Silence, for one (especially after a snow). Bird's wings. Laughing - anyone's, really. Wind through tall grasses. Church bells. Rain, thunder. Waves, crashing and otherwise.
There are probably a thousand more.
I'll have to remember to pay attention to listen for them.
Write because you want to communicate with yourself.
Write because you want to communicate with someone else.
Write because life is weird and tragic and amazing.
Write because talking is difficult.
Write because it polishes the heart.
Write because you can. Write because you can’t.
Write because there is a blackbird outside of my window right now and oh my god isn’t that the best start to the day?
Write because you’re trying to figure yourself out.
Write because you might not ever figure yourself out. Write because there still aren’t enough love poems in the world.
Last evening we sat on the porch, drinking wine, talking,
mostly about the previous night's trip in to Philadelphia to see the premiere of the new Andrew Wyeth documentary at the Kimmel Center.
Coupla things...
I adore Andrew Wyeth.
There is no other artist that I would say that about.
His art takes me to places deep into my soul and I know how freakin' artsy and corny and pretentious that sounds - the exact things I hate when it comes to art - but in the case of me and Andrew Wyeth, it's true. I won't explain further than that because what it really is...is magic. And (1) magic can't be explained, and (2) magic loses its magic when you attempt to explain it. Magic is mystery, after all. We'll leave it at that.
The heat and humidity just won't let up, making nothing enjoyable.
We've spent more time this summer inside than being outside, for real.
In fact we're pretty sure that we spend more time outside in previous winters than we have this summer. Because of my persnickety lungs, I literally cannot breathe in humidity so I have to be indoors once the humidity outside kicks up...and I think there's been maybe two days this summer when it wasn't excessively humid. The grill sits unused along with the gazebo and the lounge chairs and even the motorcycles. It's too hot and humid to ride. We're not beach people and I am fully the opposite of a sun worshipper so those activities are out. We are actually looking forward to fall and winter so that we can spend time outside. We'll be the weirdos barbecuing in January.
The only thing left to do when it's too unpleasant outside is to hit the road and wander around the backroads in the comfort of an air-conditioned vehicle.
Our new house is actually not anywhere near new; it's about 80 years old.
It sat empty for the better part of a year before we bought and moved into it two months ago.
Empty old houses draw creepy things and I don't mean the shady characters who want to steal the copper pipes and appliances.
I know we had a creepy thing because of my dog Luna. Luna eats premium dog food that comes from the refrigerated case in stores that are not at all convenient to get to and require a special road trip. This gets old.
So I bought some not-so-premium-but-not-cheap-either dry dog food when I was at WalMart.
We put some in a bowl and she surprisingly really liked it.
The next morning we were in the kitchen when I noticed that the bowl that contained the dry food was empty.
"Why is that bowl empty?" I asked JP.
He answered that Luna must have really liked the food and ate it all.
"Impossible," I said, "Luna was upstairs with us all night."
We both looked at each other for a long OMG moment and then JP noticed that what was left in the bottom of the bowl was not crumbs but - wait for it - mouse poop.
Mouse Poop.
When I calmed down and stopped hyperventilating, I reasoned that it is an old house, it did sit empty for awhile, and that these things can't be helped.
And then I immediately drove to Home Depot and bought 10 mouse traps and two large packages of some kind of little boxes filled with mouse poison disguised to look like tempting food.
JP was then instructed to "put these things &#*$& everywhere!!!!" place the traps strategically where he thought the mouse (singular, not plural) might be coming and going.
Because, of course, there was just one mouse who periodically scooted inside to see if there was anything good to eat and then went back outside once his/her food expedition was complete.
Within a day or two, we caught the culprit out in the garage, where we surmised he/she squeezed under the door the leads from the garage into the butler pantry, which is next to the kitchen where the dog food was.
JP, who tends to overshare, let me know unnecessarily that "man, that was a big one!"
Yes, because it recently ate a whole lot of dry dog food.
We kept the traps baited just in case. Weeks passed with no action and no signs whatsoever that we had more visitors so we were/are happy that, because there is a God, we didn't have a big problem.
Life was good.
And then the other day while working upstairs in my office, Luna and I heard a loud "SNAP!" downstairs.
Of course, JP was at work which meant that I had to do the investigating and so Luna and I tiptoed down the stairs (yes, dogs can tiptoe) which is when I contemplated checking the traps and then contemplated not checking the traps and decided on the latter.
Then Luna and I drove to DQ for the 5 Buck Lunch Special because whenever I get stressy I get hungry but was too skeeved to stay home...and did you really think I was going to make lunch in a kitchen that may or may not contain a mouse corpse?!
Anyway, did you know DQ has the best chicken fingers ever? They do. Plus they give your dog a Pup Cup for free which is a little cup of vanilla ice cream with a dog bone treat in it. Yay, DQ!
