on the Accidental Unleashing of your Inner B****

I am a mild mannered reporter. Literally.
It takes a lot to get me riled. I've learned, at great cost, diplomacy and patience. I listen, assess,and make carefully weighed decisions.

I Am Very Calm: Usually

I don't "fly off the handle."
Usually.
Yet this morning, for no reason I can figure out, I let a person who called in to the paper get my goat. Heck, I let her kill it and roast it, and I served it up with some nice little potatoes and beans.
I actually argued with her.

Angry Phone Lady

What happened to The Customer is Always Right?
I turned into Angry Phone Lady.
But then, when I realized I was out of line and tried to back-peddle, she wouldn't stop going blah blah blah.
So I may have spoken to her just a teensy bit sharply, just, you  know, to calm her down.
Heh.
Anyway, in the end, I had to give her her way, and ended up being told by the boss (me) to call her back and apologize.
I felt better afterward. And now we're best buds.
(Would you like a little beer with that crow, ma'am?)
Has this ever happened to you?
Sure it has, right? Right?
You're just rolling along, sipping your second cuppa, when, wham! For no apparent reason something comes in and unleashes your inner b****.
And you are off and running, before you have a moment to think, whoa! No, B****! Get BACK IN THE CAGE!

Mild Mannered Reporter

And then you're apologizing, and then you're ranting and venting to anyone who will listen, and then you're winding down thinking, what the hell was that?
And then you're apologizing again.
And then you're blogging about it and hoping it doesn't happen again soon, cause that B**** is bad. And she needs to stay under wraps.
Sigh.
Tomorrow I'll be a mild mannered reporter again.
(Rowr.)

on where are you in the passing lane?

Driving a car is an adventure I participate in every day. I don't enjoy it as much as I used to, but I've gotten to be pretty good at it. These days I spend around an hour a day riding the interstate up and down between home and work, and I've begun to notice patterns in the drivers around me.
It must be understood that I am a GOOD driver, while anyone of whose driving I disapprove is understood to be a BAD driver.
Given these boundaries, see if you've noticed the same sort of things I have.
Today, I'm going to discuss the way people pass other cars.

Stay right: Pass left

Everyone knows that you're supposed to ride in the right lane unless you need to pass another vehicle. Then, not approaching the vehicle in front of you too closely (you want them to be able to see you in their side mirrors -- NOT up their tailpipe through their rear view mirror) you signal, make sure you've been seen, check your mirrors, turn to see if anyone is in your blind spots left and right, and then smoothly slide over into the left lane, where you ride long enough to swiftly, but not surpassing legal speed, pass the vehicle in the right lane (known as the slow poke), before signaling right and returning, a safe, clear distance past that slow poke, into the right lane to continue on your way.
You may have noticed that not every driver follows these guidelines. Those who do are henceforth to be known as Polite Passers.
I've categorized a number of people I consider to be unsafe, impolite or otherwise unkempt in the passing lane.

Upset Driver

First is the Divide and Conquer Passer. This person zooms up on your back bumper before swooping around you, as if he's drawing a semi-circle around your car, and cutting back into your lane with maybe a car's length's distance between you and zooming up the road to do the same to the next guy in the right lane.  It's like watching someone play hopscotch. These drivers skip up the highway, dashing in and out of lanes, giving people heart attacks as they run up their tailpipes and then spew road dust into their windshields getting back into the right lane.
Maybe worse than the Divide and Conquer Passers are the Blitzkrieg Passers. (Although the technique is not wrong in itself, it's the speed at which it's done to which I object.) These folks attack a line of cars like it's their job, once again zooming up on the rearmost car, but then, maybe signaling and maybe not, zipping into the left lane for a long, fast run past all other cars in the right lane until there are no more. This is even more nerve-wracking on a two-lane highway, as these nuts cut it to the last second, making oncoming cars consider diving for the right side ditch to avoid a head-on collision. The Blitzkrieg Passer is going to defeat the enemy decisively, all at once, in one attack. This driver usually cruises along at around 20 mph above the speed limit. The best thing that can be said for him is he'll soon be gone.
Perhaps worse than the Blitzkrieg Passer is the FAIL Passer. This fellow just has to pass. If you're in the left lane attempting to do a bit of Blitzkrieg passing (at legal speeds, of course, because you're a responsible driver and everyone else is inexplicably moving at snail speed) he'll come up on your butt and let you know he wants you to MOVE -- NOW!

Advice Mallard says, "Get over and let them pass!"

You do, and he passes you without a glance, gets up next to that semi you were going to take on on the next uphill straight, and -- nothing. He loses his nerve, or his momentum, or whatever, and just rides along next to that semi, making it impossible for anyone to pass, until he has a long line of irritated drives piled up behind him. You're observing patiently from a safe distance behind the semi, of course. Finally, he'll lose his nerve completely and dive back over into the right lane, probably cutting you off dangerously close, while all those pissed-off motorists sail by, glaring or making rude gestures.
Better pass him, too, or he'll do it all again.
The final category of passer I've noticed is the Sudden Surpriser. This guy is going along innocently in the right lane, and somebody decides to pass him, when -- SURPRISE! He darts out in front of them with inches to spare, causing a long line of red brake lights to appear as he soars into the left lane and down the road, blithely ignoring the angry honks and gestures in his wake. These passers are the worst. You don't see them coming. They could be literally anybody -- the cop in front of you; the semi truck tooling up the hill; the little old lady you saw last week in church.
You must suspect everyone in the right lane of being a potential Sudden Surprise Passer.
It's enough to make us Polite Passers stay home.
Pass this on to your friends. The life you save could be mine.

