I love this tweet. Never has this fact been more evident than throughout this damn pandemic. Right??? Here are some of the Comments to go along with this tweet:
“Peak adulthood is realizing that your parents were just winging it, too.” -@mjonesonline
“Oddly comforting, isn’t it?” @allisonching1
“Middle age is looking around for an “adultier adult” and realize everyone else isdoing the same but they’re all looking at you. Because you ARE the adultiest adultpresent.” @getoffmylawn585
I recently did some self-reflection on this annoying thing that I do to my kids lately. It’s not charming, or “loving mommy” of me at all. (but honestly, I don’t see myself quitting it, anytime soon) Whenever my kids (ages 17 and up) have to do something exasperating that I used to do for them, such as calling customer service lines, and then waiting in the queue for 3.8 hours, and then having to speak to someone who doesn’t seem to understand English, and then being afraid to complain about this fact because it might get them “cancelled”, I just say this, with a quirky little smirk on my face:
“Welcome to adulthood!!” (and then I do this irritating laugh)
When my kids have to pay for something ridiculous, like paying an extra fee and some taxes for a permit for something that is required for a class that they’d rather not have to take in the first place, or when they complain about having to pay for things such as “batteries that aren’t included”:
I reliably chirp, “Welcome to adulthood!!”
Talk about being forced into a club that you never really wanted to join in the first place. And then looking around and going, “Wait, these are “the adults”?!? Seriously?!?”
On our walk last night, my husband and I were having a conversation, trying to make sense of the new round of COVID variants/mask rules/vaccine requirements/infection rates/school and work plans, etc., that seem to be all new, just for this week. Detaching and listening to our conversation, I had to giggle. We were repeating “news”, “conspiracy ideas”, things that we had “heard” in grocery store lines, work mandate memo updates, rumors from friends and neighbors, things that we had read on social media, etc. All of what we were saying to each other was completely convoluted. All of it contradicted each other. All of it was overwhelming and scary and frustrating and maddening. And of course, we both said all of it, with an air of solemn, all-knowing authority.
Welcome to adulthood.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
There’s a stand-up comedian, Dusty Slay, whose catch phrase is “We’re having a good time.” He says that most comedians leave the overall atmosphere up to chance, or up to the critical opinions of others, by asking their audiences, “Are you having a good time?” Dusty decides just to manifest it. Throughout his set, he makes a point of throwing in the decisive statement, “We’re having a good time.” The way that Dusty says it sounds so reassuring and light, and it comes across like, “Chill out, man, we’re just having fun.” You can’t help but agree with him.
I’ve decided to keep Dusty’s friendly voice, with its catchy, southern twang, in the back of my mind, for times when things seem just too serious (or for when I make times too serious in my own mind, which is an unfortunate tendency of mine). I repeat to myself, “We’re having a good time.” I figure that even if it isn’t a particularly good time, I’ll at least get a giggle out of it. Like yesterday, when I was driving home from helping my youngest son move some of his stuff to a new apartment at his university, and then having to drive back home through the pouring rain, with a huge load of some of my son’s other stuff rolling around in the car, while the usual crazies on the slick highway, were weaving through 18 wheelers and oversized loads, as if it were an Olympic sport. I just repeated to myself, “We’re having a good time.” “Good times, we’re going for gold!” The statement makes me smile to myself, every time I think about it. I am sure that Dusty would be happy to let you use the phrase liberally, in your own life, too. “We’re having a good time.”
It’s Thursday. It’s summer. It’s late July. It’s hot. It’s humid. It’s bright. We’re alive. “We’re having a good time.”
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
(credit: Rex Masters, Twitter)
I love baloney. There are times in life that just call for a fried baloney sandwich. Facts. I grew up in Pittsburgh, PA. There is a famous restaurant there, that puts french fries and cole slaw on top of all of their sandwiches. I would always get the fried baloney version, topped with cheese and french fries and cole slaw. Heaven on bread. (Pittsburgh also perfected/invented? the steak salad, which is a giant pile of steak, french fries and loads of cheese, on top of some lettuce. By the time you finish the toppings, you never even get to the salad part, but at least you can say that you had “a salad” for dinner.)
During our recent vacation, our wonderful pet sitter/dog trainer was kind enough to send us pictures of our fabulous fur babies, while we were away. This is her picture of Josie, our collie:
This is the picture that she sent to us of Ralphie, our yellow Dudley Labrador:
And this is the picture that she texted to us, of Trip, our Boykin spaniel who doesn’t really care for anyone but us:
“Progress, not perfection.” This is our mantra, for the rest of our week, friends. Let’s make it a good one!
