Friday, February 21, 2020

Shall We Dance?

Thought for the day: Dance like no one is watching, love like you'll never be hurt; sing like no one is listening, and live like it's heaven on earth. [William Purkey]

[image courtesy of unsplash]
I've never been all that great of a dancer. Not that I didn't love doing it... but let's just say no one ever tried to recruit me for a touring dance troupe. For the most part, what I lacked in talent, I made up for with enthusiasm. I did manage to take first place in a jitterbug contest a million years ago, but I attribute that entirely to my dance partner. Bobby reeeeeally knew how to lead.

And about forty years ago, believe it or not, I actually took belly dancing lessons. It was a lot of fun, but it was more of an exercise class than a genuine dance class. The instructor lured some of us into continuing with her "advanced" class by promising we'd make costumes and perform at a local nursing home. We did neither, which, in retrospect is probably a good thing. Not the costumes part. The part that would've had a handful of silly housewives jiggling and wiggling in front of a bunch of captive seniors.

In more than fifty years of marriage, Smarticus and I have done a lot of dancing. We even belonged to a club for a few years that gave us lots of opportunities to dance. But it's been a while. I still sway and clap or snap my fingers to the background music that's playing while we shoot pool, but I suppose my days of getting out on a dance floor may be near an end. (Maybe at one of our grandchildren's weddings...?)

But wouldn't it be nice... I mean, really really nice... if we could all dance with the reckless abandon of a child? To simply bubble over with the infectious feel of the music and the explosive joy of moving...  without a single shred of self-consciousness? Without the self-doubts that tell us I don't know how.

Why can't we? What's stopping us? I say... nothing is stopping us ... but us.  I say forget about that dance like nobody's watching stuff. I say dance like a child. They don't even need music.

Matter of fact, I think I'm gonna go dance around our bedroom.(AFTER I take a couple of Aleve...)  Pretend I know what I'm doing. Why the heck not? Nobody will be watching but the cats. And they might even join in.  And, hmmm, if I'm not mistaken, I may still have some belly dancing music around here... THAT should be a REAL hoot! I may even scare up one captive senior who might appreciate it...

Talking about dancing with reckless abandon, I'm gonna share a portion of  one of my early... way early... blog posts, back when I only had a handful of followers:


Do you remember Shirley Temple?

She was an amazing child star, and the absolute epitome of golly-gee-whiz cuteness, with her bouncy blonde curls, chubby cheeks and deep dimples. In the '50s, after she was already a grown woman, my friends and I were still watching her old movies, still watching her sing and tap dance across our tiny TV sets. Most of my friends hated her, but me? I wanted to BE her.

How I longed for my limp straight-as-a-stick hair to magically turn into those bouncy sausage curls. How I longed to sing those sweet songs as sweetly as she. And, oh! How I longed to tap dance!

In reality, my hair was worn in one of two styles, and I use the term loosely. Either it was straight and looked like Prince Valiant's do, which can be approximated by sticking a mixing bowl on your head and cutting around it, or it was tortured into a Little Orphan Annie frizz by virtue of a smelly home permanent. No sausage curls for me, bouncy or otherwise.

The singing I did okay. Never American Idol quality, but I could carry a tune. But dance? I could make my way around the neighborhood by walking strictly on top of the chain link fences, could climb the tallest trees, and could ride my bicycle down the multi-flights of concrete stairs by the elementary school without quite killing myself, but let's just say that I was never the most graceful kid on the block. I had two over-sized left feet, and my favorite aunt called me Lurch.

But one magical day, during one of our huge extended family gatherings, I made an amazing discovery in the shadows behind my uncle's cellar steps... my older cousin's long-forgotten and bee-yoo-ti-ful sparkly red tap shoes!

[image courtesy of morguefile]

Believe you me, it took quite a while to squeeze into those tiny shoes. But I did it, and then in the shadows behind the cellar steps, I began to dance. Not sure it would've qualified as anything close to tap dancing, though. It was more like a Snoopy happy dance. If Snoopy had his feet shoved into shoes that were two sizes too small. Then, of course, I had to sing...  On the Good Ship Lollipop.

[image courtesy of unsplash]

I was having a grand ol' pinch-toed time until some of my relatives found me. And laughed. Laughed until they almost wet themselves. (Did I happen to mention that my relatives were terribly rude?) Nah, it was all in fun, and once my mother helped pry my poor feet out of those shoes, the family continued to tease me about that adventure for many years to come.