The Life You Save Could Be Mine!

on Progresso per mio viaggio in Italia

The Goal

So I've been trying to raise money towards my trip (mio viaggio) to Italy for a little over a month now, mostly by selling stuff from my house on eBay.
And I've made some distressing discoveries . ..
So far, by relisting everything I've tried, and failed, to sell several (up to six times in some cases) times . . . I owe eBay more than $100 in listing fees.
Hmmm. This may not be the route to take.
Peccato! (Too bad!)

Winter Wizard Figurine -- Wanna buy?

I'm either going to have to be more discriminating as to what I list, though I thought all those scouting tee shirts, cartoon Christmas figurines and Cat's Meow lighthouses would be far more
popular; or I'm going to have to make a rule that I list it once, and if it doesn't sell, I get rid of it.
Perhaps I'm trying to get too much money out of my old junk? Just because I paid too much for it when it was new doesn't mean some other jerk is going to make the same mistake now.
I refuse to give up my master plan of turning the unwanted, unneeded, redundant stuff in my home into a fabulous trip to Italy next summer.
I've been spending an hour a day studying Italian language, and more reading up on Venice and Rome; my two destination cities.

Nothing left!

I'm just going to have to re-strategize.  (That's a word now.)
So the new plan:
1. List the junk cheaper. List it once. Get rid of what doesn't sell.

Me next summer!

2. Open a separate bank account just for the money I make toward the trip, as I've discovered it's all too easy to spend what's in my Paypal account -- then there's nothing left!
3. Start planning the itinerary. That'll motivate me even more!
If it all works out as I hope, this time next year I'll be returning from Italy to a less-cluttered house, ready to plan my next grand adventure.
Meanwhile, I'll keep you posted as to my progress!

Can I just remind you about something?

Yeah, yeah, blah, blah, you’ve heard it all before. But listen up, and you’ll save yourself trouble now and later.

The subject is sunburn.

You dark-skinned people are not off the hook on this topic; even though fair-skinned, freckled people burn more easily, dark-skinned people are susceptible to the really nasty, long term effects of overexposure to the sun.

And depending on where in the world you are, you’ll burn no matter how dark your skin. A black friend of mine went to the Bahamas, and was surprised when she got fried. This wouldn’t have happened as quickly in Ohio. Sun intensity makes a difference.

When you think sunburn danger, you worry about UV rays. There are three types: UVA, UVB and UVC rays.

UVC rays pose no threat, as they dissipate in the atmosphere. Poof!

UVA rays have a longer wavelength than UVB rays. They only cause around 15 percent of sunburns. UVA rays are those given off by tanning booths. They’re still potentially dangerous, but they’re not the worst sort.

The real killers are UVB rays. They cause all kinds of damage to people’s skin and eyes. Don’t fool yourself into thinking you’re safe on a cloudy day, because 80 percent of UVB rays make it through the clouds.

The only protection is to stay inside like a hermit, to wear long sleeves and pants and hats all the time, or to generously slather yourself with sunscreen.

I choose door number three, please.

When I was a teen in the ‘70s, we generously slathered ourselves with Johnson’s Baby Oil. I’m one of those fair-skinned freckled people. All I did was get more freckles, get sunburned and increase my chances of getting skin cancer down the road.

Veeeery sexy.

Look, from decade to decade, and even from century to century, the ideals of beauty change. Fair skin was all the rage not long ago. When I was a teen it was all about getting as tanned as a leather purse. Now, while some people still tan, healthy skin is all the rage, and people are taking more care with their skin, as well as being proud of living in the bodies in which they were born.

Did you know overexposure to sun can cause eye problems? Too much sun exposure has been linked with cataracts and possibly with macular degeneration. And intense exposure to the sun can sunburn your eyeballs! This is called photokeratitis. And it HURTS! Wear sunglasses with UVB protection to help prevent all of this.

Sunburn hurts. Blisters; chills; pain; fever; peeling; yuck! Wear the sunscreen -- at least UVB rating 15+. And reapply it after you swim or sweat.

Sunburn kills. Don’t be a statistic in 10-20 years. Protect yourself and your loved ones. This means nagging your balding male friends who never wear hats. Just ask my dad, who has had many little skin cancers cut off his head and face. Not fun!

To learn more about sunburn and skin cancer, visithttp://www.webmd.com/skin-problems-and-treatments/guide/sunburn.

I hope you don’t mind this friendly little reminder. I’m a mom. I can’t help it.

Did you put  on your sunscreen yet today?

 

on Family Reunion Fun!

Having fun on Put-in-Bay!

