Beverly Lucey's (New) Home for Wayward Words

The Ongoing Search for Words

2011-11-16T14:42:00.003-05:00

One of the popular time fillers I’ve seen in Language Arts classrooms is The Word Search.

If a student finishes his work early, or is getting one-on-one reading help, or is annoying a teacher, in grades two through twelve a teacher might say, “Here, work on this.”

I’ve watched kids working on these puzzles. The ones with a flair for language might enjoy them for awhile. Or they might humor the teacher. Perhaps they are trying for extra credit. Students with language difficulties struggle, need hints, look bewildered, and scrunch up their eyes as though they are hung over. Some eyes tear up.

You know what I mean, although you might know them by another name.

A square is filled with letters. Look at them up, down, across, and on the diagonal to see what words you can find and bind them up with the pencil for a lasso.

Why are students doing word searches in word jumble form? Beats me.

What these students are not doing, I believe, is improving their reading skills, their spelling skills, or their writing skills. I have no research to back this up. I haven’t bothered to find any. Likely we can all find research to back up any position we decide to take.

Phonics vs. Whole Language not the issue here

Ignoring the phonics vs. whole language debate for the moment, the following occurs to me. A student who has difficulty spelling, decoding, or keeping up with the grade level reading achievement of his classmates should not be trying to find words that are set up in a different pattern than reading itself.

It’s not a useful skill. Why waste time on it? To play Tournament Level Boggle?

• We want students reading English to be eye cruising from left to right.

• We want them to be able to clump word groups together, to see complete thoughts, and to pick out details from context.

• We want them to look closely at the words that are already there.

Formed.

Visible, not hidden.

An Alternative Word Search

In working with your children or students, a more useful activity might be to have them find words within words. At least they (the kids and the letters) are heading in the right direction.

Example: danger without the “d” is anger. Asking a child to read the word danger and asking what he reads when the “d” is covered up is more worthwhile.

(*Phonics fans will note that the “g” sound changes during this, one of the reasons that phonics is useful half the time, context matters the rest of the time.

Context = Whole Language Approach.

A five year government study came to the conclusion that a combination of techniques helps people learn to read.

“Duh,” said most teachers, figuring the money spent on the study could have bought a lot of new books, computers, and software.)

Be an Original Teacher

The concept of helping students practice finding words within words can be used by any teacher who feels like creating flash cards, original work sheets, or captions for pictures and cartoons.

New and Inspiring

The Pulitzer Prize winning poet, Richard Wilbur, has written a number of puzzle poems that could enrich and entertain younger learners plus expand the vocabulary of older ones. It also reinforces the idea that language and meaning change dramatically by the adding or subtracting of even one measly letter.

Example:

Inside a taxi, why do we find an ax?
It’s because cabs are also known as “hacks.”

A Pig in the Spigot is a charming illustrated book, supposedly for ages 9-12. Students much younger and teachers much older will find something to love and work with in this book.

“Emphatic has a hat inside it. Why?
Because some people, if you doubt them, cry
"By golly, if I'm wrong I'll eat my hat!"
What could be more emphatic, friends, than that?”

—Richard Wilbur

Spending and Saving

2010-11-15T09:00:00.008-05:00

Waiting for Superman advertises its documentarian self on many websites I visit.

"A powerful and alarming documentary about America's failing public school system," according to the NYT Movie Review

As a life long educator, I was eager to see it. If you are a parent, feeling dismayed about your local schools, please don't see this movie. Volunteer in your schools instead.

While the stories of four wonderful, endearing primary school students are touching, real, and sad, the movie itself blames teacher unions and teachers themselves for.......pretty much everything. That view may confirm what a lot of people believe, but don't accept it as anything more than one more nail in the coffin of public schools, awaiting the bodies of the discouraged teachers who care.

Read the following, then consider the subtle and not so subtle misdirection and phony numbers used in the film: The convert from the NCLB charter school voucher system bandwagon article

It makes me very happy when people who are committed to holding one strong opinion, change their mind.

Kindles for Kindling: A Dangerous Fire

2009-11-02T08:34:00.005-05:00

I cannot imagine owning a Kindle, a Nook, or whatever the next Not Book might be. Then again, I was a late adapter of the microwave, so I should talk. While I do not miss the physical card catalog in the library, and love ordering books on line, empty bookshelves in my home would be a sad sight. Worse, what if those shelves started filling up with ceramic elves, fake plants or Webkins? No real legacy there.

But you might enjoy this send up of The Early Help Desk.

I hope we don't forget actual reading in books, that we can pass along in favor of renting words.

Frog Joy

2009-05-11T09:16:00.007-04:00

Frog Joy

Now that it's May, we are safe.

Each year New England winter seems to last into spring, insulting the calendar and our need to get rid of the gloom. It's impossible for me to predict when to celebrate Frog Joy Day. Every once in awhile it will appear in mid-March. Usually, it's sometime in April.

Some years, due to quirky meteorological manifestations that would make a weather prognosticator weep, a late snow in what should be spring, postpones the party. The wood frogs have come to the swamp to mate and in their quacking frenzy, they sound like mini mallards in a terrible, wonderful sex crazed heat. Stand there and smile because it’s really, really spring now. In fact, if you are out for a drive in the rural night, pull the car over and listen to the peepers. They are tiny, but the song is spectacularly huge.

Don't say anything. Close your eyes and picture what all is going on out there.

Studies show there is indeed a syndrome called S.A.D. An acronym for Seasonal Affective Disorder, people who suffer depression during the winter months need special lamps and warmth to shake off long weeks of depression.

I feel as though I can introduce myself as brand new in spring because the winter me is beastly and because even I wouldn’t want to know me then—crabbing about the grayness and whether the plow guy will show up on time. No one wants to hear me uselessly prattling about how January second through April Fool’s Day should be recalculated out of existence even though we all know there is a perverse correctness to that time chunk being there. I just don’t want to be anywhere in it, unless of course I could be in Brisbane or Sydney.

Living ten years in the American South helped. Camellias can skip past Thanksgiving. Lenten roses (Hellebore) appear in late January. Did you know that some trees start blossoming in February? It makes a girl giddy.

But, on the day in New England, when the frogs begin their roiling in the swamp, I laugh purely with no snide irony, no snickering cynicism or gloomy snort. Spring finally showed its candy-assed face and I can be me once more: the one who is profoundly hopeful, even though they still won’t give us a raise; the one who feels like cavorting, skipping a few steps in the back yard, even though the pasta and devil dog indulgences show more each year; the one who runs out immediately and buys charcoal, even though it might be two months before we can start to cook supper outside Take a minute to think about the moments and ceremonies you use to mark the passage of time, and the seasonal things that create personal glee.

No matter what, I am more me than I’ve been in months, on the day the frogs start fornicating.

The Real March Madness

2009-03-20T15:33:00.005-04:00

If you live in New England, this is the month that can make you crazy. I should say, to be accurate, it makes me crazy. Snow, maybe. Freezing rain, sure. Potholes. A teaser sunny day? Of course. Mud. Potholes. Harsh winds that seem to be leftover from New Years. And potholes.

The only thing to do is find yourself the nearest bulb show and head there. In this case, the photos come from Smith College two days before official spring, the vernal equinox, promises that soon, out in the real world that is not under glass, blooms will happen.

Crime and Punishment

2009-01-13T17:14:00.002-05:00

Creative Sentencing

During the first week of October, 2001, only nine years ago, Georgia finally declared the use of the electric chair to be “cruel and unusual punishment.”

A state that moved from the Hanging Solution to the Wonders of Electricity now uses lethal injection to carry out capital punishment.

FYI, lethal injection was first used in the state of Texas in the early 1980s. Since then, Texas has executed more people than any other state in the union. No correlation is implied here between the method and the madness. It’s just a fact.

Regardless of what your position is on the death penalty, evidence of uneven sentencing for all manner of crimes and misdemeanors befuddles even the most fair minded of people.

What a fair penalty for___Crime To Be Designated Later__is, varies from county to county, state to state, school system to school system, and politics in general.

Sentencing varies dependent on

• who the sitting judge might be

• how good one’s lawyer is

• how jury selection is handled

• how high profile the case is

• the mood of the nation

• whether a vice principal is more sympathetic to one student’s circumstances, as opposed to another.

• myriad other complications.

All we have to do is point to OJ Simpson, who is finally off the golf course, to convince someone serving time for non-violent behavior that Life is Just Not Fair. Even in the justice system.

Zero tolerance seems to indicate a bottom line. While all absolutes have inherent problems involved for particular cases, zero tolerance itself is a questionable stance, and often undermined by the terminally literal mind.

EX: A six grade girl is suspended for two weeks for having a Tweety Bird key chain on her backpack. In her school, the new code of conduct banned “chain possession” under their weapons definition. No warning, no personal letter home to the folks saying, “I know it seems silly, but in our efforts to be consistent, would you please help us by find a different key chain for Amanda?”

Creative Sentencing

1. I was reading the newspaper about a young man in Ohio. Only coincidentally was the the driver named Law. Anyway, he was busted for driving through town with his windows down and speakers turned up so high to some kind thudding sounds that small animals were having seizures.

His punishment for this noise offense was to listen to polka music turned up high for four hours. The judge probably safely assumed that Mr. Law would not find the songs catchy. The horror, the horror.

2. In Knoxville, TN a seventeen year old boy pled no contest to vehicular homicide. Part of the plea agreement for Pelham McMurry includes planning his own funeral. He must meet with a funeral director, write his own obituary, choose the clothes he would wear to be buried in. Many other appropriate restrictions are included in the year long probation—200 hours of community service, mandated counseling, random drug and alcohol testing. The victim’s father was profoundly dissatisfied with the judge’s decision to keep the case in juvenile court.

Which brings us to the concern of the day.

Let’s forget ‘an eye for an eye’ as in the Old Testament, or lopping off the hand of a thief, as in the Queran (Koran). No tit for tat (whatever that means).

Let’s think of some creative ways to punish non-violent offenders so that the punishment really fits the crime in some delightful, ironic, or useful fashion, and clears out the jails of the country who has the highest population of incarcerated individuals in the world..

Let’s really consider Poetic Justice.

Not everyone deserves the slammer. Or detention. Or a fine. Or humiliation.

-0-

Obama Wins; We Win

2008-11-05T10:02:00.006-05:00

The Language Wrangler is very happy. Thrilled. Hopeful.

Even though, in scattered places across the land (Florida? Arizona?) people voted to amend their constitutions to permanently restrict the rights of gay citizens, and Minnesota re-elected a congresswoman who is more reminiscent of 1950's McCarthyism in her view of the many ways one can love one's country, Barack Obama is our president-elect, and we have a chance to regain our moral standing in the world and our moral compass in public policy.

The following is the text of the speech Obama gave at the end of a long (long) political race. I love the language and I love the message and I believe these are not the empty words, like "compassionate conservative" and "I'm a uniter, not a divider," that describe the past eight years of war, debt, loss of constitutional rights, exploitation, and secrecy.

Full Text of Obama's Election Day Speech

PRESIDENT-ELECT BARACK OBAMA: If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible; who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time; who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer.