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
My regular readers know that Sundays are dedicated to poetry here at the blog. On Sundays, I typically write a poem or I share a poem, written by someone else, which has moved me or delighted me. Today, I’m feeling a little silly and cheeky and I think that my poem reflects my mood. I think that poetry is perhaps the most mood reflective out all of our writing styles. You can’t keep emotion and mood out of poetry.
“Today you are you! That is truer than true! There is no one alive who is you-er than you!” – Dr. Seuss
“You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose.“- Dr. Seuss
Here’s my poem for today:
Saturday Afternoon
I spent all yesterday afternoon reading magazines,
And this is the wisdom that this experience gleans:
Davy Crockett said, “Be sure you’re right and then go ahead.”
Instead of scooping ice cream, take a knife and slice it up like bread.
What are the favorite things of Dolly Parton, who calls her own personal style “glamorous trash”?
She likes to buy Pond’s cold cream, Sharpies, legal pads, and Folgers with some of her hard-earned cash.
When answering “What’s the first thing you do when you get home from a trip?”
My favorite answer was from a reader, Suzanne Nord, with this excellent quip:
“It depends. If I traveled without my family, I hug them all. If I traveled with my family, I hide from them.”
I got inspired by the writings of Rami Shapiro, my favorite rabbi,
And I put a few new, fun products on my list, to buy and to try.
I clipped out some pictures, affirmations, exercises and beautiful art.
Reading magazines will never necessarily make one brilliant and smart.
Still, reading periodicals makes for a light and pleasant afternoon.
It’s good to relax. It’s not every day, that you have to shoot for the moon.
Tom lives in our neighborhood. He is big and bold and he’s always carousing around for ladies. He’s a handsome, confident guy. Tom spends most of his time hanging out on the corner of a major intersection in the neighborhood. Tom has become sort of a mascot or maybe a unifying symbol of our neck of the woods, and we all love him. Tom is a big old wild turkey.
The other day on our Nextdoor social media app, one neighbor posted an angry rant about the people who are supposedly feeding Tom. This was followed by righteous posts about the dangers of feeding wildlife, and then other posts about how frustrating it is when Tom is strutting his stuff and causing traffic jams, and then other posts about how neighbors need to stop being so mean and cynical, to stop driving so fast, and just enjoy the fact that we live in the midst of so much natural wonder, which was followed up by further posts from other people, who live outside of our neighborhood, admonishing everyone to just “chill out”, which sparked angry posts from inside of the neighborhood, asking those posters why they even felt they had any right to talk about Tom, because they probably had never even seen him! All of these paragraphs and paragraphs of posts continue on and on, with the usual likes and dislikes, and hearts, and happy face emoticons and angry faced emoticons. I believe that even at this moment, “the infamous Tom thread” on Nextdoor, is still quite healthy and active.
Do you know what a group of turkeys is called? It’s called a rafter. Watching the antics of the excitable “Tom thread” on our local social media, makes me realize that we have quite a rafter here, in our neighborhood. Turkeys abound. But my one and only favorite wild turkey is Tom. He doesn’t read Nextdoor. He just hangs out at the corner, doing his thing.
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
I remember a time clearly, when I was a kid, that my teacher told us that our assignment was to write instructions on how to make a banana split sundae. Much to our surprise, she brought the ingredients for these sundaes to school, and she sat in front of the class and started to make banana split sundaes, according to our instructions. What resulted, was a disaster – a comical disaster, but a disaster nonetheless. It turns out that none of our instructions were written explicitly enough, and our teacher made a very clear example of this, with her demonstration (For example, some students forgot to write “get a bowl”, the amounts of ice cream and whipped cream were not specified – you get the picture.) It was a memorable experience, to say the least. I was in grade school when the lesson was taught, and I am now 50. Teachers are amazing.
This old lesson popped back into my head, because we have a couple of summer trips coming up, and we have hired new pet sitters to come into our home. Also adding to the mix, we have a pandemic puppy, Trip, who has never experienced a pet sitter in his short life. Trip is the least friendly dog, out of all three of our dogs, to anyone who is not in our immediate family. He keeps a small circle of trust. So, I have a level of climbing anxiety, as I am writing out the instructions, as to how best to keep our fur friends happy, safe and alive, while we are away.
When I was a teenaged kid, I babysat quite frequently. As a babysitter, I experienced every type of household – neat and prim, all of the of the way to the other end of the spectrum – wild and chaotic. I recall some mothers would write out very explicit directions on a tight, minute by minute time schedule (one particular mother noted in capital letters, which rooms I was not enter at all, as to not to disturb and distort the freshly made vacuum marks on the thick carpeting), while other mothers would just seem so relieved to see me, and they would yell out, “See you some time later!” with the assumption that my goal was to just keep the kids alive, and un-sunburned, until the time when the mother got up her nerve, to show back up. As a teenaged kid, I didn’t experience too much anxiety about any of this. My main goal was to see who had the best snacks in their pantries ,and to save up the money from my $3-an-hour gigs, for a new bright yellow Sony Sportsman cassette player.
