tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46517304817530710842024-03-18T17:04:56.705-05:00(And So I'm Having a Wonderful Time, But I'd Rather Be)Whistling in the Darkaehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02708941765522865595noreply@blogger.comBlogger1899125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4651730481753071084.post-40918336181707120262024-03-18T17:04:00.000-05:002024-03-18T17:04:00.732-05:00If I Want To<p>Operation Octogenarian is underway, folks. Two weeks from tomorrow is my mother's 80th birthday. We are celebrating with a little soiree at her place - hors d'oeuvres, champagne, cake. Just like that.</p><p>I am the head of the planning committee, and also doing a lot of the things that I, the head of the planning committee am delegating to me, the busiest member of the planning committee. So, yeah.</p><p>I sent out invitations to three neighbors that she has known and loved these many years. I believe they are all familiar with her memory loss, and so hopefully she won't ask any of them how their husbands are (dead, dead, and dead), but if she does, grant them the serenity to let it go.</p><p>The rest of the contingent is family, or blended family (her boyfriend's people), and of course they all know what we're dealing with. </p><p>I still have a few questions. What is the weather going to do? Will the back porch be too cold to serve drinks from? What is Mom going to wear? What am I going to wear? Am I making the right decision with the cake?</p><p>Here's the whole cake kerfuffle. Traditionally, Mom's cake is yellow with caramel icing from Rhodes Bakery. Which is great - though a little uneven occasionally. As caramel icing can be. But rock on, Rhodes. Your cheese straws are flawless - I can overlook a little grainy caramel or dryish cake.</p><p>In the past few years, Mom has been given a black forest cake from some bakery in Marietta. Now, the claim is, it's "everyone's favorite", and "the best" - but I feel like my mother has been coerced into the black forest cake. I'm not a fan because I find the tart and/or alcohol infused filling a bit off-putting. But that's me and my opinion. Last year, I brought her a cake from Baked on 8th - the classic - a yellow cake, chocolate icing. And it was quite good - but messy to cut, as round cakes are.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEijBqjvb8-TdLg8WrfUIu3sY8pRPCsMA-z4FViLIo7DwnuSM8h-ug9GZ5z7DqAcMxPcuJRx7Uw0NxLKlGtiyudz_J0K42rJ62ANQpZw2u1dzlMytIvKTVVKSelqrKoWETst0zgvxkwDimRBtb8wmYy_MgE7-prkkNAPNijM-YpljZQR6UI5r_F6af82gEhd" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="259" data-original-width="194" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEijBqjvb8-TdLg8WrfUIu3sY8pRPCsMA-z4FViLIo7DwnuSM8h-ug9GZ5z7DqAcMxPcuJRx7Uw0NxLKlGtiyudz_J0K42rJ62ANQpZw2u1dzlMytIvKTVVKSelqrKoWETst0zgvxkwDimRBtb8wmYy_MgE7-prkkNAPNijM-YpljZQR6UI5r_F6af82gEhd" width="180" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rhodes Bakery Caramel Cakes - also available in round.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj1-b70XNLTVVDw9FbqSRIR2lrDorQjTKOiYPH571ubU3clK-_XwnMLqOjpz_gJUrKmfSf8jQUWjuLMxGg5rA5v5CiPUzKS5ZzbAUzxvFwXkebjC3ITItzYUOU8HTFFpV_sI3bEK55IbPls_7cjvL4DyAlaxzQTPsQ5jkEmgkUMu2RM6alwnUPg7jn9p7MT" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj1-b70XNLTVVDw9FbqSRIR2lrDorQjTKOiYPH571ubU3clK-_XwnMLqOjpz_gJUrKmfSf8jQUWjuLMxGg5rA5v5CiPUzKS5ZzbAUzxvFwXkebjC3ITItzYUOU8HTFFpV_sI3bEK55IbPls_7cjvL4DyAlaxzQTPsQ5jkEmgkUMu2RM6alwnUPg7jn9p7MT" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baked on 8th Cake - excellence in cake form</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiiITyGJlqNrxtr5V0jSsdRFrxNtXFHXmF47EYPpvjZNAFG_sJm6eUWvevug35MhaT3GLzCY9jOdxxiYtyvSyOHez-_IatlPBhs75WiX4DZZDchIokC-1FXELWcJwydi0kku5QO5i_SsUqJETT0dKCnlKcP1I_nqh_CGKd_ot-Gw8g5koSsu6gYMcY_nB8i" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="206" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiiITyGJlqNrxtr5V0jSsdRFrxNtXFHXmF47EYPpvjZNAFG_sJm6eUWvevug35MhaT3GLzCY9jOdxxiYtyvSyOHez-_IatlPBhs75WiX4DZZDchIokC-1FXELWcJwydi0kku5QO5i_SsUqJETT0dKCnlKcP1I_nqh_CGKd_ot-Gw8g5koSsu6gYMcY_nB8i" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bernhard's Black Forest Cake - it's fine - but this is for a birthday, not a kaffeeklatsch.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></p><p>Also my opinion - hard to go wrong at a celebration when sheet cake shows up. And for choice, Publix yellow cake with fudge icing. That it happens to be my favorite cake is, of course, not lost on me. But as birthday cakes go, it's a classic. It doesn't hurt that Publix is everywhere - I can think of at least three within ten minutes of her. Whereas Marietta is a bit of a slog, and Rhodes isn't much easier. </p><p>So, after talking to Mom, with perhaps, a little influence, we have settled on the sheet cake. I know, I know. But nobody hates a sheet cake, and if they do - then they can schlep to the bakery and get whatever they think is appropriate. I will get Mom her caramel cake for Mother's Day.</p><p>That sounds ungracious. Honestly, my battery is running a little low these days. I'm not sleeping well. Hard to shut my little lizard brain off every night. Also, when it's pollen season, I have to fight my sleep apnea machine a little harder - these are the times that try mens' souls. </p><p>But in addition to that, there's a lot going on around me - a lot of energy that I seem to be taking in, and to an extent, taking on. </p><p>I know every woo-woo lady and her sister claim to be empaths, but I do think I have the empathic tendencies. Here's what makes me think that. People tell me everything. I get constant TMI. I know way too much about way too many.</p><p>But I guess I lay my life out here for y'all, so - fair is fair.</p><p>Anyway - that's what's going on here and now. I am not complaining - let me be very clear - life is good, spring is nearly here, and I am here for it!</p><p>Now, we just have to get through the birthday party, and then of course, an April wedding - then I should have a few weekends to play. I want to go to the zoo. Among other things.</p><p>But first... cake.</p><p>And an 80 year old mother.</p><p><br /></p><p>ae</p><p><br /></p>aehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02708941765522865595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4651730481753071084.post-84343202920562812952024-03-14T11:01:00.002-05:002024-03-14T11:01:45.789-05:00Ooh, Baby Baby...<p><br /></p><p>Last winter, my team was set to have an in-person meeting on Mardi Gras. And being the celebratory kind of woman that I am, I made plans to bring in a King Cake, or maybe cupcakes. But I also made an purchase on Amazon:</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhTxENUBPgztzplaPYLdJMJReBjur86OUk2Q3nLFGJfTUxj7mpDk3aSAgeXe1rMiTN0FKOtG34CubYFWRQ93C2ehjoX0Ni4a8tb-uLNqnILD4j-HYNyZ4B4fBEUb85ia86L3u5kIvmHmWeBCN3QqCof6s3sI2YgIAbGNDTTc0_fRjTtmYGMLTaIiLpIdhYr" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhTxENUBPgztzplaPYLdJMJReBjur86OUk2Q3nLFGJfTUxj7mpDk3aSAgeXe1rMiTN0FKOtG34CubYFWRQ93C2ehjoX0Ni4a8tb-uLNqnILD4j-HYNyZ4B4fBEUb85ia86L3u5kIvmHmWeBCN3QqCof6s3sI2YgIAbGNDTTc0_fRjTtmYGMLTaIiLpIdhYr" width="180" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>A package of 72 plastic babies. And because inclusion matters, I went for a mixed color package. Anyway, we moved the meeting to a time nowhere near Mardi Gras, and I wasn't going to go through the hassle of returning $7 worth of plastic babies. </p><p>So they have been languishing in my desk drawer for about a year.</p><p>Until this week.</p><p>As I have mentioned, we're getting out of the office at some point in the near to mid-near future. And for me, that means I need to start the purge. I am, by nature, a pack rat. I'm also a nester. Anywhere you give me space, I will fill it with items that give me comfort. Or make me laugh. Or both.</p><p>But the question becomes, once I leave this office, will I have any use for seventy-two multi-culti plastic babies. The answer is, regrettably, no.</p><p>More to the point, is there a function for these babies somewhere in our office? Well, function oversells it a little, but the answer is yes.</p><p>And so, I have been placing babies in hiding places throughout the office. I'm doing it slowly and with some intention. The primary function it serves is my amusement. I like the thought of someone discovering a baby and either leaving it where they found it, or taking it for their collection. It's also sort of a non-destructive way of making my mark. "Allison was here, baby-finders!"<br /></p><p>They are not so concealed that none will ever be found. The intention is for them to be hiding in plain sight. And occasionally, with some humor. In fact, so far, I know one was found. I placed it in the metal first aid cabinet in our break room. It's a decent repository for medications, band-aids, and so on. I figured nobody would get into that cabinet forever. I tore open a packet of low-dose aspirin, laid the little baby's head on it, like a pillow, and used the empty packet as a sleeping bag.</p><p>And then yesterday, the guy who services the first aid cabinet came to pull out expired meds and replace them. When he left, the baby was left on a breakroom table and its bedding had been discarded. I re-hid the baby in a new location. I may go back and put another, different baby in a different place in the cabinet. I am considering placing at least one or two of them with a note - like #17 of ???, etc.</p><p>I haven't hidden more than 10 at this point. I will have them all hidden before we leave for good. Well, maybe 71 of them, and I take one home with me to remember the prank. </p><p>At our last building, we left several pictures of our colleague, Ben. We put him in a variety of hats, printed them out, cut out the heads, and placed the pictures all over the place. Not all of them got found, and one we placed in the subflooring, where perhaps it will forever remain.</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEioX0s5DV3vf5igwWJtyBMQeeFCh93vHvmesWepRkaIxHzrNN2nERfKPjfsbe4TPlmtuecvlSlq44Qdo3xLCb5XW9Ek3LOESMv6XvxziDIZt8IhT7bErsUFTq2uiTtYGfXKobz8ArLdFk265TXlYJi6IvZNElKWfi64oNcz3acUPGmhiKK0ffxwH6MKCE-v" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="273" data-original-width="307" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEioX0s5DV3vf5igwWJtyBMQeeFCh93vHvmesWepRkaIxHzrNN2nERfKPjfsbe4TPlmtuecvlSlq44Qdo3xLCb5XW9Ek3LOESMv6XvxziDIZt8IhT7bErsUFTq2uiTtYGfXKobz8ArLdFk265TXlYJi6IvZNElKWfi64oNcz3acUPGmhiKK0ffxwH6MKCE-v" width="270" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>Look, it's better than writing on walls, isn't it? </p><p>In High School, I learned that grafitti had been preserved on the walls at Pompeii. And some of it is quite funny and has modern day parallels.</p><p><br /></p><p>Pompeii: Celadus the Thracian Gladiator is the delight of all the girls.</p><p>Today: For a good time, call Celadus the Thracian Gladiator</p><p><br /></p><p>I could go on - but if you're interested, there are examples-a-plenty in the interwebs.</p><p><br /></p><p>My whole point here is just make a mark. Any kind of mark that seems important to you. I remember in college, I signed my name on the underside of a shelf in my closet. They pained over it, but it was there, and it still is, probably.</p><p>So that archeologists in the year 2195 can look at the ancient Milledge Avenue ruins and realize that sorority girls from the 1990s were self-obsessed.</p><p>"Restitua, take off your tunic and show us your hairy privates!"</p><p><br />That one is all Pompeii, folks.</p><p><br /></p><p>ae</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>aehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02708941765522865595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4651730481753071084.post-65717962722415455812024-03-05T10:27:00.002-06:002024-03-05T10:27:58.786-06:00Oh, Noooo<p>Look, the past is in the past for a reason, you know? But I got a big old heaping helping of piping hot High School Casserole over the weekend.</p><p>One of my classmates posted a video on social media - about an hour and a half long - of clips from all the plays we put on during the 1990-1991 school year. My sophomore year - and honestly, my best year, in terms of just quality of opportunities, self-esteem, awards, and recognition. </p><p>I got cast as a lead in the first play - an African American folktale-ish play for kids...sort of. It was very minimalist. Like there were three named characters and a ten person chorus who also made up the set pieces. Lots of interpretive movement.</p><p>I played the mother, a kid named Landon was my "son" Wiley, and the villain - a character named The Hairy Man.</p><p>It was a fun time. We had a good time. But there might have been some cultural appropriation. And by might have been, I'll say definitely was. Even without seeing that video, if you had brought up the play to me, I would have cringed. It's one of the many microagressions I think about when I lay awake at night. That and playing Bloody Mary - a Tonkinese woman - in my 7th Grade musical. And getting married in a civil war era cotton mill. So, you know - I won't be running for office.</p><p>The video, being 30 years old, isn't the best - and it's hard to hear - well, except when I'm playing the mother - my projection is epic. I sound like her:</p><p><br /></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhhrusuh6TxvSZXsPQYgcSUg27wKff34C97_4j6MTM67iqh1iBL60JrSY9ajbKXoawYM8X0w7nIR6va0Zs7sAhnPbJirf0edNHbHWhm_qadE2eMhR_pkOEnuCRCDbb5kHeVPHG0aRu_WS5WJ-sJFYrWzfzaSiz9gu5vZdkHx1dXMk_65Eb9PJk9WUC7igJK" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="159" data-original-width="318" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhhrusuh6TxvSZXsPQYgcSUg27wKff34C97_4j6MTM67iqh1iBL60JrSY9ajbKXoawYM8X0w7nIR6va0Zs7sAhnPbJirf0edNHbHWhm_qadE2eMhR_pkOEnuCRCDbb5kHeVPHG0aRu_WS5WJ-sJFYrWzfzaSiz9gu5vZdkHx1dXMk_65Eb9PJk9WUC7igJK" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sit down and shut up - we're runnin' laaaaaaaaate!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></p><p>Super loud, and with an accent that sounds nothing like my own. And kind of mean.