Its the answer told by lines that stretched around schools and churches in numbers this nation has never seen; by people who waited three hours and four hours, many for the very first time in their lives, because they believed that this time must be different; that their voice could be that difference.

Its the answer spoken by young and old, rich and poor, Democrat and Republican, black, white, Latino, Asian, Native American, gay, straight, disabled and not disabled - Americans who sent a message to the world that we have never been a collection of Red States and Blue States: we are, and always will be, the United States of America.

Its the answer that led those who have been told for so long by so many to be cynical, and fearful, and doubtful of what we can achieve to put their hands on the arc of history and bend it once more toward the hope of a better day.

Its been a long time coming, but tonight, because of what we did on this day, in this election, at this defining moment, change has come to America.

I just received a very gracious call from Senator McCain. He fought long and hard in this campaign, and hes fought even longer and harder for the country he loves. He has endured sacrifices for America that most of us cannot begin to imagine, and we are better off for the service rendered by this brave and selfless leader. I congratulate him and Governor Palin for all they have achieved, and I look forward to working with them to renew this nations promise in the months ahead.

I want to thank my partner in this journey, a man who campaigned from his heart and spoke for the men and women he grew up with on the streets of Scranton and rode with on that train home to Delaware, the Vice President-elect of the United States, Joe Biden.

I would not be standing here tonight without the unyielding support of my best friend for the last sixteen years, the rock of our family and the love of my life, our nations next First Lady, Michelle Obama. Sasha and Malia, I love you both so much, and you have earned the new puppy thats coming with us to the White House. And while shes no longer with us, I know my grandmother is watching, along with the family that made me who I am. I miss them tonight, and know that my debt to them is beyond measure.

To my campaign manager David Plouffe, my chief strategist David Axelrod, and the best campaign team ever assembled in the history of politics - you made this happen, and I am forever grateful for what youve sacrificed to get it done.

But above all, I will never forget who this victory truly belongs to - it belongs to you.

I was never the likeliest candidate for this office. We didnt start with much money or many endorsements. Our campaign was not hatched in the halls of Washington - it began in the backyards of Des Moines and the living rooms of Concord and the front porches of Charleston.

It was built by working men and women who dug into what little savings they had to give five dollars and ten dollars and twenty dollars to this cause. It grew strength from the young people who rejected the myth of their generations apathy; who left their homes and their families for jobs that offered little pay and less sleep; from the not-so-young people who braved the bitter cold and scorching heat to knock on the doors of perfect strangers; from the millions of Americans who volunteered, and organized, and proved that more than two centuries later, a government of the people, by the people and for the people has not perished from this Earth. This is your victory.

I know you didnt do this just to win an election and I know you didnt do it for me. You did it because you understand the enormity of the task that lies ahead. For even as we celebrate tonight, we know the challenges that tomorrow will bring are the greatest of our lifetime - two wars, a planet in peril, the worst financial crisis in a century. Even as we stand here tonight, we know there are brave Americans waking up in the deserts of Iraq and the mountains of Afghanistan to risk their lives for us. There are mothers and fathers who will lie awake after their children fall asleep and wonder how theyll make the mortgage, or pay their doctors bills, or save enough for college. There is new energy to harness and new jobs to be created; new schools to build and threats to meet and alliances to repair.

The road ahead will be long. Our climb will be steep. We may not get there in one year or even one term, but America - I have never been more hopeful than I am tonight that we will get there. I promise you - we as a people will get there.

There will be setbacks and false starts. There are many who wont agree with every decision or policy I make as President, and we know that government cant solve every problem. But I will always be honest with you about the challenges we face. I will listen to you, especially when we disagree. And above all, I will ask you join in the work of remaking this nation the only way its been done in America for two-hundred and twenty-one years - block by block, brick by brick, calloused hand by calloused hand.

What began twenty-one months ago in the depths of winter must not end on this autumn night. This victory alone is not the change we seek - it is only the chance for us to make that change. And that cannot happen if we go back to the way things were. It cannot happen without you.

So let us summon a new spirit of patriotism; of service and responsibility where each of us resolves to pitch in and work harder and look after not only ourselves, but each other. Let us remember that if this financial crisis taught us anything, its that we cannot have a thriving Wall Street while Main Street suffers - in this country, we rise or fall as one nation; as one people.

Let us resist the temptation to fall back on the same partisanship and pettiness and immaturity that has poisoned our politics for so long. Let us remember that it was a man from this state who first carried the banner of the Republican Party to the White House - a party founded on the values of self-reliance, individual liberty, and national unity. Those are values we all share, and while the Democratic Party has won a great victory tonight, we do so with a measure of humility and determination to heal the divides that have held back our progress. As Lincoln said to a nation far more divided than ours, We are not enemies, but friends...though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection. And to those Americans whose support I have yet to earn - I may not have won your vote, but I hear your voices, I need your help, and I will be your President too.

And to all those watching tonight from beyond our shores, from parliaments and palaces to those who are huddled around radios in the forgotten corners of our world - our stories are singular, but our destiny is shared, and a new dawn of American leadership is at hand. To those who would tear this world down - we will defeat you. To those who seek peace and security - we support you. And to all those who have wondered if Americas beacon still burns as bright - tonight we proved once more that the true strength of our nation comes not from our the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth, but from the enduring power of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity, and unyielding hope.

For that is the true genius of America - that America can change. Our union can be perfected. And what we have already achieved gives us hope for what we can and must achieve tomorrow.

This election had many firsts and many stories that will be told for generations. But one thats on my mind tonight is about a woman who cast her ballot in Atlanta. Shes a lot like the millions of others who stood in line to make their voice heard in this election except for one thing - Ann Nixon Cooper is 106 years old.

She was born just a generation past slavery; a time when there were no cars on the road or planes in the sky; when someone like her couldnt vote for two reasons - because she was a woman and because of the color of her skin.

And tonight, I think about all that shes seen throughout her century in America - the heartache and the hope; the struggle and the progress; the times we were told that we cant, and the people who pressed on with that American creed: Yes we can.

At a time when womens voices were silenced and their hopes dismissed, she lived to see them stand up and speak out and reach for the ballot. Yes we can.

When there was despair in the dust bowl and depression across the land, she saw a nation conquer fear itself with a New Deal, new jobs and a new sense of common purpose. Yes we can.

When the bombs fell on our harbor and tyranny threatened the world, she was there to witness a generation rise to greatness and a democracy was saved. Yes we can.

She was there for the buses in Montgomery, the hoses in Birmingham, a bridge in Selma, and a preacher from Atlanta who told a people that We Shall Overcome. Yes we can.

A man touched down on the moon, a wall came down in Berlin, a world was connected by our own science and imagination. And this year, in this election, she touched her finger to a screen, and cast her vote, because after 106 years in America, through the best of times and the darkest of hours, she knows how America can change. Yes we can.

America, we have come so far. We have seen so much. But there is so much more to do. So tonight, let us ask ourselves - if our children should live to see the next century; if my daughters should be so lucky to live as long as Ann Nixon Cooper, what change will they see? What progress will we have made?

This is our chance to answer that call. This is our moment. This is our time - to put our people back to work and open doors of opportunity for our kids; to restore prosperity and promote the cause of peace; to reclaim the American Dream and reaffirm that fundamental truth - that out of many, we are one; that while we breathe, we hope, and where we are met with cynicism, and doubt, and those who tell us that we cant, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of a people:

Yes We Can. Thank you, God bless you, and may God Bless the United States of America.

Bailout? What Bailout? Bailout What?

2008-09-29T09:46:00.010-04:00

Everything Old Is New Again

The Language Wrangler loves words. Sometimes it's difficult to cut through the useless verbiage to get to the meat. Not to mention, one's appetite changes.

Many sites on the web offer vocabulary enrichment. A Word a Day doesn't bounce or blink, or float suspect advertisements. I like that. Take a look at Word a Day.

Given the events in Washington DC in the past weeks, weeks in which the words 'panic' 'meltdown' 'political posturing' and 'predatory lending' were used with great frequency, it's time to step back and think ahead.

My vocabulary is now enriched by the portmanteau 'politicaster.'

"The politicaster is looking for small opportunities -- for such pickings and stealings as a careless public may leave for those of his kind. The great politician is looking for great opportunities."
Samuel McChord Crothers; In Praise of Politicians; The Wall Street Journal (New York); Jan 5, 2004.

Also, if you have never read The Devil's Dictionary by Ambrose Bierce, the best cynic I never knew, consider the following:

Corporation: n. An ingenious device for obtaining individual profit without individual responsibility. -Ambrose Bierce, author and editor (1842-1914)

-0-

The Media. Who is that, again?

2008-09-15T09:16:00.005-04:00

Punching Bag Deflated

I'm bewildered when anyone says "The Media" while dipping into the Blame Bag. Sometimes they say "The Liberal Media" or "Right Wing Media" which might narrow things down, but not by much. No matter who is speaking, it's evidence of more lazy thinking. "The Media" means nothing.

The Media is conservative, liberal, centrist, apolitical. The media is TV broadcast news with little more than factual highlights. The media is a variety of testy talking heads. Bill O'Reilly, and Howard Stern, and Rush Limbaugh, and Pat Buchanan, and Andrea Mitchell, and Cokie Roberts and Paul Harvey and Tavis Smiley, and Rachel Maddow and Charlie Rose and Keith Olbermann---good grief, aren't they a disparate bunch.

With all the voices on the blogosphere squatting on a political spectrum like birds on a wire, are we to assume that The Media is of One Voice?

Then there's the delicious irony of Sarah Palin, journalism major, complaining about The Media. Does she understand what The Media means? There's John McCain backing out of a gig on Larry King (who is not exactly known for his hardball questions) because a different CNN interviewer asked a McCain rep a tough question.

Spin doctors are on the payroll of both camps. A press release is not reporting. Gee, it's so tough to be part of the media--which includes US and People and The Enquirer. They must use a lot of Ben-Gay to help ease the pain of media bashing.

So, what "Media" enemies are we talking about, again? Help me out here.

-0-

Ham and Eggs

2008-08-06T11:35:00.005-04:00

Got Any Spare Ribs?

When my late mother told me stories about growing up poor, her main beef, was the lack thereof. Big family, not much food.

Before the chain stores came to town with their fancy roll your own shopping carts, my grandfather owned a local market. What's wrong with that picture? His insistence that his home be kept kosher. His store, however, was not. So, while he generously provided credit for customers during the Depression, he would not bring home the goods to feed his family. Kosher food cost more, was harder to find, and the seven kids were pretty fed up with oatmeal and kasha.

As a result, my mother soured on large families, the difficulty and expense of maintaining two to four sets of dishes, and Hebrew school for her only child. I didn't mind. Being an only child was fine, one set of unbreakable Melmac was enough, and I figured the tap dancing lessons might be more fun than learning a language that would set me apart from my friends.

Skip ahead a few decades. Mom died, dad remarried, and kosher was not part of anyone's reality. Until. Until age and illness required assisted living. My father developed dementia; both needed walkers and someone to do the cooking. They decided on a place that catered primarily to Jewish people. It is a kosher facility.