My family gets together every Thanksgiving. I'm talking about my sisters and brothers and their kids. There are a lot of us . . . big, Irish Catholic family. Six kids and all our surviving spouses and progeny.
Everyone descends on us here in Cambridge, as we are centrally located to the sisters in Chicago and Rochester, N.Y., not too far from the sibs in Dayton and Columbus, and we have two houses in which to stow everyone.
I used to have the bigger house, so the feast was held there. But since I downsized a few years ago, we now feast at my brother Alex's home. But I still cook the turkey.
We get together a few other times during the year whenever possible, but it's usually not everyone.

Brie with a butterfly on her head

It's been a few years since we attempted a big, family reunion in the summer. A couple years we rented two cabins side by side in Hocking Hills . . . with a mudhole lake. We threw useless, vanilla Oreos (why? just why?) off the deck to see who could fling them the farthest. The fireplace had a flip on switch. Good times!
The last time we did the big reunion thing was in 2007, and we camped at the state park on Kelley's Island in Lake Erie, off the coast of Sandusky, Ohio.
That was fun, but we're more into non-tent accommodations these days.

Cousin Fun

There are more of us now than when we last went a-reunioning, and when we started talking about the idea of getting together this summer, we figured on between 18 and 20 people, depending on who could make it.
We talked about Tennessee, but decided it was too far. And we really like the Lake Erie Islands, which have the benefit of being pretty centrally located. So we chatted about our options, and decided on Put-in-Bay on Middle Bass Island this time, because there's a lot to do for families.
I found the house, and it looked okay. We all payed our first payment, and then I got a call from the rental agent that the owners had decided to paint that week. So we were out of luck. BUT he had another place. Did we want it for the same high, high price?
We said yeah, and it was a done deal.

The Hell Hole

Scary Staircase

So we all converged on the place last Tuesday, and it was a dump. El Dumpo. I'm talking holes in floors, missing doors, exposed wiring, a
staircase so steep we hooked up a rappelling line, no smoke detectors. And a basement that may be a Hell hole. You could bury a body down there.
BUT it was an island dump. And we were all together. So.
We brought food with us, and each family took a meal or two. I did spaghetti and meatballs one night (famous) and bacon and eggs for breakfast another day.

Ms. Wolf (deceased)

There were delicious grilled chicken legs, tacos, cinnamon rolls, etc.
There were also really, REALLY big wolf spiders. May they rest in pieces.
We went down in caves, through the butterfly house, did the wine tour and sampled the wares, ate ice cream at DJ's ice cream shop, checked out the tall ships on the waterfront, looked for, and found, endangered Lake Erie Water Snakes,

Jack and Maddie hunt sea glass

hunted sea glass, went up in the erection -- er, Admiral Parry's Monument, rode bikes, swam, kayaked, shopped, stared at odd people, and had a great old time.
Need private time? You can get that.
I escaped from time to time to read and drink coffee on the deck.
Molly found her private time by pitching a tent in the back yard.

Lake Erie Island Water Snake 

My bro-in-law, Phil, found his by hiking about with his much-better-than-mine camera and taking better pictures than mine. Poop.
I recommend it all. The family reunion. Put-in-Bay. Oh! And I almost forgot -- we rode the mechanical bull at a bar downtown. I have a pretty big bruise on my inner thigh where it gored me as I toppled gracefully off. Badge of honor.
Fights: Two. Crying jags among the younger set: Several. Bumps/bruises: a coupla. In all, no big.
So if you can stand being closed up in a four bedroom (loosely defined, as there were no doors, and not always walls) house with 17 other people, go for it! And please let me know how it goes!

on How do you keep from eating the WHOLE BAG???

Let's talk gluttony.
Do you think about Roman banquets, lasting 10 hours at times, at which the diners retired regularly to nearby rooms, called vomitoriums, to empty their bellies so they could keep eating?

Or maybe you call to mind the seven deadly sins. Gluttony is deadly because if you keep it up, you'll die of one of a number of possible causes, heart attack and stroke right up there.

Have you looked around and noticed Americans are fat? As a group, we're fat. Used to be, Pacific Islanders were the fattest people in the world. Now it's us Americans. Yep, we took over that title!
I personally weigh more than I'd like, though I have lost weight this year. I've got a ways to go.
So why . . . WHY I ask. . . knowing this, do I occasionally take myself off to the store, buy a bunch of junk, bring it home to my den, and eat it up?
I don't just buy the candy bar. I buy the candy bar, the bag of chips, the Swedish Fish, and the 20 oz. root beer. And I eat it all up until I feel absolutely disgusting.
I have a good friend who, incidentally, lost a hundred pounds about five years ago, and has kept most of it off, remarkably. This friend confessed to me that she, like me, cannot have a bag of chips, or Oreos, in the house. She'll eat the whole thing in one go.
Anybody else out there do this?
It's binge eating. And it's not good for you.
Occasional behavior like this, interspersed with exercise, won't result in unhealthy weight gain.
But look around, my fellow Americans. I suspect we're all doing this sort of thing a bit more than occasionally.
Okay, I'm sitting here right now eating Lifesaver gummies, filled with a Skor bar and some cheddar cheese popcorn.

I'm so ashamed. ;)
What's your temptation?
C'mon, fess up. Even the buffest among you likes an occasional binge, right?
The question is, how to curb this behavior?
I'm sure I could Google all sorts of helpful solutions. I'd rather hear yours.
Let's have 'em! How do you keep from eating the WHOLE BAG???

on watching a parent slip back into childhood . . . and you're helpless to stop the slide.

