Blah blah blah blog

Blog about the weather

Blog about the fog

Blog about the kids with their Labradoodle dog

Talking on paper like a diary in a way

Writing of family life for  family far away

It means a lot to you and to them it means much more

But for us who follow blogs it reads nothing but a bore

It can be all for fun but not fun for all

A choice must be made to read some at all

Give me blogs with humor with insights into life

How doin' things the wrong way can turn out to be right

Or cooking with real butter makes lighter into like

Stories for sake of stories is not my cup of tea

Unless of course I really am your precious Aunt Bee

So blog on about this or blah blog on about that

Just saying it's only some that keep me comin' back

The Phone Books of Our Lives

Whether it is a Dex, McPherson, or whatever local phone book you may have for your area; like clockwork every year a new and updated phone book will be sitting at your front door. There is an old ad slogan that goes "let your fingers do the walking."  This suggests that you can find anything you are looking for by merely two stepping with your fingers across the Yellow Pages of the phone book.

For the same sort of convenient information reference, most homes also have a more personal self made phone book. They are readily available at any drug or business supply store and come in a variety of sizes and colors. They all have tabbed alphabetical section dividers and the pages are lined for neat and organized use. But if you are like me, our home phone book (since ours is the color gold we refer to it as "the gold book") is anything but neat and organized. Unlike the mass distributed commercial phone book, our home phone book does not get updated every year. It will instead get added to from time to time. But, with this added information also comes scratched out numbers, scribbled in new numbers, and names and numbers written on Post It notes stuck to pages.  Also in our phone book, those alphabetical tabs may or may not give lead to information necessarily beginning with that particular letter of the alphabet. Often time's numbers are stored under the letter of someones first name simply because I can't remember their last name, or never new it to begin with. A phone number may be listed under the letter "C" for "cousins," where you will find a list of my cousin's names with their phone numbers. Those blank dividing pages that hold the alphabetical letter tag also make very good scratch paper while you are talking to some one on the phone. For instance, I know I can always go back to the "C" page and find the cookie recipe that my Dad gave me years ago.

 Plus, along with an assortment of Chinese food and pizza menus of restaurants from all of the towns that we have lived in, the front and back inside pockets are bulging with pages of typed phone lists from fire departments and from churches we have attended dating back to 1980.  

Yes, our phone book has "seen its day".  But, it is a collection of friends and family of our lives that can also be considered a time capsule of sorts. Leafing through the menus and listings of people and businesses that are assembled in this tattered and dated phone book, I can recall the times and places of our life lived. This sort of organized chaos is indicative of why I don't scrap book and why I rarely have my Christmas shopping done until December 24^Th. 

Oh, I could go out and get a new home phone book and transfer names and numbers from the old one to achieve an updated and current source of information. But I like to think of it as, growing old together.  Just as there is still more room in the cover pockets and pages of that old phone book, there is still room in our lives for more friends and family with changing names and phone numbers that we can meet up with at new favorite restaurants with take out menus.

Pursuit of the Perfect Purse

It seems in life that men are forever chasing golf balls, a plaid shirt that is almost identical to the others they already have, or the next new car smell. Women, on the other hand, are in constant pursuit of the perfect purse.

I sit here in a chair looking at a collection of used purses laid out on a table at our garage sale. I recall how each served a purpose at one time in my life. They provided not only a practical means of portable storage with their impressive amounts of pockets and compartments, but also an attempt to make some sort of personal fashion statement.  If asked, I could not specify why any one of those purses inevitably was emptied and put high on the shelf in the closet.  And I can't explain why I continue to tolerate my current purse that has only one pocket, but otherwise is just a bottomless pit.  They should make an "app" for locating items in your purse. But, that would only work if I could actually find my phone that is lost somewhere in the black hole that is my purse. Come to think of it, I do know why I still put up with this particular purse. Yes, it is stylish and when I first saw it, it some how spoke to me that it was the purse for me. The only plausible reason would be that of pure destiny. But, the real reason that I continue to use this purse is because it brings back the memories that go with it when I bought it.