Try to explain to a dad with not much memory and reasoning skill just why it is that he can't have ice cream for dessert after the pot roast. Sorry, but shrimp scampi is out of the question. Cheesecake after the chicken? Nuh, uh. He doesn't get it. He's disappointed. Then he forgets and things are OK for awhile, until the next time he's in the mood for butter on the brisket.

Last week he fell. He doesn't remember how, but with a bump the size of a naval orange on his head, blackened eyes, and two fingers with stitches, my 92 year old father had to enter a rehab facility to get strong enough for a return to assisted living. Every one in the family dreaded this day. Dad is fussy, fastidious, and treasures his privacy. Sharing a room with a stranger, being in a different building with no familiar attendants, unable to tell time, oh--this was a bad development.

Two days after his placement, I drove down to see him. I was bringing chocolate. Chocolate cheers him. I dreaded what I would find.

What I found was an elderly man in the activity room, kicking a huge ball around the circle of wheelchairs. He was happy to see me, although my name escaped him. Instead of complaining or begging me to take him with me, he smiled, said the people were nice, and he was feeling pretty good. I looked him in his black and blue eyes and asked him what he had for supper the night before. He managed a sly grin and answered, "Pork. It was delicious."

-0-

Big Mistake

2008-07-14T18:34:00.009-04:00

The New Yorker Cover of July 21

It wasn't on the stands yet, but the cover was tooling around cyberspace as if Wall-E had plucked it from a garbage dump. It's awful. But exploring the reasons it's awful is worth more than a news cycle of thought.

If only The New Yorker had PRINTED A BANNER SOMEWHERE ON THE COVER that said, "The Politics of Fear." People of any political stripe could then be left to their own reactions. Context could then be asserted, debated, and munched upon.

The upcoming election is too important to have a discussion of either candidate devolve into a combo platter of Danish inspired fatwah and country-fried Miley Cyrus . The New Yorker editor should have realized a large part of the population don't get most satire. They don't get Stephen Colbert.

People of all intelligence levels are confused by irony and hoaxes all the time. Very smart friends of mine try to warn me about scams. I almost always send an appropriate link to Snopes.com right back at them. College student 'research papers' reveal this terrible truth to me with great frequency. In fact, were I to visit a white supremacist website I would never expect to see this real New Yorker cover posted on it. I would be certain that it was a cruel caricature.

Most people do not read The New Yorker (sorry to say) nor Vanity Fair, but they watch the reactions when there is a kerfluffle.

The assumptions made by the artist and the editor were unwise.

Much of the superiority of the debate comes from those who say people are stupid if they don't get the joke. What if the joke is not funny?

I lived in Arkansas for five years--during the last election cycle, in fact.

I lived in Georgia when Max Cleland was smeared.

The 'satire' would work much better if those imagining the cartoon were political operatives, NOT, as cartoonist Bob Cesca suggests at the Huffington Post.

"In order to preserve the integrity of the drawing, while emphasizing the point, Blitt [the artist] could've used the same illustration but drawn it within a large comic book speech bubble emanating from the mouth of an exaggerated, fat, inbred, toothless hillbilly sitting at his toothless hillbilly computer."

Arkansas and West Virginia were targeted as states being 'stupid enough' to believe that a Kerry victory would mean the loss of all guns and the banning of all bibles. A full page ad appeared in the AR state paper of record, The Arkansas Democrat.

Both liberals and GOP tricksters wind up in the same camp when insulting southerners as hillbillies (yet another kind of slur). I sure would not be comfortable sitting around that campfire.

But is so often the case, it's The Daily Show that eases my blood pressure, gives me perspective, and the hope that just maybe, Jon Stewart makes more sense than most pundits.

-0-

Money Matters

2008-07-08T10:25:00.002-04:00

Getting and Spending

You know the feeling. You work. You get paid.

You get the check or the direct deposit slip and you feel a bit...flush. You also have plastic.

Oh, and that stimulus check. Now it’s patriotic to go spend it?

Best to have only one or two credit cards lest you get yourself into trouble when for some reason you think your life will be significantly better if you:

• Get an even bigger TV
• See what's up with this iPhone thing
• Order the 247 piece set of T-Fal from a shopping channel
•Upgrade your computer
•Maybe check in at a day spa for a tune up, and trot on home with about $500 worth of makeup you'll never quite get the hang of.
•Or even ...uh oh...decide to become an urban warrior and join the legions of SUV owners. Purely for self defense of course. You can get a “bargain” on one with gas over four bucks.

It's a rush to think about, picture ahead of time, call around, go take a look, maybe even Do It. Even if you can't exactly afford it, you feel as though you deserve it. And, life being stressful enough in so many ways, you probably do.

All of the above possible purchases have potential for ongoing pleasure. It's sort of fun when you are watching something you love on TV and realize, wow! That's a big honking picture. What clarity. Visitors may echo these sentiments. They might go home with screen envy.

You can host a fabulous deck party because you now have 247 pots of all sizes in which to make things. Guests will talk among themselves trying to figure out where/how you store it all. They will want your recipes. Plus you look good, what with the day spa glow still evident.

The Ute in the driveway is pretty impressive. The neighbors are eyeing it and you no longer have highway driving anxiety attacks. Life is good. Even though the bills will come in, some how you feel as though you are getting a Hunk o the Good Life.

The thing about life, economically speaking, that can be most discouraging, however, is when Something Goes Very Wrong with Something That is Very Necessary to Everyday Living. When these kinds of thing go wrong they always cost lots of money to take care of, disrupt the household with lots of noise and inconvenience, and while life is truly better when they are taken care of, it just doesn't quite qualify as a psychological boost, a physical afterglow.

Think septic system. Think water stains on your ceiling, which means a leaky roof, which means putting on a new roof and getting the ceilings painted. Think underground oil tank which will have to be dug up to meet new regulations, while you pray there is no leak polluting the local ground water because if there is you will be an indentured servant for the rest of your life.

Think...the furnace has died.

You are a grownup. You have to take care of these things. But while you get hit with huge bills and may have to take out an equity loan, you CANNOT say to a guest, "Hey. Want to see my new full house air conditioning unit in the attic? It's mint." You CANNOT say to a neighbor, "Drop by and I'll show you the greatest sump pump on the market."

While I don't pretend to understand economics, I do understand that spending money is like riding a hydraulic lift. Sometimes you are up there looking over the territory of possibilities; sometimes the hydraulic principle means you wind up below the floor of the garage, looking up at all those Service Guys who are shaking their heads and shrugging, while they all chant in unison, "Lady, this is gonna cost ya."

Forgetting Stuff

2008-06-04T18:34:00.004-04:00

Here’s Why You Don’t Have Alzheimer’s

You worry about it though. I worry. Sometimes I can’t come up with the word or my thoughts wander in the middle of a sentence. Uh, oh. Is my mind too busy or too spongy. So goes the dilemma. What am I without my words?

Glance over there to the next check out line. (Don’t be obvious) A woman is looking through her pocketbook with THAT LOOK on her face. She’s worried.

Has she lost her wallet?

Did someone steal her wallet when she was feeling up the cantaloupes?

Is the wallet still on the counter in the kitchen? She’d had it out to give her son five bucks for a field trip at the last minute. Maybe she forgot to put it back in her purse.

A mountain of food has already been scanned and bagged, and she’s saying things like,

“I don’t know where it is...

I was sure I....

Maybe I....

I could call....

AH-HA! Here it is, in my pocket. Never mind. Sorry. Grabbed it on my way out the door. I didn’t forget."

To herself she might be muttering, What if it’s Alzheimer’s.

It’s not just the hypochondriacs and phobics among us that worry about this one looming over our heads.

Anyone who sees the documentaries, reads the articles, loves someone who has been afflicted, can chill themselves into the sub-zero zone really easily at the thought of a future with no mind left and a healthy heart pumping.

MS LUCEY’S THEORY ABOUT WHY WE ARE SO HARD ON OURSELVES

Here’s what we are really forgetting. We are forgetting that everyone forgets stuff.

Our lives are full, busy, and scattered. Lots of people come and go, in and out of our radar on a regular basis. You went to a couple of meetings for something a year ago. On the street you see a vaguely familiar face.

You say,

“Should I know this person?

I think I know this person.

I have NO idea where I know this person from.

No name is attaching itself to this person.

What if this person recognizes me? Remembers me? I’ll hurt this person’s feelings."

And all of those thoughts are happening in a mind that is, at the very same time, hearing the music coming from the town square, smelling the muffins from Sugar Babe’s wafting out into the street, the same mind that is reminding you to buy batteries and a new mop (as you are walking past the hardware store) plus you’ve got to get a gift for Rebecca’s wedding shower. You wouldn’t forget that.

I swear it’s a miracle that we CAN walk and chew gum at the same time.

COMFORTING THOUGHTS

Kids forget things all the time. Permission slips. Gym shorts. Deadlines. Pencils. Homework. Where they left their jacket over the weekend.

Young adults forget things all the time. Thank you notes. Phone numbers. Billing cycles. Credit limits. Chores. Manners. Lots of things you thought you taught them.

Even when you live alone, it doesn't mean there's no sensory overload in your life. The phone, the TV, the newspapers, the chores, the neighbors, the ideas, memories, all fill up our senses. We've been around awhile. We're full to overflowing with information and images. If we get distracted, and forget ONE thing, ONE word.....are we thinking "Uh, oh. This is it. Tomorrow I'll forget where my shoes are, and how to parallel park.

So, the next time you find yourself in the pantry, wondering why you happen to be in there, instead of in the comfy chair or planting a petunia, reach for the raisins, or the cashews, or the chocolate. It’s just your body trying to tell you something.

You were sorta, kinda, maybe a tad hungry.

Yeah. That’s it.

-0-

10 Steps of the Public Lie

2008-04-30T18:04:00.003-04:00

Everyone does it. Oh, really?

The scene is so familiar.

Someone in the public eye, often a politician, but not always (OJ) is connected to a disappearance, a bludgeoning, a break-in, dirty tricks, larceny, whatever.

It’s exhausting to watch. At every step, we view:

The First Announcement
(babble, babble, guess, guess, assume, wonder, theorize)

The Second, slightly different ‘hastily called news conference.’
(babble, babble, guess, guess, assume, wonder, theorize some more)

We have been in the middle of many such political shenanigans, especially during the last year, but it’s all so familiar. It's exhausting. Oh, Spitzer, Foley, Craig, Vitter: What were you thinking? Really.

The Ten Steps of The Public Lie:

1. No information. “The Big Whatever has come as a complete shock.”

2. No useful information. “Whatever contact we had was professional.”

3. No germane information that would help the authorities. “Would help if I could.”

4. Eager to cooperate. “Except I’ve told you all I know.”

5. Would be inappropriate to say more at this time.

6. Eager to cooperate at the appropriate time. “But upon advice of counsel, I cannot say anymore.”

7. Accuse the press of harassment

8. Admit a little. “I was not completely forthcoming at first out of respect for.....”

9. Stall the big lie even more. “I did not have sex with that woman, Ms. Lewinsky.”

10. Eager for the truth to come out. “Where I will be completely vindicated.”

THEN admit and apologize, sort of, but for only part of it, and there were extenuating circumstances, and say something like, “Mistakes were made.” Roger Clemens.