Still, I do remember, in a way, appreciating the very explicit directions which some mothers wrote out for me. It left less room for ambiguity and questions. It was easy to just follow a checklist. I didn’t have to think too much, on the job. I often secretly made fun of these mothers with their “uptight” concerns, but they had set me up for success. I knew exactly what they expected, and so if I completed the clear-cut checklist, we all could be assured that I had done my job well, and to her satisfaction. We both breathed a little easier, seeing that there was little room for confusion and error.
As I became a mother myself, and hired babysitters for our children, I fell in-between these two extremes. I would jot down a few notes on a fancy, specific babysitter’s notepad, but with four kids and many pets, my house always naturally just veered towards chaotic. And of course, by the time my kids had babysitters, we had cell phones, so we were always accessible for questions and concerns that the babysitter might have about anyone, or anything.
I remember also, as an exhausted young mother, getting winsome for those days when someone would just hand me a to-do checklist. “Get this done and your golden.” I think that was my biggest lament of my mothering days. I didn’t mind doing any of the chores, I just didn’t want to have to plan it all out. I didn’t want to have to think about anything. I was too tired to think. I remember my sweet husband wanting to give me a break at times, and hauling all of the kids down to McDonalds. But then (not wanting to make any ‘mistakes’) he would call me up, and ask me what he should order for the kids to eat, and that’s when I would want to scream. That’s the Catch-22 of mothering, right? We want someone to give us a break, but then these break-givers have to walk on eggshells, hoping that they are doing things the “right” way (according to us).
Some of my friends are now becoming grandparents. One of my friends was asked to take a grandparenting class, by her daughter, to make sure that she was “up-to-date” on all of the new baby stuff and requirements. Of course, we all got a big giggle out of that, since my friend successfully raised three children of her own. (It’s a wonder any of us are alive and well, isn’t it? Helmets, seatbelts, and the like, were foreign concepts when I was kid.) Still, my friend admits that the class was helpful and eye-opening to see how much had changed, and it preempted a lot of hurt feelings, and helped everyone in the family to be more relaxed, by understanding everyone’s expectations.
So, in conclusion, as soon as I finish this blog post, I will be adding the finishing touches to my pet sitter’s to-do list. I want to make it clear and simple for her, so that we both have peace of mind. In the end, though, I hope that she’ll be mostly be focused on the priority of just keeping our dogs alive and well, without sun-burned paws and noses, for the short while that we are away from them. Possibly, considering all of her years of experience in dog sitting, “Keep them alive and well,” is all that really needs to be put on to the checklist.
“Sometimes our stop-doing list needs to be bigger than our to-do list.” – Patty Digh
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
(The Cure – of course, it is actually Friday that is the cure for everything, correct?)
Hello to my friends and readers! Thank you for supporting my blog. Thank you for showing up for me and my art (writing). It means the world to this middle-aged gal, trying to blaze new trails for myself. I’ve gotten a few new subscribers this week. Woo-hoo and welcome!! I was trying to do a new feature on my Thursday blog post called “Throwback Thursday” in which I highlight old blog posts that have been among the most popular ones which I have written over the years. Of course, I immediately forgot to do that yesterday, so for my new readers, I am going to point you to this previous post of mine. It explains my writing process, and also why you probably won’t get the typo/mistake free, mostly smoothly worded version of my blog in your inbox. Still, I am beyond honored that any of you want a daily email from me. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
My regular readers know that Fridays are devoted to the fluff in life. I love fluffy Fridays!!! On Fridays, I discuss three songs, books, websites, apps, beauty products etc. that have made my own life a little more sensory, and fun, and I strongly encourage you to add your own favorites to my Comments. Also, please check out previous Friday posts for more good stuff. Here are my favorites for today:
Calamityware – This porcelain china is awesome. From a distance, it looks like fine, expensive, Blue Willow china (that ornate blue and white, antique dinnerware that has an Asian quality to it), however when you look real closely, the patterns actually show all sorts of crazy fiascos happening in the scenery depicted. Dinosaurs, flying monkeys, aliens, sharks etc. are all doing their crazy antics on fine dinner plates and teacups. The irony of this, just tickles me! My favorite pieces are the soup bowls with flies painted at the bottom of them. Years ago I was gifted “Dirty Dishes” from Fishs Eddy. The “Dirty Dishes” depict topless women, lazily lounging all around the rim. I also have a martini glass ornament that is decorated with ornate swear words. It’s called the “dirty martini glass.” I love this kind of stuff. Calamityware is made by a cheeky Polish artist, and his website is a such a pleasure to peruse (a perfect activity for a Friday). Check it out and at least get yourself a mug from the “Things Could Be Worse” series. Get your laughs wherever you can (I think perhaps, that the best laughs come from the most unlikely of places. Unexpected laughs are really, really good for the soul).