It was a couple of years ago now that we were in New York City with my sister and her family. We were daring the New York adventure of shopping for underground black market designer purses. Having navigated Canal Street before, my sister knew just the right winks and nods it took to connect with the sales people that would guide us past the store fronts and down into the secret chambers of wholesale brand name purses. The game was to play the shopper that is unwilling to accept the ticket price and even make the move of walking away. This of course, prompted the last ditch effort of bargaining for a price that would not only seal the deal, but make for the best stories of the trip. My sister, and her soon to be daughter-in-law, bought a couple of purses for a fraction of the cost of retail. They nonchalantly surfaced back onto the street carrying their contraband in the tell-tale black plastic bags that indicated to all of the other black market dealers that they were "players".

That experience in itself was a blast, but I really didn't need a purse and up to that point had no reason to buy one.  While we continued our journey through the purse stores of Canal Street, we walked into a small unobtrusive store displaying more purses that pretty much looked like all of the other purses that we had seen so far;  except for that "one" purse.  For some reason I was drawn to it. Nobody else in the group paid any attention to it. I picked it up and threw it over my shoulder; it just felt right. I put it back on the shelf and tried to convince myself that even at that ridiculously low price, I didn't need a purse. I started to walk away but somehow felt compelled to turn around and look at it just one more time. I figured by doing that and not turning into a pillar of salt, it was God's will that I buy that purse after all.

As of today I still use this purse. Oh, some day another purse will come along and invariably take its place, or out of necessity due to wear and tear I will need to buy another purse. But, until such time, I will continue to dive for keys, pens, floss, and the like, that are buried deep in the bottom of this purse. You see, every time I pick up that purse it takes me back to Canal Street in New York City, and all the precious times shared there with my sister and family.  Some day in the future there will come another garage sale where I will lay this purse onto the table and attach to it a piece of masking tape with a price on it. Maybe when that day comes, some one else will see that purse and, for whatever reason, it will speak to them too.

You know that old saying that "garage sales are one man's junk but another man's treasure"?  I don't think of it as "junk", but rather just closure to treasured memories that are about to take on a new story when someone else takes home their own new found "treasure".  

Doughnut - song lyrics from the movie The Sound of Pastry

Doughnut

 

(Song lyrics by Barb Miller from the movie The Sound of Pastry)

Dough, a smear, a glazed top tier

Cake, a hole in center fun

Me, I can't control myself

I choose the lemon centered one

Goo, in middle of the bread

Nuts, on top the frosting head

With these, the pounds I will not shed

Which will bring us back to Dough (oh-oh-oh)

All The World Is A Stage

(This week my Faithwriters.com writing challenge entry of under 750 words with topic being "outstanding")

"Come on in Nell, and thanks for picking those up for me." Gloria said as she stepped aside to let in her best friend. "How many did you get? I'm so nervous. I've been up since three. Do you want some coffee? I've already drank a whole pot, but I can make another one if you want. Oh forget the coffee. I'll make it after I read them. No, I can't. Please, could you read them to me? "

Nell gently took Gloria by the hand and led her to the couch and, as requested, began to read the first review. "This one is from Variety":  "I saw no prodigy in last nights Broadway play Prodigy of Baker Street.  Along with this play's lack of depth or continuity, lead actor Jason Arlen, and supporting actress Gloria Holden's performances were as unremarkable as the play itself." "Forget this one." Nell said as she non-chalantly placed the paper on the floor behind her. "Don't let that bother you Glo, I heard a lot of these critics don't even go to the plays they write about anyway. They just thrive on being nasty."

Nell pulled up from the stack the next paper. "Here, The New York Daily News has a much better reputation; let's see what they have to say." "Prodigy of Baker Street opened last night with expectations of another hit from writer, director Matthew Holloway. But unfortunately the plot line and drab script of this play left me only to realize that, unlike Holloway's last play, Hit and a Miss, this was one is definitely a miss." "Yada, yada, yada, okay, here…" "Gloria Holden who played supporting actress to  lead actor Jason Arlen, tried her best to deliver her lines, but between the two of them this three act play dragged on rendering it mildly entertaining at best." "Now see, he saw that you tried. It's not your fault the writing sucked."

