"Not Necessarily Cancer"

     My mother had a theory about test results (I'm not talking school here).  She always said that no news is good news.  She was adamant in her view that, if test results were of a negative nature, the doctor would be in touch quickly.  Her words ring true to me now, as I promptly receive phone calls that I do not wish to receive.  

     I recently discovered a bump on my thyroid and, due to family history, I immediately set the wheels in motion to determine what it is.  Having been experiencing symptoms such as extreme fatigue, interminable hot flashes and weight gain, I was not surprised to discover through blood tests that I have an under active thyroid.  I embarked on a medication regimen that is helping with the fatigue and hot flashes, but I still have to deal with the bump.  My GP ordered an ultrasound, which I promptly scheduled.  In less than twenty four hours, when I saw her number flash on my cell phone, I knew the bump was not a figment of my imagination.  My new endocrinologist was not alarmed, and suggested waiting four months and repeating the test.  However, since my mother died of thyroid cancer, I informed her that waiting to see if the bump grows is not an option. She therefore scheduled a biopsy, an unpleasant little test that didn't so much hurt, but was extremely stressful when, with a needle stuck in my throat, the doctor (without warning) instructed me not to swallow.  Have you ever tried not to swallow?  It is not an easy feat, and I was not in a position to ask him what would happen if I did.  Fortunately, it was over quickly, and I went on my merry way, anticipating the dreaded phone call that I had no doubt would be forthcoming.  My doctor's phone number flashed on my cell phone screen in under forty eight hours.  My heart leaped as I answered, anticipating the news that would not be positive in nature.  She informed me that my bump, technically known as a nodule, contains atypical cells, but that... they are not necessarily cancer.  She didn't seem concerned, but she did take the liberty of consulting with an ENT, and I promptly scheduled an appointment for the following day, the day before Thanksgiving.  He is going to remove the portion of my thyroid that contains the nodule, and it will be sent to pathology for testing.  The subsequent portion of our conversation seemed surreal.  He very plainly stated that, if it is cancer, the entire thyroid will have to be removed.  As in any major crisis in my life, I went numb, electing not to feel or to absorb the potential enormity of that statement.  

     I am planning to have the surgery sometime in late January, a mere few weeks away.  I had previously registered for the spring 2015 semester at school, and I am hopeful that I will not be compelled to withdraw.

     In my first real attempt at compartmentalizing, I have spent precious time with my family and friends over the holidays, attempting to put the upcoming surgical procedure out of my mind.  Judging by my relentless insomnia, I have not been entirely successful.  After the holidays, I will get down to the business of  reassuring my sons and planning for my future, both immediate and long term.  In recent years, I have taken time to reflect at the end of each year, to review my accomplishments, and to set new goals.  An important goal of mine is always to set a positive example for my sons.  This latest challenge will provide me with a host of new opportunities to do just that.

"Bubble Baths With Patrick Dempsey"

     I want Ellen Pompeo's job.  Think about it.  The fortuitous Ellen gets to snuggle with Patrick Dempsey, take bubble baths with Patrick Dempsey, and kiss Patrick Dempsey, all the while getting  paid oodles of money to engage in all of the above.  Talk about injustice!  I sit at a desk, my neck aching from staring at a computer screen all day, my ego bruised and patience tested as customers chew me out relentlessly, eight hours a day, five days a week.  Oh-and did  I mention the minimum ten hours per week I spend commuting?  (Commuting is a joy in and of itself.  Don't you agree?) On a positive note, "extreme customer service" will look better on my resume than "making out with Patrick Dempsey" does on hers.  Still, I'd gladly trade places...

     A few weeks ago, I was seeking a television series to stream on Netflix, wanting one that was more than a half dozen shows, like Happy Valley, but not as many as Breaking Bad, which has sixty two.  I decided on Grey's, which has...one hundred.  I am ridiculously hooked on the show, and continuously get sucked into watching episode after episode as, in typical soap opera fashion, the end of each show leaves me dangling, impatient to see what happens next.  Do you know how long it takes to watch one hundred episodes at forty three minutes each?  I'm embarrassed to admit that I've already invested more hours than an average work week, time spent commuting included.

     The other day I was speaking to my son on the phone, and I indicated I was puzzled because sirens were blaring all morning in my neighborhood, which is typically very quiet.  It was only later that I realized the sirens were...background noise on the show!  Duh...  I have yet to disclose that revelation to my son, who loses patience with me when I get caught up in my incessant streaming.  In my defense, I have not been watching any other television shows.  I have abandoned my (former) favorite show of the past five years, The Good Wife.  I pondered my likes and dislikes about the series, and came to the realization that I was dissatisfied by many of the story lines,  for example, Calinda's criminal husband, and her extreme toughness.  I hold Peter in utter contempt, and I cannot tolerate the fighting and yelling that has become characteristic of the show.  What did I like about it?  I liked Alicia's cleverness, and her professional demeanor.  I admired her strength in rebounding from her husband's very public indiscretions. I relished the unexpected humorous moments, like when Alicia stood atop Owen's SUV to access phone service while out in the wilderness.  And I liked Will Gardner.  I liked Will Gardner with Alicia.  When they killed his character off last year, in the ultimate shocking episode that single-handedly usurped "Who Shot JR?" in shock value, I pretty much knew I was done.  The course that the show has taken, and many of the characters, no longer charm me.  In comparison to the classy Downton Abbey and ever popular Grey's Anatomy, shows which also killed off main characters, I continue to be fascinated by their various compelling characters and story lines. For The Good Wife, however,   I believe that killing off Will was the beginning of the end.  It certainly was for me.

"Living My Life in Reverse"

     So, it has been more than a month since I have written a blog post.  I am so drained at the end of the week, after working, commuting, studying, and blogging for my class, that a lot of the time I can't bear to even turn the computer on when I am home.  About all I have energy left for is streaming from Netflix.  Since it has been so long since I have written, I will be switching gears rapidly throughout this post as I have a lot to say.

     "What do you mean you don't watch Grey's Anatomy?  It's the hottest show on television!"    That is what a friend asked me in astonishment-in 2006!  Well, I couldn't have envisioned it then, but I am now in the midst of streaming the series-all one hundred episodes!  Grey's Anatomy is my new Breaking Bad.  I am hooked.  Last weekend, while studying for an exam, I alternated between watching episodes and studying in 45 minute intervals. I have very little to eat in the house, and my apartment needs to be cleaned, but I got a "B" on my exam, and I find binging on  Dr. McDreamy to be very relaxing.  I need to repeat what I did with Breaking Bad-do a marathon of viewing so that I can get through it and actually have a life again.

