Finding the Answers

We live in a golden age.

Sure, there are still people who die every day from hunger, despite there being enough food in the world to feed everyone. Okay, yeah there always seems to be war breaking out. Russia, we’re looking at you. You’re right, political corruption seems to be at an all-time high. Yes, we seem to be slipping back to a time when Nazis were running wild. But at least we live in a golden age where information and answers are at the tip of our fingertips. What a time to be alive!

Let me give you a prime example. Have you ever wondered how peanut butter is made? Buckle up peanut butter cup, ’cause it’s a breeze:

  • Step one: Fire up YouTube.
  • Step two: Search for “How is peanut butter made?”
  • Step three: Watch as many videos as your heart desires until you’re a peanut butter-making pro!

Or, if you have a lot of time on your hands:

  • Step one: Summon the mighty Google.
  • Step two: Search for “How is peanut butter made?”
  • Step three: Dive into a sea of articles until you’ve absorbed all the peanutty knowledge you crave!


  • Step one: Just ask ChatGPT, the wizard of all knowledge, “Tell me how to make peanut butter in the simplest and quickest way!”
  • Step two: Voila! You’re whipping up homemade peanut butter to sell at the farmer’s market like a boss.

It’s that easy.

Did you know that when Betty White was still alive (sadly she didn’t live forever as we all hoped and thought she would) she was older than sliced bread? Literally. I’m not making a “she’s so old joke,” but if I were, it would be funny and factual.

You know how I learned this? I wondered what year she was born. In less than ten seconds I had my answer: 1922.

When was sliced bread created? 1928.

Where am I going with this you may be asking yourself. Well, the point is, nowadays if you have a question or you’re not sure about something, finding the answer is so unbelievably easy. A few keystrokes and you’re there at the doorstep of your answer.

“Back in my day,” said in an old folk’s voice, if you wanted to know something, it was a much harder task.

Again, sticking with peanut butter (hope nobody is allergic) if you wanted to know how it was made you had to:

  • Open your phone book.
  • Find the number to the nearest peanut butter plant.
  • Call the plant’s office.
  • Ask if they give tours. Phew, they give tours! Fantastic! Note down the date and time.
  • Wait till the day and time they’re giving tours.
  • Go to bed early.
  • Wake up early.
  • Wake up the kiddos.
  • Get everyone in the car.
  • Unfurl your map and trace out the quickest route to the factory.
  • Realize that you need a magnifying glass to see this godforsaken map.
  • Retrace the quickest route to the factory.
  • Start your road trip.
  • Halfway there, get a flat tire.
  • Lose interest as you wait for a tow truck.
  • Yell at the kids for getting on your nerves.
  • Yell at your spouse for getting on your nerves.
  • Decide you don’t really care how peanut butter is made.
  • Get a divorce.


  • Go to the library.
  • Sign up for a library card.
  • Go searching for books related to peanuts and the process of making peanut butter.
  • Hope that this type of book isn’t already taken, forcing you to wait for someone else to return it.
  • The book is there! Read it.
  • Answer found.

Maybe even…

  • Ask that pretentious cousin who brags about canning their own vegetables.
  • Spend over two hours on the phone with said cousin.
  • Take copious notes and equal shots of vodka while navigating through the family gossip you’ve thus far been able to avoid just to get to the needed recipe.
  • Spend the next 10 years wondering why your peanut butter always comes out wonky.
  • Finally realize that your cousin doesn’t know how to make peanut butter.

What I’m trying to say is, there’s no excuse to not know things nowadays, especially things that you can easily look up for yourself.

The other day I saw this post in my Agatha Christie Poirot group on Facebook where some young person was confused when a movie star was mentioned in an episode because… they didn’t think there were televisions in Hercule Poirot’s time. So how could they watch a movie?

I digress here for a moment to say that Agatha Christie wrote the Hercule Poirot stories from 1920 to 1972 and, for the most part, they were set in the year in which they were written. The televised adaptations (with the incomparable David Suchet, pictured) were all set in the 1930s (for whatever reason). Now, the TV was invented in 1927, but movies have been around even before then with the first moving picture dating back to 1895. You may not know this (but you should cause…Google), but film and television are also two different things. You don’t need a television to watch films (no, really, it’s true), and they certainly didn’t need them back in the day.

Luckily, someone with much more patience and understanding than me chimed in to explain that yes, there were movies back in the day, but they were called films and they were shown in this thing called a cinema. The original poster ended up laughing at themselves and saying “obviously I’m from the streaming generation.” As if that explained it all away.