</p><p>After that was a brief clip of some one act plays we did later that year - I played an elderly Irish woman. Which, you know - was what it was. There's about 30 seconds of me with gray hair and a basket of apples. I was wearing my grandmother's glasses and I look tiny on that stage.</p><p>The third and final time I appear on the video is at the very end - for like 2 seconds at a cast party or gathering after a play. I am wearing a large, black felt hat and giant earrings. I look, in my mind, like me - one of the best versions. I look happy. I spend a lot of the first part of that year nursing a broken heart. In looking back on it, how ridiculous was that? So ridiculous.</p><p>But I was happy as a clam, it turns out.</p><p>Anyway - the fact that my classmate posted the video is weird enough.</p><p>But it gets weirder.</p><p>Our drama teacher at the time was Mr. G. Some time in the early 2000s, Mr. G was teaching at another school and was found having an inappropriate relationship with a student. Then another student came forward and said, "Yeah, same." So, Mr. G went to jail.</p><p>Mr. G is the one who gave our classmate the tape recently. Now, the classmate in question is male, the students were both female.</p><p>I had heard about Mr. G at some point in last few years, and my immediate though was, "Yep, that's not surprising." Mr. G was a former student of my high school, and it's like he was coming back to relive his glory days. He was... inappropriate back then. I kind of thought it at the time - but I never really put a name to it. I would not have been of interest to him. He liked pretty, fluffy ingenues. I was a character actress, and a little too coarse. I think he appreciated me as a person, but I would not have piqued his interest. And that's a GOOD THING.</p><p>So, the classmate tagged everyone he could that was in the video - and I stumbled onto it because I was tagged. And I watched it, and made a comment, "good to see everyone", etc.</p><p>But then, I got a text from one of the other tagged people checking in - we'll call him DB. He wanted to know if I had heard about Mr. G. I said I had, and we both talked about how the video seems creepy in light of it all, and that posting and tagging people wasn't necessarily the greatest. </p><p>DB was, and is one of my favorites from that era. He was nice to me - a senior, my sister's age - in her homeroom, even. So, you know - we have kept in touch. We decided we should talk more, and about happier things. So that came of it, and is good. Several of the girls tagged have posted and we have given each other heaps of affirmation - so that's good too.</p><p>If I'm being completely honest, it was good to see 1990 era Allison. She looked silly and energized and sublime. I am so proud of her and all she has become. She could have never known that at age 49, she'd come back and check in, thoroughly satisfied.</p><p>She turned out just fine - and a lot more culturally sensitive. Seriously.</p><p><br /></p><p>ae</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>aehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02708941765522865595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4651730481753071084.post-4781048086249911852024-02-29T21:38:00.001-06:002024-03-01T08:29:55.467-06:00Flying Leap<p>You know what I was doing four years ago? It was Sunday. I went to see Pete Buttigieg speak at War Memorial. He would suspend his campaign the next day, just before Super Tuesday, which broke my heart. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO_ISei-lXlj0yfHE4UVHAOZN-zi_foABbXHZRroGIBAClWjUq9nlprqiOGj1xva54o9Iq8WHuELtSUlZJQM3SCiqKL_-YcGFuBRESaf8D2orwch4bkWn4k-nqEr4vtx7nj1h4DXbtP5gJoZ2JwBfaeZkI8bLhWYuUSr9qksInDK5B7pMs51x525sRL4p-/s1480/Screenshot_20240229-162402_Facebook.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1480" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO_ISei-lXlj0yfHE4UVHAOZN-zi_foABbXHZRroGIBAClWjUq9nlprqiOGj1xva54o9Iq8WHuELtSUlZJQM3SCiqKL_-YcGFuBRESaf8D2orwch4bkWn4k-nqEr4vtx7nj1h4DXbtP5gJoZ2JwBfaeZkI8bLhWYuUSr9qksInDK5B7pMs51x525sRL4p-/s320/Screenshot_20240229-162402_Facebook.jpg" width="156" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>We also had a massive tornado on Super Tuesday. Matt and I still went to vote, sadly, not for Pete, but I was still glad to participate in the Primaries.</p><p>Anyway, when I think about that day - that lovely sunny day in late February - I remember it as the last of the good times.</p><p>Sort of. I also remember a trip to Chicago just before my father had a stroke as the last of the good times.</p><p>Which means it's just a marker of a before/after in my life.</p><p>In 2020, there were two really good things that happened - both of them in</p><p>the early months. </p><p>1. Jim and I got to see Hamilton.</p><p>2. The aforementioned Buttigiegery.</p><p>And within a few weeks of the latter, we were plunged into covid times. Pandemic, and isolation, and work from home, and you might as well get comfortable, because for the next year and a half, you're going to be doing just that.</p><p>Early days of the Pandemic were hard, scary, and so boring. I actually missed our last day at work pre-pandemic, to go visit my mother. On my way home, I stopped at a rural Walmart where I bought graham crackers, and toilet paper (not tons, just a pack of it), some meat, hot dogs, I think. Basics. </p><p>And then... it began.</p><p>I'm sad that I missed the last day of normal-ish with my pals. I had to take her to an appointment, I think - that was the whole reason I went down there. I don't remember who. Doesn't matter.</p><p>Anyway. Who knew? Who knew on that bright sunny Sunday where I felt hopeful for the first time in a long time that I was just around the corner from a new kind of hopeless.</p><p>Look - I'm still working through the "new normal". My therapist and I talked about the office closing. I've talked about it with a lot of people. I am still talking. Today, I learned we'll probably be out sooner than October - but late summer/early fall looks to be the target. I talked to some trainers who are moving their classes to Chattanooga. Not really an option for us, but I'm glad for them.</p><p>My point being, there will likely be other times in my life where there's that "best of times/worst of times" schism - and that's OK. Dickens. Charles Dickens. You get the idea.</p><p>I mean, Mayor Pete became Secretary of Transportation Pete - and he and his husband had twin babies, and that's all good stuff. I think he'll be a great leader for years to come.</p><p>And as they sin in La Cage Aux Folles - "the best of times is now."</p><p>I'll check back in four years and let you know.</p>aehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02708941765522865595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4651730481753071084.post-1720034377941732392024-02-27T16:06:00.001-06:002024-02-27T16:06:17.829-06:00They<p>So, we found out last week for real-real that they are closing the Nashville office in October, at which point, I will be a remote employee. Short of moving to Chattanooga (highly improbable), my options are take it or leave it.</p><p>I'm taking it. Although, for the moment, I'm not taking it well. Looks like I'll be storing my dining room table - the one I designed with Dad - and he gifted me for Christmas. It's made from reclaimed barn wood, and makes an excellent table for dining, but not for working. So, my beautiful table has to go - to the attic, maybe the basement - to be determined. </p><p>The rest can stay, well, minus the wine rack and any other spirits we have in there. And there are a few. The china cabinet will become storage for office supplies. There's a spare chair for visitors, though I won't have any - I'll also have to remove the surplus dining room chairs. Another gift from my parents, the year after the table. </p><p>How work/life balance affirming! </p><p>At some point, I may try and make an office up in the attic - it's hot in the summer, cold in winter - but for the six weeks of temperate weather in Nashville, there's not a better place to kill a few hours. I remember one spring, I went up there, laid on the bed under a pile of clothes and let my anxiety about my job (two jobs ago) wash over me like a wave of pure dread. I left that job not long after.</p><p>Good times!</p><p>I seem to have worked my way through denial, bargaining, and most of anger. At this point, I'm ready to take on depression and acceptance. </p><p>But you know, extroverts gotta extro. So, I'm going to have to find a way for my days to include human interaction. Even if it means I walk to a coffee shop every day. Even though I don't really drink coffee. </p><p>Something. I'll figure it out.</p><p>And, I have a few months to get it all sorted. Anything can happen in a six month timespan. We could have another pandemic that can only be cured by being around other people. Wouldn't that be a hoot? </p><p>Unlikely, but a hoot.</p><p>The other thing that's on my mind - only less so, is Mom's 80th birthday. We need to come up with a guest list and some ideas for hors d'oeuvres. The plan is a cocktail party that includes cake and champagne.</p><p>Really, this is mostly an excuse for me to daydream about cake. There was a time when her cake of choice was a caramel cake from Rhodes Bakery. At some point, her boyfriend got her into the very German Black Forest Cake. Once you go Black Forest, apparently.</p><p>Speaking of German, there's always a German Chocolate Cake - not from Germany at all, which isn't really germane.</p><p>If we're having a crowd, hard to go wrong with a sheet cake from Publix. Or if not a crowd, one of their smaller cakes - the Berry Chantilly perhaps.</p><p>Anyway - I like cake - that's the basis of this conversation. Honestly, even our friends at Pepperidge Farm make a great frozen cake - Coconut, Fudge... all winners. </p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj43vbafcRcaoMSuDusEFORCcYQ8WqyJc9sA4GLUKFvRbgfVoX0yrjrRM0Kyo5e_FKZSd_3RJaI16rgxBs8RRet_i7NZhn_niCY5uCMRsvvSvM6fngjGzS1pF2iepuLyVpUL5XZWJcuq0uYoQpSoLgQl2gFj84SFgQrYQrK-Va2jQ5CoS6JZgio_vyRFAba" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="686" data-original-width="922" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj43vbafcRcaoMSuDusEFORCcYQ8WqyJc9sA4GLUKFvRbgfVoX0yrjrRM0Kyo5e_FKZSd_3RJaI16rgxBs8RRet_i7NZhn_niCY5uCMRsvvSvM6fngjGzS1pF2iepuLyVpUL5XZWJcuq0uYoQpSoLgQl2gFj84SFgQrYQrK-Va2jQ5CoS6JZgio_vyRFAba" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">LeMMMMMmmmmon.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></p><p>They make good cookies, too. Brussels are their best.</p><p>Clearly, I need to make and eat dinner. That's my next priority. Thank heavens the depression has not adversely affected my appetite.</p><p>Hang in there, friends.</p><p><br /></p><p>ae</p><p><br /></p>aehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02708941765522865595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4651730481753071084.post-72344010775948639602024-02-23T15:40:00.001-06:002024-02-23T15:40:26.067-06:00Little Egypt<p>Don't blog angry. That's all I am going to say. I had a lot more to say, but nothing good can come of that.</p><p><br /></p><p>But as a personal placeholder to remember what I need to talk about when I am in a better headspace:</p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxM6-hMK2yWBLi7VSR-H8FC7mma0YReS98_uZL3olcnhXp8xYVp8NmUmlV1diTJMNYWiTJuimQ3L8fYjSyltQDbLb7jtMC7qwJv9glU2fa7IqTNfr7iIAf8jMFUOLP2m-U7IKV3_UePpjQEHgA0RvCqByN5q8e1JZnxuo_P-xetAVDXgCUrTNOvVYQ9Icg/s528/legs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="519" data-original-width="528" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxM6-hMK2yWBLi7VSR-H8FC7mma0YReS98_uZL3olcnhXp8xYVp8NmUmlV1diTJMNYWiTJuimQ3L8fYjSyltQDbLb7jtMC7qwJv9glU2fa7IqTNfr7iIAf8jMFUOLP2m-U7IKV3_UePpjQEHgA0RvCqByN5q8e1JZnxuo_P-xetAVDXgCUrTNOvVYQ9Icg/s320/legs.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We accept you.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p>Give me a few days - I'll be fine - I just need to sit with this for a bit.</p><p><br /></p><p>ae</p>aehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02708941765522865595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4651730481753071084.post-80275213733378583502024-02-16T13:13:00.000-06:002024-02-16T13:13:28.594-06:00Gravitas, Agita, and Brio - Attorneys At Law<p>So, we started a new class at work this week - a big one, and there have been a large handful of technology and human complications. It has me feeling really anxious. And I'm not even the facilitator - I'm just back-up.</p><p>With great power comes great responsibility.</p><p>Had a terrific Super Bowl experience. We went to some friends I made through Matt - he made them through work. They are about ten years older than us, but similar in temperament and ideology. Plus, they were making Italian Beef sandwiches, so...</p><p>I made a few chocolate chess pies (one of the host's favorites) and we watched some football - and some golf - sports are sports, yes? It was a great evening. Interesting people there - several work or worked in news. Matt and one of the guys had worked at the same station in Chattanooga a few years apart and had fun talking about people they knew in common. I talked with one of them about the Elvis Costello song Alison, and shows we've seen here in town, and whether he enjoyed interviewing Toby Keith (he did).</p><p>I made some new pals, I had fun doing it, and one of the teams wearing red won the game. The commercials were, for the most part, lame - in my opinion. I still love the ad from 2020, courtesy of Snickers where they postulated that the planet Earth was merely hangry, and could fixed by being fed a Snickers bar.</p><p>So they dug a huge hole and filled it with a giant Snickers bar.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/dKGgKGS2VCQ" width="320" youtube-src-id="dKGgKGS2VCQ"></iframe></div><br /><p></p><p>As someone who loves a good Snickers bar, I have to give that one a thumbs up.</p><p><br /></p><p>Anyway, now that the Super Bowl is over, Fat Tuesday is over. Matt's sister once bought me a shirt from a bar in Mexico called Fat Tuesday's. I wore it to my Weight Watchers weigh-ins, which were, as you might have guessed, on Tuesdays.