Call the Midwife

First episode of Call the Midwife was stellar. From the British pronunciation of "urinal" (you RYE nal) to the hilarity of Sister Monica Joan: "I require bookshelves! My books have been in boxes for months! If they are not put right, their contents will be jumbled and become deranged!" - to Chummy's disastrous cooking and the scene of her husband tactfully tossing radishes from his lunch into the rubbish, it was a scream. I loved the scene where we were treated to a rather repugnant visual with a comment along the lines of "washing bottles and nappies in the same sink," and I knew right away what Sr. Monica Joan meant when she cited from one of her old books a diagnosis based on a baby's forehead tasting of salt. Two children treated for cystic fibrosis, the wonderful quote: "Once a thing is known, it can never be unknown, can it?" - and Chummy's gratitude for her opportunity to return to Nonnatus House made this a heartwarming hour spent. And now, I must go take my "vittamin" drops!

For the Many Fans of Panera Bread

 

For your delectation, a series of rants I posted on Facebook last night. I hit a lot of nerves and apparently I'm in the minority. So, in the end of this entry, I offer my morning philosophy for dessert:

First Posting:

OK, I need someone to convince me why I should like Panera Bread. Today was my first experience at this eatery, and I think it may be my last, for the following reasons: (1) The person at the counter (granted, it was just at one particular location) mumbled and talked too fast, and I couldn't understand a word she said; (2) I had difficulty figuring out their "Pick Two" menu - I wanted a Thai flatbread and was told, "Well, that's just half a sandwich, folded over." I was told I could add a side of my choice: an apple, chips, or some other thing. I asked her what kind of apple, and she said, "Just a red apple." Just an apple, on my plate, not cut up? I finally went with the Thai flatbread and a cup of chicken soup, and chips. Rant continued in next posting.

Panera Bread, Part 2: So - I was handed what looked like an oversized gaming toy, probably teeming with germs - and was told it would light up and vibrate when my order was ready. It did so, after Marie and my mother and I sat down, and I dutifully got up to retrieve my food. Two great big trays sat waiting for me on the counter. I was supposed to carry both those trays to the table? I don't think so. I explained this to the counter person, who obligingly carried one of the trays. Rant will continue with my experience with my entrée.

Panera Bread, Part 3: The Thai flatbread consisted of a folded-over, dried out piece of something that looked like part of an old overshoe. Inside was an overly-spiced, rather measly portion of mystery food with an undertaste that gave me pause. There was no substance to this food. It didn't even qualify as an appetizer. The chicken soup was OK and the chips were fine, but I still wonder what I consumed. I was reminded of a combination of bugs and twigs and some algae. The iced tea was fine.

Panera Bread, Part 4: They are grossly overpriced.

Panera Bread, Part 5: They serve PEPSI PRODUCTS. Went to Meijer afterwards and bought a bag of M & M's to soothe my sorrows. Paul Anderson - we are NOT going there! EVER!

Panera Bread, Part 6 - I almost forgot. Not only did they try to UPSELL - (Would you like to add a cookie for 99 cents?) but the bread was no great shakes. From what Marie got, there wasn't anything special about it. She things Subway's is better. (Debatable)

Panera Bread, Final Episode: What I set out to accomplish by my posts was merely to vent - but I wondered later if it would discourage people from eating there. I see I accomplished the opposite. I hit a nerve. So, to all my Panera fans, I will chalk it up as a one-time unfortunate experience, and for anyone on Facebook who works for the company, it was just my opinion --- and you guys are doing something right, because I generated a lot of support for you. Yay social media! And Panera, long may you thrive.

 

 

The God Stuff: Rewriting the Twelve Steps

For anyone who knows or doesn't know, I've been a Friend of Bill W. since August of last year, and I have over seven months of sobriety under my belt. It's common knowledge that Alcoholics Anonymous follows twelve steps and twelve traditions, which can be easily googled. The Big Book and its precepts have saved many a life, and I take my hat off to Bill Wilson and Dr. Bob for creating this program of recovery.

However, I'm having trouble with what is commonly known as The God Stuff.