Plea bargain or request immunity. Make big bucks on speaking fees.
Except for OJ.

-0-

Spam-o-phobia

2008-03-21T10:52:00.005-04:00

Fear of Spam

When the word Spam was extended from a tinned concoction of pork-like product to its internet meaning of "junk mail," it all made sense.

Good metaphor. Icky unappetizing meat like filler. Especially the ones that assure all readers their penis can be widened, stretched, and turned to stone for long periods of time.

Gmail has a good spam filter. It captures euphemisms and dumps them in a fetid heap to be disposed of at some future date.

love rocket

trouser trout

Monty's python

Stay away from my inbox.

Here's the new spam assault problem.

Every time one goes into gmail to get rid of the junk, as it were, a threatening recipe for the original Spam appears at the top.

Hey! Why do this to us after perfecting such a good filter?

None of them are appetizing. They are hideous; yet, somehow, I cannot look away.

They tell me to click for Spam Skillet Casserole: Broil until golden

Spam Veggie Pita Pockets - Serves 8

Spam Vegetable Strudel - Bake 20 minutes or until golden, serve with soy sauce

Spam Primavera - Toss with linguini, serve immediately

Spam Swiss Pie - Bake 45-55 minutes or until eggs are set

Vineyard Spam Salad - Combine grapes, spam, peapods and onions in large bowl

Are you hungry yet?

Go to Hawaii and eat well:

Look for local treats, even at national chain stores. Spam musubis can be found at every 7-11 and in most places that sell plate lunches.

Have a poetic side?

Read some Spam Haiku

Spam Facts include the following: Among the 50 foreign countries where Spam is sold, the UK and South Korea are the largest markets.

Spam this article to your thousand best friends, urge them not to break the chain, and something good will happen to you at some point within the next fifteen years. I assure you the good fortune will not include tinned meat.

Lost in Translation

2008-03-11T10:52:00.004-04:00

Tripping Over Our Own Ideas

Most of us know that certain messages lose their meaning in translation.

If you try to explain a joke or a witty remark to someone, it stops being funny the instant you try.

Thud. Strike out.

Take a sip of wine, move along and try it on the next bunch of folks at the party. Better yet, don't risk it. The moment has evaporated.

Allusions

The Tower of Babel is the architectural hubris of King Nabopolassar and his son Nebuchadnezzar II. If they built a tower that could reach Heaven, it would be easy to drop in, or drop up, or drop over.

According to Biblical legend, God considered this a pretty obnoxious way to gain entrance. All of the people who were working on that structure spoke the same language. By destroying the Tower of Babel, all the people were scattered, woke up speaking in different tongues, and could not understand one another. As a metaphor that describes any difficulties we all have in mutual understanding, the idea is huge.

Language Dangers~Red Alert

Idioms contain such richness of language, yet don’t translate into a sensible message from one culture to another. You try to explain whether "the icing on the cake" means an extra good thing added onto a good thing, or whether it's the last straw. Now explain "the last straw."

When Jimmy Carter was President he was assigned someone to translate during his trip to Poland, who apparently had a very poor understanding of the language.

The poor quasi-linguist wound up announcing to the official delegation his understanding of what the President was saying, which came out something like, “I promise to support your overcoats. You have engaged our potatoes with hope.” (Don't quote me.)

Babel Fish

What a cool web site. It translates things for you. Previously it featured only the Romance Languages, German, and Russian. Now two kinds of Chinese are covered here, as well as Korean and Japanese. but what a great place to start. Sorry, Finns. Hungarians are on hold.

You can use it to translate a web page written in a language other than your own, that might hold the very thing you are looking for in your quest for arcane knowledge.

Let’s say you are fresh out, and need to know where the really good leiderhosen can be purchased, or you need a beret from the source, so you must learn what’s going on with the Basques these days. Bookmark Babel Fish, and you can find out. Babelfish can't 'do' Basque, but most speak Spanish or French as well.

ALSO you can type something in English into the text box and........
Babblebabble Kazam! it will appear in the language of your choice.

For fun or for caution, have it translate right back to English so you can see if there are any surprising changes.

Example: Starving writer looking for European magazines who pay big bucks for humorous columns about the American scene and culture.

In Spanish: Programa de escritura muerto de hambre que busca los compartimientos europeos que pagan los bucks grandes columnas chistosas sobre la escena y la cultura americanas.

Back to English: Program of hunger writing died that looks for the European compartments that great chistosas? columns pay bucks on the American scene and the culture.

Example: Please don't think all Americans thought Freedom Fries were a good idea. And the comment about "cheese eating surrender monkeys" makes most of us wince.

In French: Svp ne pensez pas que toutes les fritures de liberté de pensée d'Américains étaient une bonne idée. Et le commentaire au sujet "fromage des marques mangeant de reddition singes" plus de nous crispation.

Back to English: Please do not think that all the cracklings of freedom of American thought were a good idea. And the comment on the subject "cheese of the marks eating of rendering monkeys" more us crispation.

There, now. Wasn’t that educational?

The Language Wrangler Rides Again

2008-01-29T16:56:00.002-05:00

Beverly's Big Bad List of Homonyms

Three of the things that can drive people crazy about English spelling and meaning is continual confusion over homonyms, homophones, and homographs.

If you care enough to research what seems to be a simple truth about English--some words are spelled the same, sound the same, but have different definitions depending on context--you've got a great lesson for people who defend the Whole Language Approach. Context matters. The use of phonics doesn't help when it comes to homonyms and stretching our use of simple words.

That's why it's important that both techniques be used in the classroom. That fallacy of either/or causes problems.

The trouble is, perfectly reputable sources define the word homonym differently. That's quite disconcerting when folks defend their viewpoint by noting that, "The dictionary says...." What does one do when the dictionaries are having a brouhaha over meaning? When linguists are getting all huffy?

While reading an academic exploration of the issues called
HOMONYMS, HETERONYMS AND ALLONYMS:A Semantic/Onomantic Puzzle
I found true the following author note: (note is a homonym, by the way)

"Strangely, I have not been able to find any true homonym lists -- words that are pronounced and spelled the same way." -- Fred W. Riggs

I'd been searching all morning for some handy examples. Alan Cooper's list kept bubbling up on many search engines and links, but he's using homophones. ex. ate, eight and wear, where. Homophones are words that sound the same, but are spelled differently. Phone/sound. Get it? Some texts agree with Cooper, others do not.

• Our working definition is that homonyms sound the same and are spelled the same. Each word has multiple meanings, however. •

The meaning must be figured out in context. A good dictionary will help in showing wordsmiths how many different meanings a seemingly ordinary word might have. The most useful dictionary site I've found is One Look because it contains immediate access to mainstream and discipline specific dictionaries.

I'm starting a list because I can't find a long one. Yet they are everywhere in common usage. If you can add to it, please do so in the comments section and I'll post it.

Note: I'm pretty sure the homonyms, run and set, are the two words in English with the most definitions and uses, especially if you don't mind idioms.

Here we go: Beverly's Big Bad List of Homonyms

Metaphorical use is welcome. Slang is fine, too.

*This list is meant to be a jump start, not a definitive collection.

ace
act
arch
arms

ball
band
bank
bark
baste
bat
bear
beat
bill
blank
bloom
blue
broke
bowl
box
bug
bump
burn
busses
bust
butter

cap
case
cast
cell
charm
chase
clip
cord
crane
crank
creep
crest
crop (thanks, Kyle)
coast
code
cue
cut

dart
deal
don
draft
drag
drone
duck
dust

ear
egg
eyes

fade
fair
fawn
fence
fire
float
fly
fluke
frame
frog

game
gay
glare
grace
grain
green

hack
hawk
heel
hood
hose
host

ice
iron

jam
jerk
jig
jog

keys
kids
kite

land
lead
leaves
lie
lime
load
lot

match
mean
moon
mug

nail
note

odd

pants
pass
peer
pick
point

queer
queen
quote

rage
range
rank
rash
relish
right
ring
rip
rock

seal
shade
shots
slip
sole
spade
speed
strain
stretch
stalk
stall
strike

tire
toast
trip

unit

vent
vest

waves
wake
watch
well
wire

yellow
yoke

zest
zip

-0-

Apostrophe Police: We need more officers

2008-01-28T09:34:00.001-05:00

It’s the Thing About Its

The most common error I notice in writing involves the pesky apostrophe.

Signmakers mess up.

Advertising copy editors mess up.

Students mess up big time.

I’ve been worried that an entire percentage of the population has been traumatized by someone barking a spelling rule such as:

I before E
Except after C !!!!!!

(Except when you say
Neighbor or weigh)

...Not to mention the day
Someone gives you a lei

Or you strain your brain
When spelling reign)

English is peculiar that way.

APOSTROPHE GOOFS

Most kids were in school the day the teacher taught “Apostrophe Ess.”

Most kids were absent when The Reason Why got tacked on.

That day, week, month, the talk turned to possessives and plurals. But they were absent.

Hence, students who remember that a plural needs an ESS get all confused if a possessive word (mine) ends with an ESS (yours)

If ‘yours’ is possessive, then doesn’t it need an apostrophe? Like, “Is that Godsey’s dog or yours?” Is it already plural? What’s going on here?

What’s going on is those exceptions to the rules we were taught.

Sometimes it is hard to explain what the distinction is. Especially if we said, “Is that the Godseys’ dog?” Both Godseys claim to be the parents of Toby the Black Lab, you know. “Oh, no....ESS apostrophe???”

But here is the easy way to help people remember when to use ITS and when to use IT’S.

IT’S only ever means ‘IT IS.’ No exceptions.

The Contraction=It Is

IT’S the wrong time and the wrong place; the face is charming, but IT’S the wrong face.

IT’S my party and I’ll cry if I want to.

That’s the way IT’S going to be, and I don’t want to hear anymore whining.

I’m telling you, IT’S definitely her, only with a face lift.

Plain old ITS is possessive, just like HIS and HERS. Both HIS and HERS end in ESS, you see. Neither cause the confusion that ITS does.

ITS tires need rotating.

Her hair lost ITS curl.

The door fell off ITS hinges

The restaurant lost ITS license after the health inspector saw what was going on in the kitchen.

Please go forth and call these errors to the attention of all confused souls. IT'S one small thing we can do for people in times of turmoil and general confusion.

03/07/08------The Language Wrangler likes to be jarred out of complacency

Diane notes: Great post, Beverly, but it's come to my attention that you've forgotten one other possible meaning of "it's;" while almost never mentioned, it's also commonly used to stand in for "it has."

"That package you were waiting for? It's arrived."

-0-

Party of One

2008-01-09T11:58:00.000-05:00

Life on the Edge

Why do I not know about so many things I am interested in before I find out about them? Not to go all Zen, or anything, but too often I feel like a latecomer to the party. The party still has the conversations hanging in the air, more than a few crumpled napkins remain stuffed behind the couch cushions, but the honored guests are likely off to some other salon talking about other big ideas with people way bigger than me.

Fortunately for me and my budget, not to mention the lack of my appearance on the A-list, the D-list, or the XYZ-list, the Internet lets me attend a lot of heady parties.

