"Puppy Love"

 

      I am the quintessential dog lover.  I developed a severe case of "puppy love" as a child that I have never outgrown. At times, my helpless love has been known to border on the absurd.  Once as a child, my aunt and uncle brought me to a local 5 & dime to buy me a little gift.  I chose the most adorable dog bank that I had ever seen. The irresistible pup was similar in appearance to a Cocker Spaniel.  His "coat" was a deep tan suede, the color of moccasins.  He had long floppy ears, black marble eyes, and a....damaged nose.  My heart melted over the little inanimate canine, especially because of the white spot seated on the end of his snout, rather like a wart on a witch's nose. It elicited from me a tenderness which would not be denied.  My aunt and uncle tried to dissuade me, pointing out the damage, but I was adamant.  I was only five or six at the time, but even at that young age I was strong willed.  They relented, and I gleefully brought him home, and fawned over him for years.

     I am, admittedly, a "scaredy cat".   A few years back I worked in a rough neighborhood.  The business next door had a guard dog who was caged by day, only to be let out at night to patrol the grounds. By happenstance,  I looked out of my office window as a  young man with an intimidating appearance was tormenting  the trapped animal by poking him with a stick.  I didn't even think as I stormed outside and demanded that he leave the defenseless dog alone.  I don't know what went through his mind at the sight of me (madwoman, probably), but he quickly took flight. It was only afterward that I became nervous over the confrontation.  I felt a distinct measure of self satisfaction for having chased him, however.

     Over the course of my life, I have had a number of dogs as pets, each with their own distinct personality  and disposition.  When I was ten, a friend gave me a little tan puppy whom I named Lucky (he wasn't).  He was about a year old when, while I was walking him one day, he bit an unfortunate man who just happened to be walking towards us.  My mom subsequently took the dog to the pound and had him put down.  I was too young to understand her reasoning.  I felt the dog may have been protecting me, and I was inconsolable afterward.

    When I was eleven, my folks bought me a little white poodle, whom my father named Jan.  We had him for a year when my mom sold him because he was too high strung.  The man who purchased the dog was buying him for his...little girl.  I cried until my eyes were swollen shut.  My guilt ridden mother allowed me to stay home from school the following day.  Small consolation.

    When I was twelve, we acquired a mutt from a relative whose dog had pups.  My mom named her Rags.  I guess the third time is the charm, because this dog lasted.  She was a sweet little dog, whom we were blessed to have for eleven years, until she died from cancer.

     In my adult life, I have had three labs and one husky.  Two of the labs passed in 2004, and the husky, one year ago today.  I mourn for my dogs, all of them, including the dogs from my youth.

     My yellow lab, Holly, followed me everywhere.  She slept by my side of the bed, sat at my feet when I was on the sofa, and even waited patiently for me outside the bathroom door.  Brandy, the black lab, had the gentlest disposition ever.  My neurotic chocolate lab, Buddy,  is like my best friend.  We spend oodles of time together, walking, or cuddling on the love seat while I read, study, or watch movies.

    Years back, my next door neighbors brought home an Alaskan Malamute, and for me, it was love at first sight.  I would never have been happy until I had a "sled dog" of my own. Hence, we bought a husky whom I named  Aurora Borealis.  My Aurora was fluffy, beautifully regal in appearance, and somewhat aloof.  Her presence, along with Buddy, helped me retain my sanity during the course of my divorce. She was a good dog, whom I sorely miss.  The pain of her death is still raw, especially since it was so sudden.

     Buddy is over nine now.   I can see him slowing down, and moving more gingerly, as though arthritis has reared its ugly head.  My son keeps inquiring about when I will get another dog, intimating to me that "you know you can never live without one".  He knows me well!

"Diet, Schmiet"

    

     I have always been conscious of my weight, throughout my youth, after my children were born, and in my later years.  I have my own personal weight and size ceiling, and historically, I  strive not to exceed either.

   Excess weight was not an issue when I was going through my divorce.  The pounds melted away, as quickly as icicles melt on a sunny afternoon.  My appetite died with my marriage, and my baggy clothes hung on my skeletal frame like aged sagging draperies, carelessly slung across an attic window.  I was unable to eat, and in addition I worked out excessively, which only contributed to my emaciated state.

    In the ensuing years since my divorce became final, my appetite has returned, and I have allowed my gym membership to lapse.  I still watch my weight…I have watched it approach and slowly surpass the aforementioned personal ceiling. I am stalled in procrastinator mode, and I am absolutely loath to begin a diet. I exercise only intermittently.  I squeeze myself into my jeans until they are practically screaming from the strain, and I curse myself with every excess pound. 