Alas, after hiding out at DQ for awhile, we had to return home and wait out the afternoon for JP to come home and check the traps.
Unfortunately he confirmed that, yes, the snap! we heard was in fact the sound of the death blow to another mouse.
Immediately I wanted to run out and buy a few cats but then I remembered that I am allergic to them so I scrapped that plan even though I did briefly consider buying them anyway along with a lifetime (their lifetime) supply of Claritin or Benadryl. But then I remembered how much I hated dealing with the litter box from Mystic, the cat I had for twenty years, back when I wasn't allergic to cats¹.
Still, I was less panicked than I thought I would be, recognizing again that these are just old house kinks that need to be managed.
It's not like we have mice running all over the place, y'all. God, what do you think we are, heathens? I have a butler pantry with all kinds of foodstuffs on the shelves and none of it has been touched. We just have occasional mice visitors, that's all.
Still, I became afraid of the basement even though Mouse #1 was in the garage. Basements just seem like a place a mouse would like to hang out.
Actually, I've been afraid of the basement since we moved in because it has this really treacherous staircase. Like, when you open the door to the basement you are immediately in danger of falling into the basement because of the treacherous design of the stairs. I can't describe it very well and I am not going down there to take a picture because I don't really even open the door at this point.
And guess what?
Our laundry machines are in the basement. Which means, of course, that JP has to do the laundry because I'm not going down there anytime soon even though it's not even a creepy basement and is actually a pretty nice basement as far as basements go.
But he's okay with being the laundry-doer. In fact, he said and I quote, "don't you worry about the laundry, I will take care of it. I don't want you going down and getting scared or falling down the stairs. You mean too much to me and I love you more than life itself and I will do your laundry forever." Or he said something similar to that.
So last night I asked him to throw a small load in for me. I had to ask him twice because the TV was on and men don't hear their wives very well when the television is on, but he did eventually put the load in for me and then a little while later I had to remind him that it was probably done and if he could put it in the dryer, which he did, during a commercial.
Which brings us to today.
Normal morning, kiss kiss and he's off to work.
And then I realized what he didn't do.
That's right. He did not take my clothes out of the dryer.
They are down there right now and I am writing this to you in my nightgown and it is 10:00 am.
Here is the text I sent him this morning when I realized what he had done. Or had not done.
Do you know where my good bra is? The one that holds my boobs in place pretty good so they don't bounce around and make me and those around me uncomfortable? I will tell you where that bra is. It is in the basement in the dryer. Which means I have to descend the Staircase Of Terror into The Abyss Of Rodents to retrieve it. You said you would do my laundry. You lied.
He responded: LOL - already starting.
LOL? I fail to see the humor in this.
Later, when he's home from work and looking for me and for dinner, I will send him a text from the parking lot of DQ that says, simply, LOL.
Just kidding, I won't do that. Because I'll still be in nightgown and I can't drive to DQ in my nightgown because I might be low but I'm not that low + my car is now illegal to drive (see previous post).
But you know what he did do last night instead of remembering to bring up my laundry?
He went out late at night to get my fix for me.
Fix = Skinny Pop popcorn because I cannot survive without it and I realized very late that I had none left.
He really is such a good man.
I'll let him slide on the laundry thing this time.
¹ Did you know that menopausal women sometimes develop weird allergies that they never had ever in their whole lives prior to advent of their hormones dying off? It's true, look it up.
I had the displeasure of dealing with the Divison Of Motor Vehicles again today.
I've actually been dealing with them for almost two weeks now in an attempt to get my car registered and get answers to a ridiculous policy they have.
I can't even give you all the details because my head will explode if I have to think about this in any depth at this point since it's been consuming me for weeks. The short story is that the DMV wants my title in order to register the car. But the car is financed and the finance company is all like unless the car is paid in full we will release the title to anyone including the DMV when Hell freezes over. The finance company believes they are right; why would they release the title before the car is paid off? Unfortunately for me, the DMV does not think they're right. Also unfortunate for me, the DMV could not care less that the finance company won't release the title; it is no skin off their bureaucratic nose.
I am very much not fond of the DMV at this point, which is kind of like saying I am very much not fond of root canals at this point because there is not a lot of difference between the DMV and painful dental procedures. I had a very humiliating and bizarre experience there during my initial trip there to try and get this car registered. On the day that I first went in to the agency to get the registration, the employee I dealt with explained their policy of needing the title from the lien holder and sent me on my way. When I got home with all my paperwork, I realized that I did not have my registration from the state that I recently moved from (NJ).
(So in other words, car was/is registered in NJ. I moved to another state and needed to register the car in the new state. I was not allowed to do that without the title so the NJ registration is all I have that will allow me to keep driving the vehicle for the time being. I know, so confusing.)