      I am now halfway through my government and politics class-the mid-term exam was last week.  I really am getting too old for this s....stuff!  I feel as if I am living my life in reverse.  For the first time ever, I have a long, arduous commute.  I am learning a new job with a complex product line,  I am a college student, taking courses at night after a putting in a grueling day at the office and bucking the Jersey traffic for a few hours.  I am very nearly sixty!  People live like this in their twenties and thirties!  Thank goodness I am no longer of child bearing age, or who knows what could happen.  (Of course, a significant other would be required, but who's got the energy?  Or the time?) 

     Speaking of significant others-I am stiiiiiiiiiill looking for something online.  I don't exactly know what.  I imagine I will know him when I see him.  One fellow made me laugh with his profile comments today.  He's looking for someone to get him off  "this damned internet dating sight"!  Touche!

     Enough with the cell phones already!  It has gone too far when surgeons are taking selfies with their unconscious patients!

      I know I am getting older, because each successive generation becomes more irritating to me.  I'm sorry, but I have no patience for "New Millennium Yuppies", those dressed up kids in their fancy cars, with their slimline laptops and Smartphones.  Call me old fashioned, but I do not consider a day's work to consist of posting comments on social media while streaming the ridiculous Sharknado... (I know it's ridiculous-because I watched it (not in work).  Not all of it-I couldn't get through it. I just had to see what all of the hoopla was about. I went from the ridiculous to the sublime and watched the classic Jaws instead)  My son came to visit that day, and commented that never in his wildest dreams would he have envisioned me watching Sharknado.  To me it was more of a nightmare...

     Speaking of the younger generation, I don't know who finds today's "cantaloupe cleavage" attractive, but they obviously have never seen the exquisitely beautiful Elizabeth Taylor wearing a full slip in the movie Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.   Her attire wasn't open to her waist, with two bulbous masses exposed.  All that could be seen was an inch or two of feminine softness, which was mysterious and alluring.  There is nothing either mysterious or alluring with today's offensive lingerie ads, or movie stars wearing distasteful apparel.  Mystery and romance seem to be a thing of the past.  I know-I am dating myself.  Oh well, no sense in being old unless you show it.

"Younger by the Day"

       You know the phone obsession has gone too far when the meteorologist is posting comments on Twitter instead of providing the weather forecast...

      My sister theorizes that if one is heavier, he or she will tend to look younger.  The way I am gaining weight-I must be looking younger by the day.

     Why do I keep a travel size bottle of hairspray when I never travel?  More importantly, why do I store it beside my bottle of eyeglass cleaner?  You guessed it-I grabbed the wrong bottle when I decided to clean my glasses (I couldn't tell the difference because...I didn't have my glasses on!).  So now my $800.00 glasses have a new kind of scratch coat on them.  Too bad I can't see through it...     

      Have you noticed lately that the only "stars" on DWTS are the professional dancers?

     My friend and I were discussing the importance of the opening line in a book, story , or article.  She then cited Moby Dick, to which I replied "Call me Ishmael".  She was visibly impressed, until I explained that I merely knew the line from hearing it in the movie Matilda...

"Haircut Free"

     So why do I have my hairdresser's telephone number programmed in my phone when I cut my hair every eighteen months? 

      The following event was not my original intent, but a result of the past "haircut free" year and a half:

     I am suffering from a new kind of separation anxiety.  I am missing my long hair.  I recently had this brainstorm that compelled me to cut my nearly waist long hair and donate it.  I love(d) my long hair.  I have worn it long for the better part of the last twenty years. (I'm a bit backwards, folks.  I sported short hair in my youth and decided to grow it long when I was in my forties!) 

     Before leaving for my appointment, I held onto my long curly locks and bid them farewell.  Shortly thereafter, my hairdresser asked me, as she held my still attached ten inch braid in her hands, scissors perched, was I sure.  My hands were shaking, and my lips trembled.  Unable to speak, I solemnly shook my head yes. In one felt swoop, off it came.   My sorrow subsequently turned to joy, however, as I perused the Locks of Love website, knowing my sacrifice would help a child in need.  

     The next day, when I went to work, many people were shocked.  Some even did double takes when I walked in sporting  hair that barely covered my ears.  One friend indicated that cutting my hair "took ten years off".  "Wow", I replied, "now I look like I'm fifty!"  (I'm not sixty yet folks-just getting myself mentally prepared...)  And don't get me wrong.  I really did appreciate the compliment.

     In all seriousness, this is a great organization.  Please check it out:

http://www.locksoflove.org/

"Fall Semester 2014"

     I'm returning to school this week for the fall semester.  I suspect I should be in the Guinness Book of World Records for taking longer than anyone else in history to attain my Associate's Degree.  In reality-I'm just trying to hold onto my student discount until my senior citizen discount kicks in.

     The course I'm taking is "American Government and Politics".    Now, anyone who knows me knows that I absolutely despise politics.  Obviously, I don't have a choice, or I never would have chosen this class.  A number of people have expressed what an interesting class it will be.  I asked all three of them to take the class for me, but I didn't have any takers.  So alas, I will go in with an open mind and try to absorb all I can.  Two years ago, when I took Fiction and Film Studies, the theme of the course was-you guessed it-politics.  I was dismayed upon hearing that, but ultimately, I was pleasantly surprised.  We read and watched All the President's Men, & Primary Colors, and I truly enjoyed both.  We also viewed a classic film-Mr. Smith Goes to Washington.  I am hopeful that this upcoming course will go so well.  I doubt it will include movies, however...

"Malamute"

     So I'm back on that damned internet dating site-again!   What's wrong with this picture?  Am I a glutton for punishment?  For one thing, I know they manipulate the system, and consequently, me.  And I fall for it every time!  It never fails-when my membership is about to expire, the messages and page views  all but stop.  However, the minute my membership does expire, voila!  Tons of messages magically appear in my in-box.  Of course, I can't read them or even see who they are from unless I pay up.  Needless to say, my curiosity gets the best of me, and I fork over the dough.  The messages are always disappointing.  Almost exclusively, they are from people who do not have a photo displayed.  I suspect they are phantom members put in place by the site to entice fools like me.  Every time my membership is about to expire, I swear that I am going to call it quits.  I am lacking resolve on this issue, however.

     Quite frankly, in the last two years I've done very little dating and have spent an awful lot of money.  That is mainly because I am so fussy.  I am easily turned off by age (too young/too old), a look, a picture in a distasteful location (bar), or an offensive screen name.  Most of these guys do have screen names, some of which are downright revolting.  Others are original, some clever, or conversely, dumb, and some, shall we say-intriguing?  One fellow calls himself "malemute".  Now, I don't know if he is trying to say "Malamute" but doesn't know how to spell it (an automatic turnoff for me), or if he is a male who is "mute", which, as far as I am concerned, is the best kind.  I am attempting to come up with a discreet way of making that determination, as I spend another evening with the main man in my life-Buddy!