Perhaps the conversations about Blu-Ray vs. HD are getting on your nerves. Maybe you realize the poll question: Do you think this country is headed in the right or wrong direction, provides one of the more useless statistics to what passes for political discourse. You might be spending most of your time trying to avoid high fructose corn syrup. That's a full time job, right there.

The residue from this year's question posed by Edge does not read like leftovers. Rich in intellectual calories, you can sate yourself with the obvious: smart people change their minds. When we consider candidates of both parties, let's hope that the opinions expressed are real, dependable, yet open to changes in circumstances.

Edge Question

You are registered to vote, aren't you?

Party on.

-0-

'Tis the Season

2007-12-17T11:53:00.000-05:00

Rice is Nice

The term is 'slacktivism.' That's a portmanteau word such as smog or brunch or spork. If you know what a spork is, stop eating in school cafeterias.

Slacktivism has a negative connotation, of course, since it often results in you being urged to forward a warning to everyone in your address book about some bogus threat. A quick trip to Snopes: Debunking the Hoax could save you from annoying folks, but even that takes too much energy for some people.

"...the powerful impulse of 'slacktivism,' an on-line trend that combines our internal need to make a difference with the personal inertia that keeps us from actually making an effort." Arts Journal

Finally, in the spirit of giving, yours truly has found a site that actually does contribute something for the common good, doesn't cost me a thing, and upgrades my word bank quite a few notches.

Surely you, too, would like to know the meaning of the word 'vibrissa' or 'chaffer' or 'macaronic.'

Because of my modest efforts, over 40,000 grains of rice have been bundled along through a United Nations program to help feed the hungry. So far.

Free Rice

Although one friend noted he would "play all day if they added birth control to the rice" his half an hour of guesswork sent a packet of grain to a sad spot in the world.

Here you go:

vibrissa=whisker

chaffer = haggle

macaronic = mixing languages

Free Rice because you have nothing to lose.

-0-

Hillary Hating Is a Wasted Emotion

2007-12-07T10:39:00.000-05:00

Many of the women quoted in the article below make reasoned arguments for why they are not thrilled at the prospect of another Clinton Presidency. Certainly we should not elect a person because of gender. We should not vote just to witness a "First." Hillary Bashing may deflect voters from the real fights ahead.

Anti-Hillary

I've not been a Hillary hater. It was her vote on Iraq that made no sense to me. I think she sold her soul on that one, in order to gain some street cred as not being generically anti-war. I believe she thought it was a good political move when she was looking ahead.

At that point, I didn't realize that she surely was going to run for president. I couldn't imagine that she would want that fight. My hope was that she, along with so many others who have weighed the idea, would decide to be one of the best damn senators ever. It's a worthy goal. Having Ted Kennedy in the Senate all these years has allowed him to be much more effective in causes I care about. All the dynasty issues that come up are buffered by his continual reasonable efforts in the Senate. His personal life may have been in tatters but he's fought the good fight for generally good causes. Joe Biden has been a much better senator since his public deflation the last time he ran.

When people run for The Senate, are re-elected and then launch a run, they cannot do the job they were elected for. That bothers me too. Obama needed to master one role before moving ahead with a run.

This time around Edwards is not a senator. He's running for president. That's a job, and I respect him for it. If her health holds, the idea of an Edwards First Family is quite appealing to me.

Bill Richardson doesn't get enough attention and consideration on the podium. Both he and Chris Dodd would be great vice-presidents. I say that based only on the issues of electability for the number one spot.

Joe Biden might be the smartest, most knowledgeable of the bunch, if he could only force himself to ask questions during hearings, instead of making stump speeches.

People joke about Dennis Kucinich, but he's a needed voice. It's an ad hominem fallacy to dismiss what he stands for and his profound consistency just because he's quirky as all get out.

Probably I will vote for one of the people who is behind in the polls during the primary. After all, I live in Massachusetts now, not Arkansas, so I don't have to vote for anyone symbolically.

I would like to be living at a time when there is NO question about the candidate based on anything more than who we think will best stand for The United State, its Constitution, and its real moral compass.

What an embarrassing set of questions. Is the country 'ready' for: a woman, a black man, a Catholic who does not represent Catholic teachings, a non-traditional mainline Protestant. Sheesh. Eventually, that will be expanded to whoever else is not part of what laughingly passes as tradition. Is the country 'ready' for a gay person, an Hispanic (apologies to Bill Richardson but it doesn't register with most voters) a Muslim, a Pacific Rimmer and fill in the blank for every one else who could ably lead this country in a more humane direction.

In this actual presidential election, however, no matter what, I will vote for the Democrat. I don't think any of these candidates are evil or stupid. However, I don't think any of the Democratic candidates will insist we are a Christian country, ignore credible science, and start a pre-emptive war.

-0-

10 Things To Miss When Moving from Little Rock

2007-11-25T14:21:00.000-05:00

It's that time of year when experts in their field make ten best lists of films, books, scandals, cheesecake recipes. I hate to be left out of anything unless exercise is involved, so now that I'm unpacked in Massachusetts and it's really, really cold out, here's my ten best list for the Little Rock area of Arkansas:

1. The Big Damn Bridge--spans the Arkansas River between North Little Rock and Little Rock. It's both a bike and walking trail and the view is amazing.

2. The Market Street Cinema--a labor of love, Market Street although a commercial operation, it's a 5 screen theater that shows independent films, off beat gems, and helps local talent. On Mondays you get free popcorn, if you bring your own bowl.

3. Silvek's bakery--notable because it's inside a Kroger store. Right next to not so good Kroger bread and day-glo seasonal cupcakes. There's no better bread around and the cakes are killer.

4. Colonial Wine and Spirit Shop--owned by consummate professionals, Clark Trim and Henrik Thorstrup. These guys are world traveled and totally unpretentious. They help people who are lost in the World of What Should I Buy? What with my terribly unrefined palate, and all, I never missed a wine-tasting they held.

5. Little Rock supports two public radio stations, one for music and one for talk. Some of their programming is familiar and some is unique, including Arkansongs, put together by the lead singer of the Bug Tussle Boys. Is that not a great name for a blues group?

6. The Clinton Presidential Library--which does indeed look like an enormous double-wide trailer, Library but it's cantilevered over the river, green in its carbon footprint, and hosts a load of interesting material from the 90s, when I was much happier with the residents of the White House.

7. The Clinton Library offshoot, The Clinton School of Public Service. The man stood for some important national values, that got lost in the jokes, and this legacy provides a degree program for people who are not numbed by cynicism. The School Their speakers are top notch, varied by interests, and stand all over the political spectrum. The biggest foo-fah erupted when Richard Dawkins spoke.

8. Lily's Dim Sum and Then Some is a PanAsian place in a strip mall. It's friendly and fascinating. The owners are very community oriented, and one, Kathy Webb, won a race for a state representative office. The political scene is not easy there, and as they say in the south, "Bless her heart" for taking on the old boys' club.

9. The Heifer Project International has its headquarters in Little Rock, right close to the Library, so you can be efficient in your planning. Heifer It's possible that our grandchildren did not exactly appreciate receiving a card for Christmas noting that their gifts were a goat, a cow, and a flock of chickens sent to help a Third World family become more self sufficient.

10. The Farmer's Market in season at the River Market space. There are no better peaches. And I lived in Georgia for five years.

Every place has wonderful people and I will miss the ones I got close to, in the neighborhood and at the University of Central Arkansas in nearby Conway.

Hold the Phone

2007-09-17T18:04:00.000-04:00

Visiting Hell and Holding

Telephone experiences feel phantom-like. You know you had them, but you can't prove it. Email evidence can be maintained, but those lost minutes, hours, and what seems like days trying to dodge, get past, get through, and get around the menu are gone forever.

When I am presented with a menu, I like food options to be available.

Instead, one of two voices greets me, assures me (usually she) can help if I press the correct number. She tells me what I can say. "You can say, 'account balance, technical support, reservations, order status, refill, missed delivery, new service, broadband' " and tells me to key in long numbers so she can pretend to pull up my account. A booping sound effect is supposed to give us the sense of someone working hard on our behalf. I say, "customer support, human being, representative, live person, agent," anything to trick the robot into giving up. It's come to this. I'm trying to trick a robot.

If I'm successful, I get to be on hold and listen to horrible music interrupted by the assurance that my call is important, I must hang on, and I must have patience. I have no patience. I put the phone on speaker and unpack a box, let the dogs out, make a sandwich. I sit in the sun with The New Yorker and the phone in my lap. Eventually, a person responds. Unless my cell phone breaks up. As it happens, I'm calling to end my cell phone service with this particular company. I've been trying for two weeks but She says they are experiencing an unusual volume of calls and I can expect a ten to fifteen minute wait. There is no place on their website to accomplish the farewell. You can expand your plan on line, extend a contract, pay for an allegedly free new fancy phone. You cannot break up with their company. Only their phones can do that.

Not all companies are understaffed. Just the ones that would rather not be bothered with pesky customers. None of this nonsense occurs with Lands End or LL Bean. They are human, and they are at the ready. It's the mail order prescription biz, the telecommunications companies, the airlines, the companies we must reach in order to keep our contact with the outside world on track that frustrate the consumer. We're wired. It's too late to turn back. But what a treat it was to call the Town Yard about recycling polices. Treat Defined: answered on the first ring, free bucket available, and a compliment on what a nice neighborhood we're living in. The woman buys pumpkins at the farm stand right next door to us. Her voice is nothing like Robo-Gal. Suddenly I remember a bumper sticker from the 70s. "Think globally, act locally." If only we could.

-0-

Words I Never Thought I Would Say

2007-08-15T14:11:00.000-04:00

Hey, If I'm Wrong, I Admit It.

My friends might be surprised to hear me say:

"Dick Cheney knows what he's talking about."

"Well, I'm on Dick Cheney's side on that issue."

"Dick Cheney makes a lot of sense."

Cheney on Iraq

It is said that people who don't know history are condemned to repeat it. But if it's your own history, how can you forget it? Get it right the first time, and you never have to deal with it again. Except for Dick Cheney.

-0-

The Catch 22 of Cable Connection

2007-08-08T10:45:00.000-04:00

Round and Round in the Circle Game

It's hard to coordinate the building of a house from 1300 miles away. I've said it before, and I'll likely say it again, but rarely have I been so thwarted until I tried to schedule an appointment for cable installation.

Comcast has a toll free number, as every major corporation does. Even the robots know how to route your call. Eventually. People need answers from people, not the phone-droids. I did not know then, that if you want to buy cable long distance you have to learn

Pizza is the answer

Problem:

If you want to schedule cable installation you are supposed to put in the telephone number of your residence. My residence-to-be does not have a telephone number. In fact, Comcast itself would be the ones to give me my telephone number due to a bundling offer. My residence-to-be does not yet have flooring. Wiring is going on.

Like a fool, I tried to get customer service the old fashioned way. By punching the "O" key furiously. By responding to the robot's every question with "customer rep" "help" "human being". After awhile the robot will say, "I'm not quite understanding, so I'm transferring you to some one who can help you. Yay, say I. I said "Yay" way too soon.