So I get back home and realize that I must have left the NJ registration at the DMV. I drive back. I ask the people at the reception counter if anyone handed it in. Amazingly, someone did. Except I did not leave it at the counter after all; somehow it must have fallen out of my car in the parking lot along with whatever else was in the glove compartment including some old expired insurance cards and some kind soul had handed it in to them. The lady at the reception desk (Lady#1 of 2) gives me the NJ registration but then starts literally badgering me about why I would still have expired insurance cards in my possession as she is holding them in her hand waving them around for emphasis. I explain that I simply must have forgotten to take them out when I put the newer ones in. She then turns to the other lady and asks her if she has ever heard of someone keeping old insurance cards in their car. Lady #2 says no, she's never heard of anyone - ANYONE! - doing that... and then Lady #2 starts cackling...I mean, real deal cackling laughing as if someone leaving old insurance cards in their car was the funniest thing she ever heard. Then Lady #1 starts laughing, too, really loudly, as she keeps repeating "why would she keep expired insurance cards in her car?!" to Lady #2 even though I was standing right there.
I wish so hard that I was exaggerating. I am not embellishing that story one bit whatsoever. They were laughing like this:
Now I am not one to stand there being humiliated by anyone ever - EVER! - trust me on that. But guess what? These two ladies - and I am so using that term loosely - are protected by a state trooper who stands guard at their reception desk so that when these two ladies humiliate people you have zero recourse and are forced to stand there being bullied and laughed at because you'd have to be a special kind of stupid to ask "what's your #*$!% problem?" to two people anywhere who are being guarded by a state trooper.
I promise you will not come out on the victorious end of that interaction.
So I got to be bullied, humiliated, embarrassed, victimized and wildly frustrated at the DMV that day.
And when I got out to my car you know what I did?
I cried. I really did. It is not my proudest moment to admit that the DMV people made me cry.
Now wouldn't you know that the very next day I received an email asking me to take a survey about my recent visit to the DMV.
It was my turn to laugh maniacally.
Then today I used the DMV's chat option to get clarification about a form relating to this mess, and the chat person was awful. She kept typing "just go into the agency that is most convenient for you".
When I explained that I'd already done that part, I just need to know if I was using the correct form, she would again type "just go into the agency that is most convenient for you".
Over and over again, "just go into the agency that is most convenient for you" as I am typing my "But what if...". And then, her dismissal of me: "Is there anything else I can help you with today, Sharon?"
I closed out of the chat without saying goodbye and up popped a survey asking me to rate the representative and the service I'd received via chat.
As you can imagine, I was delighted to take that survey.¹
My husband is in the automotive industry, specifically service. The salaries of people who work in the service side of the automotive industry rely heavily on their commissions, a large portion of which derives from the "grade" they receive from - you guessed it - customer surveys.
The survey "grading" is such a stringent policy that if they receive anything less than what would be a 90%, they FAIL and will not get paid their commission on the service bill for that customer. And if they receive one too many "failing" surveys, well then their job becomes jeopardized.
Understand this "logic": In school, anything from a 70 - 100 is a passing grade. In automotive world, if you don't get an A (ninety or above), you have failed.
I have heard stories of customers who have given poor surveys because there has not been coffee in the waiting area. Or the bathroom was out of toilet paper.
Also, do you think people who bring their cars in for service are happy? I know of no one who is like, "Yes! My radiator seems to be leaking! Can't wait to bring it in for service at the dealership!" or "WooHoo! I need a complete brake job!"
They are already annoyed when they get there. You can stand on your head and do everything right and be a clone for Mr. Rogers, but they are going to sink you for something when that survey comes in because they are back at home, stewing, after plunking down a bunch of money on a repair. No one says, "Oh, thank God I had to put out $1,000 for a new transmission." Right, wrong, or indifferent, in their mind it was the service department that put them in this predicament. The bastards. And now they're getting irked even more by receiving a request for a survey.
Irked, by the way, is such a pertinent word when it comes to these surveys we are being inundated with.
The other day I drove to the bank and made a deposit at the drive thru window.
By the time I got home minutes later, there was already an email in my Inbox asking me to take a survey on my "experience" making a deposit that day. I kid you not.
I wrote the most elaborate story about my deposit "experience". I wish I'd saved it. I went on and on about how wonderful the pavement in their parking lot was - so smooth! no potholes!...how well-designed the drive thru lanes were because somehow they figured out the correct width that allowed my car to fit easily in them and how great it was that they were red and green lights to tell me which lanes were open - saving me from the inconvenience of pulling into the wrong lane...the mind-blowing technology they have that allows me to place my banking into a tube that shoots into a chute and then shoots back out to me with a receipt for a completed transaction...magic!
In other words, I answered their obnoxious survey obnoxiously.
You gotta fight fire with fire, y'all.
More creepy than anything was the survey I got via email about my recent visit to Target.