"Designer Dog"

      My neighbor recently purchased a gorgeous puppy, and I do mean gorgeous-with a capital G.  And yes, I do have puppy fever!

     The dog, however beautiful, is rather unusual looking.  He is on the small side, weighing in at no more than ten pounds.  He has long shaggy hair that is variegated shades of brown, and a rather long body.  I inquired about the breed, because, for one thing, I've never seen anything quite like him, and also, I've seen the dog's brother, and they look nothing alike.  In fact, the other dog has very short, dark brown hair, nearly black.  The only commonality is the somewhat extended torso.  Well, the exquisitely beautiful puppy is a Dorkie.  That is-a cross between a Dachshund and a Yorkie.  ( I find this kind scenario somewhat like mixing chocolate and cayenne pepper.  They too, mix unexpectedly well.  I don't know who thought either one up, but kudos to him or her anyway...)  Personally, I'm not crazy about either breed of dog, but the unusual mix  produces adorable pups, quite appealing, and with great potential of becoming  a second pet for me and Buddy.  I was discussing the puppy with my BFF, who is familiar with the breed.  She indicated to me that it is a "Designer Dog".  I had never heard the term, so I googled it.  A "Designer Dog" is a cross between two purebred dogs, and is distinctly, not a mutt.  A mutt is of uncertain ancestry, whereas a "Designer Dog" has documented purebred ancestry.  Curious as to where I could buy one, I googled that too.  One site I found indicated the following: "Designer Dogs Shipped Worldwide".  So, in this day and age, dogs are bred by design (and imagination) and shipped anywhere, rather like a mechanical toy dog that is built, stuffed in a box, and shipped to a toy store. What the fudge!?!?!?!  Gone are the days when your neighbor's mutt had an unplanned litter of puppies and they were farmed out to whomever wanted one.   That's how we always obtained our pups when I was growing up.  At that time, dogs were rarely "fixed", and were kept in the yard most of the time (hence the numerous unplanned pregnancies).  They ate one can of Alpo dog food per day, had annual rabies shots ministered by the city for free, and went to the Vet once or twice in their lifetime, most often when they were quite old...(I don't necessarily agree with all of that.  It's just how it was...)  I imagine I have really dated myself now, but I do long for the good old days, when life was so much simpler.  I think that, after I order  my  "Dorkie" online and receive him in the mail, I will pull down the shades, disconnect my Internet, and curl up on the couch with an old fashioned paperback book, my "Designer Dog" on my lap.

"No Mood to Write"

     I guess it's been at least a month since I've written a blog post.  The reason is twofold.  First and foremost, I am in no mood to write.  Perhaps if I didn't have to log on to a computer and deal with technology, I would feel differently.  But alas, that is not the case.  After long days in the office being technologically challenged until my head spins, I simply cannot bear the thought of turning on my computer when I am home.  Even on weekends, my time spent on the computer is minimal.  My contempt for technology increases by the day.  However, technology, for me, does have a scant few perks.  For example,  how would I manage without texting (on my antique, obsolete phone), my Blue Ray player, or Netflix streaming?  And my combination scanner/printer and digital camera-I couldn't live without those either.  I am really enjoying being able to scan and print my own photos!  Speaking of which, brings me to my other reason for not writing.  I have been on a mission in recent weeks to identify folks in over fifty years worth of photos.  Additionally, I am organizing them into new photo albums,  pasted onto pastel colored paper and kept in plastic report covers for protection.  In some, I have even added captions.  I was motivated to complete this project because my mother failed to identify the bulk of her assorted pictures.  My sister, cousins, and I have been busy enlarging photos, studying photos with magnifying glasses, and debating over whose mother is in a particular photo.  My mom and two of her sisters (not triplets) looked exactly alike, and we are using a look, a smile, or an article of clothing remembered to determine the identity of the mystery woman in a given photo.  We have managed to identify a good number of photos, though it hasn't been easy.  Additionally, it can be painful not being 100 percent sure of our consensus.  I am determined that this challenge will not be passed on to my own children.  While they will have thousands of photos to sort through, the pictures are in order by year, the people are identified, and the events noted.  I have tons of baby pictures, including my own, baptisms, graduations, weddings, vacations.  Because of my diligence, there will be no guesswork involved, even with the babies!  I have spent countless hours on this project.  One day alone, I started at 6:30 A.M., and didn't stop until 8:30 P.M., except to eat and walk the dog.  Most of my photos were totally disorganized, with pictures of my grandparents mixed in with pictures of my children.  For a long time I couldn't look at the photos, as the memories were more than I could face.  I have had a difficult time coming to terms with my empty nest and the fact that I will never again hold my babies in my arms or cuddle up with my little boys.  Tears well up in my eyes even now as I write this.  It has taken nearly six long years for me to be able to revisit the past.  One day, paging through the numerous albums filled with our lives, my sons will be glad I did.

               "My Mom"    I picked up on the sad smile, my sister recognized the shoes.                                   

"Boomer Blogger"

     Not only can many people not spell correctly, write in sentences, or even use proper punctuation, but add to the list folks using words completely out of context.  I'm not talking bare vs. bear, or there vs. their, or even quash vs. squash (a rumor is something you quash, whereas a bug is something you squash...)  I recently read a movie review where the critic indicated that the movie he saw was define.  I'm certain he meant divine!  Duh!

     A friend of mine has been urging me to seek acupuncture treatments to try and alleviate the discomfort caused by my hot flashes.  Believing it is worth trying, I gave it a shot, utilizing the procedure to treat some of my aches and pains simultaneously.  It worked like a charm, except that, by the time they were through pricking me, I looked like pinhead!

     Buddy, my crazy chocolate lab, can always tell when I'm getting ready to go out.  Recently, I was preparing to head out to a movie and wanted to walk him first.  I tried to coax King Buddy off of his love seat throne, but, viewing me dejectedly,  he merely let out the greatest impersonation of a Marlon Brando sigh that I have ever seen, his body language  screaming "she's going out...again..."  He dejectedly lumbered off the couch, and proceeded outside to do his business.  If they gave out doggie Oscars, Buddy would win-paws down! 

     I signed up for a Communications course this coming fall, first checking "Rate My Professor" (as previously instructed by some of my young classmates) so I have an idea of what to expect.  The consensus is that  this particular professor is young and modern, and that it is not necessary to purchase a book for the course.  The professor writes a blog for his students.  They felt compelled to add that the "ancient" professors would never write a blog...I'm guessing that the notion of a "Boomer Blogger" is inconceivable to the naive little tykes...

