Is it wrong that I don’t know how to cook a turkey?  Growing up, I only saw it done once a year, on Thanksgiving, and that annual family ritual didn’t provide the best of training. My father, who for 364 days of the year never entered the kitchen unless ordered to do so at gunpoint, would completely take over this domestic domain for Thanksgiving.  His mission:  to stuff the turkey. 

Now mind you, my mother still had to do everything else for Thanksgiving dinner, but she wasn’t allowed in the kitchen to do any of it until the turkey was stuffed.  And woe to the child who hadn’t eaten breakfast before Dad commandeered the kitchen, because we were no longer permitted to enter.  One year he actually cordoned off the area with ropes.  So we got pretty hungry on Thanksgiving Day.  This was good planning on his part though, because by the time dinner was served, we would eat almost anything, even his stuffing

The making of the stuffing was quite the production.  My dad would wear an apron, which was an endless source of amusement for us kids.  It wasn’t one of those unisex barbecue aprons; it was always one of mom’s, complete with flower-embroidered pockets.  It looked particularly ridiculous on a bespectacled bald guy wearing a starched shirt and pressed pants.

We didn’t hang around to be amused for long, though…. Continue reading →

An Ode to September

Oh how I dread the start of school,

It’s enough to make me act the fool.

Nay, it’s not the empty house I mind, nor even waking kids on time.

It’s not the morning rush to dress, not the carpool with its added stress.

The foulest element of back to class

Is the set of supplies I must amass.

Pencils and pens and binders - oh my!

Paper, erasers and markers to buy.

Oh, what a nightmare!  What a pain!

Oh, how I hate to shop again!

Lo, I spy the crowded aisles!

Behold the lines that stretch for miles!

I gnash my teeth as I hie yonder, wrestling with a cart that wanders.

Woe to me!  I find stock depleted, mostly of the stuff I needed!

I must hence get me out the door, to yet another supply store.

And then with dismay, go out once more, for what the kids forgot before.

PhoneCoPhobia - the Fear of Calling AT&T

This morning, there was a downed phone line in front of our house. My husband suggested that I call the phone company to report it, and I started to hyperventilate.

The last time I called to report a problem with the phone, I found myself kneeling in the rock bed on the side of the house, unscrewing the cover on a little gray box so that I could check the dial tone on the thingy outside - working as fast as I could, because if I didn’t get that cover off and press 1 if there was a dial tone and 2 if there wasn’t, I was going to have to start all over.  Thank goodness the box was the problem, because I was sure that the next automated instruction would be to strap on some climbing boots and shinny up the utility pole to check out everything up there.  I could only imagine what the little voice would want me to do for a downed line.

Seeing my panic, my husband suggested that I try reporting it over the internet.  That sounded much more manageable, so I went in and fired up the computer.

A few screens into it, I realized that this had some similarities to the automated phone process.  One, I would be significantly older before I finished.  Two, by the time I got through their trouble-shooting diagnostic process, I’d be qualified to hang out my own phone repair shingle.

Before the system would yield the top secret e-mail address for my particular problem, I went through eight screens of questions.  Finally, I got to choose ‘repair’.  Excited, I realized I must be almost there.  And then I got these three options:

• Open or check status of repair ticket online
• Help yourself: technical support -High speed internet
• Help yourself: customer support - Wireless Service

Now, do any of these sound like they apply to what I need to report?  I didn’t think so either.  And for crying out loud and heavens to Pete - why, after all this, are two of my three options to ‘help myself’?

Just when I decided that the phone line could stay down for all I cared, I recalled the priceless wisdom of a not-so-ancient philosopher/technician.

“Call the help line and keep pressing “0″ until somebody talks to you.”

It works.

When the government announced that they were going to send out the economic stimulus checks, I must confess that my reaction was negative, maybe even cynical.  Isn’t it  irresponsible to send out all that money when our national debt is the size of the Himalayas?  I really thought that we should return the check - voided - with a polite note, “You guys are idiots.  Do you really think people will be sucked in by this cheap political maneuver?” 

I envisioned myself launching a national campaign:  Millions of fiscally responsible citizens like me would return their stimulus checks.  I pictured the money being used to offset the national debt.  Soon, the sun would be shining, birds would be singing, and we would all be headed for a brighter tomorrow.  Plus, I would probably win some sort of award for leading the way.

My husband, however, saw it differently.  He didn’t envision me receiving any kind of award, for one thing.  Continue reading →

To natter is to talk incessantly or idly………..or in this case, to type incessantly or idly. I can’t do “incessantly” today, because I have pressing things to take care of, like laundry, but let me give “idly” a shot: I’ve been pondering some deep questions lately……………..

Just how many games of Spider solitaire does it take before one goes from “taking a break” to “avoiding work altogether”?

Does anyone ever say “I’ve become my mother” like it’s a good thing?

Aren’t quotation marks “weird”?

Not being a great philosopher, I’m not really qualified to actually propose answers to these critical questions of our existence. Hence, I leave that to you, dear reader.