These are the original twelve steps as published by Alcoholics Anonymous:^[10]

1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol—that our lives had become unmanageable.
2. Came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.
4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.
5. Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
6. Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.
7. Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.
8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.
9. Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.
10. Continued to take personal inventory, and when we were wrong, promptly admitted it.
11. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.
12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

First, a disclaimer: The Eleventh Tradition states: When dealing with the media, the traditions of the 12 step programs request that members maintain anonymity, not so much for their protection, but for the good of the fellowship as a whole.

Tradition 11: Our public relations policy is based on attraction rather than promotion; we need always maintain personal anonymity at the level of press, radio and films.

Nowadays, people in recovery are outing themselves left and right, which is thought to be in violation of this tradition. The subject of disclosing one's AA recovery program has come under discussion many times during the 7+ months I've sat around the tables. While I agree that tabloid sensationalism is inappropriate, I have no problem with letting people know I am a recovering alcoholic. I don't blast it all over Facebook and I certainly don't "advertise" the program to people; rather, I try to walk the walk every day of my life and let that be living testimony to the power of recovery. It goes without saying that I honor the anonymity of any person who is in recovery; to do otherwise would be a grave violation of what we call "practicing these principles in all our affairs."

However, I am having trouble with Step Three. The language gets under my craw. First, I want to make this abundantly clear:

1. I am not an atheist and I am not an agnostic.
2. I believe that there is a Holy Spirit that "passeth all understanding," and my mind is open to the promptings of the Spirit.
3. I don't think God is a man, and I don't think God is a woman. I don't believe that you can assign a gender to God because God doesn't have a body.
4. I have become increasingly bothered by hearing both men and women constantly referring to God as "he" and "him." I cannot do this.

I realize it's a semantic problem; we don't have a gender-neutral pronoun unless you use "it." I also realize that it isn't the purpose of AA to sit around the table and debate theology. We are drunks, and we there for the whole purpose of maintaining our sobriety and helping others do the same. I accept that we say the Lord's Prayer at the end, which begins with "Our Father." And when Bill W. and Dr. Bob wrote the book, they used language that would be commonly understood in order to reach as many alcoholics as possible.

I've been mulling over the God issue for a long time, and I went so far as to go to Catholic priest to discuss the topic. He told me that many groups get around the gender issue by saying, to themselves, "Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood GOD."

In talking with this priest, I had a semi-spiritual awakening--hearing a phrase I thought I could accept. I walked away feeling as if my Third Step issue was resolved. It was only when I got home later that I discovered the problem:

• How can we say we understand God?
• How can we use a cognitive verb when discussing our concept of God?

Therefore, I have rewritten the Third Step for myself:

"Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we experience God."
 
There are those who are fondly known as "Big Book Thumpers" who would disapprove of this. There are those who insist we must take the entire book as is, with no changes, and that we should "keep it simple" and "don't analyze." I'm sorry. I can't do this. I am analytical. God as I experience God gave me an analytical brain. And I can't accept an entire philosophy as written without discussion, debate, analysis and questioning. If this means I take a cafeteria approach to AA, so be it. Because one of the other slogans we have is "Live and let live."

The Shape of the Year

All my life, I have had a mental diagram of the year. I don't know where it came from, but it has never changed. Here is what it looks like:

 

My year goes counterclockwise. It is three-dimensional, not flat. I am looking at it and traveling around it. Winter is on the bottom, Spring on the right, Summer top, and fall on the left as you see the diagram. But my orientation (right or left turns) is based on where I am during the year. For example, in August, as I face fall, I am turning left and down. In May, as I face summer, I am turning left again, and up.
 

Diagonal line through December represents Christmas, at which I sense a turn in the year.
 

Vertical line through April roughly represents Easter.
 

Diagonal line in May represents a turning that I sense around Mom’s birthday, (May 6) Mother’s Day, and school being out.
 

June turns from the right side of the square to the top around my birthday (June 17) and the Summer Solstice.
 

The vertical line through July represents July 4.
 

Diagonal line in September is Labor Day weekend, when the year turns downward toward fall.
 

Horizontal line through November marks Thanksgiving and the beginning of the holiday season.
 

Shapes of the months seem to roughly correspond with the amount of daylight.
 

May and June are not perfect ovals. They are more amorphous. I couldn’t get the drawing tool in Microsoft Word to make the shapes I wanted for these months. But in a pencil sketch, they looked almost like amoebas.