     With the New Year only days away, I had made the age old, exceedingly common resolution of starting a diet right after the holidays.  I was pretty much mentally prepared, and then…I went food shopping.  I am generally not real keen on pretzels, but I absolutely cannot resist Snyder’s of Hanover Buttermilk Ranch Pretzel Pieces.  Normally, my addiction to these savory little morsels is not problematic because the stores rarely stock them…until today.  Hence I declared, loudly and unashamedly: diet, schmiet, placed two bags in my shopping cart, and subsequently smiled like a madwoman for the duration of the shopping trip. Once home, I promptly consumed an entire bag before the afternoon had ended.  There goes that diet…

Hey, wait a minute!  If I consume the second bag just as quickly, (which I will, no doubt) I can still start my diet next week…provided I stay out of my local grocery store...

"The Tortoise Bites the Dust"

     My 1995 Chevy Corsica, a.k.a. the blue tortoise, bit the dust.  I had surmised last summer, while cruising around Ocean Grove in 90o temperatures with the heater running that the car’s demise was imminent.  I really cannot complain, however.  The car served me well. I had it for at least ten years, and I only paid $2,500.00 for it.  This wasn’t your typical second hand car, either.  You know what I mean…someone else' troubles?  The car required little more than the average maintenance: oil changes, occasional brakes, tires, etc.  I was hoping that she would hang in there a little longer until I managed to secure employment.  But such was not to be. Hence I went to the same dealer that I and my sons have patronized for years now.  He always has nice little cars, reasonably priced, and generally reliable.  I consider the fact that he is best buds with my mechanic a plus as well!  So I picked up a sweet little Chevy Cavalier with only 62,000 miles on it. (Mind you, the Corsica was so old that this 2002 feels like a brand new car!)  Surprisingly, the dealer even gave me a few C-notes for trading in the Corsica.

      I picked the car up on Friday, and all was well-or so I thought.  On Saturday morning, the weather was extremely cold, and the windows were frosted over. Now, mind you, I don’t scrape, under any circumstances! (The gallons of wind shield washer fluid, and  cases of wiper blades I keep in my trunk provide extra traction when it snows!) Somehow I sensed that the rear defroster was not going to be functional, and my intuition was, once again, on target.  So after Christmas, I headed back to the dealer, and they determined that the rear window is damaged, and needs to be replaced.  Fortunately for me, the car is under warranty.  Meanwhile, there sits my little Corsica, cold and abandoned.  What I’m wondering is if the rear window from the Corsica would fit the Cavalier…

"Apple Pie"

     Like many children across America, (and many semi-seniors as well), I was awake at 4:30 this morning, although I forced myself to stay in bed until 5.  I still had a pie to bake for Christmas dinner, and was simply out of energy yesterday by the time all of my other prep was completed.  Fully energized even before I had indulged in my morning coffee, I had my pie in the oven by 6:00 A.M.  

     I make the same pie every Thanksgiving and Christmas.  It is my mother's recipe, and a traditional family favorite.  My mom came from a huge family.   There were eight sisters and one brother.  Of all of them, my mom made the best apple pie, ever. (Of course, some of my cousins may disagree...) Her recipe survives her, in that her daughters, granddaughters, daughters-in-law, and soon to be granddaughters-in-law to be, all use her recipe.  It would give her pleasure to know how revered her recipe has become.

     I remember one Christmas Eve in particular, when mom and I were making a pie.  Catastrophe struck as she dropped the steaming hot pie upside down onto the kitchen floor while removing it from the oven.  A look of bewildered disappointment crossed her face, as I rushed to clean up the mess, straining to avoid getting scalded from the steaming, hissing pile of crusty apple goo.  I don't know what possessed her to have a second bag of apples on hand, but she did.  In my youthful enthusiasm, I made light of the calamity, and promptly began peeling apples.  I didn't allow her to be overcome by her disappointment, and we put that second pie together in record time. ( I made sure to remove the second pie from the oven myself!)  I don't ever remove a pie from the oven without thinking of her...

     My relationship with my mom was tenuous at best, but I cling to this fondest of memories of her, that of a night when we worked blissfully together making her delightfully delicious apple pie in anticipation of Christmas.  Rest in peace, mom.  You are gone from our midst, but never forgotten.