It's true, I had been at Target. I bought some chocolate candy (Justin's organic peanut butter cups - go get some now, trust me!), some garbage bags, and dog food. I paid with a debit card, very straightforward. No coupons, no stupid cell phone apps, etc.
I still don't know how Target knew I was at Target that day...which is more ammunition for my decision to start cutting back on my technology use drastically very soon because the paranoid me thinks they knew I was there because my cell phone has some way of tracking me and told them. But I'll save that story for another day.
The big question is why are we getting surveyed for everything nowadays?
The even bigger question is why does anyone think that surveys have any value or merit whatsoever?
They are designed to fail. A good example of that are my examples above.
We are powerless in so many ways these days against technology, bureaucracy, et al. Take away someone's power and you know what that makes them? Angry. Frustrated. Sitting in their car crying at the DMV.
Read the comments section of virtually anything anywhere for proof that the world is filled with a population of pissed off people whose only chance to feel any control over their lives is when they don their Keyboard Warrior cape and sit down at their computers. (and sometimes write blogs - just sayin')
In case you haven't noticed, people in the comments section of almost everything (not this blog, though) are really big jerk offs.
Do the people who send out automotive surveys really think that they are going to come across fair-minded people? Are they seriously thinking there are people out there who are thinking to themselves "but, by golly, they sure treated me nicely today and answered all of my questions thoroughly and I definitely felt valued and I will surely recommend them to all my friends" as they try to figure out how they're going to pay their mortgage after that massive service repair bill? Do they think these people are thinking that they should give a glowing review to the dealership who can't even be bothered to make sure the coffee machine has fresh coffee, for God's sake (because making sure there is fresh coffee for customers is wayyyy more important than making sure their car gets fixed properly by the right technician, of course)? Especially considering the reputation car dealerships have to begin with?
And then they punish the service personnel via their salary because of the pissed off Keyboard Warriors who can't pay their mortgage this month because they had to shell out a thousand bucks to fix their transmission so that they can get to work and who now have to work overtime to make up the money they just laid out at the dealership!
So now, coming full circle, you've also got a bunch of disgruntled, under-valued, low morale employees who can't pay their own rent or mortgage this month because they didn't grovel hard enough and "failed" a survey and who now subsequently won't be giving 100% at work because even though they try to do their best for their customers in constant situations they have no control over, they still might get screwed because their customers are mad because their transmission blew and THERE IS NO DAMN COFFEE IN THE WAITING AREA!
Photograph of a happy survey taker
Do the DMV survey people think I'm going to be, like, it's okay that I've been to the DMV six times in two weeks in an attempt to get my car registered so that it can be driven legally in this state? Let me just take this survey to let them know how they're doing. Those two ladies didn't mean to ridicule me, right?
I'd lay down a bet that out of 100 people who responded to a survey, maybe 1 or 2 saw any kind of real action aimed at resolution to their problem as a result. Are you thinking that the DMV is going to contact me after they read my survey response to ask how they can help fix my registration problem? Yeah, okay. I'll hold my breath waiting for that to happen. So the survey people want you to take their surveys but toward what end? There is no incentive to take them. Except for the employee forced to grovel and plead with you to give them good marks "because my job depends on it".
Frankly, I don't feel like I want to give my business to any business who thinks so little of their own employees that they are willing to punish them monetarily or dismiss them because of something as random as a survey taken by a customer who might simply be having a bad day and in need of a punching bag. Or a cup of coffee.
Yay, surveys!
You want to know what would work a million times better than surveys? Focus groups, or whatever you want to call them. Imagine if once a month a company pulled in 10 customers - 5 who were happy customers and 5 who were not, for instance - sat them down, fed them a free sandwich or pizza and some cookies, and asked them face-to-face the How Are We Doing? questions. Now you've got a group of people who - wait for it! - are actually feeling valued and, equally important, heard.
That's a big word right there...heard. Well, valued is pretty huge, too. You think those people aren't going to tell their friends and family about that? You'd be wrong.
The same thing should be done for employees.
When I was a senior editor of a whole bunch of trade reference books used worldwide, I had a lot of people who reported to me. Every single Monday morning I brought in donuts and coffee from Dunkin' Donuts and we had our weekly and very informal Free-For-All meeting. My employees were told that nothing they said in those meetings would be held against them. It was like Corporate Festivus. I allowed them to tell me what they felt I was doing wrong or what they thought could be changed or done differently or even if I had recently pissed them off, with no fear of recrimination. I was not a Too Big For My Own Britches kind of boss. In fact, getting humbled was, and is, one of my most favorite things. Take me down a peg or two and I'm a much more grounded and well-rounded human.
