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.