 

I think that this concept comes from the school year. Psychologists would have a field day with it.
 

When I have to stop and think what month or time of year it is, I have to picture myself on this diagram in order to orient myself.
 

My months have colors, too. September: terra cotta; October, red-orange; November, grayish black; December, red; January, white; February, murky gray; March, green; April, rose; May, green; June, blue and yellow; July, yellow and red; August, dark red.
 

 

What is your shape of the year?

Salut Printemps!

It's finally here - the Spring Equinox. The Winter of our Discontent is over. I think I'm going to go out and dance barefooot in the snow.

http://youtu.be/ChpisyIoe1w

Athazagorophobia, or why I carry a journal everywhere

 

 

 

 

I'm not afraid of being forgotten, and sometimes I have an actual desire to be ignored - and I've never thought about feeling phobic about being replaced, but I am terrified of forgetting. That's why I have to write so many things down - and why I take my journal with me wherever I go. What if I were in an accident, and ended up in the hospital? Or in jail? (they'd probably take it away from me there). The fact is, I document everything.

 

I have a smartphone and a Kindle with a journal app. Actually - I can get to this blog on both devices. But there are times when one just has to write. As I've probably mentioned before, I've kept a diary/journal since I was 13, and started filling blank journals at the age of 40. I number them, and I'm on #319 presently. 

 

Here, then, is a sampling of random thoughts and observations I might have forgotten if not for the journal next to my computer:

 

• "sunlight of the spirit.."..."praying" for "these people" doesn't help me when there's often a finger stabbing at me...
• I have to shrug. It's karma.
• Why can these "normal" people get away with things?
• I'll take the loss; you can win.
• We napped during Bad Day at Black Rock.
• Blue Jasmine is a good doll name.
• In my mansion, I have many nests.
• Sufi Muslims were the spiritual ones.
• Kim's manicure is "Pompeii Purple"
• Let's just throw our intellect out the window--how refreshing--mine always gets me in trouble.
• Why am I drawn to critical people?
• For every ten minutes I'm pissed, that's ten minutes out of my life.
• I love my Swiffer.
• I'm supposed to "keep tabs on myself."
• The Internet is a megamall.
• Note to self: Today when I sorted all my CDs (close to 660, not including what I have in binders) I realized something: Most of what I listen to are compilation CDs of tracks I've downloaded to ITunes. The only actual CDs I listen to, all the way through, are either motion picture scores/soundtracks or classical works.
• Army Wives Grande Finale is tomorrow night from 8-10, so Paul and I will chat on Facebook during the news.
• Full Crow Moon is rising tomorrow.

It's official. My journal isn't a journal. It's a mini-whiteboard.

 

Wheaton Remembers: Wheaton Community High School In The 1960's - Feb 27th, 2014

I just came across this link today and decided to share it in my blog. I haven't even watched it yet, so I don't know if I'm in it or not.

Wheaton Remembers: Wheaton Community High School In The 1960's - Feb 27th, 2014

This was my high school. I graduated from here in 1968. John Belushi also graduated from WCHS, in 1967--my one claim to fame. I even knew him - sort of. We both played in rock bands, and had a nodding acquaintance in the halls.

In September of 2012, the school was demolished. A Marinelli's grocery store now sits on the site of my alma mater. I haven't seen it yet, and I'm not sure I want to. Why are we allowing beautiful old buildings to be wrecked? It is a disgrace. I don't care if it was a fire hazard, or not up to code. It was the landmark of Wheaton, Illinois, and what a sorry loss.
                                  
                                                                 I loved this place.

I have many happy memories of my high school days from 1964 to 1968. I played my guitar and jammed with my friends and my sister in Folksinging Club once a week after school. We met in Mr. A. Franz Baginski's art classroom. (Ironically, that was the last section to be torn down)

I was in Thespians...

 

 

 ...and in addition to the rock band I dabbled in (called "The Children of Stone,")  I was a member of a folk group consisting of myself, my sister Susan and three friends. We sang "Scarborough Fair" at the 1968 Variety Show. We called ourselves, appropriately, "The Five Folk."

I kept a Diary (we never called them journals!)