I've written before about my dad's illness; he had a stroke in February, losing much of the use of his left side, which has not improved.
An emerging side effect is his diminishing mental capacity. This is terribly, terribly hard. He's always been the commander in chief of our family. Now he's like a little boy we have to cajole and prod. Sometimes he's happy, but often he's cranky and pessimistic. And heck, who can blame him?
My sister Virginia lives in the same town as Dad, and she's been a wonder, going every day, often two or three times, to his nursing care facility (the new term for nursing home) to make sure he's getting the care he needs.

Dad at Easter with Virginia's kids -- my neiphlings

She is fearless. She checks him physically for injuries, bed sores, chaffing -- things I would not want to do. She makes sure he's eating right, and getting the right meds -- and not getting the wrong ones.
Without her relentless pursuit and expectation of excellence from the center, he wouldn't be doing as well as he is, I'm certain.
I'm in charge of the financial part. Ug.
More about that another time.
As for Dad's essence -- his indomitable personality -- we seem to be slowly losing him. And God! It's heartbreaking.
We'll get calls from him desperately asking for help, because he's on an airplane he doesn't belong on, or he's on a ship at sea and afraid, or, horribly, he's being eaten by a bear and needs immediate assistance.
Virginia "caught" the bear and had it shipped out into the countryside for release into the wild.
The time he was on a ship at sea, he wondered how she would return to land. No problem: She caught a helicopter ride back home, and called to tell him she'd arrived safely.
It would be funny if it weren't so desperately sad.
There's no point trying to convince him he's not experiencing these things, as they are real to him. So we play along unless he gets scared, and then we come up with some way to whisk him out of the fantasy.
He has a terrific roommate who has helped Dad more than once when he dove headfirst out of bead, knocking himself silly because he forgot he can't walk, or was reaching for something he'd dropped.
Anyone who has watched a loved one go through an illness knows the heartbreak of watching a formerly strong person become weak and dependent.
When the person's mind starts to go, it's somehow much worse. Our mother died of cancer 15 years ago, and that was hard. But she was sharp until the end, and much more able to enjoy life than Dad is now.
He has to know he's not quite right. He's filled with anxiety. And I can't fix this for him.
That's the awful part. My five brothers and sisters and I can't fix this for our daddy.
So we talk with him every day, assuring him he's safe, reminding him to look to the left for the window next to his bed, and the black spruce outside that lets him know he's safe in his room, where he belongs.
We listen to his concerns, and help as best as we can. I try to remember to pay his bills.
I guess that's all we can do.
And do and do and do. He calls me around 50 - 60 times a day. I can't answer all those calls of course,  but I speak to him several times. So does Virginia, and our other siblings.

Dad has always had a great sense of humor. Here he is dressed as Dr. Who

Dad is still in there, and from time to time we get a glimpse of that humorous, sarcastic wit -- that sharp intellect that allowed him to be an analyst for a large corporation, and that allowed him to be a first generation Marine Corps fighter pilot in the 1950s. The charm that won him an intelligent, witty wife, and the determination that allowed him to raise six children and keep a roof over everyone's head, and food in our stomachs all those years.
I just wish I could still have heart to hearts with him, or even a conversation where he was the grown-up, and I was was the "kid" looking for advice or comfort.
It's a topsy-turvy world, and my amusement-park-ride-car has flipped right upside down. I'm just trying not to fall out, and my brothers and sisters and I, and all our children, are hanging on until it rights itself again.
But when it does, I fear Dad won't be in the car.

In the continuing saga of Bucket List: Italy!

Italian Flag

It's been a few weeks since I decided to sell my junk to pay for a trip to fabulous Italy, and it's not going too badly! I've made a couple hundred on eBay, and if I keep up this pace, the trip will be paid for by spring, and my travel buddy and I will be on our way to Europe by early summer.
It's not as if I don't have plenty of stuff to spare. I've always thought I could outfit several families in the event of a natural disaster, from clothes to furniture to toys to old Bee Gees albums.

The best part is that each sale represents a lessening of the clutter -- let's be honest, the borderline hoarder situation -- in my home. I may exaggerate, but I really do have much more than I need, so getting some of it gone can only be a good thing!
So far I've unloaded several Star Trek Hallmark Christmas ornaments. Okay, I used to love these things, and I may have felt the slightest tug in letting them go. I had a tree just for Star Trek ornaments in my larger, former house. Here I don't have room, so my attachment for them has diminished. Ka-ching! Now they're money in the bank. Also gone is an old Girl Scout doll, a few tee shirts, and a tiny little baby cowboy hat.
It's not much, but each thing adds to the trip fund, and subtracts to the junk load in my home.