    
     

"Epitome of Refinement"

     My neighborhood is normally very quiet, a polar opposite of the neighborhood where I lived previously.  In my former town, car alarms were ringing constantly (one night I counted-the same car alarm went off ten times in the first hour after I arrived home from work.  A disgruntled neighbor poking us with a stick, perhaps?)   Additionally, horns were used in lieu of doorbells, music blasted at all hours of the night, and it was not uncommon for folks to start barbequing at 10:30 P.M., usually with a charcoal grill, right under my bedroom window.  One night a few years back, actually the night before Easter, my neighbor, a clean cut, albeit rude, young man, started grilling at 10:30 P.M., and by 12:30 A.M.  I couldn't stand the noise or the toxic fumes any longer.   I called the police to complain about both,  a complete exercise in futility.  Not only did the cops take their time getting there, but they indicated to the neighbors that the noise was "not so loud", helped themselves to a hamburger, and promptly identified the neighbor who called to complain-yours truly.  

     Since plan A didn't work, I progressed to plan B-I tried reasoning with the offensive neighbor.  Well, he promptly informed me, in no uncertain terms, that it was his yard (he rented) and that he would make as much noise as he wanted, whenever he wanted.  I promised to return the favor when I got up at 5:00 A.M., which was daily, weekends notwithstanding.  By the way-did I mention that he was deported two weeks later?  He was illegal...  Talk about nerve!  

     Fortunately, my current neighborhood has far fewer inconsiderate residents, and the police are not nearly as unscrupulous.  Recently, a young woman was leaning on her horn at 12:30 A.M. on a Monday, right outside of all the bedroom windows in my unit.  After the third time, I hurled open my window, and, epitome of refinement that I am, I screamed at her to quit blowing her horn.  Epitome of refinement that she was, she ignored me as if I weren't there, and continued, unabashedly.  I subsequently called the police, and while I was on the phone, Horatia Hornblower continued with her offensive tirade.  The officer inquired if the noise was my doorbell (Heaven forbid that I would have a doorbell that loud).  It wasn't, I replied.  She assured me she would send a squad car promptly.  Next thing I know, the boyfriend comes ambling out, and Amy Vanderbilt (me) screamed again to knock off the noise.  He in turn started hurling obscenities at the young woman at the top of his lungs, ordering her to "shut the fudge up because", and-you're going to love this- "I told you old people live here".  Talk about adding insult to injury!!!  He promptly left when I told him the cops were on their way.   Miss Refinement , apparently as bright as she was considerate,  hung around and became even more insistent with the horn blowing.  Luckily, the police (two squad cars) arrived to hear her, and they took care of the situation.  They promptly escorted her out of there (hopefully in cuffs) without divulging my identity.  

     In the past year since I've been in this apartment, that was only the second incident where tenants (or their guests) awakened me in the middle of the night. Not half bad, in my estimation.   I love my little town, and I appreciate my town's "finest".

"The Beat of My Own Drum"

     The Winter 2014 semester has come to a close.  I am proud to report that I have earned another "A", and believe me when I tell you, it was a challenge.  It is not easy for a 50-Something to learn a new language.  Thank God I studied French in High School, or I might not have done so well.  Despite the fact that I graduated over forty years ago, I remember a good deal, mainly pronunciation, and a measure of vocabulary.  My teacher in High School was from France, so we got the real deal with her-she provided a strong foundation.  That is not to impugn my current professor's command of the language.  She is an excellent teacher, and her pronunciation is impeccable.  I simply could not have done so well  without the influence of my first teacher.  It also helps that I love the language. 

      I was discussing speaking French with a friend recently, and she indicated to me that when in France, she had to learn to "think" in French, as opposed to thinking in English and then translating.  Her statement was like a revelation, and I realized she was spot on.  I have found myself that, when reading articles in French ( I subscribed to a French magazine), I do just that.  It's an interesting and challenging concept.  There are words and phrases that I don't have to ponder or reach for in my fuzzy brain.  Then again, there are some I do.  For example, my friend asked how to say "have a good day" in French.  My mouth, moving faster than my mind (not uncommon for me),  quickly replied that I didn't know.   She in turn asked did I really get an "A"...  Oh, yes I do, I blurted out: bonne journee!  This was a perfect example of my not thinking in French.  I also need to put the brakes on my mouth until  my aging brain catches up.  

     There are many words in French which closely resemble their English counterpart.  While studying for my final exam, I was wracking my brain trying to remember the French word for continent.  In utter exasperation, I reverted back to my textbook: le continent.  Duh!!!  

     Toward the end of the semester, we learned continents, countries, states, and cities, and it was beneficial to know a measure of geography.  Well, one of my classmates didn't know which coast New York is on, and another didn't know that Michigan is a state! When she inquired "wasn't Michigan a city?",  I had to restrain myself from turning around and shouting that if you would simply fermez la bouche (shut your mouth) that you might actually learn something.  

     At this stage in my life, I am a dedicated student, eager to learn and excel, despite my advancing age.  I wonder to myself how my professors feel about me as a student.  I am the kind of student a teacher loves to have in her class, as I am punctual, my attendance is good, I pay attention and participate in class, I complete assignments by the due date.  In other words, I really apply myself.  But does my age get in the way of her perception?  I question in my mind do the professors consider the old student a kind of exercise in futility...  In the beginning of the semester, I don't believe my professor took me seriously.  As the course progressed, however, I could see a change, and I knew that as a student, she appreciated and respected my efforts.  The degree I am pursuing is mostly for self enrichment.  It's not as if I am going to embark on establishing a new career for myself.  In the end, how others perceive my quest for a college education is immaterial to me.  Still, I can't help but wonder...

     In physical appearance, amongst my classmates, I stick out like a sore thumb.  I often feel as out of place as a snowball in a desert, and sometimes wish I could likewise melt away and not be seen.  But alas, I carry on, and march to the beat of my own drum.  Hopefully, before too long, I will be marching to a stage to collect my diploma...

"A Waist of Time"

     My attempt at internet dating continues, and I have made zero progress in the last six months.  Today I scanned fifty pages at five guys per page, and it was an exercise in futility.   Two hundred and fifty guys, and not one appealed to me.

     In all seriousness, I don't think I will ever meet anyone this way.  I'm far too picky and anal.  One fellow indicated that if a woman doesn't display a picture, contacting him would be a waist of time. (Ugh!  I wanted to comment "waste, you fool").   Another fellow has a screen name of Public Enemy, reminding me of an old James Cagney movie.  Nix both of these guys off the list of possibilities.  Another one had in his list of criteria that recognizing certain movie quotes would score "the applicant" extra points.  Given my love for movies, he sounds like a possible match, right?  Except that the quotes were all from gangster movies!  A little too dark for me...I wouldn't trust him either.

