or if they are just living in the past.
Luckily for parents who like old fashioned names, however, these seem to be swinging right back into popularity: Joshua, Ethan, Caleb—these are all back. These names are very nice and strong. Again, some parents push this envelope as well, and we get Moab, Orton, Gladys, and Blanche. Can you imagine what being named Blanche might be like? At the birthday party: “Come on girls—Tiffany, Suzy, Maddie, and BLANCHE! Time to cut the cake!” Is grandma among them?
In my mind, certain names have associations that are not complimentary. Hilda, for instance, makes me think of a clumsy red-haired pre teen, who is pushed into ballet school by her misguided mother. Elspeth seems like a wraith with incipient tuberculosis. Cary, I am sorry to say, is gay (not that there is anything wrong with that...). Wendell and Winthrop are nerds. And Cecil is most likely gay AND the neighborhood target for all the bullies. By the way, the bullies are named Jake, Bud, and Willy (Willy became a bully in defense of his own penile related name). Florrie is fat.
I would also like to knock some sense into any parent considering naming a boy anything relating to cowboys, unless the family actually lives on a farm or ranch with real cows and horses. Boys named Emmett, Saratoga, Slim, or Red have a lot to live up to otherwise. The same goes for girls. Why name a child Belle, before you know whether or not she will be pretty? While I am at it—I would like to give another kick in the head to any parent cherishing the name Hortense, Ida, Gaylord, Jemima, Hubert, or Pepper.
Geography should not be confused with the naming of children. How did naming kids after locations become the trend? Sierra, Tennessee, Aspen, Nevada. I guess these sound evocative to some. Thank goodness I have never been introduced to a Little Rock or a Kankakee, but they are probably out there, getting beaten up during recess.
One more thing. Consider your own name before you name your dog. If your name is Rex or Chance, then for heaven’s sake, don’t give your dog a name like Pete or Dan, because folks will persist in calling you by your dog’s name.
A final peeve. If you get the privilege of naming a person, can you please SPELL the name correctly? The popularity of butchering names causes me such pain. Why ruin a fine name such as Susan by spelling it Soosyn? Mollee? Danyelle? Wyllym? Dian??
Ok, I have to go now. I have to go brush my cat Salami.
As a parent, one must think long and hard before naming a child something unusual. Bucking trends for some parents is an obsession. But before you name your daughter Prudence, however, consider the meaning behind the name. I have always wondered if those Moms and Dads choosing names like Hope, Charity, Patience and the like are projecting these qualities onto their daughters, or if they are just living in the past.
Luckily for parents who like old fashioned names, however, these seem to be swinging right back into popularity: Joshua, Ethan, Caleb—these are all back. These names are very nice and strong. Again, some parents push this envelope as well, and we get Moab, Orton, Gladys, and Blanche. Can you imagine what being named Blanche might be like? At the birthday party: “Come on girls—Tiffany, Suzy, Maddie, and BLANCHE! Time to cut the cake!” Is grandma among them?
In my mind, certain names have associations that are not complimentary. Hilda, for instance, makes me think of a clumsy red-haired pre teen, who is pushed into ballet school by her misguided mother. Elspeth seems like a wraith with incipient tuberculosis. Cary, I am sorry to say, is gay (not that there is anything wrong with that...). Wendell and Winthrop are nerds. And Cecil is most likely gay AND the neighborhood target for all the bullies. By the way, the bullies are named Jake, Bud, and Willy (Willy became a bully in defense of his own penile related name). Florrie is fat.
I would also like to knock some sense into any parent considering naming a boy anything relating to cowboys, unless the family actually lives on a farm or ranch with real cows and horses. Boys named Emmett, Saratoga, Slim, or Red have a lot to live up to otherwise. The same goes for girls. Why name a child Belle, before you know whether or not she will be pretty? While I am at it—I would like to give another kick in the head to any parent cherishing the name Hortense, Ida, Gaylord, Jemima, Hubert, or Pepper.
Geography should not be confused with the naming of children. How did naming kids after locations become the trend? Sierra, Tennessee, Aspen, Nevada. I guess these sound evocative to some. Thank goodness I have never been introduced to a Little Rock or a Kankakee, but they are probably out there, getting beaten up during recess.