A patient woman named Marge introduces herself and asks how she can help me. The trouble is she is in Little Rock, near where I live. I am calling from an Arkansas number. She cannot transfer me to someone in New England. The numbers she gives me are fax lines, or ring endlessly, and are not toll free. I look for Comcast numbers for Massachusetts on Google and find offices all over the state, but their purpose remains a mystery due to voice mail or no answer.

Since one must use the cable company the town contracts with, and I wanted to try cable instead of DSL, I was in the eye of the storm with no way out.

Back to the toll free number which asserts they are ready to assist 24/7. I get Marge again. In Little Rock. Hours and hours have passed. I'm dizzy. I'm cranky. I'm glum.

But if any of you get caught in this kind of whirlwind, given we are a mobile society, I have the answer to this ONE problem.

When I was mysteriously connected to Jason in NH who could help me, he told me the secret.

Pizza. Why it's the answer.

What you should do is find the number of a local pizza place in the town to which you are moving. When you are asked to punch in the home phone number you do not have, give them the number of the Vito and Tony's House of Pizza Trattoria Restaurante or some such in the area you will inhabit. You will be routed to the area rep and all will move smoothly from there.

That's yet another reason why pizza is one of the major food groups.

-0-

Long Distance Decisions

2007-07-19T15:20:00.000-04:00

Sure Fire Method for Avoiding Decorating Arguments

I got to thinking about all the choices that have to be made when building a house from scratch. Because we are doing it, that's why. And we are living in Arkansas but the house is being built in Massachusetts. Everything down to the cabinet knobs is fraught with potential disagreement.

Do you feel overwhelmed by wallpaper books? Do you get bewildered picking out paint samples. It may not be high up on most people's list of Things That Cause Anxiety Attacks, but it can certainly toss some people into a first class tizzy that results in putting off the project.

Since I am a big fan of making something happen as soon as I decide that I want it to happen in the first place, I am amazed at the months it takes some people to make a decision.

If you visit one of these people you might see a half a painted wall, another wall with four long stripes of various beige tones, and eight wallpaper books that are overdue from The Dakor Center.

Perhaps you've stopped by a friend’s house to bring over a half dozen ears of fresh corn, but before you leave you must listen to the alleged dilemma:

1. the aesthetic reasons behind the ‘stripes that go down’ patterns.

2. the possibilities of "going with the flowery choices"

3. the sheen concerns around the satiny group

4. why it's got to have at least a hint of mauve in it

5. and not be "too" feminine

Your friend wants you to look at the 34 samples she's narrowed it all down to and rank order them. Then she will want to argue with you about the order in which you placed them, or the price, or whether it might be a good idea to run over and get more books, like the ones with textured backgrounds. Or flocking. No! No flocking. And don’t make me tell you why I don’t like toille.

HOW TO CHOOSE

If you would like to help a person like this, or you ARE a person with a wallpaper dilemma of your own, here's a game to get you through it. Let's just start with the wallpaper. It's making a comeback, and lots of folks like it in bathrooms, regardless.

The rules are strict, but if you follow them, the decision will be made within 24 hours, not months.

1. Go to the wallpaper store, poke through the books for a few that look to be what ever you think your style is. Don't justify it. Just go with your impulse. BUT you may only check out four books to take home.

No. Not five, four.

2. When you get home, rip up a sheet of white paper into 25 strips.

3. As you look through the books, put a piece of paper to mark the page
every time something catches your eye. But you may only make 25
choices. When the paper is gone, that's that.*

*Well, OK, you can move a piece of paper if you find another one you
love, but you CAN'T add a 26th piece of paper.

4. Don't keep looking through the books when you have done this. It's a
rule.

5. When your significant other comes home, the one who hates shopping and would keel over before entering a decorating center, the next round starts.

(If you live alone, you can do this yourself, but it would be best if you waited a day to do the next step)

When your partner is relaxed and ready, because you have warned this helpmate that his/her services will be needed for no longer than fifteen minutes, here's what you do:

You say, "I'm going to show you two patterns at a time for the "whatever" room. Out of the two, you tell me which one you like best."

Since you have already made 25 choices that you like (or hastily removed a few of them within the past few minutes due to a change of heart) you can't lose. You've already chosen things that would look good.

6. Each time your partner makes a choice, remove the paper from the
"Uh, uh" page.

Bye, bye.

Take the "Uh, Huh" choice and put it next to another option. Never more than the two options at a time.

7. No going back. Just keep going forward. You'll be down to the last two in no time.

8. Ceremoniously pull the last slip of paper from the books, thus hiding all of your previous options, because you now have wallpaper that you like, and your partner has picked his/her favorite.

Tah-da! Bring the books back the next day and order what you need.

THE ALTERNATIVE

Some places maintain a very large selection of wallpaper and permit you to wander the premises with a scissors. Not only is it great fun, but you can get a larger hunk of wallpaper, and it's not bound. Therefore, you can forget about the slips of white paper. You've come home with NO MORE THAN twenty five samples.

You take your partner into the room to be transformed and hold up two samples. Crumple one as soon as a choice is made and move on, as above.

The benefits of the alternative is that the store will have the wallpaper in stock and there's even less down time to worry about your decision.

People get hung up in decision making because they fear making the wrong one. Many times there is no wrong decision to be made. This college will give you options, ideas, and contacts that will be different that attending that college...but neither choice will be wrong.

Certainly choosing wallpaper is easier, when you think of it in that context.

Now. Go look in the Yellow Pages for something like The Wonderful World of Wallpaper and get yourself there.

Oh. By the way, don't go to more than one store. Have you learned nothing from the above approach?

Simplify, simplify.

This works for paint samples. This works for tile samples. This works for fabric samples.

Practice over the years allowed my husband and I to make every aesthetic choice we needed to make including carpet on a weekend blitz visit with our builder who is working hard 1500 miles away from us, his clients. I bet he feels lucky we aren’t cruising by the building site every live long day saying, “Maybe we should move that window a few feet over. You think we could get a different countertop?"

-0-

Can You Hear Me Now?

2007-07-10T14:04:00.000-04:00

What's That In Your Ear?

I’m sure that none of YOU are guilty of doing the following, so forgive me if I complain a bit about those OTHER people....the ones who are having way too much of a relationship with their cell phone. These people don’t just use it. They caress it. Fondle it. Berate it. They flip it open the way smokers used to snap up the top of their metal Zippo lighters, just for show.

Some things should be done in the privacy of one’s home, or the privacy of one’s bedroom, for that matter. Some things should be done quietly, so our own air space isn’t more polluted than it already is with thumping bass whopping you from both sides on the highway or lockers slamming between classes, or a really bad radio station played too loudly while you are trying to do some serious shopping.

First, it’s important to note that if you are an actor or a writer, you have automatic permission to eavesdrop.

Because I said so, that’s why.

You can’t read other people’s mail. You can’t tap a phone. Do not start peeking at your kid’s or spouse’s journals. If you’ve got a telescope, keep it aimed at the sky, buddy, not someone’s window.

But when you are out in public, in a waiting room, wandering the mall, on a bus, in an elevator, or standing in line for something, anything people say can be what I call MATERIAL. Perhaps a couple is breaking up at the next table in the Chinese restaurant. That could be interesting.

But this phone stuff is starting to look mighty silly to me.

First, when car phones were so expensive they were a real status symbol, I read in a catalog that you could buy a shell of a car phone, really cheap, so other people would think you had one and therefore you would be cool. A phony, but....cool. I guess.

Then, just like the day that suddenly everyone is running around in shorts after a cold winter, the air turns warm and cell phones bloom every where you look. I’m not sure when it happened. But now it seems that almost everyone is connected.

A man is in the grocery store. He is standing in front of the produce section. He whips out the old phone and gets clarity on whether summer squash as opposed to zucchini would go better with the salmon, color-wise, that is. Oy. What if he got home and his spousal equivalent complained that the vegetables clashed? Absolutely a necessary phone call.

A woman is with a friend in the home accessories section of a discount department store. They are discussing lamps, just like normal people. Then debate about this couch cushion compared to that couch cushion. Uhf. Out comes the phone. “Honey? I’m here at TJ Maxx and I just wanted to know if you think that a lamp with a glass base or ceramic would be better in the den? Are you sure? Well, the glass one is like a Waterford crystal and...sure you do....no, no, Waterford. You know those goblets that Bob and Sissy gave us? Like that. Or there’s this other lamp here that’s a really pretty green only with a dragon on it. How do you feel about dragons? Well, just tell me. How can you not have time to talk about this?!” Meanwhile her in person friend is standing there like a lump. She’s been put on hold.

People are driving and talking, their head with that little tilt, while they are stopped at the light and looking something up in their day planner. They don’t notice the light is green.

People are walking and talking. They are wandering around parking lots mumbling into their palms as though they are Secret Service scanning for snipers. Except the guy in the golf shirt and shorts has tripped on the curb. The Secret Service doesn’t trip.

The people with earpieces are even more unsettling. We are walking on a city street and we do not know if the person approaching us is using his Bluetooth or speaking to his space buddies on Neptune.

Mostly, I wish that people would not answer their phones in restaurants, then eat and talk on the phone. Or yell. People are warned in honeyed tones by the stage managers at concerts and plays to “Please, take a moment to turn off your phones and turn your pagers to stun during the performance, thankyousomuch.”

I think phones should be checked at the door with the wet umbrellas. Perhaps you think I am being a tad petty. But you know I don’t mean you. If your phone rings you answer it, say, “Uh, huh, OK. Sure. See you at five,” and get back to the people you are with in person.

But none of you were with me that day at a nice restaurant when a woman dining with four friends called home, “Just to check,” and spent the next half hour yelling at her kids. She ordered during this time. She ate during this time. She didn’t talk to her dinner companions who couldn’t talk to each other, I don’t think.

She said, “Becky. I’m telling you. Are you listening? Because I’m only going to tell you once. Becky? What did you just say to me? No, no, no. You go get your brother. I want to talk to him. Go get him I said. Becky! Did you hear me? Go. Get. Your. Brother.” The next half hour was like that. Since I was eating with my father and step-mother who are both pretty deaf, they didn’t notice, and kept trying to engage me in conversation. But I could only hear The Mother of Becky screaming on her cell phone.

Also, given that I do believe in evolution, unlike most of the students I’ve been teaching for the last five years, I think opposable thumbs are going to morph. They are going to get long and pointy, the better to text with. Students can pretend they are paying attention while they text people they saw ten minutes ago. They don’t have to wait until class is over to let people know how bored they were with our class. Or that I slipped up and cussed.

If Mother Nature wanted us to use cell phones so much we would all have ears with Velcro like strips. Until that happens, keep the phone folded until you absolutely, positively need it. You and I know this.

Flat tire on the turnpike. Lost in a strange neighborhood. Really, really late and you don’t want anyone to worry.

But not when some trivia geek stops a conversation to phone a friend and find out whether the Seinfeld episode in which Kramer falls asleep in a tanning booth is the same one in which George is especially worried about “shrinkage.”

-0-

Where The Guys Are

2007-06-29T13:51:00.000-04:00

Creepy in The House

One of the problems with moving is that you have to find all New Guys. Male or female, it doesn’t matter, you’ll need a good mechanic, plumber, physician. You’ve got to keep all the machinery working smoothly.