     Am I reaching for the stars?  You be the judge. Here's my criteria: the fellow can't be tall, and he can't be  short.  He can't be skinny, and a beard and or mustache is out of the question.  If, in any of his pictures, he's got a beer bottle, a glass of wine, or a cigar in his hand, forget it.  If he's seeking a travel partner, well, that ain't gonna happen.  He can't be too young because I wouldn't trust him, and he can't be too old because I'm not into older men.  A small measure of hair is imperative, and I don't mean white (although mine probably is underneath the hundreds of coats of Miss Clairol slapped on it).  Additionally, he must have a good voice, young sounding and masculine, with no trace of hoarseness. Oh, and let's not forget, first and foremost, he must be able to spell and write in sentences, complete with correct context and punctuation.  However, if he's got a masters degree or a doctorate, I'm not in his league, and if he's got a high school diploma he's not in mine.  See what I mean?  Hopeless!  I feel I'm completely and utterly waisting my time! 

"False Courage"

     My mother used to say that drinking alcohol gave a person "false courage".  I agree with that assessment.  Additionally, I believe that writing Emails, texting, and posting comments or messaging on FB also provide false courage.

     I am appalled at some of the inappropriate statements I see on FB, and I have to wonder what people are thinking.  Now, I don't profess to be a saint, but I do try to behave in a dignified manner when I put things in writing, be it on FB, in an Email, in a text, or on my blog.  I consider who will be reading my comments, and the impression that it will make on a person.  First and foremost, are my children going to read what I write?  If they are, I certainly don't want to write anything they will be ashamed of.  And, not to be redundant, I still feel compelled to at least try to set a good example for them.  

     If I were considering disparaging someone (which I would not do on FB, although I know some who have), I would think about whether or not that person's children would read my comments.  Even if I have a beef with someone (and I do), I would not want to hurt that person's children.  Besides, my opinions are merely that-opinions.  Opinions are not facts.  Every individual has multiple facets and interacts in myriad ways with others, depending on the relationship.

     I do not agree with advertising a family's private squabbles or events long past on FB.  Not everything has to be out there for anyone and everyone to read.  Everyone has skeletons in their closet, and they are in the closet for a reason-they belong there.  There comes a time when we need to just let stuff go.  Rehashing events that happened two decades ago is pointless.  Get over it, come to terms with it, or choose to walk away.  Nothing can be changed at this point.  All we can do is attempt to do better, and not emulate the past.

     I am also appalled by the general lack of respect that is all too common.  Not to sound old, but when I was growing up, I was taught to respect my elders, and also to treat others in the manner that I wished to be treated myself.  I still have respect for elders, but am I not always treated with respect.

     I am quite tempted to get off of FB altogether.  Sometimes it causes more aggravation and hurt feelings than anything else.  But heck, I've always been a glutton for punishment.  I think I'll hang in there a little longer.

"Breaking Bad Marathon"

        I am absolutely addicted to the television show Breaking Bad.  I started watching about six weeks ago, and was hooked from the very first episode.  For me, doing marathons of television show viewing is a new concept, and I absolutely love it. Too much, I think. (It's kind of like watching a really long movie!)   

       For many years, I never watched any TV shows, I mainly viewed movies, both old and new.  Something changed for me, however, once I moved into my apartment and found myself devoid of the company of other humans.  Friends turned me on to some good shows, and I began streaming shows on Netflix.  I watched fourteen episodes of House of Cards (not consecutively), but for some reason I never became emotionally invested in the show, except for my disdain for the female lead, Claire.  I love the show Downton Abbey, and blew through four years of that series poste haste.  I am also a fan of Orange is the New Black, although it is a little graphic for my taste.  Then I discovered Breaking Bad, and it has usurped almost all of my other favorites.  Everything except The Good Wife.  

      I began doing marathons of BB, watching sometimes four or five episodes in a row.  However, once I became engrossed in season three, it became an obsession.  So much so, in fact, that viewing it began interfering with my life, and that includes my class work.  Luckily for me, I was 2/3 through the semester before this BB fascination grabbed hold of me.  

     At the start of this past weekend, I had seventeen episodes left, and I watched four on Friday evening.  Saturday I only watched two because I had my family over to celebrate Easter.  Sunday, however, I was on my own for the day.  I knew when I arose that morning, that I was going to spend the day on the couch, viewing the rest of the series.  Since it was affecting  other priorities, like homework,  I decided that I would give up one day and plow through, freeing me up for the duration of the semester.  I am ashamed to admit that I began at 11:00 A.M. on Sunday morning, and I didn't stop (except to eat and walk the dog) until 10:00 P.M.  I even skipped The Good Wife so that I could watch the very last episode of BB.  Now I can get back to living my life-starting tomorrow.  I am compelled to play hooky from class tonight because....I didn't do my homework!  Imagine-if I had spent those eleven hours studying, I'd know the whole damn French language by now! (My friends and faithful readers know me well, and are keenly aware that this is completely out of character for me.)  So I am going to Email Madame Professeure, obtain my assignment for tonight, and embark on a homework marathon.  (Of course, I had to compose this blog post before I started.)  Thankfully, my grades are good, my attendance near perfect, and I have applied myself throughout the semester.  There have been a number of evenings when I would have liked to skip class, especially during the dreadful winter we had, but I persevered, knowing that an evening might come when I would really need the break.  Tonight is the night!  Regarding the show-it is ranked up there as one of my all time favorites.  I loved the story (and especially that cute little Jesse Pinkman), and found the evolution of the various characters utterly fascinating.  

     I already have another series lined up, but I am holding off starting it until after my final exam.  I'm not going to tempt fate!  I am in the market for an "A", and nothing is going to stop me, not even an evening with Jesse Pinkman.

"Happy Birthday"

     This week, April 23 to be exact, my blog will be two years old.  This is also my 200th post. Happy Birthday 50-Something!

     In the two years since,  I have lost a job, returned to work, continued with my education, moved into my own apartment, and now am coping with the not too far off milestone birthday, which I am already dreading.  I have come to terms with my writing, and realize that I do not have the stamina to really pursue publication.  But I'm okay with that.  I write now more for the pleasure of it, as well as to release and manage my emotions.  I embrace my new life, and adjust to the course that my life has taken, ever grateful for my good fortune, for I feel that I am truly blessed.  I live a simple life, and I am content with it.  I loathe self indulgence, and live within my means.  I don't need designer clothes, a brand new car, the latest that technology has to offer, or lavish vacations.  Let me spend time with my children, see a movie with my BFF, cuddle with my dog, read a good book, cook my favorite meal, witness a beautiful sunrise, and I am happy and filled with gratitude.  I love my apartment and the town I live in.  I value my independence and self reliance.  And above all else, I cherish my sons.  I love them enough to let them go, despite the excruciating pain of it.  As their mother, I encourage them to live their own lives, to pursue their dreams, to do what makes them happy, and not to worry about me.  I still cry when they leave me, but I know that this is how it is supposed to be.  It is my responsibility to allow them their own independence, but to be here for them whenever they may need my support.   