</p><p>These days, I don't Weight Watch(er). I get on the scale from time to time throughout the week, but certain every Weighinsday - which, you guessed it, happens on Wednesdays.</p><p>I have cut way, way back on sugar, and the results speak for themselves. Granted, they speak quietly. I've dropped maybe four or five pounds this month. I don't know. I'd like to go harder core, but really, I can't handle being constantly hungry. I am eating better, but it's not calorie restriction -it's making better decisions. Maybe that will be enough. Point being, Wednesday was Valentines Day. I celebrated by not doing anything. It works for me.</p><p>Thursday, we voted for the Super Tuesday Primary. That's weeks away, but early voting is just so dadgum easy, why wouldn't we?</p><p>And now, TGIF. I am heading out in the morning to see my mother - my sister is also visiting her. I'm sure it'll be fun.</p><p>Then Tuesday, I head home, by way of Chattanooga for a meeting. Pretty stoked about that. All of it.</p><p><br /></p><p>And before we know it, we're in March, and that's as should be.</p><p><br /></p><p>Where are the snows of yesteryear?</p><p>ae</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>aehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02708941765522865595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4651730481753071084.post-29734116242122830022024-02-07T14:41:00.001-06:002024-02-07T14:41:15.740-06:00Sophisticated<p>Lots to unpack here. It's just a time of year with a lot of activity going on.</p><p>First things first, my request to have my parking ticket dropped was denied, as I figured it would be. I'm going to pay it, call it my idiot tax, and keep on keeping on. That said, the fine people at Metropolis Parking can go park themselves.</p><p>Next. I am trying to avoid sweets as best I can. The easiest way is to remove it from my home. At the moment, we have a few jelly beans at the house - and that's it. That said, there are M&Ms for sale in the breakroom, and I would break into those in a heartbeat. But, I won't. Not for now. The secret, I think, is to tell myself I can have sweets if I want them - and right now, I don't. So it's a "not now" mentality. Delay that gratification, and hold out for the thing you really, really want. Like, a brownie from a box mix, provided the person who made it didn't use the "cake like" instructions. Bastards.</p><p>Now, fruit? I'm all over the fruit. Right now, it's sumo orange time. Technically, according to Mom's boyfriend, they're a tangerine/orange hybrid that took over 30 years to develop. Worth it.</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhc5cZGBpBZ0vvL3Vy0o-VN3AvUuq0dmJ8FOOuF-eYSrRT67WZp9xWtkD18A6ObBde5oqHXK3Oxr-o6VOABwPnQQ9MagYV8Hx59nKySwEl23AbgdLEQGEvgfT32yFiSUv8rn8M2Yg6evNBrErVaYqLLLAheuiDLjIqxUaLrR7XRDcqylAjy0AY3ZqWMau9L" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1097" data-original-width="950" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhc5cZGBpBZ0vvL3Vy0o-VN3AvUuq0dmJ8FOOuF-eYSrRT67WZp9xWtkD18A6ObBde5oqHXK3Oxr-o6VOABwPnQQ9MagYV8Hx59nKySwEl23AbgdLEQGEvgfT32yFiSUv8rn8M2Yg6evNBrErVaYqLLLAheuiDLjIqxUaLrR7XRDcqylAjy0AY3ZqWMau9L" width="208" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">They are also stupidly expensive. Worth it. What I love most about them though is that they are so easy to peel. They're seasonal - I have maybe three or four more weeks of these lovelies, and so for a short window, I'm happy to overspend on them.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Toby Keith died earlier this week - and there's a ton of press about it. Good, and bad. To be fair, his politics and mine are not similar. But I was reading his obit, and a list of his famous songs, and weirdly, I knew a lot of them.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I listened to country music starting the summer before college, then while in college, and for a short time after college. So, I know 90s country. I also know some of the classics because Willie and Patsy and Hank Sr. are all amazing. Also, I live in Nashville, so I learned some by osmosis. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Anyway it turns out I'm kind of a Toby Keith fan? Huh. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now, at Christmas, Matt gave me a DVD of a show from the early 2000s called Wonder Showzen. Apologies if I have mentioned it before. But on one of their episodes, they did a Hee Haw parody called Horse Apples, and in it, there was a country singer by the name Koby Teeth.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And here's a video of that:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Ecn1akK3kVs" width="320" youtube-src-id="Ecn1akK3kVs"></iframe></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div>Meanwhile, the weather here is amazing. We're expecting some rain soon - but that's not a bad thing. Superb Owl is this weekend, and I think we're going to a party. Woo hoo!!!<p></p><p>There's just a lot going on out there. And I feel overwhelmed by it, but I remember I've done more with less - so this is just a cake walk.</p><p><br /></p><p>Sans cake, because, trying to cut back on the sugar.</p><p>So, you know - it's a walk.</p><p><br /></p><p>ae</p><p><br /></p>aehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02708941765522865595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4651730481753071084.post-53712822695462189832024-02-05T09:12:00.000-06:002024-02-05T09:12:50.294-06:00Taxing<p>I have a life concept I call "the idiot tax". It's where I do something dumb that ends up costing me money I didn't want to spent. Typically, it involves a locksmith, or an ER, or a new electronics purchase - you get the idea.</p><p>Right now, I'm stuck in the middle of an idiot tax situation.</p><p>So, Saturday morning, I had an 8:15 appointment to donate blood. It's been a year or so since I've done it, but they finally got me on the phone and I relented. It's not that I mind donating, not at all - but I have been so busy in every other aspect of my life, this was lower on the list.</p><p>Now, they had a hard time hearing my blood pressure, and I was afraid I was going to get booted for it being high - basically, this same thing happens at multiple doctor's offices - they take it on one side, can't hear it. Take it on that side again, can't hear it. Take it once or twice on the other side, can't hear it. Finally another nurse comes in, takes it, hears it and it's high. "Is it always this high?", they ask.</p><p>"Usually only on the fifth time", I reply because my arm hurts and I'm annoyed.</p><p>Anyway, that hurdle cleared, I gave them a pint of my finest, scarfed some Cheez-Its and a juice box, then went on my merry way. I stopped to pick up breakfast for me and my mister - since it was close, I hoped to go to H&S Bagel on 17th. Highly recommended. I parked across the street, and as I was crossing, a group of six came up the sidewalk and entered the building ahead of me. Damn. As they were new to the bagel ordering experience, it took a minute. When the second of the three couples reached the counter, a man at the end of the line handed the guy three bucks and asked if he'd order him a plain pumpernickel because he was in a hurry. Rude. That sounds like a you problem, sir. But they did it, and whatever.</p><p>I got my order - bacon and egg on salt with a side of spicy cream cheese, sesame toasted with olive cream cheese - yes, we like salt. Paid for that, got a coffee for the man, and headed out to my car, which was in the process of being ticketed. Apparently, in all the years I have been getting bagels, I didn't notice that the lot was a pay lot on the weekends (and that actually might be recent, because what are the odds that in all the times I parked, I never looked to see what the payment was?). Now, the lot was completely empty, and I was there for less than 15 minutes, so what harm was I doing, really? I asked the dude to please not ticket me, but he told me that it had already been electronically submitted and it was out of his hands. So I took the ticket, and shoved it in my pocket, and took my bagels home.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhSQ76Suz_HC6g5BJrVpgrDB1jQVO4QJo1ZK6cs9U2lUPtZRYpcd_JUqFODtbKi3xguE8kRZ1XpuPkwjjHsVUq60VsPdYzaYuJuFOFQEOy8qZM2Ma_mQ1zBBDtGH5pwmoyDue2l1IcS0gpKXlmLTuz7t493eH0ZYDMYk6kpkREJUJmc-07-KnNK0BbMWsUK" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1861" data-original-width="4024" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhSQ76Suz_HC6g5BJrVpgrDB1jQVO4QJo1ZK6cs9U2lUPtZRYpcd_JUqFODtbKi3xguE8kRZ1XpuPkwjjHsVUq60VsPdYzaYuJuFOFQEOy8qZM2Ma_mQ1zBBDtGH5pwmoyDue2l1IcS0gpKXlmLTuz7t493eH0ZYDMYk6kpkREJUJmc-07-KnNK0BbMWsUK=w400-h185" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Metropolis-powered? Fight the power!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>I have submitted a request to have it waived - I should have mentioned I was down a pint of blood, having just left the Red Cross, but I don't think that would have mattered. I am waiting a reply, but I am completely certain I'll be paying a fine.</p><p>And you may wonder, what's the going rate on a parking ticket in Nashville these days? Well this one is $85. Yeah. I was just as surprised as you might be. </p><p>Anyway, that's my idiot tax. </p><p>The bagels, for what it's worth, were delicious.</p><p>And I donated blood. According to the Red Cross, I've donated seven gallons. Which, if you imagine seven jugs of milk, is a lot. Or ice cream, or whatever you like. It's not a tank of gas, but it's a lot of blood.</p><p>I started donating when I was seventeen, so, really - if I were a steady donor, I'd be way over that by now. But there were my years of deferral because of anemia (turns out if you have a heavy period, it can make you slightly anemic). And years of laziness.</p><p>Anyway, that's that. I don't even have a bruise - the gal that stabbed me did a good job - even if she couldn't hear my blood pressure.</p><p>It's February, which is a short month. You still have to pay for a full month of internet, even though you get stiffed a few days. Oh well.</p><p>I managed to get through most of January without a lot of sweets. I think it's knowing that if I really, really want something, I can make the decision to have it, but I don't HAVE TO HAVE IT, but I have that safety net that says, BUT IT'S NOT FORBIDDEN...</p><p>Anyway, there's that. </p><p>Beyond that, onward and upward. I'll keep you posted on my parking debacle.</p><p>And if I don't have to pay it - I may just go early one Saturday to go buy all the pumpernickel so Mr. Late and Important doesn't get one.</p><p>Yeah, that's a plan.</p><p><br /></p><p>ae</p>aehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02708941765522865595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4651730481753071084.post-88081418656466278022024-01-24T10:39:00.001-06:002024-01-24T11:20:14.086-06:00Spiral Unbound<p>I spent last weekend cleaning out my Mother's attic. It was painful in every sense of the word. </p><p>First of all, my Mom's house was boiling - 78 degrees when I got there - I managed to bump it down to 74 eventually, but still very warm. The attic, on the other hand, was cold. And that was fine. But I kept popping between hot and cold, and my body was really confused. </p><p>The attic itself was very dirty, and full of cobwebs, etc. Then I started kicking up dust. I spent a lot of time in awkward hunched over postures, on my knees, carrying heavy, sharp, bulky, dirty boxes, bins, etc. down a ladder. I ended up taking a misstep off the ladder once and landed on the ground. Thankfully, it was a short fall. I have bruises and scrapes, and I'm finally not that sore.</p><p>And of course, sorting through 50 plus years of emotional debris is, as you can imagine, hard. I got rid of things that a more clever woman could clean up and sell on eBay or Facebook Marketplace. I don't have that kind of time, space, or energy. I did open each box to ascertain the contents - mostly so I could know how heavy, fragile, etc. the box was. Namely, could I throw it down, or did I have to carry it? Hint, I did way more carrying than throwing. Both my bassinet and sister's crib were still up there. Whyyyyyy?</p><p>I also wanted to make sure that there weren't any huge boxes full of money, gold ingots, rubies... there were not.</p><p>But here's what there was. One box was full of detritus from my middle school and high school years. I knew I needed to be mindful of what I kept, so I didn't get too deep into the box. I took three things. A script I wrote for Odyssey of the Mind in 1991ish. A quiz I failed in AP US History. A letter.</p><p>The script was just nostalgia. I'm still friends with everyone who was on that team - at least, Facebook - they live all over the world these days. Just saying. The quiz, on which I made a 20, I kept because I gave a super smart ass, but also funny response on one of the questions - I attributed the growth in population during a specific timeframe to "long, boring winters". Wrong, but not without some merit. I posted it on Facebook, tagged Dr. Terry, who gave us the quiz, and we all got a good laugh at my foolishness.</p><p>But it's really the letter I want to talk about.</p><p>Once upon a time, in Middle School, I made a friend. We were, I think, in the same home room? If not the same "pod". Like, in 6th grade, we had A, B, C, D pods - and each pod had 2 or three classes. So I was in 6B-2. 7th, I think was 7C-1, and I think 8th was 8C-2 - look, I don't really remember, but Jonathan was in 6B... something. We ended up in nearly every class together and frankly, at the time, I had a huge crush on him. I don't believe he ever crushed on me. I knew the girls he liked, and they were nothing like me. But we became friends, due to exposure and proximity in alphabet, and similar mindset. </p><p>Over the years, my crushes would wax and wane, but I grew to love Jonathan. Mostly in a brotherhood-of-man way. I ended up dating one of his older brother's best friends (and his friend as well), and that probably killed any chance of being anything other than a friend. He kissed my cheek once, another time, I bit his kneecap. In terms of physical affection, that was it.