Those employees of mine would still tell you that those meetings made them feel like they really were part of the proverbial team, that their opinions really did matter, that they were being sincerely listened to and that they weren't working for a tyrant or corporate lemming. I made changes based on what they told me if what they told me made sense regardless of what "the rule book" said. They saw real action, not lip service. My own bosses were sometimes skeptical of my methodologies, many of which were unorthodox; until they saw the results I got, consistently, from my very loyal staff.
Loyalty. Imagine that.
Here's a link to an article on The New York Times that explores survey inundation:
¹ I actually wasn't horrible in my survey response. I only stated that she could was not pleasant to deal with and didn't seem to know what I was talking about.
Everywhere I look every single day I see people giving their attention to things that upset them over and over again, day in and day out...and I cannot for the life of me figure this out.
"I am angry about _____ and I'm going to keep reading and writing and talking about it!"
Why? What changes?
There are just so very many things wonderful things to focus on in your short time here.
I wish more people took the time to refocus on that.
You don't have to be all Pollyanna and lemons/lemonade about things but, damn, go take a walk or a drive or tell your kid or any kid or some stranger what's great about being alive.
"I am angry about _____ but I'm not going to throw away this minute or this day or this life intentionally pissing myself off."
It happened again the other day - two times in one week.
The first time was when I was checking out at a popular craft store that offers 40% off coupons.
While on the checkout line I remembered about their coupons and so I took my phone out, clicked on Google and typed in the name of the store + coupons.
This led me down a rabbit hole on their website - me, furiously clicking on things that said things like "click here for coupons" even though that just led to more "now click here" instructions...all while ambling in the line closer and closer to the checkout register.
Finally time was up and I was at the checkout, sans coupon, but still in full click-on-this-now mode. The girl at the register - seeing me maneuvering my cart, handbag, items I was wishing to purchase, and cellphone - monotonely told me that I had to download their app in order to get the damn coupon.
Contrary to the opinions of some people related to me, I am not a jerk. I do not yell at people for things that are not their fault. So I did not go off on the poor girl at the register who probably says "you have to download our app" 5,000 times a day.
That is not to say that I wasn't annoyed. Very annoyed.
Certainly I am grateful for coupons. I very much like to save money. What I am not grateful for is being made to jump through hoops to get a coupon. So I decided right there on that checkout line to not only remain calm and cool, but to download their damn app...while holding up the line and everyone in it. The store could have made it easier all around (imagine that) by offering me a coupon in exchange for, let's say, my email address and then sending me an email encouraging me to download their app. But that would be too easy. Instead, they chose to make me do that at the point-of-sale and so I would do as they wished...while inconveniencing every person in line behind me. There's some good business sense.
Meanwhile the girl at the register just kind of stood there awkwardly, likely mouthing sorry to the people in line behind me, as the little hourglass on my phone spun and spun while downloading their damn app.
Fast forward a couple of days.
Now we are in line at a grocery store known for its organic food and high prices. (I don't care that it's ridiculously overpriced there. If you have ever had the macaroni & cheese from their hot bar you will understand what I was doing there.) Everything was going fine at checkout until the man at the register saw that I was going to pay with the credit card associated with that store in order to get 10% back on my bill. He then asked if I had their app because if I did have their app then I would save a bunch of additional money on today's purchase + a bunch of other perks that I can't remember right now.
Like I said, I like saving money a lot. I do not like spending money so if I can save some when I have to spend some, then I'm all for it. Plus I got flustered because there was confusion about whether I had to have the app to get the original 10% back that I thought I was going to get for simply using that credit card.
In short, I caved.
Once again, out came the phone. Once again, I was holding up the line.
I turned to the woman behind me with the little toddler boy and said I was sorry and that if it didn't download quickly I wouldn't hold her up.
She sort of smiled, tersely, avoiding eye contact with me and then said to her 2-year-old who had no idea what she was talking about, "Timmy, Mommy is really sorry but we're going to have to be in this line longer than I thought and so I need you to be patient while we wait, okay? Mommy isn't sure how long this is going to take and I know you need to eat and you're tired and want to go home to play and spend time with Daddy and, again, Mommy is really sorry that we have to wait in this line so long but it isn't Mommy's fault, okay?" It was obvious she said all of this for my benefit, not Timmy's because Timmy was happily staring off into space.
Well, you know what? Sharon needed to eat (the macaroni & cheese I was trying to pay for) and Sharon was tired and wanted to go home, too, and all Sharon wanted to do was pay for Sharon's stuff and go and not have to jump through hoops of confusion while listening to some lady talk passive-aggressively in the third person to her 2-year-old.
I put my phone away, told the guy at the register to just ring me up, and paid with the credit card even though I never use credit cards to pay for things like groceries. And I'm sure I won't be getting that 10% back that I thought I was going to get for using that credit card.
What all of this is is bad customer service. It is the equivalent of "PRICE CHECK ON AISLE 2"
Business Common Sense 101 will tell you this: Don't intentionally annoy your customers. It will also tell you that if you want to retain customers and make/keep them loyal, then make their life easier, not harder.