I realize that the Facebook group is meant for socializing and whatnot, but why not look up something like this before posting a question for public critique? I mean, for the love of Pete, you have the knowledge of the world at your fingertips. Another person, equally as kind as the first – and loads nicer than me – said there are no stupid questions. Really? Are you sure about that?

All I could think of were the America’s Funniest Videos clips where parents watch their kids struggling with a rotary phone or a rolodex. Rather than feeling “smart,” my having the knowledge that films did and can in fact exist without the need for a television somehow made me feel… old. And that was unexpected.

Aging Like Fine… Cabbage

I just made myself some fried cabbage. Yep. At 10:00. At night. Fried cabbage at this hour is like playing a rigged game of Russian roulette with your digestive system. It’s not a matter of if, but when the rumbling and gurgling will start. So forget about enjoying that delicious goodness without paying the price later. It’s like our stomachs have become traitors in our golden years. It’s enough to make you want to cry into your bowl of bland, flavorless oatmeal. Oh, the joys of aging. Who needs roller coasters and bungee jumping when you can live on the edge by eating fried cabbage at 10 pm?

As we get older, our bodies betray us at every turn. We used to be able to eat anything we wanted without giving it a second thought. We could chow down on a giant burrito at midnight and be ready for a marathon the next day. But now, even the thought of a spicy meal after 7 pm can send our digestive system into a tailspin.

It’s not just about food either. Remember the days when we could stay up all night partying with friends and still function like a normal human being the next day? Now, just one glass of wine can leave us feeling like we’ve been hit by a truck. That’s our bodies telling us, “Sorry, just give it up, those days are over. You’re officially old.” If you need any confirmation at all, just go to the grocery store. Our music – the music we listened to as we danced the night away – is now playing on the speakers. Talk about adding insult to injury.

And don’t even get me started on the aches and pains. It used to be that we could bend over and touch our toes without even thinking about it. Now, we have to carefully stretch out every muscle just to tie our shoes. It’s like we’re slowly turning into the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz.

But perhaps the cruelest irony of aging is the toll it takes on our love of food. The days of devouring an entire pizza without batting an eye are behind us.  Now, we have to think twice before indulging in anything remotely spicy or greasy… weighing the risks against the deliciousness of the meal. Is it worth it?  Is it really? And even if we do give in to our cravings, we know we’ll be paying for it later.

No matter how much we fight it – with some of us kicking and screaming all the way to the plastic surgeon – aging and all the downsides that come with it, is inevitable. So, we might as well find humor in the absurdity of it all. After all, laughter is the best medicine. Or so they say. Even if it doesn’t do much for our digestion.

And who knows, maybe someday we’ll stumble upon the elusive fountain of youth and be able to enjoy our favorite foods with reckless abandon once again. Until then, we’ll just have to make do with the blandest of meals and the earliest of bedtimes. Blech. But hey, at least we’ll be able to laugh about it over a shared tub of Tums.

Faith for Sale

Okay, so I know this happened a while ago, but do you remember this past Super Bowl™? More importantly, do you remember that Jesus commercial that aired?

When it first came on, it was quite moving and it had me from the jump, wondering which company’s ad this would be. I thought, wow, this advertising firm really did a hell of a job. As it continued to play, it really had me wondering which company’s logo was going to show up at the end. A litany of ideas ran through my mind. Some person announcing that they’re running for President? No. A Kia ad? I mean, nowadays the best ads don’t have anything to do with the actual product or company, so I thought this was as good a guess as any. But then, the end of the commercial came and I was shocked. It was Jesus. It was an actual ad for Jesus. Jesus just ran an ad during the Super Bowl™. I could be wrong, but I don’t think that’s ever happened before. Jesus usually isn’t interested in or moved by the Super Bowl™ despite what fans desperate for a win might think.

Am I wrong in thinking that if any church or faith-based group has the millions of dollars needed to buy airtime during the Super Bowl™, they shouldn’t do that. I’m not religious – like at all, and I’m definitely not a gazillionaire, so I don’t know what it’s like to have that kind of money, but I feel like the millions of dollars this group just threw at a marketing campaign should’ve been used for things that Jesus would actually condone.

I don’t have the Bible memorized word-for-word, but I sure don’t remember a passage like this:

“For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son five million dollars to advertise on national television during the Super Bowl™.”