One more thing. Consider your own name before you name your dog. If your name is Rex or Chance, then for heaven’s sake, don’t give your dog a name like Pete or Dan, because folks will persist in calling you by your dog’s name.
A final peeve. If you get the privilege of naming a person, can you please SPELL the name correctly? The popularity of butchering names causes me such pain. Why ruin a fine name such as Susan by spelling it Soosyn? Mollee? Danyelle? Wyllym? Dian??
Ok, I have to go now. I have to go brush my cat Salami.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
WHAT WOMEN WANT
The Christmas shopping season officially has begun! For the men that I know well, Christmas shopping is a duty that is almost impossible to live up to. For these men, and for all the men out there who feel helpless and lost in any store other than Lowe’s, I am going to present my TIPS FOR SHOPPING FOR FEMALES. The first thing for men to keep in mind is that what women love 364 days a year does not necessarily mean that they want to see it under the tree. Women want to feel special and feminine at Christmas. As a matter of fact, men should keep that in mind for all occasions! So here goes:
TIP NUMBER ONE: If it has something to do with keeping things clean, women don’t want it as a gift. Those nifty little steam cleaners for carpets? FANTASTIC. But if you give her one for Christmas, it’s an INSULT. “What, you don’t think I can keep house? Well, YOU try cooking, doing laundry, trucking kids around, taking care of Fido, and just see how many spots YOU will find on the rug!”
TIP NUMBER TWO: Women, as a rule, hate gifts that come pre-packaged. I know, the department store tells you that if you spend $30, you can take home a really nice shrink wrapped basket that contains soap, a loofah, some body wash, and three lip balms. Men love this, thinking that somebody, somewhere, has scoped out what women like, and put it together for them. This is erroneous. Generic things in shrink wrap are too cheesy for words, and only men will buy them.
TIP NUMBER THREE: The home made gift certificates that say, for example: “Good for two back rubs,” or “Will do dishes every Friday,” are COMPLETELY BOGUS. No one EVER lives up to promises made on these things. Children can get away with gifting these to Moms, but never men. Do men think we are really that gullible? And if a man DOES actually try to make good on one of these, it is a half-hearted effort at best. Charlie’s idea of a back rub is twenty seconds of vague patting while watching a television program. And a kitchen cleaned up by most men has grease around the edges every time.
TIP NUMBER FOUR: If it is in a big package, it better be a big gift! I have said this before, but it bears repeating: my friend, who received BED PILLOWS in a big beautiful box from her husband at Christmas twenty years ago HAS NEVER FORGIVEN HIM. A big box, to a woman, promises things like cashmere coats, leather boots with five inch heels, or cable knit cardigans!
TIP NUMBER FIVE: Unless she is a gourmet cook, don’t consider kitchen paraphernalia. Le Creuset and Cuisinart are SPECIAL INTEREST gifts. As a matter of fact, any special interest gift is risky. Sports equipment, fitness gear, gardening tools, and things like bird feeders are only welcomed by real enthusiasts. The rest of us regular women think that the kinds of gifts found in, say, the Hammacher Schlemmer catalog, are very technical and kind of BORING.
TIP NUMBER SIX: I may be the only woman in the world who feels this way, but for me, getting a CHRISTMAS ORNAMENT for Christmas is anti-climactic. It is too late to use it this year, and in order to enjoy it, a whole year has to go by. Furthermore, almost every family I know has TOO MANY Christmas ornaments already. Just because the stores are full of them this time of year is no reason to get one for your wife!
All in all, this time of year is fraught with peril for the male shopper. The best advice I can give to any man looking for the perfect gift is this:
Are you considering buying that thing in your hand? Before you go to the cash register, look around the store. Find a woman. Show her what you have in your hand. Ask that woman if you should buy the item. DO WHAT SHE SAYS. Foolproof!
TIP NUMBER ONE: If it has something to do with keeping things clean, women don’t want it as a gift. Those nifty little steam cleaners for carpets? FANTASTIC. But if you give her one for Christmas, it’s an INSULT. “What, you don’t think I can keep house? Well, YOU try cooking, doing laundry, trucking kids around, taking care of Fido, and just see how many spots YOU will find on the rug!”