Since we are moving--again-- I’ve got to resurrect my criteria for dealing with breakdowns. Good training, a fine reputation, and a code of ethics are critical.

Then there is a quirk of mine.

I’ve got this wee case of prejudice, it seems. People who don’t have pets make me suspicious. I can’t help feeling this way and there are no listings for support groups or associations or twelve step programs to help me deal with this narrow minded set of thinking that I’m carrying around.

I see meetings for Parents Without Partners but not People Without Pets. People want to work on not having a partner, but they don’t see the problem if they are Petless.

When an HMO assigned me a doctor, I interviewed him. Credentials? Attitudes about this? That? The Other? Then he noted that he had no pets, no, uh-uh, didn’t want them. Creepy in the house. I tried to forgive him because he was from Tanzania, and he said that pets and livestock were synonymous. But I found another doctor...an animal loving, warm, people person, who often patted me on the arm when she was explaining something.

At a New Faculty Orientation we all went around the room introducing ourselves. It’s still a requirement when new groups get together for any reason, I guess, even if it’s to be told where and when to get ID pictures done and what the deadline is for handing in a syllabus. Every person in the room included in their families their respective cats and dogs. The odd bird. An iguana. Until we got to The Dean. The Dean was petless. By choice. Not in mourning for a late Lab. No, no. Hated pets. Creepy in the house. Were he my department chair I would probably have had to resign.

One of my best friends and her husband are childless AND petless. They work long hours and travel when they aren’t working. They have lovely things, pristine rugs, and cannot keep a plant alive. When this best friend, Arlene, and I were growing up, she got a spaniel she named Lucky. Within 48 hours it was crushed by a car. For these reasons, I forgive them for not having an animal. These are the reminders they give me, but honestly? I think THEY think pets are creepy in the house.

The literature is loaded with articles about Pet Therapy. Pooches are taken to nursing homes; suddenly there is hope and love in that world. Petting a dog or cat lowers our blood pressure. Having a dog or cat around means there is always a beating heart to listen to. Right now we have our big standard poodle, Lillian, and a little rescue poodle, Zoe. The house is way too quiet and humorless when they are at the groomer. In fact, we had two standard poodles, but Miss Bessie died of a vicious anemia, and we got Zoe because all three of us--husband, wife, and Lillian--felt an empty space in our hearts.

A French poet in the last century insisted on walking a leashed lobster in the Tuileries gardens. He said he liked having a lobster for a pet because, “They don’t bark, and they know the secrets of the deep.”

OK. Another prejudice. Dogs and cats and birds are wonderful. Perhaps a ferret, if one likes weasels. But a lobster? Creepy in the house.

-0-

Rugs, Carpets, and Coping

2007-06-23T17:10:00.000-04:00

What IS That on Your Floor?

When we were house hunting due to our move to Georgia, I learned a terrible decorating truth. That truth was not nullified across state lines into Arkansas.

Apparently, a Meeting of UberRug Makers, in league with Rabid Sub-Division Developers, decided that All Carpet Is Good Carpet, as long as it is beige.

I lie.

It could also be eggshell, ash, antique caramel, a light nutmeg, tan, taupe, or tawny. Which means --beige.

No matter which subdivision: Trelawny Lakeside Estates, Purvis Plantation, Loch Interloch Fjord on the Fairways.....beige and its inbred cousins ruled.

Therefore, the house we bought has “Natural” wall-to-wall carpeting where it doesn’t have lovely, much easier to take care of, wood flooring.

THE REALITY OF LIVING A BEIGE LIFE

Not being the most pristine of domestic engineers, even after all these years of marriage, things happened.

Some of them were gross things, involving a new puppy that I insisted on adopting the first week we moved in, to help with the loneliness factor. After all, we were now living a thousand miles away from our grown children. Also, mysterious unnamable things had happened before we took ownership that resulted in spots or stains that could not be blamed on the dog. Latent, hastily steam cleaned circles emerged thanks to the previous owners. Who knows?

My tendency, after no success with a few of the usual suspects—products available from the supermarket shelves—was to hustle out in search of new scatter rugs. These rugs would be placed over various discolorations in hallways or centered in the den, or in front of a chair.

Because I learn great things from watching the Home and Garden Channel, I constructed “definition,” “a burst of color” that would “create interest” and, of course, “A Focal Point.”

THE NIGHTMARES BEGAN

A day came when a glance around my house looked like a giant tag sale of throw rugs.

Rug-o-rama.

I had nightmares that Early Birds would get the word, then start to ring my door bell and make offers.

“Would you take $3.50 for the little Chinese one?”

“I could maybe give you ten for the woolen Peruvian, if you throw in this ceramic clock.”

SEARCHING THE WORLD WIDE WEB

I found lots of rug cleaning products available on the web. Websites enumerated all the possible disgusting things that might confront someone and demand attention for cleaning rugs.

These graphic words could offend.

They grossed me out.

It was like being in the middle of a gastric and sewer explosion combined. But since none of the things I’d bought at the supermarket worked, I dared to order some kind of Wonder Warp Stuff (not its real name; I’m not peddling anything) It pretty much worked, and the rugs looked respectable.

Last Saturday I made a lovely Shepherd’s Pie with a red gravy sauce. I served it to my husband in the den. The den is Sports Central, and I rarely go in there unless it’s a delivery.

An Event occurred that we’ll just refer to as A BIG Whoopsidaisy. My understanding is, the side of the dish that he was holding became surprisingly hot, very quickly. In addition to the cursing, this meant that the entire hillock of Shepherd’s Pie took a header onto the carpet. Corn, carrots, peas, hamburg, fluffy buttery potatoes, the aforementioned very reddish sauce.

All soft, all hot, all soaking the carpet.

Today? The crime scene is gone. Nothing was going to get that smirch out of our line of vision.
We found a large enough square of extra carpeting in the attic to replace the ruined reminder.

My husband, of course, I will never replace.

But no one in this particular household should be allowed near beige carpet. Not me, not the husband, and definitely not the dogs. We have two black poodles. A little one and an enormous one. I’d never have a white one. It would bear the results of a merlot spill, blueberry pie raids, and purple permanent marker before two weeks had passed.

The new house will have multi-colored tweeds in every carpeted room. I get lightheaded at the thought. Hiding a multitude of sins might be my housekeeping mantra.

-0-

Anti-Organization Rationale

2007-06-18T18:03:00.000-04:00

Take Good Care of Your Junk Drawer

A neighbor of mine, ordinarily a fine yet impulsive person, has done something very, very wrong.

She cleaned out her junk drawer.

For some reason she thought it was a good idea. And she’s proud of herself. She invited me over to see it. “Everything in its place,” she noted.

In case any of you get the notion, some day after you’ve seen one too many HGTV inspirational shows about organizing your life, that you too should engage in such an activity, I would urge you to eat a Ring Ding instead. Keep noshing until the mood passes.

I’ve been brooding about this urge to get organized due to our upcoming move across half the country . I’ve been standing in front of my junk drawer for long minutes, trying to imagine going through it, trying to imagine breaking it down and hauling it away.

There is a reason for junk drawers.

I’m convinced they exist to block the passageway to other dimensions in the time/space continuum. And I’m not even one of those people who wear aluminum hats. It is our duty as American citizens to maintain a strong line of defense. Forget about color coded terror warnings, those impractical, empty rainbows of threats from the Department of Homeland Security. You already know that we can only respond after the fact to disaster. Oklahoma bombing? Olympic explosion in Atlanta? Katrina? Tornadoes bearing down every which way in the Midwest?

Here's my theory: for unknown reasons the contents of junk drawers are Alien Entity Repellents. No matter what those folks in Roswell say, alien abductions are a crock. And it’s because of our ever vigilant construction of house hold junk drawers. You know, like clapping to keep the zebras away.

If you have been maintaining a household without a junk drawer, it’s only a matter of time before the balance of power tips.

Please. I urge you. Create a junk drawer today.

Include the following:

• broken pencils preferably with half eaten erasers

• at least four fortune cookies from Chinese take-out.

• a package of birthday candles (half full is fine)

• a couple of jingle bells

• unwrapped hard candies that will stick to the bottom of the drawer

• five boxes of matches. Not match books. Boxes.

• three marbles

• unasked for address labels from two organizations that are stuck together and therefore, unusable

• two metal skewers

• a yellow highlighter (excellent for its chemical properties, it interacts synergistically with fortune cookies to form an impenetrable wall)

• at least one figurine from a popular movie. Toy Story is best. Reports of success with Donkey, from Shreks I, II, and III, are coming in.

If you don't have a junk drawer then you have an empty drawer.

An empty drawer will result in a small passageway to an alternative universe where alien junk will seep into your pristine space unbidden.

One day you will find "frazmits" and "gurf" and "kildies" in there.

After that, you’ll only have a 48 hour envelope of time to stop the invasion.

Please heed this consumer warning now.

Go. Get unorganized.

A nation’s freedom is at stake.

Thank you.

* the following essay is written due to my wonderful husband’s despair at my lack of organizational skills. “How can you live this way? You don’t know where anything is!” he protests. He is a man who arranges his wallet with all the bills facing the same way and in value order. That thought would never ever occur to me.

-0-

The New Age Is Aging

2007-06-13T11:33:00.000-04:00

Just Where Do I Fit In

The trouble with not being “New Age” is that the opposite feels like “Old Age.” Since not too many of us want to be “Middle Aged,” what’s a person to do?

I need a category. It’s lonely flying solo, and I want so much to find my niche.

In women’s magazines, there always seems to be a quiz. Taking the quiz will let you know the following:

• Have You Outgrown Your Marriage? Take the quiz to find out!!!

• Are You Addicted to Dairy? See our survey to discover if that’s your problem!!!

• Should You Change Careers? Our handy dandy check list will tell you!!!

• Are You a Beer Broad or A Champagne Chic-ster? Find out inside!!!!

I’m pretty sure that if I were hiding in my closet crying about my husband and my job, with an eight pack of yoghurt and a six pack of wine coolers, I could figure I had a problem on my own without turning the page of a magazine to find the answers.

But what “Age” do I belong to? How do you know you are New Age or.....Not?

Examples:

1. You read articles about feng shui, but never bother to move your furniture around. Plus, your front door doesn’t face south, so you are already in trouble, and can’t afford to move. And the indoor fountain you bought on impulse just makes you go to the bathroom more often.

2. You buy aromaeopathy candles with names like Harmony, Wisdom, Peace, and Acceptance. You think your house smells better but you don’t feel:
in tune with your biorhythms
smarter
less tense
or more kindly toward telemarketers.

3. Whenever you try to get in touch with your inner child, you wind up eating dumb things: Fluffernutters, marshmallow Easter chickens, Spaghetti-Os, and tri-colored cereal. You lose your taste for vegetables. You start saying things like, “I won’t, I won’t, I won’t,” and, “You’re not the boss of me,” and, “I’m telling.”

4. You try to meditate but you can never clear your mind of thoughts. When you make an “Ommmmm” sound, it tickles your inner lips. You decide you like your thoughts and clearing your mind causes you to fall asleep out of boredom. You worry that you are not spiritual at all.