Seriously, how about housing the homeless? Feeding the hungry? Giving everyone clean drinkable water? More money and humanitarian aid for countries that start with the letter U? You know, good Christian things? Things that will help make the world a better place.

Jesus doesn’t need an ad campaign. You know how I know that’s true? Any time you ask someone, who is Jesus, it’s a solid bet that they’re going to know just who Jesus is. Whether they believe in him heart and soul or whether they don’t believe in him just as strongly, they’re gonna know. And likely have a lot of opinions that they’ll happily share with you. The one thing Jesus doesn’t need is a brand recognition campaign.

And… AND… here’s the sketchy part. The progressive messaging in the ads seems to be at odds with the conservative beliefs of those who actually funded it, which leads me to really question the reasoning for these ads in the first place. The campaign has connections to far-right ideologies, not least of which are anti-LGBTQ and anti-abortion laws. They’ve donated tens of millions to an ultra-conservative legal group who is working diligently to curtail LGBTQ rights and promote legislation that would allow for discrimination of marginalized communities. Hobby Lobby is one of their largest contributors. Enough said, if you ask me.

So why then, are they spending millions on Super Bowl™ ads espousing trumped up messaging like “He gets us. All of us?” Is it some convoluted plot? Are they pretending to be a part of the progressive movement to somehow discredit it? Maybe they hope to drive good people who are rightfully incensed at this frivolous spending by a presumably liberal group more towards the alt-right party? Or maybe it’s just all an elaborate scheme to garner donations for programs that are the exact opposite of their televised messaging. Using good folks to fund bad legislation. The irony that what I’m claiming sounds like an alt-right conspiracy theory is not lost on me, but things like this really make me wonder about ulterior motives.

If I’m even a little bit right, the fact that so much money was spent on such a thing is disgusting. If I’m wrong and this is purely a religious group trying to spread the word of God, the fact that so much money was spent on such a thing is disgusting.

Condescending Is As Condescending Does

Today I want to talk about a topic that gets me angrier than your grandmother when the mailman is running late: gatekeeping hobbies. I know I’ve talked about this before, but gatekeepers annoy the hell out of me, and since I was thinking about it, I thought you should too. This is kind of a long one, so strap in.

If you’re not familiar with the term, let’s get nerdy for a minute. “Gatekeeping refers to the act of setting arbitrary rules or standards around a particular activity or interest and then using those rules to exclude others who don’t meet those standards.” And boy, do some people take it seriously. These folks are the kids who became hall monitors – back in the day when hall monitors were a thing in school – and fell in love with the power. They were so taken with their own righteousness that they were giving out demerits willy-nilly and burning bridges at the same time.

Back then you couldn’t go to the bathroom without a note. Now, you can’t like something or do something as a hobby, until you prove yourself somehow worthy.

You’re not a “real” fan of a particular band unless you know every single song on every single album. The ones who sneer at your attempts to learn a new skill because you’re not a “natural.” The ones who insist that the only way to enjoy a particular hobby is to spend a not-so-small fortune on equipment or materials. You know, rich assholes.

This isn’t just annoying.

When people start gatekeeping hobbies, they’re not just saying that certain people aren’t welcome. They’re saying that certain people aren’t good enough. They’re reinforcing the idea that there are “right” and “wrong” ways to enjoy things, and that if you don’t do it their way, you’re doing it wrong.

But here’s the thing: there is no “right” way to enjoy a hobby. What if my hobby is to watch seasons of Friends out of order from the last season to the first. Are there rules? Is it allowed? Do I give a shit what your opinion is? No. Yes. No. Those are my answers.

“You can’t watch the show like that.” Why? Will the universe collapse on itself? If so, I think we need to ask ourselves, do we care? I mean, have you seen the state of the world today? I digress. But the truth of it is, I have done this, and we’re all still here. So there’s that.

Side note: Oddly enough watching the show backwards, the cast somehow goes from young looking to old looking. Figure that one out.

Another example. Twitter adults (yes, adults) were roasting the young people who had just discovered Metallica through the show Stranger Things. Now personally, if you’re gonna roast anyone, it should be the adults who never introduced their kids to Metallica in the first place. The very same adults who are now on Twitter gatekeeping Metallica’s music. Kudos to Metallica for jumping in and shutting that shit down.

from Metallica’s official Twitter account

Sadly, gatekeeping is not alone… it has an even more self-righteous little cousin – what I call Virtuous Judging. And this is what got me started on this rant today.

random meme that found its way onto my social media feed

Are you judging someone in what you think is a positive way? Yeah, that’s still judging, people! Plus, it’s not positive – it’s condescending, even if you’re not saying it out loud. I get that you might have good intentions, but how about you go about your day without always thinking about what other people are doing. Condescending thoughts are still condescending because they give you the illusion that your opinion should matter to the people you’re judging.