TIP NUMBER TWO: Women, as a rule, hate gifts that come pre-packaged. I know, the department store tells you that if you spend $30, you can take home a really nice shrink wrapped basket that contains soap, a loofah, some body wash, and three lip balms. Men love this, thinking that somebody, somewhere, has scoped out what women like, and put it together for them. This is erroneous. Generic things in shrink wrap are too cheesy for words, and only men will buy them.
TIP NUMBER THREE: The home made gift certificates that say, for example: “Good for two back rubs,” or “Will do dishes every Friday,” are COMPLETELY BOGUS. No one EVER lives up to promises made on these things. Children can get away with gifting these to Moms, but never men. Do men think we are really that gullible? And if a man DOES actually try to make good on one of these, it is a half-hearted effort at best. Charlie’s idea of a back rub is twenty seconds of vague patting while watching a television program. And a kitchen cleaned up by most men has grease around the edges every time.
TIP NUMBER FOUR: If it is in a big package, it better be a big gift! I have said this before, but it bears repeating: my friend, who received BED PILLOWS in a big beautiful box from her husband at Christmas twenty years ago HAS NEVER FORGIVEN HIM. A big box, to a woman, promises things like cashmere coats, leather boots with five inch heels, or cable knit cardigans!
TIP NUMBER FIVE: Unless she is a gourmet cook, don’t consider kitchen paraphernalia. Le Creuset and Cuisinart are SPECIAL INTEREST gifts. As a matter of fact, any special interest gift is risky. Sports equipment, fitness gear, gardening tools, and things like bird feeders are only welcomed by real enthusiasts. The rest of us regular women think that the kinds of gifts found in, say, the Hammacher Schlemmer catalog, are very technical and kind of BORING.
TIP NUMBER SIX: I may be the only woman in the world who feels this way, but for me, getting a CHRISTMAS ORNAMENT for Christmas is anti-climactic. It is too late to use it this year, and in order to enjoy it, a whole year has to go by. Furthermore, almost every family I know has TOO MANY Christmas ornaments already. Just because the stores are full of them this time of year is no reason to get one for your wife!
All in all, this time of year is fraught with peril for the male shopper. The best advice I can give to any man looking for the perfect gift is this:
Are you considering buying that thing in your hand? Before you go to the cash register, look around the store. Find a woman. Show her what you have in your hand. Ask that woman if you should buy the item. DO WHAT SHE SAYS. Foolproof!
Sunday, November 22, 2009
THE LESSER BLESSINGS
All around America, in kitchens and dining rooms this Thursday, people will gather to give thanks. Many of us make it a ritual, going around the table reciting what we are most thankful for. What a wonderful custom! However, there IS an element of political correctness involved. EVERYONE is thankful for family, love, pets, abundance, good fortune, and good will. But I am willing to bet thousands that there is not one woman in America who would be REALLY honest and say she is thankful for tampons, for example. But there are just so many things that make life worth living, and I, FOR ONE, am going to go on record this year and say what I AM REALLY THANKFUL FOR.
CEREAL. Back in the day, you could have Corn Flakes or Corn Flakes. These days, there is a myriad of choices, and they are all so delicious! High fiber, fruity, puffed, rolled. You can eat it cold. You can eat it hot. You can eat it right out of the box, for heaven’s sake! And it is fast, easy, and portable. I have it for at least one meal a day, and for that, I am thankful!
DEODORANT. This was truly a tremendous leap forward for mankind. Without it, many people might never have found a life partner! Would ANYONE go to the gym if it weren’t for deodorant? Therefore, we have deodorant to thank for lower cholesterol levels, longer life spans, and that honed “six pack” look. Without deodorant, no one would be able to attend sporting events without getting nauseous from the fumes. SO WITHOUT IT, THERE WOULD BE NO SUPERBOWL!
SPANDEX. Now, this one is HUGE. Without it, women my age would not be able to wear tight pants and still breathe. Spandex made leggings possible. Men should also be very thankful for Spandex, without which Pamela Anderson might have looked dumpy.