Christmas Eve 2012

     I am so not ready for Christmas.  Never in my life have I been so ill prepared.  I didn't put up any decorations until 2 days ago.  I only finished wrapping yesterday, and I picked up my last gift card today, along with the roast I plan to cook tomorrow.  The reason is that since I finished the fall semester last week, I have been reading non stop.  I have done little else, and this includes blogging.  I feel compelled to share four titles of books that I could not put down once I started reading. They are:
January First
The End of Your Life Book Club
The Bite of the Mango
The Daily Coyote
     I am determined not to start another book until the last of my family leaves tomorrow night.  Otherwise, they might end up preparing their own dinner.
     Have a very Merry Christmas everyone.

"Boring"

     My life is currently pretty boring.  Hence, I have been very lax about writing new posts.  I do, however, have a little bit of news.  I finally had a real live conversation with Prince Charming!  He has a very nice voice, and seems to be an intelligent, well mannered fellow.  We were making small talk, when he randomly asked me what I was doing.  I hated to admit this, but... I was watching Jeopardy when he called. I guess I should have told him I was doing something youthful-like working out!
     This afternoon, the weather was so beautiful, that I took my lab for a 40 minute walk.  The sky was a glorious blue, and the temperature as mild as a May afternoon.  We were back about ten minutes, when I noticed the sky turning threateningly dark.  All of a sudden it starting hailing, and then pouring rain, and thundering and lightning.  I have never seen a storm that started with hail... freaky weather! Isn't it supposed to snow in December???  I know-be careful what you wish for...

"Broken Hearts"

Massacres have become commonplace.
Of God, you will not find a trace.
From within our schools, He has been barred,
Replaced by weapons and broken hearts.

    
     Since prayer was taken out of our schools in the sixties, violence in the schools has escalated dramatically. How bad does the situation need to get before we stop turning our backs on God?
God is in  the Declaration of Independence, in our Courts, and on our money.  But He is prohibited
from entering our schools...Perhaps the time has come to invite Him back.

God bless the victims of the Connecticut school massacre.

  

    

"Vermont"

There was nothing to do in Vermont but eat.
They didn't have snow so we couldn't ski.
It grew dark so early there was nothing to see.
Luckily for me, I like to eat!

     Vermont is a beautiful state, I'm sure.  Except when I visited last weekend, the weather was dull and dreary, and all of the trees were bare. (Duh! It's winter!)  We drove for endless hours on a narrow road carved out of the mountains, and the scenery became monotonous after awhile.  It was certainly not what I expected.  I would like to visit again, except in the fall when the foliage must be outstanding.  I would love to see all of those mountains in living color.  Additionally, we went on a bus tour over the course of three days.  It was entirely too much traveling for such a short trip.  We did see some marvelous sights, though, in our trips to Woodstock and Hildene. We visited Robert Todd Lincoln's home. I can't describe how awesome it was to see hand written letters, and the top hat of President Lincoln.  Definitely a highlight of the trip. 

       

"If the Shoe Fits..."

     Some of my fellow students continue to amaze me, and not in a good way.  Remember on a recent blog post, I was complaining about some students’ inability to pronounce words and/or read aloud properly? One student in particular doesn’t know what a hyphenated word is. For example: new-age.  Not terribly difficult, right? I mean, this is not a Physics course at Princeton University that I’m attending! Well, the young student pronounced it…newej, as in, rhymes with sewage! What the fudge! (If you’ve seen Christmas Story, I know you get that).

     I had to read aloud also.  My problem was with the dialogue in the particular novel, some of which was rather coarse, and embarrassing for me to read.  The young students were chuckling as I obviously hesitated before stating the offensive words, while sinking into my desk, much like a turtle retreating into her shell.  Sometimes I’m too straight laced for my own good.  Ah well…at least my pronunciation was correct…(I was not quite as straight laced in my youth).

     I had an exam in my Communications class, and I scored another “A”.  Most of my professors have a propensity for asking tricky questions, this one in particular.  Professor indicated that one needs to be a “sophisticated reader” to do well in this course.  I never considered myself to be a sophisticated reader, but, if this particular shoe fits, I’ll certainly wear it.

    I registered for the spring semester, and am taking just one course-the dreaded Biology course that I chickened out of in the Fall.  I was reading reviews on “Rate My Professor” about the fellow who is teaching this class.  One student indicated not to take him because he gives really hard “quizes”. (Needless to say, I disregarded that assessment.)  Another indicated that when the professor gives tests, his instructions are merely to… study the lecture notes and textbook.  Are you kidding me?  When I went to grammar school and high school, we would have exams that covered an entire school year, and I assure you, not one teacher gave us an inclination as to specifics.  What do these kids want? A copy of the exam in advance?  Last but not least, one student indicated that the exams are really hard, and the professor doesn’t allow any extra credit projects.  Might they ponder the concept of merely embracing the course material?  Can you imagine if I were the professor?  My assessment might go something like this: ”don’t trust the b--- in classroom 23”…

"Collectively Speaking"

   

     With the holidays quickly approaching, I wish to mention two of my favorite charitable organizations, in the hopes that you will include them on your gift list.