I'd eventually like to move into a small cottage, so downsizing is a priority anyway. This way, I'm motivated to do it faster.
For an added challenge, I've decided to learn to speak Italian. I'm listening to an Italian language disc in my car commuting to and from work daily, and when driving around town. I figure I'm getting in around an hour a day. Not bad!
At this point, all the new nouns, verbs, adjectives and phrases I'm learning are floating around, disjointed, inside my head, refusing to come together cohesively. It won't be long though before I'll be able to organize them into sentences.
I can say one or two now. For example: "Che una pharmacia qui vicino?"
Not sure I've spelled it correctly, but it means, "Is there a pharmacy near here?"
This could be handy to know!
If you'd like to try and do something similar, I recommend you just dive right in. To avoid backing out, I announced my plan on Facebook . . . so it's Facebook official!
Then I listed five items on eBay, and I try to list three to five a day to keep the inventory fresh and stocked.
I ship several items a week at the buyer's expense. It's becoming routine, and that means it's becoming easy.
I need to decide that if things don't sell in a certain time, I'll donate them or otherwise get them out of my house. This isn't going to be easy in some cases, I admit.
But it's very satisfying to see the house emptying out a bit while my bank account fills up a bit!
Pick your destination, find a travel buddy, and start making plans. It's always easier to do a project with a friend or family member. My daughter, Brie, and I are going to Italy together. Where would you like to go?
Ireland? Spain? Australia? The American West? Alaska? On a cruise? Iceland? Hawaii?
Hey, just make up your mind, make up your plan, and JUST DO IT!

Litter But, Litter Bug, Fly Away Home!

The other day I was driving along when I came to a four way intersection. Another vehicle reached the stop sign before me, giving them the right of way. I stopped, and they cruised through.

As they did, the passenger waved at me in polite acknowledgement, and simultaneously tossed a piece of litter out the window of her van. She did this without batting an eye. 

It was done so casually I realized she didn’t think twice about it. She wasn’t in my face about it, and would have probably been surprised to learn her action offended me. It obviously didn’t even occur to her that it was wrong of her to toss out this good-sized piece of trash, leading me to believe she does it all the time. If I’d been a cop, she’d have gotten a $500 fine. I think she’d have tossed it out even if I’d been a cop, because she just didn’t to seem to think anything about it. 

I always thought litterbugs were evil twerps who knowingly, furtively tossed their trash out while nobody was watching; gleefully getting away with a crime that defaces our communities and highways.

Turns out they’re just stupid and thoughtless.

People, you can put a small trash bag in your car, stick your garbage inside, and put it in your trash can at home when it gets full. Why, why, why make the situation in our world worse by lazily tossing your refuse out your car window?

Just . . . don’t. OK? 

This has been a message from someone who gives a darn. 

in favor of gratuitous praise

When you do a job well, do you crave a little bit of praise? Sure you do.

How about if it's a job you're supposed to do every day/week etc. as part of your normal routine? Maybe something as simple as washing the dishes after supper, or tossing in a couple loads of laundry? 

Do you think you deserve an Atta Boy! for doing your normal, everyday chores?

Forget deserve -- do you WANT an Atta Boy! for slapping butter on your hubby's toast in the morning? Or for hauling the fat, nasty trash out on Tuesday night?

I do! I want me some gratuitous praise! Just because I'm so terrific. 

I want praise heaped on my head just for getting up in the morning, getting dressed, leaving a dollop of milk in the jug for somebody else, and turning up at work on time.

I want DONUTS for turning up at work on time. 

Whoever thinks you should only be praised for going above and beyond must have a very puritanical work ethic. As a lazy so and so, I'd just as soon let the dishes pile up in the sink and let you eat cereal for dinner as go to any trouble if you're not going to take any notice of it anyway. 

If it's a matter of deserving, let's take it a step farther. Do you accept gifts for your birthday, Christmas, Mother's Day, Valentine's Day, your wedding anniversary? 

What did you do to DESERVE any of these gifts? 

Nothing. You got born. Big deal. You had a baby. Aren't you special! You lived to see another December. Woot! 

Yet you persist in accepting, and hopefully giving, gifts on such occasions, don't you?

Praise is the same. Sure, you'll give praise in obvious situations, like if I just jumped into the duck pond to save your kid from drowning; or discovered an error in your favor on your tax return (assuming I'm not the accountant you're paying to do so); or wrested the controls of the airplane from the terrorist's hands and safely landed it, though I've never flown a plane.

Yeah, you'll praise me then. 

But what about when I remember to pick up your shirt from the cleaners? Or buy you a new toothbrush before you ask? Or bake you a nice cake on your birthday -- and I didn't forget the date? 

Or just picked up the house so it's pleasant to come home to. 

I'll give you some if you give me some! 

So hit up the donut store...I'll be in to work in the morning. And I like peach roses if you're surprising me with flowers. 

Prepare ye some gratuitous praise . . . that is, if you want me to keep on ironing your clothes. Oh, wait, I don't iron. You choose the chore you want me to continue. All it takes is a smile, a thanks! and a thumbs up. Praise for praise!