</p><p>But I adored him. He got me into Odyssey of the Mind. He called me one night and asked if I wanted to go to Iowa. That's where the OM championships were held that year, had we won. Spoiler alert - we didn't get to Iowa. I have been since then, and it was worth the wait.</p><p>Anyway - in the summer between our Sophomore and Junior year, Jonathan went to Governor's Honors Program - a summer-long session at a college at Valdosta State offered to rising Juniors and Seniors who were gifted in a specific subject - they could spend the summer in classes and surrounded by other excellent students. I applied twice, rejected twice. It's fine. These things happen. But Jonathan got in on his first attempt, in art. He was, and is, a gifted artist.</p><p>Anyway, the letter arrived at some point after July 4th, but before school started - so, who knows? </p><p>The letter was at the very top of the box, and I knew who had written it as soon as I saw it. His handwriting was distinctive, and apparently, my brain stored that font. It is not a love letter. It is a letter of love, sort of. It is written on a Sunday, over a period of fits and starts throughout the day. He talks about showering and eating breakfast, paining and . Concerts, jam sessions. At one point, he comes back having just attended a seminar about date rape, where he tells me that 88% of men surveyed said they'd enjoy raping someone. He talks about meeting the governor, Zell Miller, who liked his paintings.</p><p>He calls me his comrade and close friend. He refers to a letter I wrote him where I talk about some July 4th thing that I did. I'm almost certain we went to a party at my parents' friends parents house. I was certainly working at Harry's - he references it. He tells me I'm a creative-minded person - like him. We clearly have some history, and he cares enough to tell me what's going on with him, and wants to catch up on my summer when he gets home. The end of the letter has been eaten by time, silverfish, etc. So it ends abruptly by default.</p><p>Jonathan and I were in classes together for all of HS. He was an artist, I was a writer. He ended up at Columbia - (a definite f*** you to the fact that all his older siblings went to Princeton), where he studied art. He lives in New York city now. He married a dancer - they're both professional artists. No kids, at least, to my knowledge. His big project at the moment is that he uses the digital billboards in the city - the ones in the subway, etc. to display political messages:</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhgizNWoxdjB3uVq95_VRq8HXputECAy2iBQStJKlzfbG_z7flYzYzC2mVS8BKAGRk8myFA3qYgdJrffNNHojpkzzJcJ42iOgbLj4DWPq9nDfPu1dvUqVG4g7GYMU0D2f1CUrHVRvJPvnm5SU_szYpwHwo20PbgqxvfaMXaKped4GwaBmeKvmRX1A54sVHJ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1480" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhgizNWoxdjB3uVq95_VRq8HXputECAy2iBQStJKlzfbG_z7flYzYzC2mVS8BKAGRk8myFA3qYgdJrffNNHojpkzzJcJ42iOgbLj4DWPq9nDfPu1dvUqVG4g7GYMU0D2f1CUrHVRvJPvnm5SU_szYpwHwo20PbgqxvfaMXaKped4GwaBmeKvmRX1A54sVHJ=w312-h640" width="312" /></a></div><p><br /></p>He uses a dark film with transparent lettering to place over the screens - this is an example.<p></p><p>Anyway - those were the three things I kept - it was hard to get rid of scripts, sheet music, and dozens of things I didn't even look at. But it's good to be me, to be alive, to have an interesting past, and to be loved.</p><p>And it's good to have the attic cleaned out.</p><p>That's the big one.</p><p>ae</p>aehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02708941765522865595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4651730481753071084.post-71591640351784961362024-01-17T14:48:00.000-06:002024-01-17T14:48:19.950-06:00Ice Age<p>It is currently 19 degrees Fahrenheit here in Nashville. When I woke up, it was 1. So it's balmy in comparison.</p><p>We got about eight inches of snow on Sunday and Monday. It hasn't been above freezing. The main roads are in decent shape, the side roads are basically ice at this point.</p><p>Tomorrow, it gets above freezing for a bit, and I intend to make the best of that by going to Atlanta. I had a trip to Chattanooga stashed in there, but the in-person meeting is now all-virtual. And that's fine. Really. Because I don't want to have to get dressed and go into the office when it's this cold. Who does?</p><p>I barely want to get out of bed. I had to wash my hair this morning - it was unavoidable. And that was painful. Also, my skin feels like sandpaper. I wish I felt like a lizard. I wish at the moment, I was a lizard staying warm on a rock in Mexico. Or somewhere tropical. Even a heated rock in a pet store would work.</p><p>Not to put too fine a point on it - I'm cold.</p><p>And that's been my entire preoccupation for the past few days. Remind me of this come July when I am whining about the heat. Though I do find going from hot to cool is a faster transition that cold to warm. That's just my observation.</p><p>Anyway, everyone talks about the weather, nobody does anything about it. So true, so true.</p><p>In other news, we just finished a limited animated series called Carol and the End of the World. Netflix. It was, as the name may indicate, depressing. Basically, a woman with a dull life decides to spend the remaining months before the earth is destroyed by a meteor working in an office building at a job known as "the distraction". The other people working there, like her, need some sort of way to cope with the spectre of death looming over them. They come into this office. There she befriends two colleagues, and intermittent hilarity ensues.</p><p>There are some subplots - her parents and their throuple partner, Michael, take a cruise that looks like it's going to end in disaster, but is miraculously saved. Her sister Elena visits and they go camping. She has a one night stand with a man who is falling apart. There's an episode with him and his son that is one of the best of the series. There's one entire episode committed to the backstory of a lie that Carol is telling her parents.</p><p>It's bleak. We both watched it and talked about it, poking holes in plot here and there. I think it's a good parallel of how some people coped with the pandemic, but it's your basic endtimes dramedy.</p><p>To that point, the Emmys just came and went. I didn't watch a ton of the stuff up for awards, but I will say this. I watched season one of The Bear. It's not a comedy. It's a drama with some comedic elements. But it's not a comedy. I can only think of one scene where I laughed, and that's when they were at a kids' birthday party and managed to spike the punch with some sort of medication - all the kids were asleep and sprawled out on the floor. And that's some pretty dark humor, folks.</p><p>But the Emmy people know what they know, and so it's the Best Comedy. </p><p>I will say, I'm a fan of Quinta Brunson and Abbott Elementary. Maybe I'm a fan because it's such an underdog - network show, network restrictions. But it's a wholesome show, a workplace comedy where the kids are incidental. I have had colleagues like hers. All of them, over a period of years. It's a funny little show with some heart.</p><p>Sometimes, I realize I'm just getting old. I miss network sitcoms, working in an office with other people. Department stores. Real, mailed letters. Bookstores, department stores (with real inventory). Look, I'm not saying everything was better once upon a time, but...some of it was.</p><p>I dream of cherry pie, candy bars and chocolate chip cookies, as the Talking Heads might say.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgkwWaQn6lmkNijqolP3dZOKzezcIgAN7oktE8_-bi4T3XIpAsEzgWwS8HYrT3m7OFKAbtw12-X1paixUHipMrnl3VcZbBPGGneDkO-EwaDjV93WtOJUVGLVPtESOxV6AT6f1BqYdQKsAfV_6bQdufeKGePx_PxrlNi332dUFPS2rB4_XMefHuBdkLnh1cq" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="302" data-original-width="402" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgkwWaQn6lmkNijqolP3dZOKzezcIgAN7oktE8_-bi4T3XIpAsEzgWwS8HYrT3m7OFKAbtw12-X1paixUHipMrnl3VcZbBPGGneDkO-EwaDjV93WtOJUVGLVPtESOxV6AT6f1BqYdQKsAfV_6bQdufeKGePx_PxrlNi332dUFPS2rB4_XMefHuBdkLnh1cq=w376-h283" width="376" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>Weirdly, though - I'm not currently jonesing for sugar - there are a number of reasons, many of them are dumb, but mostly because in cold weather, I want carbs, yes - but I want salty carbs. Bean and ham soup, stew, mashed potatoes. Grits. I am a grits-seeking missile.</p><p>That's all I have, though. It's cold. It'll be cold for awhile, and then, suddenly, it won't.</p><p>ae</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>aehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02708941765522865595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4651730481753071084.post-83765721748812333392024-01-11T10:24:00.001-06:002024-01-11T10:24:49.501-06:00That's It And That's All<p>Well, almost half-way through January, and the rest of the month seems to be moving like a freight train through a small town.</p><p>I have set a date, or at the very least, had it set for me, to go see my mother next week. I was kind of hoping to put it off another week, but it's not happening that way. And that's OK. The big plan of the weekend is to get her attic cleared out. They're going to come seal it up really well, and deal with some critters that are getting in. <br /></p><p>Thankfully, there isn't a lot up there. Some boxes, a few old kiddie sized rocking chairs, a large basket, and my baby bassinette. That's the one that I think my mother might find tough to part with - but realistically, nobody wants a 50 year old murder crib. I mean, even charities won't take bassinettes, even if they were brought over from France by your late grandmother. Au revoir, les enfants. The other thing that may be a challenge is her cape that she received upon graduating from nursing school. It has apparently been chewed and befouled - I will try and remove it without her seeing it. My feeling is, were it that important, you would have not thrown it in the attic. Oh well.</p><p>That said, it'll be at least 1 truckload, and gross work, but I will handle it. And then, we'll go do something fun. Whatever that looks like.</p><p>Here's the challenge. My mother's memory is getting worse. She knows who we are. She knows where she is. But she cannot retain anything you tell her, really. I spoke with her yesterday, and told her I was coming to see her, and when. And then a minute later, she asked if I was planning to come to see her any time soon. Apparently, after we left from our Christmas visit, she asked my sister if "that couple" was still there. That's one of her coping techniques if she forgets a name. Matt is often "your husband". The bigger issue is that she calls several times a day, having seen her recent call log and mistakenly thinking we have called her, and she is returning that call. Bless her heart, as we say.</p><p>And bless ours, while you're at it.</p><p>Meanwhile, it's winter in Nashville, which mostly means dark, but could also mean warm, or cold. Sun? Sure. Or blizzard, tornado, frogs falling from the sky. Winter in the south is just weird, y'all.</p><p>Onto another topic. Dream interpretation. Who decides what things mean in dreams? </p><p>The other night, I dreamed I was in my childhood bedroom, and there was a massive praying mantis on the lampshade. Turns out, that symbolizes a need for peace and calm in a turbulent time. Or, it might mean that I am dealing with someone who is unsupportive. Or being faced with an unbearable dilemma or inevitability. Well, there's that. </p><p>The night before last, I dreamt that my mother had an orange cat that was quite the hunter, and I watched it eviscerate a mouse. Apparently, that might mean I have the illusion that things are safer and more under control than they are.</p><p>I don't know how much stock I put into either of those interpretations. I know that I was watching a video about a pair of orange kittens just before I went to bed. I know that we're dealing with my mother's critter issue. I think that sometimes dreams are just your brain defragging after a day full of input.</p><p>I have no idea about the mantis, but that's as good a guess as any. </p><p>So, Tom Smothers died right after Christmas, which, any good PR person knows is that the worst time to die, because it's too late to get into the "In Memoriam" pieces that litter the airwaves and websites. And then, there's the whole New Year thing and Bowl Games. It's a terrible time if you want to be recognized.</p><p>But I loved Tom Smothers. Obviously, I enjoyed The Smothers Brothers TV show- both the old one that I watched, on, I guess, Nick at Night, but then again when they revived it for a year in the late 80s. </p><p>But my favorite Tom Smothers performance was easily a solo he played on one of my favorite albums:</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSNaBVbhtgL3x1eIfl592IRRDGIKMslQxWBOOiQnuGdaCvTYY7pJuzidQ8Ghjyhcl0JD_RtzTqLU-LJscchsAkvMWsmVoxK36ohmnwupASEgcRFD7feRUucsLSiNXAmUhYO2GRm2Wvpym6yVAlFjpGq62hDFzPn2OiKGhJwIGa3Tjpmyxjo8OWL1j1bmZw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="220" data-original-width="220" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSNaBVbhtgL3x1eIfl592IRRDGIKMslQxWBOOiQnuGdaCvTYY7pJuzidQ8Ghjyhcl0JD_RtzTqLU-LJscchsAkvMWsmVoxK36ohmnwupASEgcRFD7feRUucsLSiNXAmUhYO2GRm2Wvpym6yVAlFjpGq62hDFzPn2OiKGhJwIGa3Tjpmyxjo8OWL1j1bmZw=w400-h400" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>It's one of the shorter songs on the album, called The Helping Song. The last line of this little ditty:</p><p>"Some kinds of help are the kinds of help that helping's all about. And some kinds of help are the kind of help we all can do without."</p><p>Well, anyway - one of the local radio stations was playing some Smothers material last week on my way into work. I heard a song I'd only read about - Waist Deep In The Big Muddy. It's an anti-war song, but it's really about using common sense and not following authority blindly.