The person who wrote this meme is probably patting themselves on the back for having such altruistic thoughts, but why do they even care why anyone’s at the gym? No one cares what you think. People are just trying to live their lives in relative peace. Their existence doesn’t need to be judged by you. They don’t require your validation. Mind your business. Leave. People. Alone.

Whether you’re judging and gatekeeping someone out loud or just in your mind, stop. I mean, it’s easy enough. Just don’t do that.

We need to just do ourselves and not in a “that’s what she said” way. If we worry about ourselves, and everyone does the same, then we’d all be responsible for ourselves and it would be so much easier to take care of ourselves with no judgment, even from ourselves.

And if you were playing a drinking game and every time I wrote “ourselves” you took a shot, you need to give your keys to someone now. Maybe go lay down.

Finding Joy in the Little Things

I would like to impart some wisdom to you, dear readers, for a life well lived. Oh, I’m a life coach now, didn’t you know? It’s a career that suits me, I think. Hey, don’t roll your eyes at me! I’m a freakin’ life coach, have some respect!

When having a stressful day, you should find joy in the little things. It’s these small moments in time where you can truly find peace and tranquility, even when the rest of your day has gone to shi… not as you planned. Yes, the art of finding joy each day takes some work on your part. It involves actively seeking out the positive aspects of your surroundings, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant they may seem. But I promise you, once you start viewing life through an intentional lens of joyfulness, you’ll be surprised at how many of these moments you’ll find. And when they reveal themselves, just pause, breathe, and enjoy the gift that the universe has given you.

It might be beneficial for me to provide some samples, so that you’re not just out there, lost and wandering around, desperately looking for joy in all the wrong places (hmmm… that sounds like a song). Here is a compelling example, and this just happened to me today, so I can attest to the joy it brings. As you’re making your way through your to do list and you’re already upset that this one particularly stupid thing you have to do is taking you across town and traffic is a bear, as always … find joy in the pick-up truck decked out for mudding (in a suburb that has no mud … anywhere) with the COVID is a hoax bumper sticker and rubber balls (yes, of the testicle variety) hanging off the hitch who was weaving in and out of traffic and cutting everyone off (including you) just to get caught at the same red light where you now find yourself. As you sit in the lane right beside them, let their angry face and head shaking pour over you like a wave of sunshine. And then, when they get caught at the NEXT light as well … I’m telling you, pure bliss.

Or perhaps, that joyful moment comes in witnessing firsthand the person who didn’t take their cart back to the cart return (animal!), and rather, left it sitting in the empty spot beside them (thereby taking up a coveted parking spot), only to have the cart roll backwards into the bumper of their ultra fancy car with the pristine paint job. But it gets better, because also they didn’t see it, so they ran into it as they were trying to pull out of their parking space. Ahhh, it’s enough to bring a smile to this old curmudgeonly face.

See? Told you. Joy in the little things.

I’m a GREAT life coach.

A Short Story of a Long Life

Write an autobiography they said… it will bring you happiness, they said. The hard work will be worth it, they said.  I don’t know why everyone thinks it’s such a difficult undertaking. Mine took about 60 seconds with time left over for a snack. They were right about one thing, though. Snacks definitely bring me happiness.

my self-published memoir


Is It Over Yet?

Christmas is almost here. Bah humbug.

My kids are grown and I find that the holiday just isn’t the same as when they were little. Back then, I would deck out the tree, decorate the entire house, and enjoy the sounds of laughter and excitement as the jolly old fat man’s arrival grew nearer and nearer. There’s just something about the unabashed joy children bring to the season. It’s enough to melt even my curmudgeonly heart.

In recent years, my love for a clutter free home has won out against my love for Christmas decorations. I now live vicariously through the Clark Griswolds of the world (I’m looking at you, Paul). Although, to be fair, the only reason I don’t have a tree is thanks to the ne’er-do-well. She climbed it a couple of years back, got stuck in the string of lights, and almost broke her leg while struggling to get out. Imagine waking up to the sounds of a thousand banshees in your living room. Yeah, that was fun. I ended up having to cut a perfectly good string of lights to get her loose. So now, I have an enormous collection of Christmas tree ornaments – which I add to every year – with no tree on which to hang them thanks to a very real fear of finding a cat hanging by her hindleg amongst the limbs.