But I am not fooling myself with this diatribe.
Some people will get what I'm saying here, but I fear that most won't. I'm not naive; I could profess that I will not give my business to stores who make me jump through hoops but it would just fall on deaf ears¹. For every me who is tired of it, there are 10,000 not me's who are not. I know, because I see them all every day, faces plastered to phones, missing life as it happens all around them, probably downloading all kinds of apps. We're too far gone into technology; obsessed with it and letting it literally take over our lives. No news there, right?
I have always been very vocal about how I am not a cell phone person. I carry one so that I can call someone if I need to (need is the keyword); so I can send and receive necessary messages when a phone call can't be made, and sometimes - yes - silly ones just for fun; and take the occasional picture. I do not check my phone on a regular basis, for real. A lot of the time I do not know the location of my cell phone and/or where I last left it. I believe that at least one person has stopped talking to me because I missed a text message or didn't respond when they wanted me to. It is not a joke that relationships this very minute and being made or unmade because of a cell phone which is just mind-blowing (and really sad) to me.
Just the other day I got a text message (of course) from an old friend wanting to catch up. When I saw her message it wasn't a good time for me so I texted back that I would make contact later in the day. Normally I would call to talk but I was really busy that day and not in the mood for a long phone call so I uncharacteristically bit the bullet and decided to try texting to catch up instead of calling. She and I exchanged a few texts over the course of maybe 20 minutes and then...nothing. We were filling each other in on what was new and I sent back a text to her text and then she just stopped texting. Was the conversation over? Did something happen to her mid-text? No goodbye, talk to you soon, let's get together? So then I was stuck in this strange dilemma of not knowing what to do. Do I text again - what happend, are you all right? Probably she was all right; maybe she just got busy? I didn't know if it was okay to walk away from my phone and carry on with my business which is a dilemma the 30 gazillion of you who are attached to your phones never find yourselves in. It's just all so weird and unnatural to me.
Because I am old-fashioned. Because I am cell phone awkward. And I like it that way.
It's unlikely that will be changing in the foreseeable future.
¹ I will, however, identify stores that are less likely to make me jump through hoops and shop at them before the others.
Since I last wrote here, months ago, many things have changed in our life.
For instance, we listed and sold our South Jersey house...and searched for, purchased, and moved into our new (old) Delaware house.
I could not write about any of this while it was happening because I was in a self-induced coma in an attempt to avoid the sheer hell that is selling and buying a house.
I'm not kidding. At one point during the melee, I was so stressed out that a trip to the ER almost happened. That's how bad/ridiculous things got.
In case you are not aware, the business of real estate is a full-on joke. I'm talking about almost every single aspect of it, except the part where you make a really good profit from the sale of your house. No joke there.
The rest of it, though? Complete nonsense. I want to tell so many stories now that it's all over but I'm afraid that in the retelling my PTSD might get triggered again. I'm only half kidding about that¹. If I told you about the nitpicking you would not believe me, it got that ridiculous. Maybe one day I will when I can do so with hyperventilating. Crack in the sidewalk? A real estate person can turn that into "Driveway in shambles. Life threatening sidewalk condition may cause physical harm or even death to new owners and must be remedied before closing at current owners expense using the most expensive sidewalk repair company within the entire state. Estimate $9500."
There should be a Best Dramatic Performance category at the Oscars solely for real estate professionals.
Lucky for us, we had the best agents for selling and buying who are both blissfully non-ridiculous. If you are in South Jersey or Delaware (above the canal) and need a good one, drop me a line and I'll give their names.
Conversely, if you are in New Jersey and need the name of the absolute worst real estate agent that ever existed...well, I won't give you that person's name because I wouldn't want a single other person to have to deal with that person, and that applies to even my worst enemies. Or, enemy. I think I only have one. I might be wrong. Anyway, I wouldn't even wish that person on that person. Or persons, if applicable.
Honestly I don't know why the whole real estate thing is as complicated and crazy expensive as it is. I feel bad for people who have never owned a house and who think it's as simple as saving up a down payment. Hahahahahahahahhhhaaaaaaaaaaa. Just wait until they start getting slammed with inspection and closing costs!
Anyway, we now live in a terrific house that we love and the very best, most perfect, absolutely divine thing about it is that it has public utilities! NO MORE SEPTIC! NO MORE WELL!
God, how I hated living in a house with septic and well. Nothing like that annual "hey honey, time to call the septic company and have our poop and pee sucked out of our front yard where it's been sitting for the past year!" So vile.
Now I don't have to think about those things. I flush the toilet and off everything goes down the mystery pipe that carries all the disgusting far, far away from my house, just as God intended². The insanity of the past few months is almost worth that alone. Almost.