     As I look back on the last 34 years, I cannot believe the speed with with the years have flown by.  If I could only go back in time,  I would love to have spent every waking moment with my children, as  I didn't know that they would be grown up faster than I could blink.  It's unfortunate that life does not really allow us that luxury, however.  Unless a person is independently wealthy,   there are 40 hour work weeks, houses to clean, bills to be paid, laundry to be done, and a spouse who clamors for our attention.  I guess that's why God gives us grandchildren.  The responsibilities of our youth have diminished, and we are able to spend our free time playing with the children.  I, for one, am ready for the next chapter.  Maybe it's time to abandon my resolve and start exerting a little pressure...

    

"Mourning Will Gardner"

     "Make them beg for more, and then don't give it to them!"  

     Do you recognize that movie dialogue?  It is Mama Rose to her daughter Gypsy Rose Lee, in the movie Gypsy.    I believe that, in actuality, this is the mantra of the writers of  The Good Wife.  They have been teasing the viewers for years with the on again off again romance between the show's protagonists, Alicia Florrick and Will Gardner.  Last year, viewers were encouraged to vote team Will or team Peter, and we could even buy our chosen team's T-shirts!  

     I, and many others like me, have been waiting in eager anticipation for Alicia and Will to reunite this season.  My hopes were cruelly dashed last Sunday, when Will, the Zoe Barnes  of  The Good wife, was killed off, shocking viewers.  I am bitterly disappointed.  I know Alicia is married to a S.O.B., and I wanted to see her happy, with a good guy.  Okay, with Will. On the other hand, Alicia is a survivor, and she is sure to grow due to yet another life altering experience.

      I know, I am too emotionally invested in the TV shows I watch.  I'm not the only one...my BFF called me after the show so that we could "mourn" Will.  Many of my friends and I were buzzing all week about the shocking episode, lamenting Will's death, and pondering the rippling effect his absence will have on the other characters.  Many of us also expressed anger at this turn of events.  I even posted a comment to the show's FB page to that effect, indicating that I may never watch the show again.  (That was a knee jerk reaction. I intend to, of course.)

     The Good Wife has been my favorite show since it inception five years ago.  The characters have become friends who are invited into my home every Sunday evening without fail. I manage my Sunday evening schedule based on whether or not the show is on, and also at what time it airs.  I curse the football games that delay its prompt start, and would not go out on a Sunday night if I had a date with a millionaire.  (Okay, that is a bit of a stretch.)  I share in the characters' happiness, I relate to their challenges, and I mourn for them when they are gone. 

     It is with mixed emotions that I will watch tonight's episode.  I have to wonder if Alicia's last voice mail message from Will is going to be reminiscent of a scene from My Foolish Heart,  where Eloise Winters is reading a letter from her lover, soldier Walt Dreiser, who was in the midst of writing it when he was killed.  In the letter, he asked her to marry him...She breaks down sobbing, finally realizing that his love for her was true, but also grieving for the life they would never share. I'm sure that Alicia's scene will be equally emotional.

     I will have a box of tissues at my side tonight, knowing that saying goodbye to Will saddens me.  But life (and TV shows) go on, and like it or not, we will adapt.  The writers gave us no choice. Unless  Alicia had a Pamela Barnes-Ewing moment, and it was all a dream.  We can only hope...

    

"How Raunchy Can You Get?"

     Internet dating, or not, whichever the case may be, is no fun.  Still, I persist in joining a loathsome website, wasting both my valuable time and my limited resources.  I've only ever had one date,  mainly because I'm a snob, not for lack of opportunity.  (Am I really a snob, or am I just in denial about my age, as I have professed to be for months?)  It's quite a dilemma I'm in.  If older men message me, I am disinclined to respond because I can't be that old myself.  If younger men message me (and many do), I am immediately distrustful, imagining that they are merely looking for a rich older woman with one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel.  I'm not rich...

     A friend remarked to me recently about my ability to attract the younger men.  From my perspective, I simply attract bad men, and God knows they come in all ages.  A  forty something had messaged me recently, and I actually found him to be appealing.  Not merely because of his semi youthful good looks, but because he loves movies about as much as I do.  The problem was that he came on too strong, pushing me to meet  him almost immediately.  I messaged him, asking a few general questions about his interests.  His response?  "Do you want to talk on the phone and see how that goes?"  He didn't answer one question!  So, already he's not listening, and apparently he has his own agenda.  Within two or three Emails, I'm already being ignored.  What the fudge!

     Another thing I have noticed, and which I find particularly amusing, is where the fellow has obviously cut a woman out of his picture. (In one case, it was his wedding picture. Can you believe it?)  However, there is more.  Most of these types have their status as legally separated.  (There is no such thing in New Jersey.)  I disregard these types at all costs.

     Then there are the guys who look at my picture upward of sixteen times, without sending one message.  Are they window shopping?  Is it something more perverse?  Perhaps they fear intimacy.  I know I do. 

     Additionally, the screen names and self descriptions are sometimes appalling.  One fellow calls himself klinks.  I immediately scratched him from my list of possibilities, as in my opinion, he either drinks, or he's been in jail.  Another calls himself c--lucky.  (Use your imagination.  I can't even write it!)  Just how raunchy can a guy be?  Then there is the fellow with a thick shock of white hair, who describes himself as having blue eyes and blond short hairs.  (Did I say raunchy?)  By the way, I have no intention of ever finding out...

     So, how many times can a person get burned before stopping the insanity?  I have thirty more days left on my contract, and this time around I have made myself a promise.  If  I don't meet someone decent within the next month-I'm done.  I intend to not only close my account, but to remove my picture altogether, so that I can't get drawn back in.  (They indicate you have oodles of messages, but you can't see them without paying.  Then when you pay, you have about half the number indicated.  UGH!)  

     I have managed to build a nice little life for myself.  I love my apartment, my dog, school, my writing, and, first and foremost, I have been blessed with wonderful family and friends. When I was younger, I dreamed of the life I have now, a life of independence, self reliance, and freedom.  Do I really need, or want, some man to jeopardize all that I have worked so hard to achieve?  I don't think so.

"Room/Off"

     Coping with today's technology is going to give me a nervous breakdown.  I don't know how many meltdowns I can have before I crack.  I have been uploading a lot of old pictures onto my computer.  I put them in folders, and when I went to look for them later, I couldn't find them.  Literally.  After about twenty attempts, and after coming alarmingly close to hurling my computer through the picture window of my second floor apartment, I said a prayer to St. Anthony.  Old reliable!  I found the pictures.  He must know I can't afford a new computer.