 

And I went to the Senior Prom....

 

                                                        and saved memorabilia.........

I went to high school in an era when curly hair was not in fashion. I tried as hard as I could, but I was never able to achieve that long, shiny, sleek look until college, when we had wall-mounted blow dryers in the dorms. This is my Senior Picture.

Even the picture my parents took of me in front of our house in my cap and gown was pretty silly.

 

I didn't think much about my high school days after going on to Northern Illinois University, graduating with a Bachelor of Arts in art and music, working in the NIU library for three years, and coming to Rockford to take a job at Rockford Public Library - which became a 35-year career.

 

Then, after I retired in 2010, I heard rumblings that the school was going to be torn down.

 

In 2011, I was asked to provide a video of myself singing the school's fight song for our school's Facebook page, so I obliged...in my living room, the year I was losing my hair to alopecia areata.
http://youtu.be/bpnd1aUwWvQ 

When the first brick fell in September of 2012, I got very sentimental about those days. I made this video for my classmates. You can hear The Five Folk in the background...
http://youtu.be/4RauUbGvbNk

And finally, here is a video from YouTube of the demolition. http://youtu.be/5JS7xKHkXyk

RIP, Wheaton Central High School.

 

Life goes on. My hair grew back. I'll visit Wheaton in the near future, I'm sure. But I won't be doing any grocery shopping at the new Marinelli's. There are too many ghosts underneath the frozen foods.

 

As I saw it, today

Today Marie and I went to Ruth Ann Molyneaux's reception at Just Goods, to celebrate the opening of her one-woman art show. Ruth Ann and I have been friends since 1977 - we have the type of friendship in which we can go months without getting together and pick up right where we left off. After today, I don't want to let so much time go by before I see my good friend again. There were so many people there from my past -- people I haven't seen in years - people whose children weren't even born yet last time I saw them...all dear to me. We were all running around with our phone cameras, and I made sure to take the time to look at Ruth Ann's wonderful paintings.

 

I posted this above photo because the flash hides much of an image, and I think it is a violation to photograph art work at a show. So, Ruth Ann, I apologize if any of your paintings show up in my subsequent pictures. To everyone: BUY HER ART! She is WONDERFUL!  My favorite is one entitled "Unfolding." Again, I apologize if I have the title wrong - I was too much in awe to write anything down.

 

With Ruth Ann today at Just Goods

 

With Marie

 

So wonderful to reconnect with old friends. It makes me want to go back to my artist days, but I seem to be in writing and music mode right now. Going now to Facebook to send friend requests to people I've missed so much.  It's time for me to climb out of my cave and start getting more involved with everything Rockford has to offer to creative people. Suddenly there is so much out there that I haven't noticed until now - and I just want to grab it all!

 

Oh - and don't forget to spring forward tonight!





Serendipity

Some days are just too good to deserve. Today is one of those. From the moment I got up, things have been amazing and surprising. Probably the first one of these miracles is that I didn't sleep until noon. No alarm clock woke me, either. Very rare occasion.

Then, at a meeting, a friend gave me this beautiful amulet that belonged to her grandmother. I photographed it on top of my journal. What a treasure! All I can do is pay it forward - I have no idea what moved her to pass it on to me. I love it.

 

 

Then, I went to my appointment to get a prescription for generic Adderall. I began taking it today. No bad side effects, and Blue Cross Blue Shield gave me no hassles about the XR (extended release) version. I had no idea, by the way, that that drug is a Schedule 2 controlled substance, and because of this you must present a written paper prescription once a month to a pharmacist....no faxes and no refills and no phone calls allowed. It's fine with me. No longer will I have to use twice the amount of brain power as normal people do in order to focus. I can't even comprehend what that will like.

 

After this, Marie and I went to visit a dear friend of ours who is close to my mother's age. She was in a horrific car accident three months ago, and the fact that she even survived at all is beyond belief. She is in a rehab facility, and we when went to physical therapy today with this wonderful 85-year-old lady, we marveled at her intact sense of humor, incredible bravery and upbeat personality. I have no doubt that in three more months, she'll be coming to the retirees' lunches again, making us all laugh and once more joining in on all the gossip.