¹I really do have PTSD (actually C-PTSD) and have to be careful about revisiting things that cause me stress or I take to my bed and hide for an indefinite amount of time that it takes for the waves of anxiety to stop.
²You think I'm kidding? How about "Cleanliness is next to Godliness."! 😇
As part of our quest to find our next house, this evening we were driving through a particular neighborhood in Maryland that we would like to live in, admiring houses that we wish were for sale.
Because there are no good houses amongst the hundreds that are for sale in the 100 mile radius that is our targeted area so we have taken to driving slowly through desirable areas and sending out mental please-sell-us-your-house vibes while also hoping that someone will see us driving slowly and stop us to ask if we want to buy their house.
On one street we had turned on, we noticed a teenage girl sitting all by herself on a berm.
Wait, did I just use the word 'berm'? Who uses that word? It feels like it's an old-fashioned word. Do people even know what it is? No?
This is a good example of a berm:
It's kind of like a raised hill, usually separating one thing from another. An embankment, if you will.
In the case of the girl tonight, the berm she was sitting on faced the secondary road we were driving on, which ran parallel to the main road.
So she was just sitting there, all alone in her hoodie with the hood up, watching traffic on the main road from her spot on the secondary road.
I watched her carefully - because she was me decades ago.
Berm-sitting was my teenage thing. Sneaking cigarettes may or may not have been involved, purchased easily at B00 Bea's, the luncheon/magazine/newspaper shop down the street. It wasn't really called B00 Bea's, but the address - 1300 - and the actual name - Bea's - were printed on the awning and the kerning of the lettering was off so that the 1300 was squished together and looked more like...well, this:
(if you look at this long enough, you'll see it)
Renaming Bea's to B00 Bea's may or may not have had something to do with marijuana that my BFF Karen and I may or may not have smoked from our frequent perch at the elementary school directly across the street from B00 Bea's and our frequent visits to B00 Bea's to quell what may or may not have been the munchies. For a brief period of time, Karen and I were the late 70s version of Jay and Silent Bob, albeit female, and with bonus rhyming names, Sharon and Karen. Good times.
So when I wasn't loitering at the elementary school with Karen, I was doing a ton of loner kid stuff. It should be noted that I was not a lonely kid, but I was most definitely a loner kid. I was never sad if there was no one to hang out with as I had my own company and I was always my own perfect companion (nothing has changed in the years hence). The girl with so many interests and an overabundance of imagination. It meant I was never bored.
And that's what I saw in the berm girl yesterday. It seemed like she was just sitting in her spot, being her own perfect companion.
When I was a teenager in Union, NJ, we lived around the corner from I-78, the interstate highway that runs from the Holland Tunnel in NYC to Harrisburg, PA. If you were driving on that road through Union, NJ, and you happened to look toward the berm on the eastbound side of things, chances are you would have seen a young girl sitting there with her dog, watching traffic. And if you checked back in an hour or two, she probably would still would have been sitting there, dreaming up stories about the places people were traveling to and their reasons for going to where they were going.
I love the noise of travel.
And, oh, how I loved that spot. People whose heads are in the clouds regularly often have special places of their own where they go that maybe regular people wouldn't think to go to. You might think we go to these places to escape but that's not really correct. We go to them to arrive, because they help us to be who we really are. I have probably had dozens of such places in my lifetime thus far and I never stop looking for new ones. Some of them are quiet and private, and others are not so quiet but still private.
My dad, divorced from my mother, had us on Sundays. He had a massive case of wanderlust (that I inherited) and so Sunday was Fun Day as we always set off on some adventure. He was flat broke but that never ever stopped us from wandering. At the time in the late 1960s/early 1970s, we lived in Elizabeth, NJ, which is right next to Newark, NJ. Newark Airport was not the international metropolis that it is now but there were planes all day long and for my Air Force plane-loving father, that was all he needed. The roads behind the airport were unfinished back then and there were bridges over railroad tracks that would end on these roads that turned to dirt on the other side of the bridge. Some road planner with terrific foresight or insight knew that one day the area would explode but at this particular time there was never any traffic on these roads because they literally led to nowhere.
So my dad would park on top of one of the bridges and we would lie down on the hood of the car and watch planes take off and land right over our heads. The ground would shake and the noise so loud that I would cover my ears, but oh the thrill of it! We would talk about where people were going and why they might be going there and places far, far away that you only ever read about in storybooks. It was heady, magical stuff. At the risk of being cliché, you could say it was the stuff dreams are made of.
Some parents gave their kids fancy trips to resorts and amusement parks; my dad gave me trips to the whole wide world from right there on the hood of his Dodge parked on a bridge to nowhere in Newark, New Jersey.
And just so so many other places.