     So today I go to the gym, and since none of my friends accompanied me, I watched the TV to amuse myself  while I pounded on the treadmill.  The problem arose when I tried to turn the TV off, and could not figure out how.  The remote control didn't have an on/off button.  What it did have was a room/off button.  I didn't want to press it, because I assumed it would shut off all of the power in the room.  Feeling my temper and frustration reaching their limits, I asked this young hottie on the next treadmill to show me how to shut the TV off.  He promptly pressed the room/off  button!!!  I saw him stifle a chuckle when I told him what I thought that button was for.  Call me crazy, but the last time I checked, on and room were not synonyms. 

     Yesterday, I had to schedule a meeting in work in one of the conference rooms.  Scheduling is done through the Email account.  Go to the calendar, pick a date and time, Email an invitation to the attendees, and...Email  the room!  I'm not kidding-every conference room has its own Email address, and it responds to the invitation to indicate if it is available or not. What the fudge!  I feel like I'm living in an episode of The Jetsons.

"The New Ten"

     If fifty is the new forty, and forty is the new thirty, and thirty is the new twenty-what is twenty?  The new ten?  Judging by the maturity level of some of my classmates-that would be a resounding YES!  There are about a half a dozen students in my class who talk or kid around relentlessly.   Nothing is serious.  Everything is a joke to them.  Since I returned to college nearly 3 years ago, there have been the odd students who would talk in class, but never to excess.  Well!  The students in my class not only talk constantly, and this is really juvenile, they make fun of the professor!  (I thought they were being inappropriate a couple of weeks ago when I asked them to keep it down.)   Last evening, I was discussing the situation with one of my classmates, a fortyish woman who is equally incensed by their appalling behavior.  "They are behaving like high school students", she opined.  "High school?" I responded in astonishment.  "They are more like grammar school students, in my opinion."   You know, our professor is the sweetest lady, and she is very soft spoken and rather timid.  When the children misbehave, she doesn't call them on it.  The next time I go to class, those brats are going to get an earful from me.  I am not paying my hard earned money to listen to them.  They will be lucky if I don't tell them to shut the f--- up-

in English!  And this time I won't be saying fudge...

"Unwelcome Changes"

     I never thought it would happen to me, but old age is staring me directly in the face, and throwing punches.  As I ponder my declining state, I have noticed the following unwelcome changes.

     I have diminished hearing in my right ear.  I find this to be annoying since, when talking on the phone, I consistently, and historically,  have the phone to my right ear.  Having always been resistant to change, I am unwilling to switch.  So please forgive me for continually requesting that you repeat yourself.  Believe me, it annoys me as much as it does you.  Just not enough to provoke me to change.

     I always go to sleep with the television on and the timer set, with the volume just loud enough  to be audible.  This works well if I am lying on my left side.  However, last night I switched sides and realized the TV was blasting.  My neighbors must love me.

     Did you see Ellen at the Academy Awards last week, when she was shouting dialogue at the older actress, June Squibb?  It reminded me of a conversation between my friends and I.  Unless, of course, they are seated to my left...

     Another issue I am having is with night driving.  The lights from oncoming vehicles threaten to blind me, so I drive slowly, and try to ignore those tailgating me.  My sister has her own solution...she shuts her eyes!

     My mind is becoming a barren desert,  with random words and thoughts blowing around it like tumbleweed.    When I cannot recall a word, I almost feel it rolling around in there, and patiently wait for it to surface, which can take a few minutes...or a couple of days, which causes some difficulty when I have an exam. If I am out with a friend, however, between the two of us, we can form full sentences, usually finishing each others by filling in words or names, rather like completing a vocal crossword puzzle. (If my memory would allow-I'd provide some examples.)  All of this makes me wonder how I expect to learn a foreign language, when I can barely form full sentences in my own...Why do you think I like to write?  I can take days to compose a post, and no one will be the wiser.

    

"Another Saturday Night and..."

     My sister informed me that people with osteoporosis are better off to carry a little extra weight.  (Having been recently diagnosed, I'm guessing that having regained ten of the nine pounds I lost last year is a good thing.)  I subsequently rushed her off the phone so I could make another batch of rice pudding.  I had to run to the store to buy milk. (I didn't really run-couldn't if I wanted to, and I don't want to, although I wouldn't mind being able to), and also picked up a few myriad items while I was there.  I had a hankering for some lunch meat, and purchased a quarter pound each of three different types.  Then I realized with dismay that I had morphed into one of those annoying seniors who holds up the line by doing just that-ordering a quarter pound each of seventeen different meats and cheeses.  I was happy there were no young people waiting behind me, rolling their eyes and sighing with annoyance, as I used to do. That was not likely to happen on a Saturday night, however. (Sadly, this was one of my more exciting Saturdays!)  Next I went to purchase my favorite salad dressing, but I stopped cold when I saw the price: $4.49 for one bottle!  Needless to say that bottle is collecting dust on that same shelf, as I purchased a bargain brand for only $1.49, sacrificing taste for the three dollars that would remain in my wallet!  Then I trotted off to the pet section and bought a rawhide bone for Buddy @ $5.49. Hmmm....

     My BFF came over for a visit , and I turned her on to my new favorite show: Downton Abbey.  She liked the show, but wasn't real crazy about the accents.  Did I mention that she's English?

     In French class the other evening, two young men behind me wouldn't stop talking.  My professor, a petite, soft spoken woman,  was very diplomatic, and asked if they had a question.  (They didn't.)  I was so tempted to turn around and shout "fermez la bouche" (shut your mouth), a phrase I never forgot from high school French.  I exercised self restraint and merely requested, no, suggested, with blatant disdain, that they keep it down.  They were behaving like grammar school boys! Ugh!  Je ne suis pas patiente...I have no patience...

    Much to my annoyance, on another occasion, the professor was providing instructions on capitalization, and also the importance of punctuation, a necessity in any language.  I sat there in abject incredulity that such instructions would be delivered in a college classroom.  Later, when one of my fellow students referred to a period as a dot (confusing sentences with web addresses) I realized that the instructions were absolutely necessary.  (There are many in the corporate world who would benefit from her instructions as well.)  Have you ever tried to understand multiple sentences all running together without so much as a "dot" (being facetious) or a comma?  I am at my wits' end with it all.  How do you say "What The Fudge" in French?   

 

"Small Animals, Harsh Winters"

     My Dad was a wonderful man, rich in patience, love, and compassion.  It is from my Dad that I inherited my love and compassion for animals.  I remember as a child that the winters were very harsh.  During those times that the ground was encased in frozen snow, my Dad was concerned for the small animals that had no means of obtaining anything to eat through the earth's crusty white blanket that stretched as far as the eye could see.  I remember him placing bits of bread in our yard, and then peeking with me through a curtained window to wait until the hungry birds and squirrels would appear and feast on the tasty morsels.  Together we would marvel at the famished animals as they hurriedly devoured their much needed meal.  To this day I think of my Dad on days like this.  I wonder did he have any idea of the impact his actions had on his small daughter, who grew into a woman who carries on his tradition still, after fifty plus years.  I  watch the animals joyfully as they scurry back and forth from their nests in a frenzy to have their hunger sated by the varied bits of food that I leave outside for them, while I imagine my Dad beside me, a tender smile on his face.  I have tears in my eyes as I write this, remembering my gentle Dad, and wishing he were still here with me.  I hope that I have managed to make him proud, as I am proud of him.