on Ugly Ambrosia

I just cooked up a hot, steaming pot of sheer ambrosia. It looks like a pot of barf. It's my dad's stewed tomatoes recipe, slightly altered in amount and detail, as one does. And I don't know if it's my current mood, or what, but it's the best thing I've ever tasted, hands down.
Better, even, than chocolate.
So what's in this slop?
One can of Hunts whole tomatoes . .. the big can. Not the school kitchen size, but the big home size can. Brand probably doesn't matter. Go for what you like.
A sleeve of those Ritz knock-offs, Townhouse crackers. All crushed up while still inside the sleeve, then dumped in on top of the whole tomatoes. Oh, cut up the tomatoes in the pot. You can use Ritz or Saltines, too.
A good splash of milk. Don't stint. Doesn't matter fat content. Probably. I used two percent tonight.
A couple of good shakes of dried, dehydrated, diced onions. This gives the dish a most wonderful crunch.  I probably put in about two tablespoons tonight.
About two thirds of a stick of butter. Overkill. Usually don't use that much, but it was melting on the counter.
Two big tablespoons of white table sugar. You can use salt and pepper too, if you like. I didn't tonight. Then you mash it all up together and heat it up on the stove for however long your other stuff takes to cook. Tonight I mixed some browned ground beef with two boxes of Kraft Mac n' Cheese/Jalapeno Pepper flavor. Yum! That took around 10 minutes, so that's how long the stewed tomatoes cooked.
They came out especially delicious tonight. There they are, looking disgusting in that pretty yellow bowl.
And I can tell you they are absolutely, undeniably, scrumptiously perfect.
Sweet. Crunchy. Wonderful texture.
Ok. Go try some of your own. Let me know how you like them!

A journey of $3000 begins with $2!

So in the continuing saga about my decision to go to Italy next summer, I've made the further decision to learn how to speak Italian. I'll drag Brianna into it if I can, since she's going too, but I will learn regardless.
I paid bottom dollar -- seriously, around $15 -- for an Italian language course. I got Total Immersion rather than Rosetta Stone, because they claim to be just as good for a whole lot less money. New it would have cost around $50. Rosetta Stone new is hundreds.
I stuck it into my car's CD player on my way to work the other morning, and proceeded to repeat words and phrases with no idea what the hell they meant.
Last night I put in the computer part of the thing, and my computer won't read part of it. The part it will is all vocabulary, so I know know how to recognize words for octopus, desk, gorilla, duck, orange, tree, hotel, and many more exciting things -- exciting because they're in Italian! Back in the car today I began to understand the uses of the words for "this" and "that." Don't ask me what they are. I'm not retaining yet.
As far as paying for the trip, I'm ahead in dollars against those spent on the language course, as I sold a Christmas ornament on eBay today for $17! So I'm $2 to the positive!
I figure this will run about $3000. So if a journey of a thousand miles begins with one step, then a journey of $3000 begins, in this case, with $2.
As for where to go, we're leaning toward half a week in Venice and half a week in Rome. Friends who've been there are full of tantalizing advice about where to go and what to see. Face it; Italy is fascinating all around. If I had a month and unlimited funds, I'd see it all: Verona; Pisa; Florence; Padua. But since I don't, I'm going for a relaxing schedule.
We'll fly into Venice, stay four nights, take a train to Rome, stay three nights, and depart, richer in culture and experience, poorer in pocketbook.
Stay tuned for how the quest proceeds to learn Italian and to raise the dough for the trip!
Arrivederci!

on achieving my bucket list goal: Venice!

You  know how you sit around doing the same ole same ole, day after month after year, and think, "I'm going to DO something one of these days. I'm going to GO somewhere and DO something."
You might even make that ubiquitous bucket list the dudes in the movie made famous.

Good for you!
But do you ever actually DO anything on that list?
What are you waiting for? You're not getting any younger, Bunky.
The oddest things can tip you over the edge from rational and cautious to balls-to-the-wall, I'm DONE with waiting . .. let's go all ready!
 For me, it happened a few nights ago. I was reading a book from Nora Roberts' Key trilogy . . . excellent, as is everything she writes.
The main character is a woman who has never been anywhere (don't worry . . . she'll be going places with her love life, compliments of Nora). This woman collects post cards from places other people have gone. Ok, that's cool.
But she has given up on ever going to these places herself.
Well, the romantic interest stands in her living room one night, admiring her postcard display, and he says, "Nice picture of Venice. I've stood on that bridge.)
(The Rialto Bridge, in Venice, Italy.)
And I think to myself, hey! Venice is one of the places on my bucket list. And I thought, gee, why does that guy -- who doesn't even exist, really -- get to go to my bucket list city, and I don't?
And suddenly I thought, the HELL you say. I'm going to Venice! Before it's too late! Before I get old, or get sick, or get broke, or develop a fear of flying or bridges or water.
So I asked my daughter if she wanted to go and she said, heck yeah!
I've taken trips with each child after high school, though none so exciting as this. It's her turn.
We've invited a pair of our friends, but whether they decide to go or no, we are going to Venice, Italy next summer.
I ordered an Italian language course from eBay. We're learning Italian, and going to Venice! Prego!
So now I'm going to sell stuff on those Facebook sites to fund the trip.
I am so excited! I'm going to Europe in 12 months!
I'll keep you apprised about our year of Italian immersion as we get closer.
Is this a crazy idea? Absolutely!
Does that make it a bad idea? Who knows? Maybe by going to Venice, we'll not be here when the fault under Ohio busts wide open. Maybe everyone should go to Venice!
So there it is -- out there in the public.
Just wish me Buon Viaggio!

A little slower; a little fatter. But still having a damned good time!