If you can manage it, you should go and find a special place all your own. If you can't find a special place, at least remember to look up and search for planes in the sky or pause when you're a traffic light to wonder about the lives of the people in the cars passing in front of you. Where they might be going...why they're going there...who's waiting for them to arrive...
You'll be amazed at where your imagination can take you...if you remember to let it.
“Do you want the truth? Nobody knows what they’re doing in this life. Not teachers or scientists or anyone with a college degree or even the President of the United States. Nobody knows because life isn’t planned and it doesn’t come with an instruction booklet. It’s fleeting and uncertain and complicated and nobody, not even the people seen as role models and heroes, can predict what is going to happen in the next minute, let alone the following day. Because life is sudden and frightening and the smallest thing can create the biggest problems before we even realise it. But it’s also beautiful and inspiring and it’s the longest adventure we’ll all ever know. So I say we just live, one day at a time without knowing how that day will pan out, including its weather and its purpose. Let’s all live without fear and doubt and regret, with the people who make our hearts dance to the music we love and fill our souls with the little moments that make the greatest memories. Take photographs of everything.
Smile at strangers. Say yes. Throw a bag in the backseat and just drive. Be honest. Lie in the grass and count the stars. Fall in love. Send that risky text. Read. Say no. Take risks. Explore and grow and learn and discover and shape yourself into whoever you want to become. Do it, because tomorrow something could change and it could all be gone. Don’t take anything for granted. Just breathe in the air that’s free and smile at the endless possibilities and limitless potential. Live for now. And love every minute of it.” – Unknown
I had a pretty bad day yesterday brought on by the stupid winter-lingering-into-spring weather we've been having and big grief that smacks me in my head and weakens my knees brought on by losing my beloved dog Jasmine a few weeks back.
It was one of those days where I didn't think I was in any shape to deal with dinner until I remembered that one of the best things I can do for myself when I am under stress or some other travail is to cook. Big bonus points if that process includes chopping and slicing. Don't know why but it helps significantly. I lose myself in the chopping, in the slicing, the peeling; I'm sure it has to do with the rhythm.
After a round of deep soul-searing crying (missing dog bad), I splashed cold water on my face and dashed off to the grocery store at 5:30pm for dinner ingredients. By 6:00pm I was back home and chopping.
not a great picture 😏
Baking is different but I almost never use recipes when I cook. I might look up a recipe to see how someone else does it, but 9 times out of 10, I wing it. Because of that I've decided to post my food creations so that I'll remember what I did for the next time I want to make it. Plus maybe someone out there might like to cook it, too.
We eat really healthy around here on a regular basis (we do indulge ourselves from time to time though) especially since JP's health scare back in January. Cooking delicious and healthy food is really easy and not expensive despite what a lot of people think.
But this stuff is really boring to write about and to read about, right?
So anyway, to the right is a picture of last night's meal which JP and Sherb described as amazing, wow, crazy good.
Pureed Cauliflower So easy. Break up a head of cauliflower, cook in large pan with a can of (low sodium) chicken broth. Add two cut up garlic cloves. Cook until tender. Cauliflower will absorb most of the broth but do not strain if there's broth left in the pan. Once cauliflower is tender remove from heat, add a couple tablespoons of butter, about 1/4 cup parmesan, salt and pepper to taste. I pureed in the food processor in two batches because my head of cauliflower was quite large and added a tiny bit of (skim) milk - maybe a tablespoon or two - because the cauliflower had absorbed all of the broth liquid. If you still have broth, add it to the food processor. You can add milk if you want a looser puree...or less if you want more a mashed potato texture.
Quick Vegetable Ragout In a large pan, add a couple tablespoons of good quality extra virgin olive oil. Slice one pound or so mushrooms (I used portabella) and add to pan, cook through. While mushrooms are cooking, toss a bag of chopped spinach in the microwave, cool after cooking, then squeeze out all the water. Add spinach to mushrooms. Add 1/2 cup dry marsala wine. Cook one bag of baby carrots in saucepan filled with water. When tender, strain, then slice on the diagonal and add to mushroom spinach mixture. Add seasonings of choice (garlic powder, basil, s&p, etc). Cook until marsala is absorbed.
Chicken Meatballs In large bowl, add one lb ground chicken breast (make sure it's breast because it's leaner and better quality). Add about 1/2 cup bread crumbs (I used panko because it's way lower in sodium) and seasonings of your choice (red pepper flakes, garlic powder, basil, etc). Dive in there with your hands and mix it up really good. Roll golf ball size meatballs and you'll get 12-16 meatballs. I cook mine in our Cusinart Air Fryer Toaster Oven for about 10 minutes on the air fryer setting but you could bake them in the regular oven (350 for 15-20 minutes).
Took about one hour to throw all of this together. My family has requested that I definitely make this again.
Last evening we sat on the porch, drinking wine, talking,
The heat and humidity just won't let up, making nothing enjoyable.