THE VACUUM CLEANER. I can’t imagine what life must have been like for women who had to use a BROOM to try to clean house. Why, just today, I spilled a box of cereal on the kitchen floor at lunchtime, and before you could say “Tony the Tiger,” it was all cleaned up. Beating rugs with a stick? Forget it! Cat hair? It would never come off the carpet with a broom! If I had lived a before the advent of the Dyson, my life would have consisted of sheer drudgery and lots of unwanted crumbs.
THE BIG BOX STORE. I know, Wal-Mart might be evil. But honestly, when time is at a minimum, one trip does it all. I am still astounded by the sheer diversity offered by the big boxes: you can get bug killer, mulch, toilet paper, apricots, best sellers, pinto beans, and organic tomatoes there. You can get your hair cut, nails done, and develop photos. There is a bank in there! Starbucks! You could actually LIVE at a big box store. Wait a minute! Should I be thankful for this or not?
CORTISONE CREAM. Cortisone is the tenth wonder of the world. It cures everything. If it itches, put cortisone on it. If it burns, put cortisone on it. If it looks puffy, cortisone will de-puff. You can do just about anything but cook with the stuff. Remember the “heartbreak of psoriasis?” Of course you don’t, because there is CORTISONE CREAM!
KLEENEX. Everyone who knows me personally will vouch for the fact that I could not exist without it. I blow my nose, or attend to it in some fashion, at least three times an hour. As a matter of fact, Kleenex is a part of my persona: one of my friends said, “I saw you on Monday at the corner of X and Y Street! Of course it was you! She was blowing her nose!”
And finally, I am thankful for THE INTERNET. I have friends now in England, New Zealand, France, Canada, and all over the United States, thanks to Etsy and Facebook. I can Google whatever I want to. I can buy everything on the internet that I can’t find at a big box store! I can SELL stuff! I can watch a movie, a hilarious video of a cat playing the piano, or a film clip of a gorilla playing dominoes. But this is what I am most thankful for:
THE INTERNET IS THE HOME OF THE BLOG.
CEREAL. Back in the day, you could have Corn Flakes or Corn Flakes. These days, there is a myriad of choices, and they are all so delicious! High fiber, fruity, puffed, rolled. You can eat it cold. You can eat it hot. You can eat it right out of the box, for heaven’s sake! And it is fast, easy, and portable. I have it for at least one meal a day, and for that, I am thankful!
DEODORANT. This was truly a tremendous leap forward for mankind. Without it, many people might never have found a life partner! Would ANYONE go to the gym if it weren’t for deodorant? Therefore, we have deodorant to thank for lower cholesterol levels, longer life spans, and that honed “six pack” look. Without deodorant, no one would be able to attend sporting events without getting nauseous from the fumes. SO WITHOUT IT, THERE WOULD BE NO SUPERBOWL!
SPANDEX. Now, this one is HUGE. Without it, women my age would not be able to wear tight pants and still breathe. Spandex made leggings possible. Men should also be very thankful for Spandex, without which Pamela Anderson might have looked dumpy.
THE VACUUM CLEANER. I can’t imagine what life must have been like for women who had to use a BROOM to try to clean house. Why, just today, I spilled a box of cereal on the kitchen floor at lunchtime, and before you could say “Tony the Tiger,” it was all cleaned up. Beating rugs with a stick? Forget it! Cat hair? It would never come off the carpet with a broom! If I had lived a before the advent of the Dyson, my life would have consisted of sheer drudgery and lots of unwanted crumbs.
THE BIG BOX STORE. I know, Wal-Mart might be evil. But honestly, when time is at a minimum, one trip does it all. I am still astounded by the sheer diversity offered by the big boxes: you can get bug killer, mulch, toilet paper, apricots, best sellers, pinto beans, and organic tomatoes there. You can get your hair cut, nails done, and develop photos. There is a bank in there! Starbucks! You could actually LIVE at a big box store. Wait a minute! Should I be thankful for this or not?
CORTISONE CREAM. Cortisone is the tenth wonder of the world. It cures everything. If it itches, put cortisone on it. If it burns, put cortisone on it. If it looks puffy, cortisone will de-puff. You can do just about anything but cook with the stuff. Remember the “heartbreak of psoriasis?” Of course you don’t, because there is CORTISONE CREAM!