     I have long been a supporter of St. Jude’s Children’s Research Hospital, and more recently, The Seeing Eye.  St. Jude’s conducts research and cares for children stricken with cancer, and the Seeing Eye breeds, trains, and provides guide dogs for the blind.

     I have listed both web addresses below for you to peruse.  Please consider becoming a supporter. 

     Please mail your donations to the following addresses:

     St. Jude’s Children’s Research Hospital

     P.O. Box 50

     Memphis, TN 38101-9929

     The Seeing Eye

     P.O. Box 2068

     Morristown, NJ 07962-9921

I realize times are tough, and many of us, myself included, are out of work. However, I believe that collectively, even small donations can make a difference. Consider this: if each person in my town donated a dollar, it would add up to about $15,000.00.  Please give what you can.

Thank you.  Wishing you all God’s blessings this Holiday Season.

Marcy

http://www.stjude.org

http://www.seeingeye.org

"Stamina, or Lack Thereof"

     The fall semester is winding down quickly.  In just over two weeks, it will be done.  I have been diligent about my school work, as always.  One of my (very young) nieces, also a college freshman, had indicated on her FB page that she was starting to write an eight page paper on the night before it was due.  I also had an eight page paper to write.  I wrote it and turned it in more than a week before it was due. My reasoning, however, was not entirely a result of the heightened sense of responsibility that comes with age. It also has to do with stamina, of which I am sorely lacking. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t pull an all-nighter to complete an assignment. Heck, I don't even stay up to watch the ball come down on New Years Eve. Those days (or should I say nights) are long gone...

Silence

I loathe the silence of my pen

When my inspiration wanes.

I loathe the silence of my pen.

I want to hear her sing again.

I loathe the silence of my pen

When my creativity escapes.

I loathe the silence of my pen,

The echo of emptiness she makes.

I loathe the silence of my pen

For every day and every night.

I loathe the silence of my pen.

I need, once again, to write.    

I loathe the silence of my pen.

She has left me filled with longing.

I loathe the silence of my pen.

It’s my own passion I am wronging.

I loathe the silence of my pen.

Can’t bear that she has been so still.

I loathe the silence of my pen.

I’ll make her write, if by sheer will.

I loathe the silence of my pen.

A writing prompt will show the way.

I loathe the silence of my pen.

Her damnable silence shall cease today.

"Retribution"

      

      As many of you know, the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico deeply disturbed me.  I am happy to have read in the NY Times that BP has finally been held accountable for this environmental disaster.  

     I wrote my poem, Black Bayou, in May 2010, a mere month after the explosion.  In it, I indicated that over 7 million gallons of oil had spilled in the Gulf up to that point.  Here are some astounding numbers:  according to a recent article in the New York Times,  BP had reported that 5000 barrels of oil were spilling into the Gulf daily.  In actuality, the number was in excess of 60,000 barrels per day.  The Times also indicated that an estimated 4.9 million barrels spilled in the accident.  How many gallons are in a barrel? I looked it up: 42 gallons per barrel.  Therefore, more than 2.5 million gallons of oil spilled into the Gulf of Mexico!  Additionally, the NY Times reported that BP pleaded guilty to 14 criminal charges in connection with the spill, and will be paying penalties in excess of $4 billion, over $2 billion of which is going to the National Fish and Wildlife Foundation for remediation efforts.  Furthermore, the Times reported that BP agreed to a settlement of civil charges for having misled investors about the flow rate from the well. At long last, retribution for BP.  Kudos to our Justice Department!

      As for me, I have played my own small part in holding BP accountable, as I have with Exxon, (remember the Exxon Valdez oil spill of 1989?)  I refuse to purchase my gas from either of these companies, ever. I haven’t bought Exxon since 1989, and BP since April 2010.  I realize I am only one person and that this will not impact either company, but it makes me feel better.

"Black Bayou"

The Gulf of Mexico is now filled with oil.
It is a dismal place where no fishermen toil.
They stand in a line awaiting soup and bread.
Thanks to British Petroleum, the fishing industry is dead.