"Spring 2014"

     It took me weeks to make a decision regarding the Spring 2014 semester.  I procrastinated so long that by the time I went to register, the classes I was interested in were closed.  I had pretty much decided that I would ride this semester out, as my job and commute are both demanding, and I am pretty spent at the end of the day.  Then I went to see 20-something son, who is getting his Master's degree this spring.  He is supportive regardless of which choices I make, but after admitting to him that I had yet to register, I knew I immediately what I had to do.  

     Attending college is difficult, not only for the reasons I mentioned above, but also because of my age.  Sometimes I feel like a foolish old woman futilely chasing the past.  On the other hand,  I am moving forward and growing in spite of aging. I have a purpose in my life.  I am optimistic about the future.  Additionally, I want to continue to set a good example for my sons.  Was I intimidated by the thought of the upcoming semester?  You bet.   However, not meeting this challenge in front of my sons is not an option.  So after some serious scrambling and calculating,  I managed to register for my language course, although I did miss one class.  I actually feel a measure of relief having come to this decision.  At my age, I don't have the luxury of time to be skipping semesters.  But more importantly,  my sons can see me forging ahead.  They are adults, yes, but I still derive a great deal of satisfaction from being a positive influence in their lives, not to mention the self satisfaction I have when I not only pass, but excel in my classes.  Two years ago, I had 12 credits and a 2.9.GPA.  Currently, I have 33 credits and a 3.9 GPA.  I still feel somewhat foolish talking about my grades, though my sense of accomplishment outweighs those negative feelings.  

     I ran into a friend of mine last evening, an older lady.  She was beaming as she related to her friend that I had gone back to college. I cherish that moment. The support of my family and friends means an awful lot to me.  My heartfelt thanks to all who have offered support and encouragement.  Love ya!

"Glaringly Apparent"

I put my new glasses high up on a shelf
After getting a really good look at myself
The crows feet and wrinkles I could never see
Are now glaringly apparent. Oh, woe is me!

     I am really diligent about seeing my optometrist annually after a scare I had a some years back.  The year after my divorce, I made a much needed, overdue appointment to have my eyes checked.  After having this done over many years, I knew what to expect.  So when the doctor was lingering while inspecting my eyes with that super bright flashlight of his, I knew there was a problem.  He indicated that I have a condition that could cause blindness.  He also indicated that, 35 years ago, blindness probably would have been the end result.  But thanks to medical advances, I had a procedure that will prevent it from happening.  (That's one aspect of modern technology that I can appreciate.)

     Ever since that incident, I never fail to see the optometrist on an annual basis, usually at year end. About a month ago, I got new glasses, as is evident in my updated photo.  The doctor had indicated that my prescription hadn't changed that much over the course of the last year.  He was wrong!  Thanks to the new prescription lenses, I have discovered that there are lines on my face and creases in my eyelids, and, horror of horrors, crows feet, that I never new existed on what I mistakenly deemed to be my still somewhat youthful appearing mug. (I know-that was laughable!  Moreover, there is a reason why they say ignorance is bliss!)  Oh I knew that my cheeks had fallen down (when you have full round cheeks in your youth, there is only on place for them to go).  I know my bones are getting creaky and my memory at times is sketchy, but the eyes, oh, the eyes were a real shocker.  Planning ahead,  instead of transition lenses, I think next time I will invest in full blown tinted lenses.  They were stylish years ago.  Like everything else, they are sure to make a comeback.  They can serve as another aid to my age related state of denial.

"Questionable Quality"

     The great procrastinator is at it again.  I have yet to decide on a class for the upcoming Spring Semester.  Well, I had decided on a course, but then I procrastinated about paying for it.  Next thing I knew, I received a letter in the mail indicating that my course had been dropped, I needed to re-register, and to pay at the time of registration.  So I am back online browsing different courses and trying to come to another decision. There is varied criteria for my search-am I interested in the subject, will it apply to my major, is the professor a good teacher?  One tool I like to use is "Rate My Professor".  The site is comprised of students rating their professors in a number of pertinent categories: overall quality, helpfulness, clarity, easiness, and the most crucial of all, hotness!  I'm not kidding! These kids rate their professors on hotness! I found one rating particularly amusing.  A certain professor is rated as being "hot... for his age".  (He can't be more than thirty!)  As for me, the hotness rating is obviously totally inconsequential.  For one thing, any professor that I would find appealing would be considered elderly by these young students.  Additionally, I'm at an age where I am not attending college to find a husband.  What I'm really interested in is a professor's ability to actually teach.  I want someone who will push the class to excel, and not tolerate any nonsense.  But hotness?  No wonder a lot of graduates can't spell or write in sentences if that's the quality that is important to them.

"An Effective Tool"

     FB is supposed to be a "social network", and it is.  But it is also something else.  It is a very effective tool for inflicting hurt.  Whether posts are done wittingly, or unwittingly, a particular post may incite in others sorrow, anger, indignation, any number of negative emotions.  Most likely, people are not even aware that their posts  have the power to hurt someone.  I would venture to say that 99.9% of posts are not meant to be hurtful. However, ponder this when posting:  Is someone viewing pictures you posted from an event he or she was not invited to?  Is someone reading pertinent news that he or she had been completely unaware of?  Have you "unfriended" someone without providing an opportunity to discuss whatever issue you perceive has come between you?  I have had many wonderful experiences with almost all of my FB friends, especially being able to connect with distant relatives and friends that I never get the chance to see.  But there is a down side. I recently realized that the number of friends I have on FB decreased by one.  Strange thing was, I sensed immediately who, though I can only surmise why.   (And yes, I did verify that I was unfriended.  He didn't leave FB.)  All I ever did to this person was love him.  Does he know or even care that he hurt me?  Probably not. Has he ever elected to communicate with me on any level regarding our relationship? Negative!  Have I tried to communicate? You bet!  Has it been an exercise in futility?  Yes again!

     There have been a scant number of other incidents as well, which I choose not to discuss, the most important reason being that, in those instances, the person's intent was not to hurt. My point is, exercise  sensitivity and caution, and be cognizant of timing with your FB activity.   Someone's feelings may be at stake. More importantly, it is cruel to be blatantly insensitive.  Whether you care for a person or not, each of us is deserving of respect and consideration.