"How many more are there?" Gloria questioned Nell as she closed her eyes, tipped her head back, and squinted with reserved anticipation.

"There are just two more. Hang in there Gloria. I was there and thought you did great. This one is from the Chicago Times": "Broadway saw the opening of a new play by Matthew Holloway last night called Prodigy of Baker Street. Quite frankly, this play should be running in some little theatre/bowling alley on Baker Street in Small Town USA, not on Broadway in New York City.  The weak and flimsy story line was matched only by mediocre acting."  Nell quickly tried to salvage any dignity left from that last statement by saying:  "I'm sure that he didn't mention your name because he thought that even the best of actors couldn't have saved this play." But Gloria still couldn't help but hang her head and sigh.

  

"Gloria, this is the last one. Do you want me to read it?"

"Go ahead. If it isn't any better than the others, I have an emergency bag of M&M's in the cupboard if we need them." Gloria said as she held back her tears.

Nell began to read from the last paper. "This review is on the front cover!" "The play Prodigy of Baker Street opened last night on Broadway. From the moment the curtains opened my breath was taken away by the outstanding performance of this plays supporting actress Gloria Holden.  I could not take my eyes off of her as she delivered every line with dramatic passion and sincerity." "Gloria, this guy really loves you! Wait, there's more." "This beautiful young woman possesses great creativity and truly has a God given talent. The writing and story of this play had much to be desired. But Gloria gave such life to her character; I left with a longing to see this play over and over again."

Gloria looked up and paused for a moment before speaking. "Wow! What paper is that from?"

Looking straight at Gloria Nell answered,  "I didn't pick it out; some guy at the stand just handed it to me as I was leaving."

"You're kidding?" Gloria took a deep breath in, and even though she had a grin on her face; tears were falling down her cheeks. "What's the name of the paper?" She asked." And what's the writer's name?"

"The paper is called Abba's Bragging Rights Review, and the writer just goes by the initials J.C."

writing challenge "outbreak"

I joined a web site for Christian writers called Faithwriters.com    Every week they throw out a theme and ask their members to take a shot at writing about it with a 150 to 750 word story or peom.  Here is my writing for this weeks challenge of the word "outbreak" :

Grace new she was loved. From the day Tykera brought her home from the hospital she was the essence of life in their third floor one bedroom apartment. The sound of cars, busses, and the roar of the transit train were a constant during the daylight hours, and at night add to that the occasional cursing from her neighbour behind paper thin walls. But this existence was a haven compared to life on the streets that included brutal beatings by the hand of a pimp if the money brought in was less than expected. What was even more unexpected was the day Tykera was told that she was pregnant.

The doctor's were able to stop the internal bleeding from the brutal blows that left her with bruised kidneys and a ruptured spleen. Against all odds the faint beat of a heart echoed from Tykera's womb that gave her hope for escape from a life of illicit sex, drugs, and pain. It didn't matter that this conceptions was by a nameless man of moral disgrace. This was Tykera's fork in life's road. It was now or never. The words of the nurse in the hospital that night kept coming back to her. She was special and her life was valuable. So valuable and so loved that God himself sacrificed His son to make sure that she had hope for the future, loved unconditionally, and she need never face life alone again.

An outbreak of desperate and extreme frenzy overtook Tykera as she trembled past each convulsion of withdrawals. "Just let me die!" was her agonizing cry as the hours of sweat and pain led into days of restraint from her hospital bed. "Oh God, I can't do this." She had no conscious awareness that prayers were coming from the now off duty nurse in the chair right beside her; prayers that were pleading for relief and life.

The unmistakable aroma of bacon came wafting into the room. Tykera breathed in with a sense of smell that for so long had eluded her. She focussed her eyes on the surroundings in her room. Turning to the chair next to her bed she saw a box of Kleenex and an open Bible. "Well good morning Sunshine" the nurse said as she wheeled in the cart containing a plate of breakfast under a plastic dome. "If you eat at least some of this we can unhook your I.V. today." By hospital standards this was a basic entrée for breakfast, but for Tykera, this was a breakfast of champions.