Flip Flop Feet Planter – My husband found me this at Ace Hardware. It was the last one left because they were so popular with the customers. Apparently you can also get these cuties at Walmart. These whimsical pieces are not the highest of quality. They are made out of some sort of light plastic. Hence, including the plant, the Flip Flop Feet Planters only cost around 10 dollars. What an inexpensive way to get a smile every time you look at it! It’s like a dimestore mannequin with a bushy little plant body. Wow, okay – I promise that the planter is not nearly as weird and creepy, as my description sounds.
Dog Poop Bag Holders – These are another super cheap, “must buy” for anyone who has a dog, and walks their dog. We have three dogs, who prefer to “save up” and do all of their elimination on our walks. We are also good, considerate neighbors, so we always pick up after our dogs. And we take long walks. And we live in sweltering Florida. It is not fun to walk around for miles, in sweltering Florida, holding a swinging bag of poop. It just isn’t. Trust me on this. These holders are little plastic clips that you attach to the dog leash, which allow you to tie the bag up, slide it on the clip, and the clip then allows the bag to dangle far, far away from any of your bodily parts, until you happily arrive at a trash can. Make sure that you attach the clip to the top of the leash. My husband accidentally attached Josie’s (our lovely collie) clip too low, and being the priss that she is, she was absolutely mortified when she was thumped with a bag of the three dogs’ excrement. (Understandable. We may have to get her therapy.) I got a set of two dog poop bag holders, on Amazon, for around 6 or 7 dollars. Worth every cent.
Have a great weekend, friends! I’ll give you the advice which I often give to my adult children: “Live it up, but don’t eff it up.”
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
I was perusing some online shopping outlets and I looked at a “faux” shearling jacket. I live in Florida, thus I don’t need too many jackets, and I certainly do not need too many warm jackets. Therefore, I passed on buying the jacket. Still, I paused on the description page, and I felt a tad nostalgic and wistful. Having grown up in Pennsylvania, there are two things that I miss about living in the north, these things being fall leaves and winter clothes. Certainly, I don’t miss having to wear winter clothes to ward off frigid temperatures and snow, but I do love the look of winter clothes. Winter clothes have more texture, and comfortability, and richness of quality to them, than summer clothes do. Winter clothes beg to be layered. And the biggest plus about winter clothes, is that they are so much more forgiving than summer clothes. They’re like make-up/masks/disguises for your body, whereas a bathing suit is like that giant magnifying glass at your dermatologist’s office.
Reading the description of the jacket, I had to giggle at the word “faux.” The French have a way of making everything sound lovely and sophisticated, don’t they? What if the description kept it all in the same language and said, “Fake Shearling Jacket.” Yep, it’s fake. Do ya still wannit? I wonder if the word “faux” is as off-putting to the French, as the word “fake” is to us. Do they change “faux” to the word “fake” in their descriptions of things, to give their products a more exotic, foreign appeal? I have my doubts. I’ve read that a lot of Europeans like to buy American western wear here. Do their catalogs advertising “vegan leather” (ha!) cowboy boots read, “Fake cuir des bottes de cowboy”? Maybe using the word “fake” gives the boots a charming, Americana twang to the description?
There are so many word comparisons like this, that seem to accentuate our American down-home flavor, versus the French air of sophistication:
biscuit/croissant
swagger/savoir-faire
really good/par excellence
fancy clothes/haute-couture
friendliness/bonhomie
one-on-one/tête-à-tête
“the bomb”/crème de la crème
get together/rendez-vous
presto!/voila!
I love being American. I’ve been to France once, and it was nice. The French were actually much kinder to us than they are reported to be. In fact, they sure were super friendly! 😉 I think that the French people, who we met, must have felt my joie de vivre, being on a fabulous trip. Truth be told, I don’t speak French at all. I took five years of Latin for my foreign language requirement. There are so many stories and sub-stories from this experience, (my erratic and dramatic Latin instructor was also my hyper-competitive high school Forensics coach, and his wife, alarmingly looked exactly like a human version of Betty Boop), but these stories are for another blog post, some day.
Reading over this post, I see how “off track” I tend to get, and how rambling it is. It’s been a crazy week. Pardon, my la divigation, s’il vous plaît. Thank you, kindly! Merci!
Are you passing on love or are you passing on pain? Heal your pain and pass on love.