</p><p>What can I say - I do love a good folk song.</p><p>There's more in this world to enjoy than not. I guess that's kind of my whole point of this post - even if it started out kind of cranky.</p><p><br /></p><p>ae</p><p><br /></p>aehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02708941765522865595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4651730481753071084.post-71922518332255903042024-01-05T08:42:00.000-06:002024-01-05T08:42:26.604-06:00Wolcum Yole!<p>And a happy 2024 everyone.</p><p>The holidays are basically over - we already took the lights down from the front porch, though - I loved their cheery glow, so I wasn't entirely ready to kick them to the curb - but it's done.</p><p>That, in a nutshell, is the hardest part about the new year - once all the celebrating is done, it's over - and you have that semi-long, semi-hard slog through what's left of winter, which is only about eight - ten weeks, but feels interminable.</p><p>So, as you may recall, or maybe not - either way, I try to come up with a word each year to keep in mind when I am dealing with hard times or challenges, or just need a little boost.</p><p>Last year, the word was "order". Which I chose because it has so many nuances and meaning. Did I achieve order? That's a big old nope. In fact, it was a pretty chaotic year for a lot of reasons. But I got through the year, and that's enough.</p><p>And that brings me, ironically, to this year's word: Enough.</p><p style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL223QjtKcYuTJK9FuWnZDWP4Xz7qBAhJGSrG7UO5vRlPZBRcAj54oj-E4pbNiC4p1S8hG8kcnwPlMzKlXwmZGXLk2rPekAU7hxsuS4Iyw-KPhNAIlj8j6zAQ1vDeO-xHfNe4ARWsgPEIUynj8-Xdza9BRFKACIbIIjay5lqqqkXp6Tu8WBx5xnCSgPqj2/s615/enough.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="502" data-original-width="615" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL223QjtKcYuTJK9FuWnZDWP4Xz7qBAhJGSrG7UO5vRlPZBRcAj54oj-E4pbNiC4p1S8hG8kcnwPlMzKlXwmZGXLk2rPekAU7hxsuS4Iyw-KPhNAIlj8j6zAQ1vDeO-xHfNe4ARWsgPEIUynj8-Xdza9BRFKACIbIIjay5lqqqkXp6Tu8WBx5xnCSgPqj2/w375-h306/enough.jpg" width="375" /></a></p><p><br /></p><p>This is another one with a lot of nuance. It is used to indicate a state that dances the line between a skosh past scarcity, and a skosh before satiation. You could want more, you could do with a little less - but enough is fine. </p><p>There's also the use where you aren't going to take something any more, and you say, "Enough!" - it's a declaration of done, so to speak.</p><p>It's a statement of being satisfied with where you are and what you have, and those are a good places to be. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP1G6kc1P6XgCzM-jhwdyVYpOgzZ5NL5MWX3g4N1KR8ztGTm7ZHFYUZzkW0tR9es5U9-ZAfBqS8HxSznebt31bjKGH9FwF3D_EIznrXQ01Ujsavgezd8Us6ZsGoDWzOOM5Ee8KpjvqPi7Ozv4vyZVq7VHuyyozc8JLsu1EiRQPolLj4kyNNdZ4PfPrZ-my/s750/nough.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="750" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP1G6kc1P6XgCzM-jhwdyVYpOgzZ5NL5MWX3g4N1KR8ztGTm7ZHFYUZzkW0tR9es5U9-ZAfBqS8HxSznebt31bjKGH9FwF3D_EIznrXQ01Ujsavgezd8Us6ZsGoDWzOOM5Ee8KpjvqPi7Ozv4vyZVq7VHuyyozc8JLsu1EiRQPolLj4kyNNdZ4PfPrZ-my/s320/nough.webp" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">You get the idea.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So, it's already been a challenging year, five days in. Mom had to make the hard decision to euthanize her beloved pug, Maggie. Maggie was 16. She was blind, diabetic, and starting to experience pain, so it was the right move. That doesn't make it easier. Her boyfriend's son helped her bury Maggie next to The Dude in the back yard, and that's hard. They sent pictures. And video. I won't subject you to either. Instead, here's a picture of young, sweet Maggie and Dude.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjvVWBwviBb64L_d-1breyMHrYPiMGymJkxcSMfczRLri8ob3iamTQPmwqyMbKNB4Ttq4px5Yvee5c8g0p3UHwxEVNdv9TT1p0XN2rxNoKZk_hyCqXR_-bRpKFzwi4zw5n5qhWrlsIKsn36Cr_dLjudPzqLi9SWY3hDCDM-pzfVtZHBjWBoViPaM0dO_kON" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="1053" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjvVWBwviBb64L_d-1breyMHrYPiMGymJkxcSMfczRLri8ob3iamTQPmwqyMbKNB4Ttq4px5Yvee5c8g0p3UHwxEVNdv9TT1p0XN2rxNoKZk_hyCqXR_-bRpKFzwi4zw5n5qhWrlsIKsn36Cr_dLjudPzqLi9SWY3hDCDM-pzfVtZHBjWBoViPaM0dO_kON=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dude is on the left, Maggie is on the right.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The first week of the year is always a challenge at work - working out the kinks. We're in the home stretch, though.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Well, for now. I guess that's....</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">enough.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">ae</div><p></p>aehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02708941765522865595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4651730481753071084.post-53480932147305490652023-12-15T15:40:00.001-06:002023-12-15T15:40:28.675-06:00Then there's now.<p>I don't generally get weepy about celebrities dying. But every now and then, one kind of catches me by surprise.</p><p>My first exposure to Andre Braugher was shortly after Matt and I got married. Matt found the entire series of Homicide on DVD at Costco. We bought it, and within a few months, basically inhaled it, bit by bit.</p><p>Matt watched it when it aired originally. It was a series that never really gained the audience it might otherwise have under different circumstances. I believe that if it were to air today in the era of streaming, it might have the same trajectory of The Wire - same creator, for what it's worth.</p><p>The star power was massive. Yaphet Kotto, Melissa Leo, Ned Beatty, Richard Belzer, Jon Polito.</p><p>Andre Braugher played lone wolf Baltimore Police Detective Frank Pembleton. He's paired with new guy, Kyle Secor's Tim Bayliss.</p><p>Every character on there is weird and quirky and human. And that was part of why after a few seasons, some of the less attractive characters were retired, killed off, etc. in favor of some hotter, younger, sexier characters. </p><p>I personally got enough eye candy from Braugher and Secor.</p><p>But Andre Braugher just killed it on that show. He was a force. </p><p>After that, he briefly appeared with Ray Romano on a cable dram-com called Men of a Certain Age.</p><p>And then, he ended up on this little gem called Brooklyn 99. In a seriocomic role that basically stole the damn show. This time, he was the police captain. He was lovely. That whole cast was fun. I watched sporadically, but now I need to go back again and watch it all.</p><p>Anyway, I once said I'd watch Andre Braugher read a phone book - he had that deep actor voice that just hit you in the gut.</p><p>Sixty-one. Lung cancer.</p><p>This one really bummed me out.</p><p><br /></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjciIU2Knvf8hD91LpFuCLZrMvcOK6d2OuP_boPQLSFd8K2eHoWxQIb1gmOyoeWlD335eVVd2FtHljZzorxvey-nTbd0WhKM2BNL2wcwYlfo1mC7sKLNlN9vPAOuTknUJqeH2O0ncwiAR4fhlQ0OX7Z_sRdNGUk3yaMwWK15IDGFxQaIJp72Jpbl3OtGhll" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="669" data-original-width="800" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjciIU2Knvf8hD91LpFuCLZrMvcOK6d2OuP_boPQLSFd8K2eHoWxQIb1gmOyoeWlD335eVVd2FtHljZzorxvey-nTbd0WhKM2BNL2wcwYlfo1mC7sKLNlN9vPAOuTknUJqeH2O0ncwiAR4fhlQ0OX7Z_sRdNGUk3yaMwWK15IDGFxQaIJp72Jpbl3OtGhll" width="287" /></a></td></tr></tbody></table></p><span style="color: #767676; font-family: inherit; font-size: small; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.02em;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.02em;"> Andre Braugher as Det. Frank Pembleton of </span><em style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; font-weight: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.02em; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Homicide: Life on the Street</em></div></span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span aria-label="Image credit" class="credit" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #767676; display: block; font-family: NPRSans, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-size: 1rem; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; letter-spacing: 0.02em; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: start; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Chris Haston/NBC/NBCU Photo Bank</span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>aehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02708941765522865595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4651730481753071084.post-50735612422299531422023-12-11T08:00:00.000-06:002023-12-11T08:00:16.803-06:00It Sounds Better That WayIn French, a heart attack is a<i> crise cardiac </i>which literally means cardiac crisis, which is a little more passive than an attack, but I think it works. <div><br /></div><div>Attack is just so violent, don't you think?</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, I was thinking about panic attacks which is what got me typing. It being that most wonderful time of the year, I'm starting to feel anxious about a lot of things. Time, temperature, rainfall, finances, present purchases, that last small batch of Christmas cards I need to send out but had been waiting on address updates. My lab results.</div><div><br /></div><div>On that last one - I did an at home biometric screening to get a break on my insurance - the company let us do them by mail, and that was nice. I bled on a test strip, let it dry, then mailed it. I got the results this morning, and let's just go ahead and say it - if I were a report card, someone would be getting grounded. I mean, my good cholesterol is good - my other cholesterol is bad, as are my triglycerides, as is my blood sugar.</div><div><br /></div><div>Here's the good news. I have a physical in a month with my PCP - and that's when the real numbers come in. I have to think a few tubes full of good, fresh, wet blood has to be more accurate than the stick, squeeze, seal, stamp and send method.</div><div><br /></div><div>I know I'm still a walking timebomb, I just think I'm less likely to detonate than you might imagine.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEisz9roLxakP4HwUxpO2pCprVH8JCZP3zRGY7nQDR30dFKm5IFyqi9ETxcDhCR0VfzfOQE5S43Of62dO2v61mPVneEpJ7DwSNt6jO3fmzulx2OhQugt-8Bwj3kM-RbJoQ5E62Nqpe1bVWa1RfX-cFi_x33BAbgXmgz3f3GhHJ92BNJe6bbMGD1PyXlSmt06" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEisz9roLxakP4HwUxpO2pCprVH8JCZP3zRGY7nQDR30dFKm5IFyqi9ETxcDhCR0VfzfOQE5S43Of62dO2v61mPVneEpJ7DwSNt6jO3fmzulx2OhQugt-8Bwj3kM-RbJoQ5E62Nqpe1bVWa1RfX-cFi_x33BAbgXmgz3f3GhHJ92BNJe6bbMGD1PyXlSmt06" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Or not. Maybe I'm in bad enough shape that they'll want me to take Wegovy, or Mounjaro, or Ozempic... and then I'll drop a few pounds, and put this runaway train in reverse? Or at the very least, hit the brakes.</div><div><br /></div><div>We'll see. Regardless - I do need to get my shit together. </div><div><br /></div><div>And that's only one branch of panic. The other one is that I have two weeks, give or take, to put together some training material to complete a two-day intensive class for a topic that is one of my weakest points. Not saying I can't do it. I'll crush it - because that's the whole plan. I hope. Wish me luck. And a miracle.</div><div><br /></div><div>I used this weekend to recuperate from last weekend. Thursday, we had an early alarm because I took Matt to have a ganglion removed from his foot. I myself went to the urologist Tuesday to review test results - they're going to check my thyroid "just in case" - but other than that, they want me to go get a kidney/ureters/bladder x-ray in a year. Sounds good to me. I'd be stunned if my thyroid were anything other than fine. I would love to blame all my problems on mechanical failure, but what are the odds?</div><div><br /></div><div>Because they had to suture his foot, the mister is staying off of his feet for a few days. Which means I'm the one doing the schlepping - and that's fine. It helped give me the space to make pepper jelly over the weekend. It looks like it is going to set up really nicely.</div><div><br /></div><div>I also need to get on the ball with Christmas. I need gifts for my direct reports, two or possibly three dirty Santa gifts. Something for the nephew, something for my sister and brother-in-law. And Mom. And... you get the idea. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's the most wonderful time of the year.</div><div><br /></div><div>ae</div>aehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02708941765522865595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4651730481753071084.post-6206127954999678842023-12-06T12:01:00.002-06:002023-12-06T12:01:46.142-06:00Wonderful!<p>Our trip to California was a massive success. As much as I fretted about cramming into the plane, it went totally fine. We had a quick turn in Atlanta on the flight out, but ultimately, we arrived in time to meet my sister and brother-in-law for lunch at the Millbrae Pancake House near the airport. If you're ever in San Francisco - they're the best pancakes I've ever eaten. And I've eaten a lot of pancakes.</p><p>After that, we made the long and winding journey to the motel in Inverness about an hour and a half away. We took the Seacoast Highway - which was lovely. We saw all kinds of gorgeous seascapes, mountains, flora and fauna. The funniest was a pair of coyote, one of whom was pooping. They looked at us like, "Take a picture - it'll last longer!"</p><p>Our motel was charming - there's a large common lodge at check-in that featured a pool table and a deck to the bay, where you could birdwatch. The owners upgraded our room for the weekend. It was lovely, and we had a little deck of our own which had a hummingbird feeder. There, we watched a bunch of Anna's Hummingbirds divebomb us and each other in pursuit of their dinner.</p><p>Now, the purpose of this trip wasn't just birds and pancakes - we were there for our friend Suzie's wedding.