"Well praise the Lord, look who lives" were the words that came from the smiling face of a stout but attractive middle aged woman as she entered Tykera's room. "Do I know you?" said Tykera. "Yes and no" said the woman. She sat herself in the chair next to the bed with that Bible now in her lap. "My name is Althea." Then she gently gripped Tykera's hand and said "Now, do you know who you are?" Silence filled the room as Tykera held back the tears of facing her own reality.

She bit her bottom lip for a brief second and faintly replied: "I think I am going to be a mom. But I don't know how to do that. I don't have a job or no place to live." The facts were clear and on her chart that she had been beaten, endured detoxification, and was pregnant. But at this moment, knowing "who she was" was not as clear. With a sincere but deliberate voice, Althea responded: "You my dear are here for a reason. God believes in you more than you believe in yourself right now. I can set you up on a path for support and income. But you have a choice to make. Go forward on you own accord, and "how's that been workin for you so far?". Or, take a leap of faith of letting God's love let you live life with purpose and power."

Hospital room 531 that day became the birthplace of Tykera; a child of God. After that prayer's "amen" Althea and Tykera embraced each other with tears of joy. At the same time there was an outbreak of song of rejoicing from the angels in heaven. Seven months later room 207 became the birthplace of Grace. Born that day was a child conceived from an act of violation, but named after the redeeming provision of freedom in Christ. Again, the angels sang.

Separation Anxiety

I had a dog one time that was a bit on the insecure side. Because of this he became obsessed with a need to be with me all of the time. As much as I tried to impress on him that I was only going to be gone for a short while and that I would soon be back; being a dog, he didn't understand a word I said. He only new that one minute I was there and the next minute I wasn't. They call it separation anxiety. When left alone, or even when with another dog, he would become anxious to the point of frenzy. With his mind in a panic of my absence he would dig at the door or find anything of a size to pull away and chew into pieces. Most of the time it was a magazine, a paper product of some sort, or one of his toys.  Even when confined to a dog kennel, he would gnaw on the chain link and often push against the bar of the door to bend it open enough to squeeze out. Then he would sit at the door waiting for me to come back.

From what I understand, toddlers at a certain age will also go through a separation anxiety when they lose sight of their mother. Although I have never had children, I have witnessed the screaming terror of a child realizing that his mother is no longer in the room. For the most part, children will grow out of this and eventually get to an age when they actually prefer that their mother not to be around at all. But dogs emotionally remain at the age of a human toddler. They make drugs now to help reduce the stress of separation anxiety in dogs, but at the cost of semi-sedation.

Sometimes I feel like I have separation anxiety when it comes to God. I know He loves me and I have experienced a true relationship with Him in many deep, but spiritual ways. His physical absence in my life at times becomes a frustration. I also know that He has promised that He will come back and we will be forever together. But, I still sit and look out my life's front window and can't help but feel the anxiety of anticipation for the physical reality of His presence. I've always heard things like "God is in control", and "it is all in God's timing". God knows that in the big picture of things it won't be long, and there will come a time when there will never be any separation. When my dog frets over my not being there I don't find out till I see him again how he chose to handle his anxiety. But God in his power and position can see me in my times of life and knows of my separation anxiety. I'm sure He really doesn't want me chewing things up or sitting and staring at the door; or in this case of cosmic eternity,the ceiling. He knew that this sort of thing might happen. That is why He implanted in us the Holy Spirit. It's that internal nudging that tells me to stop staring at the door and enjoy life for what it is. I've got a good home, a loving family, and the ability to have fun and enjoy life.

I'm also reminded of the separation anxiety I had as a child when I went to summer camp. I didn't want to go. But my Mom and Dad told me that I would have fun and that they would pick me up at the end of the week. Soon after meeting new friends, rowing boats across the lake, and roasting marshmallows under the stars, that anxiety of leaving home never entered my mind.
Well, this world is one big camp. There are new friends around every corner, lots of arts and crafts, and always with the promise of home at the end. Whenever I get that feeling of separation anxiety, the Holy Spirit sits me down and tells me that I should go and have fun; he will be there to pick me up at the end of camp.

How is sin like canned peas?

Okay, my mic is good. Just count me in Nick. Five, four, three, two...