Even after all these years, I still remember how happy it made me to find those shoes and to dance with the sheer joy of dancing. We should all try to do that more often, don't you think?

Dance and sing to your music. Embrace your blessings. Make today worth remembering. [Steve Maraboli]

It's no secret that some dark health clouds have been hanging over our house for a while, but I think that's an even bigger reason to dance. To sing. To laugh. None of us get to live forever, so we've absolutely got to make the most of each day.

Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass. It's about learning how to dance in the rain.

How about you? Who did YOU want to be when you were a kid? Besides Shirley Temple, I also wanted to be Dale Evans. That didn't work out so hot, either. I remember going horseback riding one time, and carrying a nice apple to feed my horse. Poor ol' thing didn't have a tooth in her head. Not positive, but I'm pretty sure Dale Evans' Buttercup had teeth.

                           Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

[image courtesy of unsplash]

                                            Embrace life. This may be the only one we get.

Friday, February 14, 2020

A Whole Lotta Lovin'

Thought for the day:  ♪♫ I wish you bluebirds in the spring to give your heart a song to sing... I wish you health, and more than wealth, I wish you love...♫♪ [Rachel Yamagata]

Happy Valentines's Day, y'all! So how do you like my love monkey? I'm not talking about Smarticus; I'm talking about that cute little stuffed monkey in the picture, which he gave me for Valentine's Day a number of years ago. If you squeeze his belly, he gives a wolf whistle, and says in a dirty ol' man kinda voice, I go bananas over you!  Again, I'm talking about the monkey, not Smarticus, although come to think of it, it's exactly the sort of thing he would say. That's why it's such a perfect gift. Forget about jewelry and furs, and all that jazz. A gift that makes me laugh wins me over every time.


Then again, chocolate ain't bad, either. After all, a box of candy is never the wrong size, right? Although it came darned close to being too large one year. Smarticus gave me a box of chocolates big enough to cover the entire top of the coffee table. I kid you not. Whew! Talk about a LOT of candy! It took me almost a whole hour to eat it all. (Just kidding. It took more like seventy minutes.)

I'll never forget some of the romantic cards and gifts Smarticus has given me over the years. (sigh) We were all of twelve or thirteen the first time he wrote a poem (just for me!) in my autograph book. It went like this: Roses are red; violets are blue. You've got a shape like a B-52. I mean, doesn't that send shivers of sheer delight up and down your spine?

We weren't much older than that when he extended a lovely decorated box toward me, smiled seductively, and told me to open it. When I did, I found a barf-worthy severed finger lying atop a fluffy bed of cotton. It was his finger, of course, stuck through a hole in the box bottom and doctored up to look as disgusting as he could make it. Yeah, I know. Smarticus was a bit of a farticus in those days.

But, what can I say? I married him anyway. How could I not? He's a gen-u-ine original, and even after all these years, he still knows how to make me laugh, and still knows how to make my heart sing.


Talking about original, have you ever wondered who this St. Valentine fella was and how he came to be associated with a feast day devoted to love? Or why we associate the day with the color red... with red roses in particular... and why we exchange Valentines?

Well, then, you've come to the right place. I've shared this information before, but just in case you missed it or need a refresher course:

Our man Valentine was a priest in Rome during the reign of Claudius the Cruel, an emperor with an unholy affinity for declaring war. In fact, this wacko's wars were so frequent and so unpopular, it got to where very few men were joining the military. The emperor, who was evidently just as stupid as he was cruel, decided the only reason men weren't rushing to fight his wonderful wars was because they were too darned attached to their wives and family. So he came up with the perfect solution. He banned marriages.

Oh, but fear not. Our hero priest continued to perform marriage ceremonies in secret. That is, until the mean ol' emperor found out about it, and had him killed. By beating, stoning, and then beheading. (Talk about overkill.) Valentine died on February 14, 270. (Ah, HA!)

Legend has it that he left a special note for the jailer's daughter, and signed it... from your Valentine. 

So, why the color red, you ask? For obvious reasons, blood red is the color of martyrs. And thanks to the martyred St. Valentine... it also became the color of love. Red roses represent Venus, the goddess of love. And if legend is correct, Valentine himself sent the first Valentine card. St. Valentine's feast day was established in 496, but it didn't become recognized as a lovers' holiday and big day of romance until ten centuries later, when popular belief held that the fourteenth of February marked the start of mating season for birds.