An old high school friend and I were chatting recently on Facebook about people we went to school with who have died.
We've both lost several high school and several college friends.
For some reason, it seems somehow more offensive to lose people we knew when we were kids. After all, we haven't aged . . . how did they?
Of course, some of them never got the chance to age.
But now, as we've passed the half-century mark, we have to acknowledge that we're getting to "that age," where people we know will die of natural causes more and more often, until we're all just fond memories and pictures in albums stuck in the back of our grandchildren's closets.
And from what I understand, the "Millennials" don't want our fusty old albums. They'll photograph the old photographs, and toss the paper along the way.
So what's the point of this musing?
None, really. Just a realizing that for some, time is gone. And for those of us left, well, better enjoy it while you can! Yeah, I may be a little slower, a little fatter than when I was in school, but inside I'm still the same eager, curious, excited kid I always was.
Show me the world!
No excuses. Find a way to live your dreams. Cliche? Yeah . . . but things become cliches because they're common to many people.
What's your bucket list?
Mine includes such cliches and originals as: Train ride across Canada and Alaskan tour combo; river cruise down the Mississippi; do one of those gigs where you're the lighthouse keeper for a couple weeks in exchange for staying in the lighthouse for free; ride the Good Year blimp; get a big, orange Maine Coon Cat; sell a book; go to the San Diego Zoo; ride a trolley in San Fran; do the tourist thing in NYC, and see a Broadway show; drive a train; play Mrs. Hannigan in Annie; have a walled garden with little brick paths and a gazeebo.
Take that grand tour across the U.S. and back, seeing the sights along the way. Where is the biggest ball of string, anyway?
God willing and the creek don't rise, I'll get some of those in. Hope you get yours in, too!

on a Lazy Daisy recipe from the Shabby Housekeeper: Tuna Noona Casserole

You don't get much lazier than the Shabby Housekeeper. That's why I'm shabby. I try to spend the least amount of time possible on household chores such as laundry, cleaning and cooking. So when I find an easy-peasy, tasty recipe that pleases my kids, I tend to stick with it forever.
One such recipe is a family favorite: Tuna Noona Casserole. Your kids will be coming back for seconds, and it's got the protein and nutrition you want for your family -- along with a few carbs and fat grams.
That's what makes it good, right? My kids named it Tuna Noona when they were little, and it flowed better than Tuna Noodle. You get the idea.
Here's how it's done:
Boil up a big pot of water while pre-heating the oven to the universal cooking temp, 350 F.
Dump a bit of cooking oil in the water to keep the noodles from sticking. When the water boils, turn it down to half, and cook up a big bag of egg noodles per the directions on the bag. Use any kind of noodle you like. It's all good.
Open up some tuna. I do the big 9 x 13 glass casserole, and use either two big cans or four little ones. I use tuna in water, but you can use tuna packed in oil. Drain the tuna. . . my animals love the tuna juice as a treat on their food. If you use oil, share sparingly with Fido and Fluffy. Don't want 'em sick.
When the noodles are ready, drain 'em, rinse 'em, and pour 'em into the casserole.
Add your tuna, and put in several generous handfuls of shredded cheese of your choice. I like white mozzarella mixed with sharp cheddar. It's up to you.
Next, add a small can of your choice of soup. I like Campbell's broccoli and cheese, cause you get the broccoli. But cream of mushroom or cream of chicken are also good. This keeps your noodles moist. Season to taste, with garlic salt, oregano, ketchup, whatever you like.
Stir well to mix, then cover with aluminum foil. Cook for around 20 minutes. You just need to heat it up and melt the cheese.
Voila! Magnifico.
A few variations would include using different meat, such as salmon or ground beef or shredded pork or chicken, and using a different sauce, such as marinara or BBQ sauce. That's how you get stuff like Johnny Marzetti, right? You could even add fresh or frozen (thawed/drained) broccoli for more of a veggie kick.
Just delicious variations on a theme.
I hope your family likes this stuff as well as mine. It's always a hit.
Enjoy!

The neighborhood bad seed

In my neighborhood, a very respectable neighborhood full of mostly retired people with lots and lots of time on their hands for performing various lawn-care tasks, I am the bad seed.

Literally. My lawn, which is managed by my teen-aged son who cuts it as low as possible to extend the time between cuts, thereby burning it brown by early August, is currently filled with dandelions going to seed. Soon, they will be borne on the wind to all my neighbors' beautifully cared-for lawns. They won't thank me for this.

One neighbor told me recently that when someone drives by my house, it is obvious that the lawn is managed by a kid. 

Which it is.

He worried, because he's a genuinely nice guy, that a potential employer, seeing our poor excuse for a lawn, will judge my son a lazy-no-account and will not hire him to flip burgers, or whatever, based on the sad-looking expanse surrounding my otherwise decent-looking house. 

Okay, the lawn isn't great, though it isn't terrible, either. But I don't think it'll keep my kid from ever being gainfully employed.

And I have to admit that I'm okay with not having the best lawn on the block.

Are you hearing this, my brother who lives across town and has a perfect lawn?

As far as I, a full-time, single, working mom, am concerned, my lawn must be mowed weekly, weeded very well once in the spring and then catch-as-catch-can the rest of the summer. Done. 

I'm not completely unsympathetic to the situation. I'm considering treating the lawn with weed and seed. That would kill the dandelions.