</p><p>We met Suzie and her bride, Beverlee as well as some of their friends and family at a little cafe for dinner. I had a goat cheese and beet salad, having partaken of a large omelet and pancakes for lunch. Matt had some mussels in a coconut curry sauce. We were both quite happy. But the main event was all the people. Parents, siblings, in-laws, friends... we met a bunch of them. We stayed at the cafe so long we greeted some late arrivals - Iris, Laurie, and Robert. We found out that Iris was staying at the same hotel as we were, but had ridden with Laurie and Robert so we gave her our info so that she'd have a way to get places. We called it No Iris Left Behind. </p><p>We slept like dead people, and got up the next morning. Iris, Matt and I went into town to have breakfast at a bakery they had recommended, called Brickfire Maiden - I bought us all breakfast - basically ordered a little of everything, plus coffees. Then we did a little tour of downtown Point Reyes Station - walked into the shops. I got my daily Coke Zero.</p><p>The wedding started at one, but Matt wanted to take photos at the beach, so we went back to the hotel, got dressed and went to the beach. I put my feet in the ocean - it was cold, but not miserable. It was actually warm, and the sun was out.</p><p>The wedding was perfection - the actual ceremony was mere minutes. It was performed by a man who owns a distillery and was ordained online. There was a warm-up from their yoga instructor that ran a few minutes. Robert had gone to the beach early to reserve our spot. He set up an altar with driftwood and a blanket. It was really gorgeous and happy. I cried early and often. I'm a sucker for a good wedding. </p><p>The reception was held at the home of a friend - the husband works in music production - he and Matt had a great conversation. I had a great time talking with one of Beverlee's in-laws who works in the promotions department at Fox. Like, the network. Loved talking television with him.</p><p>I met Suzie's tennis partner, who, though in her sixties, looked like she could kick ass and take names. Her name was June. Then I met Liz who does interior landscaping for commercial spaces. She and June learned that they were from the same obscure Long Island town. </p><p>There were Morgan, Ella, and their baby Mabel, who was luminous. The kid smiled and took it all in the whole time. </p><p>Dan met Iris, Laurie, and Suzie in Mississippi. He's originally from India and is thinking of moving to Murfreesboro. </p><p>We met Suzie's sister-in-law, father and step-mother, Beverlee's father and step-mother, plus her step-father, his new wife and their son. </p><p>There are others, I won't beleaguer you with all that.</p><p>The people were amazing. Then there was the food.</p><p>Suzie is a vegan who will occasionally bend for cheese. Beverlee will eat a little chicken. They hired a woman who did things with kabocha squash that elevated it to a new level. There were soup shooters garnished with a garlic/nut crunch. Corn zucchini fritters, chicken bbq sliders, tempura kabocha with chili oil. Biscuits with honey butter or pimiento cheese. A mezze board with olives, pita bread, and all the dips. Hummus, some kind of beet dip - I honestly didn't even get that far into the dips.</p><p>They had a bar set up - beer, wine, and a specialty cocktail - a quasi-portmanteau of Beverlee and Suzie:</p><p>The Boozie</p><p>It was ginger beer, whiskey of some sort, basil and balsamic vinegar - shaken/served with a giant ice cube. </p><p>Iris and Matt were our designated drinkers. Me, I am a designated driver type - so I opted for their non-alcoholic option. A strawberry kombucha which I cut with sparkling water.</p><p>All that kabocha and kombucha - my gut biome was fabulous. </p><p>The cake came from a San Francisco bakery called Miette - the Tomboy Cake:</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgyiUG79Ak7FzRly3xEcpy2sinJU8rWaF7vF1x1jD2nA5O4QFiL6E169usyz_rPoSnW16VFfUZAPmYEbll99Q_gxepGTj1zeZZHVepFT4TFCcZA94-TgDHLyrFXDmw8_Rx8jrBiMZ8I8oBXEwxbOB9ZofQM-JOHiPMRcpkxQAtOlClL0BYZ7spPLJ5AGUb9" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="542" data-original-width="542" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgyiUG79Ak7FzRly3xEcpy2sinJU8rWaF7vF1x1jD2nA5O4QFiL6E169usyz_rPoSnW16VFfUZAPmYEbll99Q_gxepGTj1zeZZHVepFT4TFCcZA94-TgDHLyrFXDmw8_Rx8jrBiMZ8I8oBXEwxbOB9ZofQM-JOHiPMRcpkxQAtOlClL0BYZ7spPLJ5AGUb9" width="240" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>It was all some of the best food I've eaten. I thanked the chef and her assistant. I thanked the host and hostess. </p><p>It was a beautiful and affirming night. We ate and grazed and talked. </p><p>When the party ended, some of us went to the bar - the only bar - in Point Reyes. That's when my stamina started to flag. I sat and watched the partiers dance to a great band called The Receders. My sister sent a text inviting us to see them at their house before we flew out the next morning - noting that my nephew thought it would "be sick" to see us. Say less.</p><p>Matt, Iris, and I went back to the hotel and crashed. Iris was going to borrow Suzie's car for the remainder of her trip. We were all set. The next day, we left to see Tom, Laura and Henry. We saw their house, ate donuts and caught up. I was delighted to see that the hand towel in their guest bath was one I gave them as a wedding gift. It's funny that I remembered it, and funny that it has stayed viable since 1997. Go, me. Laura had left it in there rather than put a Christmas one in because I had given it to her.</p><p>We headed to the airport, flew to Seattle, laid over long enough to see the fish on the floor and grab a quick bite at a burger place - I had a fish sandwich, but you get the idea. </p><p>The flight home was not full, and Matt and I sat with a middle seat in between us.</p><p>On the flight there, I was able to catch up on movies - saw Are You There God, It's Me, Margaret and You Hurt My Feelings - I recommend both.</p><p>On the flight home, I mostly dozed, but did watch the Christmas Story Christmas - that takes place in 1973, with Peter Billingsley reprising his role as Ralphie. It was cute - not as good as the original - but cute enough. And Peter Billingsley looks great - not all botoxed to death, so good for him.</p><p>It was the best vacation I've had in many, many years.</p><p>We saw quail, deer, a western bluebird, a scrub jay. Pelicans, gulls, herons, and egrets. To say nothing of sparrows, crows and vultures.</p><p>We saw love, kindness, friendship, patience, generosity, and beauty.</p><p>I came home exhausted, but completed sated.</p><p>It was one of those once-in-a-lifetime kinds of trips. Which all started when in October, Suzie said she knew it was last minute, but she was getting married - could we come?</p><p>My advice to you - when someone gives you a gift like that, accept it. With pleasure.</p><p><br /></p><p>ae</p>aehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02708941765522865595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4651730481753071084.post-57191469376715924242023-11-30T13:39:00.004-06:002023-11-30T13:39:55.038-06:00Bravo?<p>Here's a fun fact for you. Before we got married, Matt and I had never really traveled together other than to family gatherings. Our first big trip together was to Europe, a few years after we married.</p><p>The good news is, we travel well together. We both like to start early, go all day, get to bed at a decent hour and do it again.</p><p>Here's the bad news. We both have very different ideas of ideal seating on an airplane, and that causes some challenges.</p><p>First of all - Matt is tall, and also a little bigger than average, but the first thing you would notice about him is that he's 6'4". That's tall. Me, I'm a larger than average woman, and OK, the first thing you would probably notice about me is that. I'm 5'4". I wear a size 20 on average. So, a bigger girl, but not specifically one who is going to take up more room than allotted. I'll take up my whole space, but none of yours as well. Unless I'm sitting next to Matt, because his broad shoulders are going to encroach on me, my big chest makes me broad at the top - it's a chain reaction. </p><p>I am extremely conscious of my size when I travel. And I haven't traveled in five years. I know. Weird, huh.</p><p>Anyway, back when I was traveling all the time, I was a frequent Southwest passenger. And I was A-List, so I frequently got the seat of my choice. When flying, I prefer to be closer to the front of the plane (first 12 rows of a Southwest plane). I prefer to be on the right side of the plane (seated - left side as you walk on) I want an aisle seat. I have my reasons.</p><p>Being toward the front of a plane can be the difference in a mad dash and a brisk walk to a connecting flight. Plus, it just gets me off the damn plane sooner.</p><p>Being on an aisle is critical because it allows me the ability to spill into the aisle and worry a little less about my size. It also gives me unfettered access to getting up for a restroom break, should that be necessary. </p><p>Being on the aisle on the right side of the plane matters because I am lefthanded. And if I want to take out a pen and work on the in-flight crossword puzzle, and believe me, I definitely do - then I want my left elbow free and clear of whomever is seated to my left. Which on the right aisle, is nobody.</p><p>These are my preferences, and I stand by them - with Southwest, I was able to meet these needs 99% of the time on my flights. On other flights, I'd book to get something that didn't suck. I remember boarding a flight from Anchorage back to Nashville - the first leg of it, which was, I think, to Minneapolis - and when I got to my seat, there was someone there. I let him know he was in my seat and he asked if I wanted to trade. He pointed to a middle seat a few rows back on the other side. "Nice try", I told him. His friends laughed and he moved. He was a big dude, but I also planned and paid for my comfort accordingly. I regret nothing.<br /></p><p>I'm a reasonable person, but if I went out of my way to get something to take care of myself, well that's mine to enjoy. Would I move if there were a mother and child that needed to sit together? Maybe. If it meant getting a similar seat in a different location. Put it this way, I won't take a downgrade. We were flying home from Europe and these two honeymooners wanted to trade with us to sit together. Matt and I declined because we also wanted to sit together, which is WHY WE BOOKED THE SEATS THAT WAY. They pissed and moaned most of the flight home - they were both on the aisle, one row apart.</p><p>Anyway.</p><p>Matt, you would probably guess is also an aisle guy. No. He's a window guy. He feels like that buys him the extra room without getting pummeled by the drink cart. Totally fair. Weird, but that's his decision to make.</p><p>On a plane that looks like this:</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjquhS_gk6lBR673C7Hutfl6S8bR59BDj0COm8OejkVbWzxeiUNG6VisA-T-zA6ADVGv8Ju-kOqq8OVKLF_QPnwtqks-Td6ObXZiWBhjhk0ZK1tTyyK2UEe-AV5dnaMNtm8WJprCT4SU9txYu8yNxIUu14RsM_lSlXc7uOp8A9_9dLWkVlX4ybt8rQCJZih" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="185" data-original-width="225" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjquhS_gk6lBR673C7Hutfl6S8bR59BDj0COm8OejkVbWzxeiUNG6VisA-T-zA6ADVGv8Ju-kOqq8OVKLF_QPnwtqks-Td6ObXZiWBhjhk0ZK1tTyyK2UEe-AV5dnaMNtm8WJprCT4SU9txYu8yNxIUu14RsM_lSlXc7uOp8A9_9dLWkVlX4ybt8rQCJZih" width="292" /></a></div><br />we're good. Get seats H and J and we're happy as clams. I've even been in the C or G on these flight and it's not bad. Even A and B are good. Basically there are 2 bad seats per row, and I honestly still prefer a D or F that only has you disturbing one person to get up.<p></p><p><br /></p><p>However, most of our flights are like this:</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh6lg3g4X2Vf5vUVh8IDzpHmOt2M_SsjNF7plX6kem46IMSxH5GqjY6FA3xQMtRMohPd4FfU0UzntcjioTT-QIIbs5w-R6opfc_6pwhWhCEsicIY7R0z0hUuwz3nuE397dy4bTJ42y0Va6PfgydDRGL4pRNk45gYyyYFTY5vhSCAych-q6GTd6ZAIYhCFqj" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="217" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh6lg3g4X2Vf5vUVh8IDzpHmOt2M_SsjNF7plX6kem46IMSxH5GqjY6FA3xQMtRMohPd4FfU0UzntcjioTT-QIIbs5w-R6opfc_6pwhWhCEsicIY7R0z0hUuwz3nuE397dy4bTJ42y0Va6PfgydDRGL4pRNk45gYyyYFTY5vhSCAych-q6GTd6ZAIYhCFqj" width="174" /></a></div><br />Which means, either we sit apart, we sit our preferred seats together and take the chance that someone will be in between us, or, one of us gets what they want and the other one gets a middle seat.<p></p><p>And since there's no way I am going to cram my man with his size 14 feet into a middle seat, I'm the middle seat girl. And that means my shoulders are going to be tensed up so as not to invade the space of the poor schmuck in C or D. It's one thing for an hour or two. It's another thing to go to the west coast that way.</p><p>There's this other fun thing you can do on flights these days - and that is, forego choosing a seat for a cheaper flight. Which is why, pretty soon, I'll be rolling myself into a tight little ball and cramming into a B for a few hours. It's worth it, it's worth it. Once it's over, I'll let you know if it was worth it.</p><p>It'll be worth it. Right?</p><p><br /></p><p>ae</p>aehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02708941765522865595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4651730481753071084.post-30075384189249325422023-11-28T09:22:00.001-06:002023-11-28T09:22:43.598-06:00Call Me Crazy<p>So, about a month ago, we bought a white noise machine for our bedroom. Mostly, just to drown out the odd neighborhood sounds at night. </p><p>It wasn't expensive, and we have enjoyed it. There's one thing though.</p><p>Sometimes, I hear it talking. Wait, wait - hear me out on this.</p><p>Now, I don't believe that anyone is trying to communicate with me via white noise. But sometimes, I hear patterns in the noise, and those patterns sound like short phrases. Things like:</p><p><br /></p><p>Let go, then.</p><p>Come to the patio.</p><p>I'mma eat a frog leg.</p><p>Varsity cheer?</p><p>Cold face.