So, if you consider Valentine's Day to be for the birds... you aren't entirely wrong.

At right is an example of a 1909 Valentine's Day card, which I found on Wikipedia. As a young girl, I remember buying big fancy cards for my mother... complete with scented satin hearts on the front and lace around the edges... for the exorbitant price of thirty-five cents. My sweet Smarticus has sent me a bunch of beautiful cards over the years, but he'd still probably be more comfortable with one that said: Roses are red; violets are blue. Sugar is sweet, and so are you... The roses are wilting; the violets are dead. The sugar bowl's empty, and so is your head.

Just kidding. He's actually quite the romantic. (But I sure am glad he didn't know about St. Valentine losing his head over love when we were kids. The finger was bad enough.)

I'm pleased to say he's outgrown sending the shape like a B-52 kinda messages, but he isn't above laughing at them. Neither am I. With sincere thanks to our friend and fellow amateur radio operator Bill, who sent these cards to me, I present to you cards some of the world's most notorious despots might have sent, because ya know... even bad guys need love.

Trying to forget someone you love is like trying to remember someone you never met.

Love is the thing that enables a woman to sing while she mops up the floor after her husband has walked across it in muddy boots.

If love is blind, why is lingerie so popular?

Love doesn't make the world go 'round. Love is what makes the ride worthwhile. [Franklin P. Jones]

You can't blame gravity for falling in love.  [Albert Einstein]

Lots of things are considered aphrodisiacs... like big red juicy strawberries, and rich dark chocolate... or better yet, big red juicy strawberries dipped in rich dark chocolate...

Um, where was I...?

Oh, yeah. I wanted to tell you guys about one of the best aphrodisiacs of all time. Wanta put your lady love in the mood? Do the dinner dishes. I tell ya, nothing is as sexy to a woman as seeing her man tackling a load of dishes  while she's in the easy chair with her feet propped up... eating strawberries dipped in chocolate. Or if ya reeeeeally want to make her weak in the knees... clean the toilet bowl. 

Put a lotta love in your heart

Anyhow, whether you celebrate in a small way, reeeally BIG, or not at all, I wish you love. Today and every day.

Wouldn't it be nice if we celebrated love...  every day?

                                          Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

Wednesday, February 5, 2020

Why Fix it if it Ain't Broke?

Thought for the day:  My grandma always said God made libraries so people didn't have an excuse to be stupid. [Joan Bauer]

Yep. It's that time again. Yet another month has slipped through our fingers, and it is once again time for our IWSG monthly posts. For me, today isn't just about the IWSG, though. It also happens to be Smarticus' birthday, so I won't be spending much time on the computer. Maybe before he gets up, and during his nap, but other than that, the day will be all about him. I've got some fun plans up my sleeve if he's game... if he is, I'll tell you about it later.

Anyhow, back to today's post. As always, thanks to our fearless leader, Alex Cavanaugh, for founding this fine group, and thanks to all the other nurturing guys and gals who've helped turn it into the thriving community it is today. I'm telling ya, this group offers better support and lift than the world's most expensive bra. (No pesky underwires, either!) To join this super supportive group of writers and to see links to other participating blogs, please go HERE

Per the thought for the day, I dunno if Ms. Bauer's grandma was right about libraries, but I have a sneaky feeling all of you are long-time library lovers, like me. I wasn't a fan because I was trying to avoid stupidity, but simply because... I love the very idea of them. Their smells, the sounds, all those BOOKS, just free for the borrowing. As a young girl, I had library cards for a multitude of libraries. Where we grew up in Maryland, there were soooo many wonderful libraries, so... why limit myself to only one? My favorite was the Enoch Pratt Library, on the outskirts of Baltimore city. That place is HUGE! Multiple -storied, it had broad sweeping wooden staircases befitting a southern mansion, and a whole bank of card catalogs. I imagine the place has long-since been modernized, so I doubt if they have any of the old card catalogs any more. Too bad. I loved the simplicity of looking through those cards to find a book by title, author, or subject. Then again, I miss the simple way of stamping a due date on the card and book, too. I reckon I'm just a dinosaur when it comes to libraries. (And, yeah, a bunch of other things, too.) Another cool thing about Enoch Pratt is they had a small room filled with Edgar Allen Poe's desk and other stuff. Reeeeally neat!

Then in 1971, we moved to our sweet little town of Norcross here in Georgia. One of the first things I did after settling in was to visit the local library.