 

I took Marie out for Italian beef sandwiches and we came home to relax - I changed into sweats and lo and behold,  I found my cotton knit Acorn slipper socks! I'd forgotten that I'd even had them.  As far as I know, you can't get those any more unless they're made of wool. My toes are tappin'---and warm!

And, in half an hour, I get to talk to Paul!

Is this too good to be true? Am I going to crash and burn?

I don't think so. I feel calm.



 





Bold Goodbyes and Bolder Neon Post-it Notes

I resigned from my volunteer job today. It wasn't without a lot of thought. When I retired from Rockford Public Library in 2010, I couldn't let go, emotionally. So, I got involved with the Friends of the Library and began working in the used book shop three hours a week. Today, I decided that it was time to sever ties completely. As it was so eloquently put in the movie A League of Their Own, this used to be my playground. And it isn't now. (Interesting how the Rockford Peaches, portrayed in that movie whose cast included Madonna, were a women's professional baseball team who played from 1943 through 1954 in the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League. A founding member, the team represented Rockford, Illinois.( Wikipedia)

How do I feel? I feel free. I feel unsteady. I feel lost and wobbly. But I feel great relief. The cord has finally been severed. I can't describe how much it was killing me to go inside that building once a week and know I could no longer go behind the desk, or into the staff areas....I didn't know how wrenching it was until I read some old notes from 15 years ago, when I was first diagnosed with ADHD and refused to be medicated for it, and I had listed all the ways in which I'd struggled with the public desks and the problems I had with concentration and uneven service. In the book shop, some of those behaviors I loathed in myself were resurfacing. It culminated with a woman going off on me last week. I'm done now. Fini. I have officially removed the option for me to feel sad for three hours every Thursday afternoon.

And because when I feel sad, people around me feel sad, I go to therapy. I went this afternoon. This leads to my Big Neon Post-It conundrum. I walked out of my session today with my journal and two rolled-up, hot pink and very sticky pieces of paper with BIG magic-marker notes.

Exhibit A

Exhibit B

 

 

Notice how BOLD they are. How BRIGHT.  How difficult to paste into my journal for reflection. How is this helpful? How can this possibly be discreet? (Posting it this blog has automatically made it indiscreet) How hopeful, that if I have all these suggestions glued into my blank book, I will become a better person.

 

I may also add that Wexford glue sticks suck. The only decent kind of glue stick is a brand called "UHU," which I cannot find in Rockford.



So, what has been accomplished today?

1. I identified and eliminated a source of stress. No more library volunteering gig. I'll find another place to donate my time where I can do so with a full heart and a giving spirit, rather than a membrane of residual yet throbbing pain.
2. I have agreed to try Adderall for my ADHD. If I don't like it, I can stop taking it. My call. I get to make those calls because guess what? I am an adult, retired from the working world and no longer reporting to a boss. These are supposed to be my golden years, and they will be.
3. I decided to tell my therapist to write her helpful notes for me on regular-sized Post-it notes from now on.
4. Beside the point, but I learned that if you go to Pet-Smart, you risk the chance of a giant dog taking a shit right where you were about to push your cart - and that if you go to any store and plan to use a credit card, you might want to make sure it hasn't expired. As I said, this is off-topic.
5. Having thought all this through, I went to amazon.com and ordered a pack of UHU glue sticks for 9.99. Because I wanted the free shipping, I ordered a mesh laundry bag and some Comet cleanser. And now, I am going to bed.

Goodbye, volunteer schtick. Goodbye, bad glue stick. Hello to yet another experiment with better living through chemicals. And now that I have written this magic madness out of my mind, I am going to make an attempt at serenity.

 

Dream doll and scattered thoughts

 

This is what my dream doll is going to look like.

 

The wig I bought on Ebay came today.

I took out the ribbon and combed out the curls.

 

My Lisbeth graciously allowed me to pull her hair back and put the new wig on her head.

So - the dream doll in the first picture is actually Lisbeth modeling different hair.

 

And this is how the dream doll will look when she arrives next month.

I know now how she'll look when I change her wig.

I hate her outfit.

 And her name, Teresa, doesn't resonate with me.

 

 These are the new boots I bought for her.