Welcome back. We have here in kitchen stadium the distinguished Iron Chef Bobby Filet, of the famous Mesa Grill, and on the other side is Iron Chef Gordon Damnsay of Hell's Kitchen. Today's secret ingredient is: The humble PEA. They have before them a selection of fresh peas, dried peas, and lastly canned peas.

These contenders have an hour to produce for our judges three dishes utilizing the pea as their theme ingredient.
On our left it appears that Iron Chef Bobby Filet is preparing what looks like a classic oriental salad using Ramen noodles, cabbage and snap peas. He is keeping it safe here so far. Let's take a look at what Chef Damnsay is doing.

Ah, Gordon has chosen to take canned peas and put them into the sorbet machine with some mangoes, passion fruit, and pistachio nuts. Bold move. We will see if this combination works for him or against him.
But wait, Chef Damnsay is now smashing a hand full of peas into the face of one of his assistants. Let's see if we can hear what he is saying.
"I told you to use CANNED PEAS! Figure it out you IDIOT! If you think that you are going to waste my time with your righteous need to use fresh ingredients, you are sorely wrong. Get the hell out of my kitchen!"
I guess ovens aren't the only hot thing in kitchen stadium tonight.
With only thirty minutes on the clock now, each of our Iron Chefs have their teams scurrying to complete their assigned tasks in order to make this pea theme a delight for taste as well as appearance. Too bad it's not St. Patrick's Day for this one.

Ladies and gentlemen, this does not happen very often, but our chefs have both chosen to include as one of their dishes a split pea soup. The difference here is that Chef Filet must have had that in mind from the beginning. He has just removed a ham hock from a pot of perfectly boiled dried peas with carrots, onions, and celery. I must say, it smells delicious too. Chef Damnsay, has decided to go with canned peas in order to get his final dish prepared and ready for presentation in time. How will these two means of preparing the same dish compare with our discerning expert judges?

Time is UP! When we come back, Chef Filet's dishes will be going before our panel of judges.
5,4,3,2...First up we have appetizers. One of which consists of caviar that has been spooned into a hollowed out pea shell and rolled up with an outer layer of thinly sliced prucetta. The second is a perfectly seared scallop skewered into the center of a snow pea and drizzled with a honey garlic soy sauce.

Now the oriental Ramen salad. The judges seem very pleased with the balance of crispness and tartness this salad offers to the palate.
Next up is Chef Filet's pea soup served with his own take of the ever popular BLT. In his version he uses a rosemary and sun dried tomato focaccia bread, sauteed Portobello mushrooms, lightly blanched peas, crispy smoked bacon, and topped with a mound of lemon grass tossed in a raspberry vinaigrette.

So far the judges like his dishes and are actually cleaning their soup bowls up with the last bite of their BLT sandwiches.
Now it's time for Chef Damnsay to impress the judges.
He has chosen for his starter spanakopita. But instead of spinach with feta cheese he has used canned peas. I think the fact that all three judges have taken only one bite and left the rest, tells us that this choice of substitution fails by comparison.

Now he will attempt to cleanse their palates with his canned pea passion fruit sorbet. Oddly enough,it has a very pleasing appearance. But will that....oh, that's a first. The judges are actually spitting their sorbet back onto the plate.

Let's see if his split pea soup will win them over. Hmmm, by the grimacing looks on their faces I think the answer here is a definite "NO".
The judging is over and only one question remains...whose cuisine will reign supreme?

The answer here is obvious. The answer to the question "how is sin like canned peas?" is also obvious. Fresh is always better than canned.

Better Late Than Never

While at the pool today, I was talking to a woman who was also was there because of a New Year's resolution. Except this year, she decided to take the guilt out of any possible failure and keep it positive. Her New Year's resolution is "better late than never".  Here it is the first day of March, and and she just got her Christmas cards out in the mail last week....better late than never.

It got me to thinking just how this new approach to change would work.

 I will tell members of my family that I love them every time I see them....better late than never.

This year I will eat right, drink more water, and exercise....better late than never.

I will floss my teeth at least once a day....better late than never.
 
I will de-clutter my house by taking on one room at a time....better late than never.