I will admit, a lot of my bah humbug comes from my deep hatred of stores, people, and frigid temps. Oh, I love snow! But you see, we don’t get snow. We just get wind and -5° weather and apparently, it gets dark at noon now. Did I mention people?  Yeah, they’re everywhere and even more so during the holidays. Ugh. People. Amirite?  And don’t even get me started with the super holiday spirited folks singing carols for absolutely no reason whatsoever and holiday work parties with the overly extroverted coworkers you usually only see via Zoom. Did you know there’s no mute button in real life? Right!?  I was disappointed to say the least.

Some rituals of the season I do enjoy despite the Grinchiness that has crept up on me in my old age. Baking with holiday music blaring in the background and Christmas movies – though it’s more Hallmark now and less Rudolph – and matching what I hope is the perfect gift to the right person, especially my children. I love my kids and of course, they did have to grow up, despite my admonishments to the contrary. If they had just listened to me, they’d still be 5 years old. But they never listen. What can you do? I miss wrapping presents late into the night on Christmas Eve and waiting for everyone to fall asleep so I could sneak in to put all the gifts under the tree before retreating to my room, trashed with discarded wrapping paper, empty label sheets, and spent tape dispensers, to get too little sleep before the rugrats burst in screaming, “Santa came! Santa came!” at an ungodly hour.

Alas, nowadays, I find myself tucked in, all nice and cozy, at a respectable hour on Christmas Eve with nary an alarm clock in sight. Christmas morning has a little less mess and a lot less toys and it no longer looks like the Christmas section at Macy’s threw up in my living room. I even get to sleep in. As luck would have it, my kids inherited my “I love sleep gene” and when they’re home, they’re more than happy to sleep in.  We watch Krampus instead of Charlie Brown and have wine instead of hot chocolate. We play Cards Against Humanity instead of Mousetrap. The cookies and fudge are the same, no need to mess with perfection. And as I watch my kids laughing together while reminiscing of Christmases past, all is right in the world.

The Art of Bad Spelling

Everyone has their own unique take on art. Author E.A. Bucchianeri wrote, “Art is in the eye of the beholder, and everyone will have their own interpretation.”  But where is graffiti’s place in the art world?  Graffiti has its origins in 1970s New York, when young people began to use spray paint and other materials to create images on buildings and on the sides of subway trains. Although, technically speaking, ancient cave art is also a form of graffiti.

Here’s a question for you: Is it art or is it vandalism? The public is pretty much split on the idea, which isn’t surprising. It’s strange how, as a society, we almost overwhelmingly value and appreciate cave art and yet generally vilify urban graffiti art when they’re really just two creative peas in a vibrant, colorful pod.

Personally, I think some graffiti art is nothing short of a visual masterpiece. I’ve seen so many beautiful works of art painted on the sides of buildings but at the same time, I’ve seen some pretty atrocious ones as well. Have you ever had to wait for a train and as you’re sitting there waiting for yours, you’re left sitting there watching all the other train cars go by? That’s when you really see some “winners” let me tell ya. Gang slang, random dicks, and a bunch of generally incoherent pieces is all it is. Occasionally something that took a little effort will sneak by, but not often.

There’s also been more than a few times where I’ve come across graffiti on the sides of buildings in urban landscapes that don’t particularly hold any artistic merit or, in some cases, even basic spelling. With that said, I’m well aware that some words are misspelled on purpose for whatever reason like perhaps it holds some sort of hidden message or something unique to the artist. At the end of the day, graffiti is art and art is always up for interpretation but there are only so many ways you can interpret a poorly rendered picture of the word “ketchup” on the side of a building.

I live in a suburb and recently I’ve noticed more and more graffiti popping up, but unfortunately, it’s not the pretty kind. If it were, I’d have no issue whatsoever as I’m sure it would brighten the place up and be something nice and unique to look at.

Generally speaking, I think that graffiti artists are extremely talented and the art they craft can extend far beyond spectacular. I know I’ve seen quite a few amazing murals in some places, hell, I’ve even seen businesses pay graffiti artists to come up with something unique and thought-invoking on their walls. Not only can a well-painted piece of graffiti be fresh and edgy, but it can also be a one-of-a-kind talking piece that customers are sure to remember. In a world that loves remaking classics and imitating the art that came before it, a uniquely crafted work of graffiti could do wonders for a small up-and-coming business, or even a well-established one for that matter. Unfortunately, those types of graffiti artists don’t live in my town. I’m not sure what one would call them, but artists they are not. Cause what passes for graffiti art around here is severely lacking in any artistic talent whatsoever. I know that might sound harsh, but come on. Those of us who have to look at the end product deserve better.