Okay, so maybe it wasn't quite as small as the little lending library in the picture, but it wasn't much bigger. Really. It was ensconced in a tiny home, and the books were on the shelves all helter-skelter, and... they didn't even use the Dewey decimal system!!! Books were more or less alphabetized, but the librarians weren't exactly anal-retentive about it. Some were... some weren't.


I kid you not. I cried. Then I joined two by-mail book-of-the-month clubs.

I'm not sure why the library was in such a disorganized unprofessional state when we moved here, but it wasn't always the case. This adorable little brick building was our city's first library. The Norcross Women's Club was founded in 1905 with the express purpose of supporting the National Library movement and to establish a library here. Norcross had the FIRST library in the region, and it was located in a local school in 1907. Then this sweet little building was built in 1921, and it housed our library until 1966. I'm not sure why they vacated this building to move to the tiny house with maybe six parking places, as I found it in in 1971, but at least the old library still houses something. The Norcross Women's Club. It kinda came full circle.

I'm not sure what year our current library was built, but it's a huge improvement. Even won a Library of the Year award once. They've made a lot of changes since it opened, some I like, some not so much. Checking out is like space age magic. Just pile your books any which way on this high-tech  scanner thingie, enter your card number, and it gives you a print-out of all your books and when they're due.

NOW, a newer, bigger, even better library is being built to replace this one. There's gonna be a big multi-tiered parking deck next to it. I'm looking forward to seeing what the new library will bring, but here's the thing...

Our library was closed for a few days in January. You'll never guess why...

They're eliminating the Dewey decimal system!


Instead, they're going to sort books by subject matter.

I hate it.

The fiction section was already shelved by subject matter... or genre... and I hate that, too. I mean, some books simply don't fit neatly into their limited assortment of categories, so if I'm looking for a book by a particular author, it could be shelved in any one of several places.

Where's a good ol' card catalog when ya need it?

So I'm curious.

About YOUR libraries.

Have they kicked the Dewy decimal system to the curb, too? If so, how do you like it?

I don't mean to be an old fuddy-duddy, so I'd love it if you could explain to me why the new system will be better.

End of rant.

Okay, let's move on to this month's question, shall we?

Has a single photo or work of art ever inspired a story? What was it and did you finish it?

Well, I'm sure a photo or work of art has served as the inspiration for many stories. Just none by ME. (How do ya like THAT? Short and sweet. It really IS possible for me to answer in less than 500 words....)

                          Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

Friday, January 31, 2020

Alternative Solutions

Thought for the day: Who indeed will set bounds to human ingenuity? Who will assert that everything in the universe capable of being perceived is already discovered and known? [Galileo]

One could argue that there is a best way to do something, but that doesn't mean it's the only way. Give ten different people the same challenge, and they're likely to come up with ten different potential solutions. (Which is why some business meetings are less than productive...)

Let's just say... some people are more creative than others. They've got more ingenuity and imagination.

Creativity is intelligence having fun. [Albert Einstein]

I reckon one way... and the safest way... to skin a cat is to buy one that doesn't have any fur to begin with.  Having a naked cat would be easier on the ol' vacuum cleaner, but... um... yuk. Sorry. Not too many things creep me out, but they do.

But I digress. This post isn't about cats, hairless or not. It's about human ingenuity. I believe the following pictures will demonstrate that trait quite well, but I'll leave it to you to decide whether or not the people who obviously had a ton of fun coming up with these solutions demonstrated intelligence or not... (I'll let the pictures speak for themselves.)

At the heart of science is an essential balance between two seemingly contradictory attitudes— an openness to new ideas, no matter how bizarre or counter-intuitive they may be, and the most ruthless skeptical scrutiny of all ideas, old and new. This is how deep truths are winnowed from deep nonsense. [Carl Sagan]

Okay, so some of those pics demonstrate some very clever solutions, and others? Okay, nonsense. But funny.

Never ever underestimate the importance of having fun. [Randy Pausch]

                         Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

                              Sometimes, you've gotta think outside the... box.

Friday, January 24, 2020

BAD word! Sit! Stay!

Thought for the day: Man invented language to satisfy his deep need to complain.  [Lily Tomlin]

[image courtesy of unsplash]

Most of you already know it, but I'm a total word freak who revels in the nuances and quirky idiosyncrasies of the English language. As far as I'm concerned, it's a never-ending source of delight and amusement.