I will take pictures of those items I always thought should be sold and list them on eBay...better late than never.
 
When the change oil light comes on in my car, I will take it in for service sometime that week....better late than never.

The fuel light came on in my car. I will get gas tomorrow....better late than. Uh oh.

When I get the renewal notice for AAA I will send the check in as soon as possible....darn.

I will charge my phone when I see the battery is low....oh crap.

By the time I walk two miles in the pouring rain to the nearest gas station and return to put gas in my car so I can make it back to the gas station and fill up the car with gas so I can make it to the AAA office to renew my road side assistance policy and still have time to get to the Jiffy Lube to get the oil changed in the car, then stop by the store to pick up fresh fruit, vegetables, bottled water, and rice cakes, I will still have time to get to the Dairy Queen and have a Chocolate Caramel Pecan Fudge Lava Sundae...
better late than never.

Happy Birth Day

A few weeks ago we had some friends over to the house. In our conversation somehow the topic of birthdays came up. We were all sharing when our birthdays were when our one friend; let's call her Gail, said that her birthday was April 26th. With that said her husband mumbled a correction that her real birthday was in late November. Gail explained that "yes" she was actually born in November, but later in life decided that she would much rather have her birthday celebration take place outside in warm comfortable weather more suited for a party than cold, miserable, and often snowy November. Besides that, late into the fall people's time and interest are more geared towards making ready for the the Christmas holiday season.
I say "good for you Gail".  Why not? There is evidence of historical nature indicating that Jesus was not even born in December, yet "we" have made his birthday on December 25th. As a youth I recall celebrating President's Day in honor of three different US presidents on all three of their actual birthdays. Somehow now "we" have decided to set these birthday celebrations for all three presidents to just one day in February; and of course it is always on a Monday.  If "we" have this power to mandate birthdays to days of the calendar to suite our need for a three day weekend, why is Thanksgiving still always on a Thursday?
Moral of the story is: Regardless of what month and or day you were actually born; the day that you celebrate that is just a decision away. Party on.

The Loves of Our Lives

Last night was a first. I was the warm up act for the Frank Marocco Accordion Event Friday evening festivities. The crowd was all of the accordion attendees for this workshop along with their spouses or significant others. Being one of the spouses, I wanted to address the rest of the dedicated troupers in the audience. Sitting around the dinner table with accordion players can get quite boring. They are totally involved with accordion lingo and name dropping of such that will never be an answer in any People magazine crossword. But I have devised a technique to help me get through the evening. When someone starts talking accordion; and of course what they are saying makes no sense to me, at the end of their sentence I just think in my head "if you know what I mean." It can be very entertaining and puts a slight grin on my face which makes me look like I am involved and enjoying the conversation. For instance the sentence "I told Elka that she has to fix a hole in my bellows"...if you know what I mean.

For my presentation for the wives I read from writings that I wrote earlier in the day.

The Loves of Our Lives

"I love the rainy nights, I love the rainy nights, I love the rainy nights"...Ok, Eddie we get it. That phrase seems to multiply as the song goes on. Maybe it's just the nature of the writer: Eddie Rabbit.
I grew up in Seattle and I must say that I DON'T like the rainy nights or the rainy day after day after day. I don't like walking in the rain or singing in the rain either. But for some reason I do like the sound of rain when it comes from my sleep sound machine. Go figure.

"I love _______" It's a phrase we hear all of the time; things like "I love the snow" or "I love the sun". People actually say of me "she loves dogs".  Let it be known that I also "love" chocolate, cheesecake, and a good cup of coffee. At least all of my vices are healthy. You see, chocolate and coffee are made from beans and beans are a legume. So really they are a protein and should be consumed every day. I think that goes for jelly beans too but I'm not sure. Cheese cake is made from cheese which is a dairy product; also a daily requirement. And if there is any kind of fruit on top I have fulfilled yet another food group for the day.

Perhaps the word "love" isn't quite right for such things. For instance, some people love the bagpipes, while others may say that they "love" the accordion. Often the term "love" is really a person's passion.
My husband loves me and has a passion for the accordion. So much so that on our twenty fifth wedding anniversary he was in the town of Kimberly BC for the annual accordion festival. Because I love him and I relish in the fun he has when he is playing the accordion. That's the difference between love and passion. Passion is a personal thing that you do for yourself. Love encompasses having a passion for someone else's joy.