An endless flow of oil, it seems,
Is devouring rivers, marshes, and streams.
Dead and dying animals numbered in scores
Float in the waters and litter our shores.

Helpless animals at the mercy of man
Are left suffering, dying, time and again.
Unparalleled arrogance of a few
Precipitated the demise of the Blue Bayou.

BP officials in their fancy suits
Are living the good life while ignoring the news.
They fly in the face of God with no backup plan,
 No regard for the environment, wildlife, or their fellow man.

The oil's flow is left unabated.
BP's feeble attempts to stop it, overrated.
Over seven million gallons of crude have now spilled
From the hole where these greedy vultures once drilled.

When will the catastrophe come to an end?
It's time to take action, no longer pretend.
Quit leisurely waiting for your pockets to fatten.
Stop pointing fingers, and take significant action.

"Arctic Gale"

     I just arrived home from class, frozen to the bone.  The air conditioner was blowing full force in our lecture hall, for no good reason. The temperature outside is in the 30's.  There is frost on my car's wind shield. Yet a draft that would rival an arctic gale was swirling about the room throughout the entire three hours that we were there.  I was so cold that I had my coat draped over my lap like a grandmother's lap robe-and I didn't care who saw it.  I was so cold that I welcomed a hot flash.  I was so cold that the hot flash didn't help.  I could not have fallen asleep in that class if I wanted to! 

     As you know, last evening I did not attend class, a first for me since returning to college.  Apparently, my professor was less than thrilled with my absence, because...she called me on my cell phone to admonish me!   Talk about feeling juvenile!  (Teachers didn't have this particular luxury back in the 70's when I was in high school!)  Fortunately for me, I didn't answer the phone. ( I never answer if I don't recognize the number.)  The message she left was painful enough.  I won't be skipping that class again!  Though in reality, one of the the qualities I admire about her is her strict manner.  She keeps all of us kiddies in line!

"Rank Has Its Privileges"

     You must be familiar with that saying! Well in this instance, sometimes simply being of a certain age has its privileges!  I am playing hooky from school tonight! (Sounds juvenile, doesn’t it?) It feels really cool to cut a class, and not have to worry about my folks finding out. On top of that, I wrote my own note to the professor excusing myself!  Of course, being absent is not something I make a habit of.  In fact, this is the first time in fourteen months of classes (and six courses) that I am missing one. (When I went to high school, I cut one class-ever-and it was at the end of my senior year. I was always a goodie two shoes). I really do have a valid reason for missing class tonight, although there are some who may not agree with me. Additionally, all of my work is done. No, not the work that is due now-my assignments for the remainder of the semester!  Some of my classmates have yet to take the midterm exam, and that was three weeks ago!  Ah, the nonchalant attitude of youth…

     Last week my other class was cancelled at the last minute.  My professor phoned me and requested that I notify the class (since I was already en route), and also update them on certain assignments.  He indicated that he felt reassured having someone “mature” to handle this for him. I was so proud!  Except that I relayed one minor point incorrectly.  He indicated a particular quiz would be postponed, and I somehow interpreted, and related to the class, that the quiz was cancelled.  I guess Professor should have contacted a young student-one that still has fully functional brain cells. Or maybe it was a toss up: diminished brain cells versus nonchalant attitude. In any event, due to the confusion, the quiz was ultimately cancelled. Thank goodness. I absolutely hated that particular novel…

"Vertigo"

Five mornings in a row

I woke up with vertigo.

I still had to walk my dog,

So off, stumbling, I did go.

     Vertigo is a new ailment. The symptoms just started a week or so ago, and they last for about the first twenty minutes that I am up in the morning. I wobble around the apartment, and outside walking Buddy, my arms extended in the air like a novice surfer, trying to stay balanced. Thirty-something son likens me to an old car that simply needs to be warmed up. I liken him to someone I still have authority to discipline.

     I had my first date with the comedian last evening.  It was the closest thing to a blind date than I have had in more than thirty years.  Relatively speaking, it went pretty well.  I have read and reread my trusty dating manual, “The Rules, Time Tested Secrets for Capturing the Heart of Mr. Right”. (I’m pretty sure I told you about that book. My best friend picked it out for me…)  My mother told me some of this stuff years ago, but I never believed her.  Now it’s time to test these theories…

      The fellow seems pretty nice.  If he were a woman, I would liken him to a “chatty Cathy”, which is actually good for me, since I tend to be quiet.  (I am only wordy when I write. You know that about me by now).  The strange thing is, he looks a lot like my ex.  A couple of times I near did a double take because of the resemblance…Do you want to hear a very odd coincidence?  I have a favorite road to drive on that is centrally located within the state, in an area that I visit about once per year. It is very rural, with farms on either side.  He lives on that road…How weird is that?  Hopefully, it’s a good omen.