</p><p><br /></p><p>Nothing profound, my brain just makes these pathways. The best way to make it stop is to change position in bed. I don't know that it helps, it just disrupts the pattern, or makes you find a new one. </p><p>I didn't mention this to Matt for awhile, because it does sound crazy. But after a few weeks, I asked him if he heard patterns or phrases in the machine, and he said he did. I think we, as human beings, are constantly trying to solve for X, and our mind just wants to make sense of a repetitive sound. So we place words to it.</p><p>I hope that's it. I hope these aren't telepathic cries for help from an intelligent life form not of this planet. </p><p>But we do it with bird calls, too. We attribute words to their sounds to make it easier. Whip-poor-will, for example.</p><p>Maybe we need a better machine. Maybe I need to meditate and slow my brain down at night.</p><p>Or maybe I need to come to the patio and eat a frog leg?</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjDxZtaxzhw4OYYcX-a3Na6m36-3loPY_gmpZK_wlp8_p48KX3UL0Qt6QBRBn5LIxJZMjTGCV-KLsFG9Sxc2sTGqzvdeaykbAnBoDyI6xjCb4raS4X6iE5QrS0kAw_f_NgUgxazHkSkcRgkBhf6er9ZX6w74oqOG6ULovRbct5UHM5lC8iVNhd-OOvIlu0i" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1156" height="379" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjDxZtaxzhw4OYYcX-a3Na6m36-3loPY_gmpZK_wlp8_p48KX3UL0Qt6QBRBn5LIxJZMjTGCV-KLsFG9Sxc2sTGqzvdeaykbAnBoDyI6xjCb4raS4X6iE5QrS0kAw_f_NgUgxazHkSkcRgkBhf6er9ZX6w74oqOG6ULovRbct5UHM5lC8iVNhd-OOvIlu0i=w609-h379" width="609" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p> </p><p><br /></p>aehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02708941765522865595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4651730481753071084.post-69243874494657293462023-11-21T08:53:00.002-06:002023-11-21T08:53:29.656-06:00Oh, No...vember<p>November is not my most favorite-est month. For a lot of reasons. It's the slow slide into the holiday season, it gets dark, and let's face it - Thanksgiving.</p><p>It goes without saying I miss Dad. He was the King of Thanksgiving, and without him, it's just a bit of a hassle. </p><p>Last night, I had a hard time falling asleep. I was hot, couldn't get comfortable. I started thinking about 1998.</p><p>October/November of 1998 was one of the worst periods of my life - and understand, "worst" is kind of a sliding scale - because you have to understand, nothing really bad has ever happened to me. Unpleasant, uncertain, sure - but nothing catastrophic.</p><p>Anyway, within the period of about two weeks, the following chain of events unfolded:</p><p><br /></p><p>1. I celebrated my 24th birthday.</p><p>2. Two days later, my company got bought out, and I was laid off. I knew it was coming because, well, as a member of the marketing team, I was putting together a ton of due diligence for the purchasing company. I had even been interviewing, to no success.</p><p>3. The next day, my long-distance boyfriend arrived in town, and I believe that had #4 not occurred, he would have ended our relationship on that trip. It was a strained and tense weekend because;</p><p>4. My grandmother died. Which meant a lot of different chaotic things. It was more upsetting from a "tasks" standpoint than an emotional one.</p><p>5. My boyfriend ended up dumping me within a week of the funeral.</p><p><br /></p><p>So here I was, out of a two year relationship that I'd put a lot of work into. I had no job, and time on my hands. Dad was in a transition mode of his life as well. That spring, he had been downsized/retired from his job as a health systems administrator, and took a job at REI just to have something to do. </p><p>I finally put on my interview suit, went to Rich's department store, applied for a job, and was offered a seasonal gig on the spot. It would not start until after Thanksgiving. In fact, I trained on the Saturday after. </p><p>But, that gave me about a three week span of nothing to do. As I was writing this, I would have sworn it was so much longer. Nope, three weeks.</p><p>Anyway, Dad and I would have breakfast together most days, and we would plan Thanksgiving. There were, initially, going to be eleven of us, but that number kept slowly creeping down until we got to five. So we'd scale back, and scale back. I remember several times we would have breakfast at The Skillet - a local place where the food was so good. And that they new Dad well enough that they would bring him coffee and water without asking. And that pretty soon, they started doing the same for me. Which felt terrible, because I was a deadbeat.</p><p>We got through Thanksgiving. I went through orientation at Rich's. I was good at it, for the most part. Some of the women there initially hated me because I was a spoiled kid living on my parents' dime. I also got some feedback that I hogged the cash register and didn't clean out the fitting rooms as much as they did - so I corrected that. Also, f*** them.</p><p>Mom, Dad and I went to Paris (spoiled kid) the first week in December. I came back to an email that my ex had moved in with a new woman and to not contact him any more.</p><p>I continued to work and did more cleaning out of fitting rooms. I had two interviews the week before Christmas - one good, one bad. The bad one was bad because the interviewer was triple booked and left me in his office for an hour. I did not get that job. </p><p>I'm not naming names, but this is their logo:</p><p><br /></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEixhW24wM99EmgfIyY4V9SiRy97xMtTte7acr1efcocMzx1MmDHkXA1C11AvyRL4HVHCnu5KeIewsadimkQY2l7SZjK32ozuEItc_MXaFThVh48dKL8azLqrHIDM2RhflY4qLdJaKwX3ebBR7b84daHiN3BTurdzVn6dSkzlmaj3E4HNPXnmbFrJvsFsLZM" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="209" data-original-width="241" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEixhW24wM99EmgfIyY4V9SiRy97xMtTte7acr1efcocMzx1MmDHkXA1C11AvyRL4HVHCnu5KeIewsadimkQY2l7SZjK32ozuEItc_MXaFThVh48dKL8azLqrHIDM2RhflY4qLdJaKwX3ebBR7b84daHiN3BTurdzVn6dSkzlmaj3E4HNPXnmbFrJvsFsLZM" width="277" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's Manhattan Associates. Just for the record.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></p><p>Christmas was nice, I think. I don't really remember. After the first of the year, I started a new job, one that I loved and stayed at until they closed down. I got Lola. I moved forward. I started dating Matt. It was good. It was all really, really good.</p><p>But I was thinking about those planning meetings over coffee and toast or whatever. We had fun. We worked through some "stuff" by making grocery lists.</p><p>And what I was thinking about last night is that my father really propped me up during those hard weeks. And many others to come. And it occurred to me this morning, that maybe I was propping him up a little too.</p><p>I took him to get his ear pierced during that time. So yeah, I think maybe I was helping him a little, too. When people asked him why he did it, he told them to piss off his parents. That should tell you something. </p><p>So, you know. That's what I was thinking of when I couldn't sleep. It didn't really help.</p><p>Don't forget to clean out your dressing rooms this Thanksgiving.</p><p><br /></p><p>ae</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>aehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02708941765522865595noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4651730481753071084.post-50944152757358704962023-11-07T18:48:00.003-06:002023-11-07T18:48:49.743-06:00Pointlessness<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />So, I learned something new and vaguely disappointing this week. If you stop staying at hotels, not only do you stop accruing travel points, your travel points expire.<p></p><p>Which means I lost about three or four free hotel nights and didn't even know it.</p><p>Now, the thing is, I wasn't traveling during Covid anyway, but Matt and I managed some nice hotel stays over the years when I traveled for work all the time. In fact, our hotel and flight were all points purchases when we went to New Orleans. We paid for food and entertainment. The rest wasn't gratis, exactly - I earned it with the sweat of my brow, and by spending a lot of time on the road.</p><p>So, anyway - now I barely travel enough to be considered even slightly premiere anything. </p><p>We are taking a quick vacation to California for a wedding in a few weeks. We are paying for all of it out of pocket - and that is fine. I need to book a kennel for the dog and sort some clothes for a beach ceremony. The points would not have been useful for this trip anyway, I just liked having them. </p><p>Then of course there's all the travel for the holidays. From Atlantic to Pacific, gee, the traffic is terrific.</p><p>At the moment, and the reason I even learned that I lost my points is that I am in Chattanooga. A visit to the Mothership so that I can partake in new manager training. Much needed. I feel like I was able to get through year one on adrenaline and novelty. Now I need to get down to brass tacks. And Brass Tax. And learn how to, you know, manage people.</p><p>After that, I am meeting with 3/4 of my team, working at the Mothership. In fact, I came down spe ori early today to go to an All-Managers social - a little cocktail hour in the courtyard of the office. It was nice. Hors d'oeuvres, beer/wine, fruit teas. I schmoozed as one does. Saw some friends, made some friends. It was good. </p><p>Now I am tired. I am going to do a spot cleaning where I managed to get some artichoke dip on the black pants I intend to wear a second time on this trip, which is to say tomorrow. It's an old traveling woman trick. So, after that, I will collapse and prepare for tomorrow.</p><p>That's what you do when wandering pointlessly. But not aimlessly. </p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoJVoqF4qB8sOlKoQdvQoyU4wd3XYNrSi5WL7HKm8M1UP9LQ2_NOu8lYH0JHS9a4A1lmUQ9ZIGZ9FSPiYzB96xDWeD5O5dqu3OxFyWwrKp8Wp4O3cLLvb_wtmkcnKWg18jS3GrdUh1d8OGYJJXiGoanQjlHXHyli9wUeiXXzrMmBuaAcRKyM69Jeg0ldSw/s4032/20231107_190948.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoJVoqF4qB8sOlKoQdvQoyU4wd3XYNrSi5WL7HKm8M1UP9LQ2_NOu8lYH0JHS9a4A1lmUQ9ZIGZ9FSPiYzB96xDWeD5O5dqu3OxFyWwrKp8Wp4O3cLLvb_wtmkcnKWg18jS3GrdUh1d8OGYJJXiGoanQjlHXHyli9wUeiXXzrMmBuaAcRKyM69Jeg0ldSw/s320/20231107_190948.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This wanderer stuck with water.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p>aehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02708941765522865595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4651730481753071084.post-57097910976583423662023-11-04T09:09:00.000-05:002023-11-04T09:09:14.325-05:00Juggling ThingsI have been putting off an unpleasant task since April, and I finally completed it. <div><br /></div><div>As part of the kidney stone protocol, the urologist wanted me to do a 24 Hour Collection. Basically, pee in a jug for a day, pop in some preservative solution, mix, fill a tube, close the tube, put it in a box and take it to FedEx. You are then left with a jug of stale piss to do with as you choose. I flushed mine.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's a pain for several reasons. Mainly because you're committed to being near your jug for 24 hours. And that requires planning. Also, you need to be where you can get the sample to a FedEx. But not just any FedEx, one that accepts boxes of biologically dangerous materials. No joke.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now, you can call for FedEx to come and</div><div>get it, but it's not like I am going to leave my box of urine at the front desk and ask Jerry or Jay (our security guard) to hand it off to the courier.</div><div><br /></div><div>No. In my case, I will be taking it this morning myself.</div><div><br /></div><div>The other pain is that as a lady person, it becomes a two step process. Sure, you could try to aim for the jug, but they send you a basin that fits under the toilet seat so that you can transfer easily. Which could lead to spilling it, but whatever.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5mLM0WgW4jtteB-ikWi5IWNG4UllwLd6CgQ_Llw302ZfXsrst_oC5B5vH8wZMEQGDI3uzEtwq2c93vTse01-upTSp3FDwY4LImeAw1cgUdIiZ0Oh9AviSySmIE6sHUCU88PmxnQ8pa88Sb-GsmCoMM4ZbzGXCQjPg5Y4fernMSlYxDcZdeKJFh68WwmGH/s1200/51956o3AJ7L.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5mLM0WgW4jtteB-ikWi5IWNG4UllwLd6CgQ_Llw302ZfXsrst_oC5B5vH8wZMEQGDI3uzEtwq2c93vTse01-upTSp3FDwY4LImeAw1cgUdIiZ0Oh9AviSySmIE6sHUCU88PmxnQ8pa88Sb-GsmCoMM4ZbzGXCQjPg5Y4fernMSlYxDcZdeKJFh68WwmGH/s320/51956o3AJ7L.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I'm telling you, it's FRAUGHT.</div><div><br /></div><div>Finally, and, from my point of view, the biggest reason I have been avoiding it is genetic. Dad did a number of these over the years due to his kidney issues. End Stage Renal Disease was the stated cause of death - though it was a total combo platter of things, really.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, what if they find something really bad? My gut feeling is that they won't, but that is the same gut that loves salt, sugar, caffeine, and all the foods a "stoner" should avoid.</div><div><br /></div><div>"If it tastes good", the surgeon said, "Don't eat or drink it."</div><div><br /></div><div>With that said, I just walked the dog. I am going to take my box to Metrocenter and let the lab do their job. Wish them, and me, luck.</div><div><br /></div><div>Urine luck.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hahahah. At least my funny bone is still healthy!!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>aehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02708941765522865595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4651730481753071084.post-2445224514529208372023-10-31T17:00:00.031-05:002023-10-31T17:00:00.138-05:00Sugar Coated<p>So, today is one of the happiest of days - Halloween.</p><p>My parents brought me home from the hospital on Halloween - trick, obvs. So it's a special day for that reason. But it's just a marvelous day in general.</p><p>There's candy, and novelty music, and you get to be someone or something you're not for a day. What's not to love?