Meanwhile, I'll talk to my son about setting the bar a bit higher. Literally. That may keep things green through August.

I may even have his older brother, visiting this week on leave from the Marines, teach him how to weed-whack. 

And to any of you who live next door to me, or across the street, or within wind-range of dandelion seeds, I apologize. (You might try wishing on one of those dandelion seeds that things will improve!)

By the way, dandelions are a favorite of honey bees, which are in trouble, and I could argue that I'm providing a cash crop for them so I get their honey later on. Just a thought.

Please feel free to spend any spare time you have after caring for your own lawn 20-30 hours a week weeding my gardens. I respect you, but can not, at this time, emulate you. Thank you!

~ The Management of the Seedy House down the street

A Blast from the Past ~ Bringing Back Aunt Ethel!

Years ago I had another blog, called Ask Aunt Ethel. I chose the name because I actually had an Aunt Ethel, and because I enjoy alliteration. I had to ditch the blog when I found out someone else already owned the domain name. Bummer!
It was an advice blog, and people wrote in asking my opinion on various topics. I made it clear I could only base advice on my life experience, as I'm no kind of professional counselor, doctor, marriage expert or librarian.
But looking through the posts, there are some fun and insightful ones. So I thought I might, from time to time, share one here. And I am, after all, a fully-qualified aunt of whom good advice may be asked! Disclaimer: You take my advice at your own risk.

Ask Aunt Ethel

September 24, 2011

New Bride in Tuscaloosa asked:

Hey, Aunt Ethel, I just married the guy I've been dating all through college, and we're moving to a new town so he can go to grad school. I also just found out I'm pregnant!!! (I'm due next spring!) Here's my question: Should I stay home with my baby, or get a job in our new town? I don't want my child raised by strangers, but we need the money. I don't know what to do! This happened kind of unexpectedly. Help!

 

Dear Tuscaloosa, first of all, congratulations on your nuptials and on your upcoming blessed event!

This is a complicated situation. But it's not a new one! 

I think you need to get settled in your new home, and then go find a job. That way you'll have seven or eight months to save money for when you aren't working. And then you and your husband must discuss what is right for you all.

I'll tell you that I stayed home with my five children. I was a stay-at-home mom for more than 20 years! During that time I did a little bit of writing, and tried one of those home party pyramid deals, but I didn't make much money. It was okay, because my husband made enough to support us. I was quite fortunate.

But looking back, I realize with 20/20 hindsight that I should have done things a bit differently.

Here's why: I ended up divorced after more than 20 years of marriage. And I had, in my mid-40s, no tangible, recent employment history.

This is not a good position to be in, Tuscaloosa. I had a few years leeway to get back on my feet because of the duration of our marriage, but what if that hadn't been the case?

So I decided if any young woman were to ask me whether she should stay home with her children or stay in the work place, I'd advise her to think very, very carefully about her options.

I loved staying home with my kids, Tuscy, but I feel that if I'd found some way to keep an oar in the workplace water, so to speak, I would have been better off for several reasons.

First, I would have had my own money, that I didn't have to ask for. I have a theory, which may be a bunch of baloney since remember, I'm not an expert!

My Theory: I figure the person who makes the money in a relationship is the one with the power. Now, you may argue that one partner in a relationship should not have more power than the other,and I'd agree. In a perfect world (or relationship) that would be the case. Maybe in some instances a couple is so well matched, or both are so good natured, the temptation for the bread winner to lord it over the one who stays home and does the scutwork is not strong.

Or maybe in some marriages, the roles of both are so well defined, there is no cause for dissatisfaction on either part. One works outside the home, the other takes care of the home. Lovely!

Or maybe there are even relationships in which both partners share completely in working outside the home and inside the home taking care of the home and children. Perfect.

But I've seen the other side of the coin too often. Most of the time, the one breaking his or her back out in the workplace feels he or she is putting more into the family/home/bank/relationship than the one with baby barf on his/her shoulder and unmade beds he/she never got around to making. Or maybe he/she thinks the other one isn't doing a good job. Whatever!

Second, (and this fits in with my theory, above), he would have respected me more because I would be contributing something

monatary to the household (I really believe men think in dollar signs and bottom lines. I'm not saying what I did raising children wasn't the most important job in the world; just that he didn't understand the value of what he was getting).

Third, when I ended up on my own, I would have had an easier time jumping into the work force, since I'd have had experience, contacts, etc. As it was, employers looked at me askance. Yeah, I could change a mean diaper, but what else had I done in, say, the last couple of decades? And though volunteer work supposedly counts, ehhh, I'm not sure it carries that much weight with most employers.

So if you can find a way to work part time, perhaps, while spending most of your time with your babies, that would be ideal. Perhaps a work-from-home deal, such as medical transcribing, typing, or something else you could do part time from home. Or perhaps you could be an in-home day care provider. A couple of my friends did this until their own kids were all in school. Now one is a teacher and keeps the same hours as her children; ideal for a parent. The other has her own business, and her kids help out. Also a good deal.

I don't know if I've helped much, but I hope I've given you food for thought. What was right for me might not be right for you. But talk it over with your honey, and think about your future.

Good luck, Tuscaloosa!