5. You go out of your way to buy food at The Farmer’s Market, get good crusty breads, all kinds of fresh fruits, make smoothies in the blender, eat a lot of fish.

But you have one drawer dedicated to Oreos, Big Cheezits, Frito Big Dip Chips, and Butterfingers (the Fun!!! size) You worry you will be found out by the New Age Community who will come and hug you and leave pamphlets recommending yet more kinds of herbals in addition to the seven you already take. You will buy them, just in case there is something to homeopathic cures.

So? What does it all mean? Am I quasi-New Age? A big fat phony? A wannabe?

Most importantly...am I alone?

Rounding up the Wayward Words

2007-06-09T13:50:00.001-04:00

Word Choice and Finding Your Voice

Man invented language to satisfy his deep need to complain.
-- Lily Tomlin/Jane Wagner

Man, do I love words. Words have such power.

I’ve been known to complain bitterly about punctuation, but for now, I’ll leave comma faults and exclamation point addiction for The Punctuation Police, and concentrate on what word choices do to people.

I think about words and sounds. A lot.

Take “despot” for example. I don’t mean take a despot home with you for a BLT and lemonade. But doesn’t the word “despot” sound like someone who would try to lord it all over the premises? The word hisses and spits. More than a dictator, martinet, or warlord does.

But the “esses” in these lines of Poe below don’t hit you over the head or leave a gob of phlegm on your face like the horking despot above.

Listen. Say these out loud:

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me--filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before
(from The Raven)

Listen some more: Silken. Sad. Uncertain. Rustling.

It’s the words that are moving, just out of vision. It could be a soft summer breeze or an evil spirit sneaking, sidling, snaking our way.

Naming Characters

Even people’s names evoke reaction. The character heroes in romance novels are not named Elmer, or Dwight, or Archibald. More likely they are Lance, or Paolo, or Dirk. Also, they are tall. Stumpy is not a word seen in romance novels. The bosomy heroines, with flowing tresses are not Ethel, or Gladys, or Velma. They are Destiny, Franchesca, or Rain.

A Seattle reporter for NPR has the BEST, most mellifluous name I’ve ever heard. Get this: Ruby DiLuna. Oooh. That is magical. I want it for my very own. Or at least for a character in a story. Sigh. If my name were Ruby DiLuna I would have had a very different life. And better hair.

Above I was concentrating on the part sound lends when conveying meaning.

Word Sounds

Turning to the coincidence of words that rhyme, we find something mighty peculiar about a sound.

His face turned ashen when receiving the news.

Uh, oh. That can’t be good. Whatever the news might be, ashen signals disaster ahead.

In fact, when you consider all the words that rhyme with “ash”, you’ve got a violent situation on your hands just thinking about the possibilities:

smash, thrash, mash, crash, lash, clash, bash, gnash, trash, gash, slash—even rash isn’t too pleasant, whether it’s hasty or itchy. Hash is all chopped up. No, no. An ashen reaction is clearly not boding well.

Be Particular

You cannot be too particular when choosing your words. You shouldn’t settle for the first familiar phrase that comes to mind. Likely it’s stale, it’s been laying around so long.

I used to worry that I might have a...wee problem. An obsession of sorts. I wondered if I should join a Twelve Step Program.

Picture it.

Hello. My name is Beverly. And I am a ‘tweaker’.

I've been tweaking for a long time now.

Hi, Beverly!

For you late comers, the other kind of Tweaker 12 Step meets down the hall. Sorry about the meth problem. Can’t help you here.

My tweaking problem started when I realized that nothing having to do with words is ever finished. It might be done, it might be turned in, but it's not finished. So....whenever I can...I grab the chance to make it better. When you have your own blog, it’s even harder to control. The Internet understands the need, the hunger, of a True Tweaker way more than print outlets can manage.

Tweakers sneak into their home offices after everyone is asleep. We don't want them to know. The dogs know. But they keep close counsel. And they’re biscuit sluts.

What would those who love me think of me? Tweaking in the dark, turning the computer screen to a corner so no one can see what I’m doing. Not downloading porn or having a simultaneous cyber affair with eight guys strewn all over the country who all seem to be named Dylan or Ed.

Nope. I’ve come forward, because I know there are others like me. We Tweak. We love words. We want to improve our work. A new day brings a new perspective and a chance to make things better.

Sometimes righting a wrong or a bad move is a hard thing to do when we’ve really mucked up in our every day lives...ignored someone...made a remark that hurt and we didn’t even know it. But our vision and the way we say it is up on the screen available for reaction. Often it’s our own.

Are we supposed to sit there and just watch a limp phrase dangle in the wind? Can’t we go in and get our verbs to agree? Surely we have to take pity on on the apostrophe that doesn’t know where it’s supposed to be. How about a better analogy that wandered over and bit me on the knee? Got to get it off my person and into an argument slot where it can do some good and not pester me, with “Woulda, shoulda, coulda.”

TWEAKERS OF THE WORLD UNITE!!

We are working on our craft. Say it loud, say it proud. Repeat after me, “I TWEAK and I don’t care who knows it.”

Thank you very much. This meeting is over.

Hot cookies await in the vestibule. There’s punch, and a special Long Island Tea you might like to try.

-o-

When Moving Forward, Think About the Past

2007-06-03T09:28:00.000-04:00

Arlene's Mother's Blueberry Cake

Because we are moving back to New England after ten years living in the Deep South (5 years) and Mid-South (5 years) I keep thinking about what it means to go home, in my head and for real.

Because my mother hated to cook, I became a good one. I’m ornery that way.

Mom was a great seamstress. Therefore, I do not sew. Mom could knit Fair Isle patterned sweaters that would make another woman nuts with frustration. I can knit a scarf. A long straight scarf. Let me know if you need one.

Mom thought dessert meant Jell-O. Or something from the pastry shop around the corner.

I didn’t know Other Mothers baked.

When I was seven we moved two towns over, to a different factory town. There I met my new best friend and her mother Alice, The Baking Queen.

Officially, she was known as Arlene’s mother. Maybe not on the voting roster, or on her Filene’s charge card, but to me she was Arlene’s mother, the woman who bakes.

Going over to Arlene’s to play always meant we got to come in the house “so we wouldn’t get over heated, or dehydrated, or God Forbid, get sunstroke” whenever Arlene’s mother said so. She would pour us a glass of the Special Concoction Arlene’s father made (which I now suspect was a lemonade, grape juice, pineapple juice, ginger ale punch). Anyway, it was called The Concoction. And it was delicious.

On some days it would be our other favorite—diluted Lime Zarex sryup. We would have to make about two gallons of it at a time. Then, Arlene’s mother would offer us whatever she had baked that day. Zarex and other regional foods are hard to find but Home Town Favorites is a good place to look for the foods you remember that are not on store shelves now.

Back to the cake.

Arlene and I have a tendency toward chubby thighs. I maintain it was all worth it. Arlene says otherwise.

Arlene’s mother lives in Florida now, and bakes for her condo association. My loss. But before she packed up and moved to her place in the sun, I managed to wrest the recipes of all my favorites. The deal was, I would send her copies of my short stories when I wrote them, and I would name all her recipes after her when I made them.

In the spirit of generosity, I would like to present:

Arlene’s Mother’s Beautiful Blueberry Cake

*you can double this recipe for a larger pan or crowd. You can make two at a time and freeze one.

1/4 cup real butter (softened)
1 cup granulated sugar
1 3/4 cups sifted flour
2 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. salt
1 egg beaten
1/2 cup milk
1 tsp. real vanilla
1 cup FRESH blueberries

Blend butter, sugar, egg with electric mixer on slow speed.
Add dry ingredients in three alternating steps using the milk each time.
Add vanilla until batter is smooth and light.

Wash blueberries in a strainer and sprinkle with Wondra flour.*

*This way they won’t sink to the bottom.

Add to batter.

Bake in a greased/floured 8” square pan

Sprinkle top with sugar and cinnamon if desired.

350 degrees for 45-55 minutes (test until the toothpick comes out clean)

When serving, be sure to say, “It’s Arlene’s Mother’s Blueberry Cake.”

Thinking About Writing: The Warning Label

2007-05-30T15:14:00.000-04:00

A writer friend of mine was in a philosophical mood a few weeks ago. One of the short stories she was working on insisted on cutting her too close to the bone. She found herself upset by what she was working on, and wanted to change details. She wanted to create a happier ending.

Now, this ending she was thinking of might not have been a better ending for the story, but it would have been much happier for her to write about.

She asked me four questions, and they are questions that all writers might ask themselves at one time or another, whether they are poets, or writing a column, or covering a horrible story.

Q: Ever hide behind a character?

Don't we all? Whether we are writers or not, aren’t we different people a lot of the time, depending on our mood, setting, the other characters around us? It’s at least one reason why Shakespeare said, “All the world’s a stage.” We are the players, the watchers, the writers, the cheerleaders, the audience, the buffers, and the creators. Those are a lot of characters to go out in the world on any given day.

Q: Should we really bare our souls?

Rarely. I'm thinking that in this culture of the moment, there's entirely too much of that going on. Too many people walking, wounded, wearing pain as a badge and telling their stories, unfiltered, to anyone who will listen. Including audiences on television.

Q: Is it dangerous, in some cases?

Yes, I think so. It's dangerous in lots of ways. We have our defenses for very good reasons. Who would pay to watch a guitarist who bled every damned concert because s/he couldn't form the calluses needed to play the music long and hard. (OK. Some people would go see The Bleeding Guitarist...but you wouldn't want to BE him. Playing nightly: The Martyr String Quartet, Stigmata as guest soloist)

Q. Why do we write?

What takes experience past venting, dumping, and dissipating? That's the part that interests me. The exploration of ourselves and others in characters, the worlds we live in, the schemes and plans that we can try, the revelation when we are surprised by what comes out on the page, that's the exciting part. Even if it's not clarified at the end. Maybe a glint of illumination amid the murk? Maybe that's enough.

Moving Is an Art

2007-05-28T22:22:00.000-04:00

One Art
by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster. Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn't hard to master. Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster. I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The art of losing isn't hard to master. I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster. --Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident the art of losing's not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
From The Complete Poems 1927-1979 by Elizabeth Bishop, published by Farrar, Straus & Giroux, Inc.

Moving is an art, and I am not very good at it. This wonderful poem captures the feelings of the leavings. In a mobile world, two people--one of whom is me--left New England ten years ago. We were quite happy where we were, but as husband Bill says, "We go where the work is." That meant Georgia for five years. Then that meant Arkansas for five years. The 'art of losing isn't hard to master.' Except on the days when it felt impossible. Tennessee Williams' narrator, Tom, said in The Glass Menagerie, that their father worked for the phone company and fell in love with long distance. Some people enjoy fresh starts. Me? Not so much.

Now it's time to move back. We are building a house. We will wind up with friends and family and know where everything is. Hot dog rolls will open at the top. The ocean will be a mere three hours away. More importantly, the poem's last paragraph disaster of loss does not apply here. I can accept the fluster and the floundering and the fickle unpredictables because we are returning home. Together.