KLEENEX. Everyone who knows me personally will vouch for the fact that I could not exist without it. I blow my nose, or attend to it in some fashion, at least three times an hour. As a matter of fact, Kleenex is a part of my persona: one of my friends said, “I saw you on Monday at the corner of X and Y Street! Of course it was you! She was blowing her nose!”
And finally, I am thankful for THE INTERNET. I have friends now in England, New Zealand, France, Canada, and all over the United States, thanks to Etsy and Facebook. I can Google whatever I want to. I can buy everything on the internet that I can’t find at a big box store! I can SELL stuff! I can watch a movie, a hilarious video of a cat playing the piano, or a film clip of a gorilla playing dominoes. But this is what I am most thankful for:
THE INTERNET IS THE HOME OF THE BLOG.
Friday, November 13, 2009
PLOT LINES
I have been encouraged lately by many people to write a book. I am not up to it yet, but I am ruminating on various potential themes. I have about three or four recurring dramas that I play out in my head for entertainment, and perhaps one of these has in it the germ of a novel. You can be the judge.
THE ECCENTRIC MYSTERY. Someone is murdered. A detective is hired to solve the crime, but this particular detective has some personality quirks that make solving crimes particularly challenging. The detective, one Arnold Scullwood by name, works by day in a bookstore, and moonlights as a nude model to bring in extra cash, which he squanders by buying lottery tickets. Arnold, a bodybuilder, also finds sleuthing hard to work into his training schedule and frequent odysseys to weight lifting competitions. But when a woman is found dead after the “clean and jerk," Arnold gets strong-armed into solving the crime.
THE FOOD NOVEL. In this book, the plot is secondary to giving the author free rein to talk about making food, eating food, and sharing recipes. Back in the day, this was called a “cook book,” but today’s readers apparently demand more from that genre. So in this, the protagonist either falls in love with the wrong man, or is a widow who moves to a new town. Either way, the heroine learns to solve her problems and renew her faith in herself and mankind by opening either a: bakery, a quilt shop that serves little homely snacks, or a tea room that ultimately fails. In the process, the heroine—we will call her Polly Underwinger, finds love with either the coffee delivery man, or the local pharmacist.
THE ENGLISH COUNTRY HOME SAGA. This is one of my favorites. It follows the Crompton-Flingford family over a span of a couple of generations, beginning with little cockney Harold Crompton, who begins life as a lackey in a glue factory under horrid conditions, but works his way up to owning the whole thing. Along the way, he meets Daisy Flingford, who hails from a noble family and completely upsets the feudal order of things by marrying Harold beneath her station. Their marriage is, of course, fraught with trouble, but they persevere and produce a wayward son, Bartholemew Crompton-Flingford, who goes to public school, buggers his underlings, and then procedes to squander the entire glue fortune on “fancy women” and Thoroughbreds. Daughter Paisley Crompton-Flingford is a silly, spoilt schoolgirl who eats too many cream scones at tea, and hence finds it hard to interest any local bachelors, due to her girth. The whole plot thickens when Rodney Mink-Nulton, a slick character, enters the picture to seduce Paisley, blackmail Harold, charm Daisy, and challenge Bartholemew to a duel. This novel is full of chintz, tea, scones, and fires with fenders. It is also replete with bodice ripping, unseemly characters, foxhounds, pheasants hanging in the larder, and, naturally, chambermaids.
THE PRECOCIOUS CHILD NOVEL. Of course, no one can top “Anne of Green Gables,” or “Little Women,” but I might try my hand at writing the story of Annabricks Le Table, the daughter of a boring British nobleman and his lively and gutsy French lover. Annabricks is the darling of the neighborhood around the Rue de la Cul de Sac, where she lives. She introduces the colorful characters who are her friends: Raoul, the roguish butcher, who gives her free bones for her dog “Bouillon,” and Madame Raclette, owner of the local brothel, who teaches Annabricks the ways of the world. Annabrick’s parents, Clive and Manette, struggle to keep their darling but larger-than-life daughter safe, while allowing her to grow up experiencing the ways of the French, all the while learning how to brew a really good cup of tea.