"The Comedian"

     I have had my first phone conversation with the comedian.  He asked me a question that no one ever asked me before: am I retired?  Ouch!

      I am not retired. I consider myself a “semi-senior”.  That’s the “old” version of a “tween”. In case you aren’t familiar with the term, a “tween” is the age of development between child and teenager. A “semi-senior” is no longer young, but not yet old enough to reap the rewards of being a senior, like qualifying for SSI and Senior Citizen discounts.

      I do feel the conversation went quite well. We spoke for 40 minutes. Not bad for a first phone call, right?  Of course, some of that time was chewed up by each of us saying “what”, “excuse me”, “I beg your pardon”, and “could you please repeat that”, and then ultimately repeating ourselves, because neither of us can hear very well.

     I am finally taking the plunge. I am meeting him for lunch this weekend.  I actually only wanted to meet for coffee, but he prefers to eat.  That’s okay with me. At the very least, it’s a meal that I don’t have to cook, or pay for. Fingers crossed!

“I’m Too Old For This…”

Since you walked away from me

The tears I’ve shed could fill a sea.

Though at times I’m happy to be free,

‘Tis a sorrow filled life I lead.    

     You may be wondering why I have incorporated Internet dating into my blog, which mainly is about a 50-something woman returning to college. Well-don’t most college students date?  I don’t always have amusing stories to relate regarding school (it is school, after all), but I am hopeful the Internet dating topic compensates. 

     I have decided to take a leap of courage, and give my phone number to a couple of fellows I’ve been Emailing (and no, not the young one).  Issue number one: the “man of few words” doesn’t like to Email. I don’t like to talk on the phone.  Already, we disagree. However, I relented and provided my phone number.  He called pretty quickly, and I…declined to answer!  He left a voicemail message, which I…retrieved promptly. Here’s another problem. I don’t like the sound of his voice.  I know-I’m anal, and slightly shallow. I always have been, and keep in mind that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.  So now I’m wondering how recent his picture is, because he sounds considerably older than he appears. How do I get out of this one?

     The other fellow asked me out to dinner, and also indicated that we should probably talk first.  I responded agreeably, but (deliberately) did not provide my phone number. He subsequently responded that he was going to send up smoke signals! I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard.  Once I regained my composure, I sent him my phone number.  I will keep you posted on that one.

     You know, one thing I have realized through all of this is that it’s no fun being a teenager. It’s even less fun living like a teenager when you’re approaching retirement age. I’m too old for this sheet…(I didn’t say it, although I was tempted).  I don’t want to be alone, but I also don’t relish the idea of starting over.  Also, I really don’t want to be distracted from pursuing my college education…Why is nothing ever simple?

    

"Prince Charming"

      I have been Emailing back and forth with the young man fairly regularly now. His accurate spelling, grammatical prowess, and ability to communicate intelligently, continue to impress me favorably.  One of my friends has dubbed him my “boy toy”.  (You know who you are! Thanks “D”!) In reality, that term does not apply, at least not yet ...

      I just realized today that he was born the same year that I ...graduated high school!  If we are a couple this coming spring, we can celebrate his 40^th birthday at my 40^th High School reunion! 

     Have I mentioned that his screen name is “Prince Charming”?  I am planning plan to change mine to... “Queen Mother”.

Hurricane Sandy

     I hope all of you have survived the hurricane without incurring any injury or damage.  My thoughts and prayers go out to those who suffered loss and damage. God bless.

"Pokers and Rulers"

     As many of you know, I am a spelling snob. That snobbishness also overlaps into grammar and syntax.  If I were a college professor, I would have zero patience for the ineptitude at the aforementioned by many of the younger college level students. (Please be assured that I am not referring to students for whom English is a second language.)      

     Oftentimes, we are called upon to read aloud in class.  I have been amazed at some of my fellow students’ inability to pronounce fairly common words, to recognize the flow of sentences, to incorporate inflection, and also to understand the meaning and structure of a paragraph. This has been evident in a number of classes I have taken, but is especially noticeable now, given that this is an English course. I am quite sure that our Professor witnesses me expressing my displeasure through non verbal cues, as I cringe,  roll my eyes, or express shock with each infraction.