Being married to an accordion player, writing comedy comes easy for me. Especially after I've had more than a few Gin and Diatonics. But seriously, accordion playing is both a skill and an art, and for some even a gift. After thirty three years of listening to all kinds of accordion music I have come to appreciate the happy music only an accordion can deliver. But what I appreciate more is when I see the therapeutic joy my husband experiences when playing the accordion or when he gets together with his fellow bellows brothers.
Yes, I have become an accordion widow. For my husband playing the accordion is his passion; I am the one he loves, and we intend to share our passions together for the rest of our lives.

Where everyone knows your name

I am terrible with remembering names. But I look at it this way...I work in the medical field where keeping confidentiality is of the utmost importance. So if I can't remember your name, don't be offended. Rather you should be grateful. Even under bright lights and torture I will never reveal your identity. Ok, it's basically because I can't remember your name. So just call me Dori.
But I think I get it from my mother. When we were kids she would at times call me by one of my sister's names, and occasionally even my brother's name. I have even seen my sister call her daughter my name. It is an inherent disorder that I have no control over. Sorry. If you really want to go where everyone knows your name, wear a name tag.
By the way, look up the lyrics to that theme song from Cheers...it's hilarious.

Curse HGTV

I have been guilty of watching a lot of those home make over type shows on HGTV.  Because we are planning on selling our house, I particularly take note of those aspects that we could incorporate in our own remodel. Well, after two years and thousands of dollars later, I have seen the light. That light is the blinding manipulative brainwashing of those shows that are sponsored by home hardware stores. Not only do they give the prospect of completing such transitions in two to seven days, they also have access to much more funds and skilled labor than we do. These shows repetitively give the impression that if your house does not have granite counter tops and stainless steel appliances it is a piece of junk. This granite counter top thing has all of the mass hysteria that the pet rock had in the seventies. It's a slab of rock that will cost you anywhere from six to ten thousand dollars for your kitchen counter. Personally, my kitchen is not that impressive in the first place. I think that it matters more what comes out of your kitchen that should make a good impression; not the work surface of your culinary creations.
I don't understand why kitchen faucets cost so much either when the technology itself has not really advanced beyond  ON  OFF  HOT  COLD. 

We have been going with the ever popular "neutral" theme to all of our colors and accessories in order to give that appropriate appeal to prospective buyers. Are we part of a dying breed that when looking for a house to buy project the potential and possibilities beyond what we see? Again, I blame those shows for creating the demand for "move in ready". 
Don't get me started with the power of the anal retentive home inspector. I think if they went into a spanking brand new building that had passed all of its inspections, they would still come up with a six page list of areas of questionable need for repair.

One thing I have learned though, I will never again own a home with walls that have rounded corners. They are very attractive until you decide to paint the adjoining room another color. Now imagine you have to create a straight line all down the bend in the doorway that leads to the next room. Then comes the hair pulling task of putting painters tape on that rounded edge from the top to bottom. Now paint the one room's color up to it. Pull the tape off so you can see that beautiful line you created. At this point you are feeling pretty pleased with yourself. So, you then repeat the taping and painting process and paint the other side with another color. Wait a good twenty four hours for it to dry because you don't want to pull the tape off too soon. The next day with full anticipation you pull the painter's tape off with visions of a perfectly straight line dividing the two rooms with complimentary colors. Even though you pull the tape ever so slowly and gentle; to your deflating feeling of accomplishment, the paint underneath pulls from the first wall that you painted. After you re-tape and patch paint those spots you pull the tape off only to realize that the tape has again pulled paint off the other side of the wall. I think you get the gist of my hell. My guess is that the Architect that designed rounded corners must be in the witness protection program somewhere because if I knew where he lived I'd kill him.
With all that we have done in preparation to make that winning impression to buyers, I can't help but think that twenty years from now, if this house should come up for sale again, there will be people coming through and either saying out loud or to themselves "this place is so 2010".
And so the insanity continues.