I mean, some words are just fun to say, dontcha think? Words like diddly squat, discombobulate, nincompoop, floozy, canoodle, patootie, and keister tickle my funny bone.

Any fun words you'd like to add?

[image courtesy of unsplash]

Some words also have the ability to make me cringe, but they aren't necessarily the so-called naughty words that once-upon-a-time merited a mouth-washing in our society. No, the words that bug me the most are the ones that drip with cruelty and unkindness. It's unconscionable that language, which can be used to edify and uplift, is too often wielded like a weapon to inflict pain.

And then there are the words we're gonna look at today. They're words that some people say should be... banished. Thrown into a dark dungeon and destined to languish in some dark corner with nothing but bread and water forever.


Every January first, Lake Superior State University publishes a tongue-in-cheek list of words deemed worthy of banishment from our lexicon. The first list came about as the result of a New Year's Eve party conversation, in which school P.R. director W.T. Rabe and some of his colleagues entertained themselves by talking about their word pet peeves. (I can totally imagine doing the same thing... how about you?) Just for kicks, Rabe published them the next day, and they received so much feedback and received so many suggestions of other words that should be decommissioned, the next year's list practically wrote itself. Ever since then, the annual list has been compiled from suggestions received from around the world. Nope, there's no teeth in this list. Just a little bit of fun.

[image courtesy of morguefile]
Here, marking year 45, are the words that have been kicked to the proverbial curb this year. (If you feel sorry for them, feel free to open the gate and let 'em back in... )

Quid pro quo: This phrase received the most nominations this year, with a noticeable spike in November (gee, we wonder why…). The popularity of this phrase has the committee wondering what it should offer in exchange for next year’s nominations.

Artisanal: One nominator described this word as an “obfuscation,” describing an “actual person doing something personal for another unknown person.”  The committee agrees this word should be banned for well water… but not for sandwiches.
Curated: Like “artisanal,” this seems to be another attempt at making something more than it is, especially when used in reference to social media (or Banished Words Lists). As Barb from Ann Arbor says, “Save it for the museum.”
Influencer: According to Urban Dictionary, “A word Instagram users use to describe themselves to make them feel famous and more important when no one really know who they are or care.”
Literally: Surprisingly, this word hasn’t already been banished, but here it is, one of the few words in English that has begun to serve as its own antonym. Many of the nominators cite this word’s use for figurative expressions or emphasis, which is literally annoying.
I mean: It’s easy to see why this phrase was nominated, right? I mean…
Living my best life: The committee very much enjoys exercising its authority in banishing words annually–literally the capstone of our year–but as Eric says, apart from reincarnation, are there “options for multiple lives”?
Mouthfeel: A word used by foodies to describe the texture of food or drink in the mouth, which the committee feels should be banished entirely from food reality TV shows. As our nominator asks, “Where else, exactly, would you like to touch your food or beverage?” This one just doesn’t feel right in the mouth.
Chirp:  This one is a new insult for the non-millennials on the committee. Before we get chirped for being out of touch, as our nominator suggests, why don’t we leave it to the birds?
Jelly: An abbreviation of “jealous,” the committee agrees with the nominator of this word who suggested that it’s better left for toast.
Totes: Another abbreviation, this time of “totally.” Totes overused.
Vibe / vibe check: A new use of the 60s term, “good vibes.” This one just doesn’t vibe with us anymore, unless the speaker is actually vibrating.
OK, Boomer: This phrase caught on late this year on the Internet as a response from millennials to the older generation. Boomers may remember, however, that generational tension is always present. In fact, it was the Boomers who gave us the declaration: “Don’t trust anyone over 30!”
Are there any words or phrases you'd like to  add to the list? (If you wanta do it for real, see the school's nominating form  HERE)
You know, I was thinking...

If there's a list for words that should be erased from usage, (or at least put in time out) maybe there should also be a list of words we'd like to ADD to common usage...

Like some of these:

Carcolepsy: an affliction that makes some people fall asleep as soon as the car starts moving. 

Cellfish: people who are more interested in their phones than they are with the people who are right there with them.

Askhole: Someone who asks an endless string of stupid, pointless, and obnoxious questions just to hear the sounds of their own voices.

Exhaustipated: too tired to give a crapola

Carcheologist: The person who has to dig out all the crap that's hidden in and under the car seats.

                                               Nostrildamas: Someone with a real... nose for the news. 