I am continuing to cogitate, but really, the most fun for me is coming up with names for my characters! A few more, perhaps?
THE SOUTHERN BELLE: Fanny Cerise Fernduke
THE OLD MAID SECRETARY: Minerva Pickles
THE STARVING, AND PERHAPS, GAY ARTIST: Eden Silverwaft
THE MUSCLED AND MACHO COWBOY: Ty Hornbrand
THE WISE OLD HANDYMAN: Dab Smuts
I’VE GOT A MILLION OF ‘EM!
THE ECCENTRIC MYSTERY. Someone is murdered. A detective is hired to solve the crime, but this particular detective has some personality quirks that make solving crimes particularly challenging. The detective, one Arnold Scullwood by name, works by day in a bookstore, and moonlights as a nude model to bring in extra cash, which he squanders by buying lottery tickets. Arnold, a bodybuilder, also finds sleuthing hard to work into his training schedule and frequent odysseys to weight lifting competitions. But when a woman is found dead after the “clean and jerk," Arnold gets strong-armed into solving the crime.
THE FOOD NOVEL. In this book, the plot is secondary to giving the author free rein to talk about making food, eating food, and sharing recipes. Back in the day, this was called a “cook book,” but today’s readers apparently demand more from that genre. So in this, the protagonist either falls in love with the wrong man, or is a widow who moves to a new town. Either way, the heroine learns to solve her problems and renew her faith in herself and mankind by opening either a: bakery, a quilt shop that serves little homely snacks, or a tea room that ultimately fails. In the process, the heroine—we will call her Polly Underwinger, finds love with either the coffee delivery man, or the local pharmacist.
THE ENGLISH COUNTRY HOME SAGA. This is one of my favorites. It follows the Crompton-Flingford family over a span of a couple of generations, beginning with little cockney Harold Crompton, who begins life as a lackey in a glue factory under horrid conditions, but works his way up to owning the whole thing. Along the way, he meets Daisy Flingford, who hails from a noble family and completely upsets the feudal order of things by marrying Harold beneath her station. Their marriage is, of course, fraught with trouble, but they persevere and produce a wayward son, Bartholemew Crompton-Flingford, who goes to public school, buggers his underlings, and then procedes to squander the entire glue fortune on “fancy women” and Thoroughbreds. Daughter Paisley Crompton-Flingford is a silly, spoilt schoolgirl who eats too many cream scones at tea, and hence finds it hard to interest any local bachelors, due to her girth. The whole plot thickens when Rodney Mink-Nulton, a slick character, enters the picture to seduce Paisley, blackmail Harold, charm Daisy, and challenge Bartholemew to a duel. This novel is full of chintz, tea, scones, and fires with fenders. It is also replete with bodice ripping, unseemly characters, foxhounds, pheasants hanging in the larder, and, naturally, chambermaids.
THE PRECOCIOUS CHILD NOVEL. Of course, no one can top “Anne of Green Gables,” or “Little Women,” but I might try my hand at writing the story of Annabricks Le Table, the daughter of a boring British nobleman and his lively and gutsy French lover. Annabricks is the darling of the neighborhood around the Rue de la Cul de Sac, where she lives. She introduces the colorful characters who are her friends: Raoul, the roguish butcher, who gives her free bones for her dog “Bouillon,” and Madame Raclette, owner of the local brothel, who teaches Annabricks the ways of the world. Annabrick’s parents, Clive and Manette, struggle to keep their darling but larger-than-life daughter safe, while allowing her to grow up experiencing the ways of the French, all the while learning how to brew a really good cup of tea.
I am continuing to cogitate, but really, the most fun for me is coming up with names for my characters! A few more, perhaps?
THE SOUTHERN BELLE: Fanny Cerise Fernduke
THE OLD MAID SECRETARY: Minerva Pickles
THE STARVING, AND PERHAPS, GAY ARTIST: Eden Silverwaft
THE MUSCLED AND MACHO COWBOY: Ty Hornbrand
THE WISE OLD HANDYMAN: Dab Smuts
I’VE GOT A MILLION OF ‘EM!
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