If you’re wondering what I came across to prompt this critique, it was nothing more than a simple statement written in plain black spray paint that said, “I like my bad habits best surved cold.”  Yep, you read that right, “surved” instead of “served.” There doesn’t seem to be any reason to spell served as surved, at least, not that I could find. And believe me, I spent entirely too long searching for a reason… any reason. Even if there was a hidden purpose behind the misspelling, the art itself was extra lackluster. Perhaps if it wasn’t, I could have overlooked the bad spelling but at the end of the day, it was just ugly and horribly executed. If you’re going to misspell something, whether on purpose or by accident, there should at least be some artistic merit behind the effort. Hell, I’d even take an emotionally or politically charged statement such as “eat the rich” or “make love, not war,” you know, something we can all get behind. It just seems like a waste of time to deface public property with something like the word “surved.”

I don’t know what I’m hoping to accomplish with this little rant, but I guess if I can discourage at least one bad graffiti artist from ruining a wall somewhere, then this post will have “surved” its purpose.

Speaking in Tongues

Every generation has its own slang terms that generally confuse the older generations that came before them. For instance, kids today are saying things like “bussin” when something is really good. Usually, it’s in reference to food, or so I’m told, but it could be anything. Or perhaps you’ve heard the word “bet” in response to someone asking if your plans are still on for later. This one wasn’t as confusing as a few I’ve heard. Some slang terms go full circle and come back around. Just like fashion. Young people think they’ve created something when really, it originated with their great-grandparents or even *gasp* their parents.

But what about words for things that aren’t necessarily considered slang… they’re more or less just outdated terms from the “old world?” I mean I’m sure pretty much everyone calls pants, pants now. My grandparents, however, generally referred to them as slacks. Do you ever remember your grandparents taking you to see the pictures? Of course, when I say pictures, I’m not referring to a photo album store but rather the movie theater or cinema. Speaking of which, it used to be just cinema. Now it’s the movie theater. As a kid, I remember wearing galoshes which are practically only referred to as rainboots today. At least to my knowledge. Do teens even go necking anymore? I doubt most of them even know what it means, but yeah, I’m sure they still probably do it.

While I’m on the topic of speaking the proverbial “old tongue,” I have a small story that highlights exactly what I’m talking about. Just the other day I was out shopping with my daughter, and I told a young cashier at the store that I loved her blouse. It was in fact quite lovely. Sheer black with a muted white design, buttoned collar.  As soon as the words left my mouth, I had that weird sensation that you get when you think someone is awkwardly staring at you for a reason you’re not completely aware of.  As I looked up from digging my wallet out of my needlessly cavernous purse, I found that I was right. This young woman had the most confused look on her face as she tried to make sense of what I had just said to her. After a few seconds she had given up and responded hesitantly with, “…my what?”

As I was trying to figure out what blouse might rhyme with that could cause offense if misheard (in an effort to know what type of apology needed to be offered), my daughter swooped in, and quickly explained to her that I was talking about her top. Apparently, my daughter explained later, no one says blouse anymore. The cashier’s face brightened and she cheerfully said, “thank you!” The crisis created by my attempt at a compliment was averted. In that moment, I felt old.  So old.

This whole situation reminded me of some previous writings where I discuss my ability to bewilder my kids with phrases that I’ve grown up with that they’ve never heard of. Here are a few of my favorites:

  • Piss or get off the pot.
  • It’s like trying to herd cats.
  • I’ve got no dog in this fight.
  • That dog won’t hunt.

But blouse?? Come on, that’s a common term, right? When did we stop saying blouse? Who knows, I was probably absent that day.

I’m not going.

I don’t think I’ve mentioned this, but, back in July, I had a health scare that put me in the hospital. The doctors assured me that the issue was resolved and life could continue with nary a worry on the horizon.  Well, as so often happens, they were wrong. My recent radio silence was brought on by another such incident occurring and yep, another hospital stay.  But, my family and you, dear readers, are not getting rid of me so easily. I’m here to stay.

Besides, from experience, it’s the really outrageous plotlines that come next… wouldn’t want to miss that.