</p><p>Well, the thing about most of the workforce being remote with my company is that it's not the event it was pre-covid. In fact, it's not really and event at all. There may have been eight people in the office today, total. Which is about normal. Wednesdays are our high traffic days - and the fact that it's Halloween had anyone with kids at home today.</p><p>Anyway, I didn't let that stop me.</p><p>But in order for today to make sense, let me dial it back to Friday. </p><p>Around lunchtime Friday, a deer tried to butt his way into our offices, by way of a window. Realistically, he probably saw his own reflection and tried to fight it. It cracked the window. The buck left the scene, and due to the absence of blood, we feel he was unharmed. Maybe a headache.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiuTTWH43U3uCxB9zUBZbMi4H4UoIewEcOcFChhfjNhnSPP38KxoFA5B4td7_-6vvh9Nos5CaRFgy6i_wM7QIHBbpXjUn7Ng_hpS7IeDsR8nphDxuE5LwgGi4z0Y-7pdYMt_CKqSViTb0SqK6CzDeX-4nyM7MJJ-hzeo5I6Fdkn0CxawAYOl_f2uOKKIrsY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1125" data-original-width="844" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiuTTWH43U3uCxB9zUBZbMi4H4UoIewEcOcFChhfjNhnSPP38KxoFA5B4td7_-6vvh9Nos5CaRFgy6i_wM7QIHBbpXjUn7Ng_hpS7IeDsR8nphDxuE5LwgGi4z0Y-7pdYMt_CKqSViTb0SqK6CzDeX-4nyM7MJJ-hzeo5I6Fdkn0CxawAYOl_f2uOKKIrsY=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p><p>Honestly, it was the most excitement we've had around here in a long time. Granted, we get pretty excited about far less. Like our turkeys that hang around.</p><p>Anyway, from that, we arrive at today.</p><p>I hadn't really planned to do anything about Halloween here. Maybe pick up some cupcakes, or something - but even that was a stretch - I've been eating plenty of sweets this past week - I need to cut back. So, there's that.</p><p>But sometimes, the universe hands you a suggestion that can't be ignored.</p><p>And that's why today, I went to work dressed as the deer who tried to bust into our office:</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjz-2N3OzMQLX3STk_ZB19UKJkrm5e-CwK2Jafj9u1hBg0etBhf5c57w8v509ZbLHVGOsxUe03khA1zkrMBF-TLf6Y6hVqzB9BBT9PXadioUVglztdM_D65Vvd3TwYDX5Eb3Qatf5CH1ZBlAC_9MiBs48ihZQgMo_MOt8hgHo8hoFgYbHCPhEIfabZIDNR0" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2047" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjz-2N3OzMQLX3STk_ZB19UKJkrm5e-CwK2Jafj9u1hBg0etBhf5c57w8v509ZbLHVGOsxUe03khA1zkrMBF-TLf6Y6hVqzB9BBT9PXadioUVglztdM_D65Vvd3TwYDX5Eb3Qatf5CH1ZBlAC_9MiBs48ihZQgMo_MOt8hgHo8hoFgYbHCPhEIfabZIDNR0=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The makeup is way gorier looking IRL.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></p><p>Now, here's the thing. Of the eight people there today - and eight may be a generous estimate - there are two who were there with me last Friday, on the day of the incident.</p><p>So the other few I saw roaming the halls either know me, know I'm crazy and are just resigned to it, and the ones who don't know me are probably concerned.</p><p>But I got the security guy to laugh. I'm not sure he laughs much, but it was gratifying.</p><p>And I got the facilities guy to laugh - he laughs often, but he is one of my favorites, so I want to amuse him especially. </p><p>Look, it was $10 antlers on Amazon, $1 in grease paint from Walmart - and I can reuse the antlers for Christmas. Or, if we want to do some predator/prey stuff around the house some weekend. Whatever. It's an investment in a few smiles. Many of them are mine.</p><p>Whatever you did or have planned to do this Halloween, let it make you happy. Have a Twix for me. Or whatever. I like pretty much all of it.</p><p><br /></p>aehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02708941765522865595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4651730481753071084.post-39000612066945783892023-10-25T08:47:00.004-05:002023-10-25T08:47:41.048-05:00This could be...<p> Ok, folks - real quick up late update. I will be 49 in two days. Which means I need to be the best version of 48 for roughly 48 more hours.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgpe92wHxTXpHGFYJJ76C4Ds_bx0Ay4UdkU-OFyQyCq-p_07Ct2d7cnIbbqxp9zNoxk3YXu042-RrKex1ZdJGiduii19wXcVCYZssi0F4MijiEVppDN6qxaBuZjOhU_5LrgTs6X4OVQvs-5K8K22z9Tbf2nv0VHZF2te3asYPCIvKqlAg9Et6liyjxRJOin" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="184" data-original-width="274" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgpe92wHxTXpHGFYJJ76C4Ds_bx0Ay4UdkU-OFyQyCq-p_07Ct2d7cnIbbqxp9zNoxk3YXu042-RrKex1ZdJGiduii19wXcVCYZssi0F4MijiEVppDN6qxaBuZjOhU_5LrgTs6X4OVQvs-5K8K22z9Tbf2nv0VHZF2te3asYPCIvKqlAg9Et6liyjxRJOin" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More Nick, More Eddie.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></p><p>This past year has been a real hassle, man.</p><p>In the coming year, I want to be more and less.</p><p>More fun. Less anxious. More healthy food, less sugar. Less salt, less weight. More hair (growing it out), more glasses (I like the variety).</p><p>Less spending. Less fuss. Less waste. Less noise.</p><p>More writing, more imagination, more creativity.</p><p>Less dread. More joy.</p><p>Less last minute, more prepared.</p><p>More proactive, less scattered.</p><p>More space. More time.</p><p>Less regret. Less fear.</p><p>More self-care, more self-esteem.</p><p>Less self-deprecation, less second-guessing.</p><p>No more, no less.</p><p><br /></p><p>ae</p>aehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02708941765522865595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4651730481753071084.post-72182440372586817472023-10-13T16:03:00.002-05:002023-10-13T16:03:17.382-05:00It's a SignOne of my routes to work takes me past a laundromat that has a large, ever changing sign. <div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj5Z042fFClibFAMWeWD33e4z1iC2uisxh-VJPkwlo1GEbjOAflgJPSu6mu3ksqwN01Nxuqnubf14JVg5UPUdY7a_dGHXjpCZcZ3JaO8wopupDcqE0ajaFqP7Xz7wfoQvfMqFpluGfqDYct5kuLzEKbAoqGE1hgiklug2J-_4S2-96z2cjs8w9V5obplR1L" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="163" data-original-width="310" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj5Z042fFClibFAMWeWD33e4z1iC2uisxh-VJPkwlo1GEbjOAflgJPSu6mu3ksqwN01Nxuqnubf14JVg5UPUdY7a_dGHXjpCZcZ3JaO8wopupDcqE0ajaFqP7Xz7wfoQvfMqFpluGfqDYct5kuLzEKbAoqGE1hgiklug2J-_4S2-96z2cjs8w9V5obplR1L" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>It's often used for birthday greetings, apparent inside jokes (Don't fall while bowling, Margaret), and whatnot.<div><br /></div><div>Today, it read:</div><div><br /></div><div>Sarah, please forgive me.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>(forgive <i>me </i>for not getting a photo, but I was driving)</div><div><br /></div><div>So, now I, and anyone else on Lebanon Pike has to wonder - who is the "me" in this equation?</div><div><br /></div><div>Is it Sarah's mother, who abandoned her at birth?</div><div><br /></div><div>Sarah's father who was cold and distant during her formative years?</div><div><br /></div><div>A sibling who was cruel or dismissive?</div><div><br /></div><div>Her band teacher who said she made the clarinet sound like an "instrument of torture"?</div><div><br /></div><div>A cheerleading coach who dropped her from the team because she'd heard a rumor that Sarah and one of the tight ends had gotten "in trouble"?</div><div><br /></div><div>A friend turned enemy who betrayed Sarah in 11th grade by telling anyone who would listen that Sarah didn't know what a BJ was (she didn't, but not the point)?</div><div><br /></div><div>An ex who should have remembered her birthday?</div><div><br /></div><div>A doctor who made her wait an hour while she was clad in a paper gown?</div><div><br /></div><div>A cousin who forced her to go to a Haunted House, causing her murderclown nightmares for years?</div><div><br /></div><div>Her sorority sister who accidentally caught feelings for Sarah's crush, subsequently causing them to fall in love, marry and produce three beautiful babies?</div><div><br /></div><div>The professor who gave her essay a zero, believing she had copied it from the internet?</div><div><br /></div><div>The waitress at IHOP who gave her decaf when she wanted caf?</div><div><br /></div><div>The barista at Starbucks who gave her caf when she requested decaf?</div><div><br /></div><div>The woman at the groomer who painted her dog's toenails with glitter polish?</div><div><br /></div><div>The One Hour Plumber who took three hours past time to call and reschedule?</div><div><br /></div><div>Trader Joe's, for discontinuing wasabi mayonnaise?</div><div><br /></div><div>The cute guy she met on Hinge who went out with her once then ghosted her?</div><div><br />The bagger at Kroger who put her butternut squash on top of the hot dog buns?</div><div><br /></div><div>The colleague who keeps calling her Tara?</div><div><br /></div><div>The other colleague who leaves the H off her name in most emails?</div><div><br /></div><div>The rando at Home Depot whose stray cart accidentally hit and dented her car?</div><div><br /></div><div>The woman at the potluck that assured her that the casserole didn't have sesame seeds in it, but it totally did and Sarah got a rash?</div><div><br /></div><div>The radio station for playing Wonderful Tonight and getting it stuck in her head for days?</div><div><br /></div><div>Her lifelong bestie who chose bridesmaid dresses in a very unforgiving gray, making everyone, but especially Sarah look listless and pale?</div><div><br /></div><div>Her college roommate who ate the last piece of the cake Sarah's grandmother had made for her 21st birthday?</div><div><br /></div><div>The bank for losing the check she deposited, causing a chain of overdrafts that took a month to fix?</div><div><br /></div><div>Sonic, for discontinuing the $1 morning drink stop?</div><div><br /></div><div>The saleslady who asked if Sarah and her mother were sisters?</div><div><br /></div><div>The saleslady who reminded Sarah she was shopping in the petites section (Sarah herself not being petite)?</div><div><br /></div><div>The blind date who burst into tears because Sarah ordered a Cobb salad, and his ex grew up in Cobb County?</div><div><br /></div><div>Her husband who cheated on her at a conference in Milwaukee, contracting chlamydia and then infecting her with it?</div><div><br /></div><div>The laundromat owner who lost her load of whites?</div><div><br /></div><div>We may never know why, and we may never know the outcome.</div><div><br /></div><div>But Sarah, if you're reading this - forgiveness is healing. Cleansing even. Extra rinse cycle.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>ae</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>aehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02708941765522865595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4651730481753071084.post-31550852588034685602023-10-02T12:20:00.001-05:002023-10-02T12:20:08.895-05:00Dragging The Line<p>The good news almost always outweighs the bad. Almost. </p><p>Came to the recent realization that I have some work to do revamping our training materials. Which is daunting, but you know - I love to write. And create, and explain.</p><p>So, is it really that daunting? No. Plus, I don't have to be the SME, I just have to build relationships with the actual SMEs.</p><p>Subject Matter Experts. Sometimes I don't know if my jargon gels with the jargon of others.</p><p>So that is good news that previously felt like bad news. Perspective, mes amis.</p><p>This week is going to be action packed - I'm going to be doing a lot of driving, packing, unpacking, manual labor, driving, unpacking, and on it goes.</p><p>That said, I'm looking forward to the rest of October. It's my birth month, of course, which helps. But we'll also, maybe, get some fall-ier weathers.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Hahahahahaha.<br /><br /><p></p><p>Or not.</p><p>The final quarter of 2023 started yesterday, and I'm going to be honest - this year has already been a doozy. Between health crises, family stuff, deaths, weddings, fighting nature, fighting traffic, etc. - it's just been exhausting. I don't always get enough sleep, until I do - and then it's delightful.</p><p>I dreamt the other night about owls for the second time recently. I should look into that some more. I also dreamed last night that I was living in a dorm, and they kept wanting to add new roommates - and that I asked where they would put them, and the place started opening up, and there were new levels and all kinds of hidey holes where people could live. It was odd. I knew some of the people, others, I just met. One of them was in a sorority. But not mine. She was nice, though.</p><p>I like most of my dreams. That one was solid.</p><p>The other night for dinner, I cracked open one of my last remaining jars of Lemon Alfredo Sauce from Trader Joe's. It's seasonal - won't be back til Spring. I love it, Matt's not a fan - when he saw what I had planned, he got some leftover marinara for his pasta. Fine! More for me. I finished it off today, and it was so good. I have to parcel it out over the months. There are a handful of sauces I alone enjoy, so you have to be smart about when to use them. I'll make the other jar sometime in January - that should get me to spring. Or, if they stop making it, I'll learn how.</p><p><br /></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjvsWO3o6LllfuRVDVp7qfo7lqnUD1UB-xND92FTvNZ3gjGr1qjNDZBc-Nh8FfjEHuh4t8OMH_gZPBkMr_PxwIacopStXpf3arBLykKD36aT5F_SWEweXC8HpTVzUAwGXza8m9el2C8kRV3nWl8uE6abiIlzSBfhZdXSmAnpwrqvpCdS3GbKWwIfFex51oo" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="297" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjvsWO3o6LllfuRVDVp7qfo7lqnUD1UB-xND92FTvNZ3gjGr1qjNDZBc-Nh8FfjEHuh4t8OMH_gZPBkMr_PxwIacopStXpf3arBLykKD36aT5F_SWEweXC8HpTVzUAwGXza8m9el2C8kRV3nWl8uE6abiIlzSBfhZdXSmAnpwrqvpCdS3GbKWwIfFex51oo=w445-h640" width="445" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't pay a mark up on out of season sauce. Plan ahead.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>So, let's finish this year off strong. And saucy!</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>aehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02708941765522865595noreply@blogger.com1