                                                 Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

[image courtesy of unsplash]

Friday, January 17, 2020

Please Hold

Thought for the day: If it weren't for electricity, we'd all be watching television by candlelight. [George Gobel]

[image courtesy of morguefile]
And if it weren't for telephones, I reckon we'd all be sending smoke signals.

To tell the truth, I had no idea what I was gonna write about for today's post. Oh, I had a few nebulous ideas, but nothing that stirred much enthusiasm in me.

Then Monday happened, and serendipity struck.

When I went to my ophthamologist last week, she prescribed another eyedrop to add to my daily regimen, and told me to come back in a month to have the pressure remeasured.The staff kindly made a return appointment for me, and I went on my merry way.
That afternoon, Smarticus' next surgery was scheduled, and you guessed it... it fell on the same day as that aforementioned appointment.

No problem, right? I simply went online and canceled the appointment, and figured I'd make a call to the (ugh!) appointment center on Monday to reschedule.

OY! Big problem! First, after dutifully entering all the required information into the automated system, the robo-voice told me all lines were busy, and there'd be a wait of anywhere between 56 minutes and an hour and 23 minutes... (Where do they come up with arbitrary numbers???) so did I want someone to call me back. To sweeten the offer, I was assured that I "wouldn't lose my place in line." A no-brainer, right? So I left the required information, and about two hours later, give or take, I got that promised call-back. Cool, huh?

Nope. Not cool. An automated voice once again informed me that all lines were busy, but the next available assistant would take my call. (Why, why, WHY did they call me back, if they were only going to put me on HOLD again?) Silly naive me thought it'd only be a short wait. After all, I was next in line, right?

I gave up after waiting for more than an hour, and I've gotta tell ya, it gave me enormous pleasure to slam my phone receiver back into its cradle. (One of the pleasures of owning a landline. Also... I have NEVER accidentally dropped my phone into the toilet or run it through the washing machine. Just saying...)

Then I took the phone off the hook. Phooey on 'em! I had stuff to do, dammit!

And I was MAD! SOOOOO mad, I wanted to punch the wall and scream. So natch, I did what any other perfectly normal weird irate writer would do... I wrote a silly poem that evening:

'Tis a sad and tragic story,
But one that must be told,
About a most unlucky fella
Whose call was put on hold.

A recorded voice informed him
There'd be a slight delay,
'But your call is quite important,
So please don't go away.'

Then began an endless loop 
Of an irritating tune,
Plus timely saccharine assurances
That someone would answer soon.

'I'm sure this won't take long,'
The foolish man did say.
'I'll simply sit and wait my turn...
Why not? I've got all day.'

Minutes passed, and then passed hours,
As life went on around him.
Yet still he sat, phone pressed to ear,
For his determination bound him. 

The longer he waited,
The more he had to stay.
His call'd be answered any sec,
So he mustn't go away.

With zero sleep and little food,
He clutched his phone for days.
He began to hum that damnable tune,
And his puffy eyes looked crazed.

Then finally, on day twenty-two or three,
The music stopped; he held his breath,
And he heard a woman say:

'Thank you for your patience.
I'm so glad that you could stay.
Now won't you kindly tell me
What I can do for you today?'

'Your mattress stinks; I'll not return
To your crummy store Sweet Slumber.
I demand my money back!'
'So sorry, sir. Wrong number!"


On Tuesday, I played it smart. I called the dreaded appointment center first thing in the morning. So first thing, in fact, after dutifully entering all the required information into the automated system, I was informed that the place didn't open until 8 AM. (The slackers!) There was a happy ending, though. I called on the stroke of eight, and by golly, I was first in line, and the task was accomplished in a matter of minutes. From now on, I will ALWAYS make that call at 8 AM. Burn me once, shame on you. Burn me twice, shame on me.

So are automated telephone systems and being put on hold the banes of your existence, too? Oh, and let's not forget those delightful robo-calls. (I guess there weren't enough people being duped via email, eh?) If none of those things make it to the top of your pet peeve list, what does? (Why not write a poem about it? HA) And, ya know,  if we can't beat the system, we might as well laugh at it...


Kinda makes ya nostalgic for the good old days of telephone, doesn't it? Well, except maybe for those pesky party lines. You know... when you knew your nosy neighbor was listening to your call, because you could hear her open-mouthed  breathing. Oh, but remember those really sweet helpful operators? Remember... Earnestine?

                                    Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.