      Growing up, I attended strict Catholic schools. We had Sisters teaching us, armed with rulers and pokers, which they were not disinclined to utilize as a means of “motivation”. Their stringency however, was at times usurped by that of the lay teachers.  I remember in one class, a particular student was made to sit in the front of the classroom on a stool, wearing a dunce cap. Additionally, some of the children had their mouths either taped shut, or stuffed with large balls of paper to keep them from talking excessively. Sometimes we would have detention, and have to copy from the dictionary. (The severity of this punishment pales in comparison to some of the others.)  Additionally, it was pointless for the children to enlighten their parents about any of this, as the result would be ensuing parental punishment.

     When I was ten, my Mom and I were visiting relatives in California. My aunt and uncle were at their wits’ end, as their eight year old son was incorrigible, and the teacher could not control him. (He attended public school!)  My Mom advised them to call the school, and authorize the teacher to spank him, right in front of the class!  They were somewhat taken aback by this, but they did it. Those were certainly different times, and vastly different parenting methods.

     Can you imagine any of these methods of “discipline” occurring in a present day classroom? Any and all of it would be grounds for a lawsuit nowadays. I am not declaring that I am in agreement with some of those harsher methods, especially humiliation.  However, most of us came out of those classes of the sixties and early seventies with a good education, and a sense of self discipline.  Personally, I was more damaged by teasing from fellow students than by anything the teachers did. Of course, I never suffered most of those punishments, because I chose to behave myself.  In that respect, I was smart!

 

"Emoticons"

     In my Communications class, we are learning about the use of emoticons in mediated communication.  This could not come at a more opportune time, as it is assisting me in my ability to communicate with the "younger man" on the Internet.  In my semi-senior ignorance, I thought there were only two active emoticons, as in happy :)  and sad  :( .  Unbeknownst to me, there are... sixty-one!  Well, apparently, the young man is more up on that stuff than I am. In a recent Email, he ended a statement with the following emoticon:  ";)". I attributed the symbol to a typo error, and believed it to be a happy face.  I have been enlightened  (by twenty-something son #1) to the fact that this was in fact, not a typo error, but an indication that the "young man" was winking at me. I promptly referred to my newly printed listing of emoticons, and ended a subsequent Email to him with the following: ";;)". This means that I'm...batting my eyelashes!   I've been practically rolling on the floor =)) with laughter over this exchange, while my son has indicated that he is becoming emotionally scarred from the it.  (I told you my sons are less than thrilled!) My response to them:

"#;". That means "talk to the hand". By the way, I need to use my Sherlock Holmes magnifying glass to actually see the symbols on my printed list. :(

   

"A Man of Few Words"

     Remember me telling you that I was drawn to the younger fellow on the internet dating sight because he can spell and form sentences?  Allow me to explicate my reasoning.  One of my friends, who is a spelling snob like me, belongs to the same site.  Recently, a fellow sent her a message indicating to her that he is "New Jersey born and... bread". This is exactly what I mean! I would have to delete this guy immediately, as did my equally astute friend.  Now granted, not everyone is a good speller, but this is just beyond acceptable.

     Another fellow contacted me that I had limited contact with previously. He had never asked me any questions, although I made inquiries regarding his interests. I hadn't heard anything in two or three weeks, and then he Emailed me. The content of his email: Hi. Apparently he is a man of few words. I didn't answer right away, and then he Emailed me again, indicating that he would like to hear from me. I responded, simply asking how he was doing.  His reply merely indicated that he had worked all day and was busy around the house. I get the feeling that communication would be problematic with this one. Although, his being a man of few words could be a plus...

"Fashion Aficionado"

     If I had a theme song, it would be “Does Your Mother Know That You’re Out?” If you’ve seen Mama Mia, you know of what I speak. The reason I mention this? The young man asked for my phone number!  We’ve been Emailing back and forth a bit, and I reiterate-he is the only one who expresses any actual interest in me as a person! I’m really chicken about giving him my number, though. I’m going to suggest chatting online first. By the way-my 30-something and 20-something sons are less than thrilled about this…

     I am reading 1984 for my Fiction & Film class. I hate it. (I am quite sure this is the first time I’ve actually complained about an assignment.)  I am persevering, though. I read 100 pages yesterday.  I will also be compelled to watch the movie. A friend of mine indicated to me that the movie is inappropriate for children. Do you think I should mention this to my professor before he shows the film in class?     

     As previously mentioned, I am looking for a job. I was pleasantly surprised yesterday when I received a phone call in regards to scheduling an interview.  I have a dilemma, though.  I have had to invest in some interview appropriate suits and accessories.  This is not the most opportune time for me to be purchasing new clothes. Of course I didn’t have a choice in this instance...but I did have a choice regarding the additional blouse, sweater, and jeans that I purchased.  I simply could not help myself! Now granted, I am no fashion aficionado, but I am wild about the colors that are popular this fall.  I hope I get that job…or a rich boyfriend!

"Bridge Not Burned"

     Well, the young man is persistent. He indicated that the age difference would not matter, and if we enjoy eachother’s company, that’s what counts. He also is the first of these guys to ask about ME! Simple stuff, like how was my day, and what do I do for fun. No one else that I spoke to asked me anything about myself. And here’s another thing-he can spell, and write in sentences! This fellow is beginning to look very appealing.  Most of the guys I’ve encountered can’t spell or use proper grammar.

     When I was young, I liked to go out with older men.  Back in my twenties, I was perfectly okay with the May-December romance. (Conversely, I am not okay with it now.)  Additionally, now I have metamorphosed into December, although I prefer to think of myself October.  He is more like March. I know I would never have the energy to keep up with this guy, and I doubt he would be okay with my subdued lifestyle. But he is so cute…and quite frankly, I really like that he knows how to write properly...

No surprise there...

"Burning Bridges"

     This week I found school to be both gratifying and enlightening. I had my first exam in Communications, and my grade was “A+”. Professor noted the students’ names and corresponding test grades on the blackboard, and mine was on top. (I was so proud.) Twenty-something son #1 philosophized that we were probably listed by age, beginning with the oldest! The stinker!

     I never cease to be amazed at the number of students who come to class totally unprepared.  Every week a minimum of three students will indicate that they haven’t performed the required reading. This happens in my Communications class as well as Fiction & Film. We had a test on a novel this evening, a novel that we had six weeks to read.  One student indicated that he had watched a corresponding documentary, and another indicated that he had watched the corresponding movie. All pretty standard shirking methods, right?  Another, more innovative student, explained his unique method, which I feel compelled to share with you: he reads the first ten pages, the last ten pages, and twenty pages in the middle. Who needs Cliff notes? 

     These kids are also not concerned if they earn a bad grade because generally, a professor will drop the lowest test grade.  I remember going to class occasionally unprepared back in High School, but we certainly never had that luxury, at least not in the strict Catholic school that I attended.

     And here’s a little tidbit about my latest internet dating escapade!  I had a message from a thirty nine year old, indicating that he thought I was cute. (First let me say that he really made my day. I even shared his assessment on Facebook!)  So I perused his profile, and he appears to be no more than twenty five.  He also stated that he’s looking for a girl to share his life. (That leaves me out.) So I politely thanked him for the compliment, and indicated to him that our age difference would prove to be problematic. I have to admit he is pretty cute. I let him know I thought so, too!  No need to burn bridges…

"Pounding the Pavement"

“The Love of My Life”

Finally, I have found the great love of my life,

Through my pad and my pen, it’s my ability to write.

This love will surely never break my heart.

From other loves, this is what sets her apart.

It is this great love through which I will heal

By channeling all of the emotions I feel.

She has always been with me whenever I cried.

Because of her I’ve had the strength to abide.

I will always be grateful for this talent I possess.

I realize in my heart, that I’ve truly been blessed.

     I penned this little piece in July for my Creative Writing class, at a time when I was feeling quite upbeat.  Since then, I have lost my job. It wasn’t unexpected, but the negative impact it has had on me was…Strangely, I’ve hardly been writing in the last five weeks that I’ve been unemployed, not even in my journal. Additionally, I’ve only written two or three blog posts, and only one poem. 

     This is so out of character for me.  Over the summer, there were many days when I would sit at my computer happily writing for eight hours at a clip.  So why is my writing eluding me now when I need it so badly?  I forced myself to go out for a walk today, as the weather was picture perfect, and regular exercise has also been lacking in my life.  I contemplated my dilemma further while briskly pounding the pavement (no, not that kind. I job hunt daily. Mostly, my fingers do the walking!)  I became aware that it is probably that  I   have abandoned writing,  rather than the reverse. 

     Sometimes I allow being downhearted to get the best of me. Today I came to the familiar realization that I need to push myself to get on with it. Moreover, I gave some thought to folks who have more severe problems than I, some of which can’t be fixed. I only have to read the news to realize how fortunate I am.  It is time to get off the pity pot, and revert back to my “attitude of gratitude”. I have a lot to be grateful for…