 

I was going to name her Tressa, but now I don't know. She will have different tresses. Does she have to have a variation of Teresa for her name? The way I see it, when I am finished with her,

she will look nothing like the stock photo I posted of the blonde Teresa, ordered only because I am addicted to that face sculpt. Maybe I should have just rewigged Lisbeth. But I love her look. So, I'll have two with that face. Technically, they will be different: Lisbeth is 17 1/2 " tall and my new doll is 18" tall. And the new one has articulated wrists. So they really aren't the same, are they?

 

This issue is making me crazy.

 

These are some books in my home library.

I need to reread and absorb what is in these books.

We are talking about an 18" doll.

This tiny tornado is scattering my brain.

The shoe fits. Oh, yeah.

 

The above posting comes to you straight from the mind of a twisted doll collector.

 My friends who love me will not only understand, but relate.

I hope.

 

 

 

 

 

Elizabethq

E-mail I just received from Best Buy:

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Elizabeth,

Thank you for contacting Best Buy.

I understand your concern and I'd be glad to assist you with it.

Upon checking our database, I was able to pull up your account. As I did a closer review, I was able to confirm that the name associated under your account is  Elizabethq.

I am pleased to inform you that I successfully updated your name from  Elizabethq to  Elizabeth.

If you have any further questions or concerns, please don't hesitate to contact us at 888-BEST-BUY (888-237-8289).

I do apologize for the inconvenience this has caused you today. We really appreciate you for your patience regarding this matter.

Thank you so much for your business. We value your loyalty as a My Best Buy member.

Sincerely,
Novy Psyche
Best Buy Customer Care Team
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This makes me insanely happy. I shall sleep tonight.

I am officially a curmudgeon

I am not a morning person. I never have been. And now, because I'm a senior citizen, I get to bitch about it and know that people will just shrug and say, "Well, there goes another crabby old lady." In fact, I transcend crabby. I have earned the right to be a curmudgeon, and I claim it. Thus, this rant:

I HATE MORNINGS.

I don't understand morning people. I don't understand the mentality. I certainly get the fact that most of the world seems to consist of "morning people," and that this state of being is respected and preferred, and - in fact - to expect a "normal" person to stay up after the news would be an unforgivable breach of civility.  But we who are night owls get no respect.

I especially cannot abide perky, cheery people who think nothing of phoning us before noon. I never answer the landline phone next to my bed if it wakes me up, because I know it isn't going to be for me. Everyone I want to talk to (1) calls my cell phone and (2) only calls me in the morning if there is a nuclear event.

And am I imagining this, or is it a given assumption that because a person is of a certain age, said person will automatically have the habit of rising at the buttcrack of dawn? Maybe they think we want to watch the sun rise. I haven't seen the sun rise in probably over a decade.

To me, 7:30 AM is the middle of the night.

                                                      GIVE ME COFFEE OR YOU DIE
                                                  

Next week, we go back to Daylight Savings Time. Oh, great. This means we LOSE an hour. This means that the meeting I always to go at noon will feel like eleven o'clock. Either that or I'll show up at 1 PM and it will be over. Just thinking about it is so confusing that I can't even keep the logistics straight. Marie tells me that I should start training myself to get used to Daylight Savings Time - a heads up. Before I know it, it will be spring and the birds will be banging against my bedroom window again. Everyone has complained about the harsh winter we've had, but I've loved the delicious feeling of snuggling under quilts with my cats, or curling up in my chair with my laptop and a mug of coffee. Did I say I don't like nature, either? I really don't. I do appreciate it from the windows of our sunroom. I am an indoor girl. Perhaps it is because we live in Illinois, where you go from subzero windchills and "winter storm warnings" to searing, boiling humidity with about 5 minutes of spring and 5 minutes of fall.

I have to practice getting up early. The indignity!

Which is why I'm sitting here right now bewildered, because I am very, very tired and need to sleep. I can barely keep my eyes open. Oh, wait. It's morning. It's almost 2 in the morning.

OK, so I AM a curmudgeon. A bona fide grouch. I might actually have to go to bed. This might mean I will wake up before noon. I am getting too old to be a night owl! I might turn into one of those awful, horrible, dreaded MORNING PEOPLE.

I'm going to bed now. Good morning.

Contempt prior to investigation: To Poo or not to Poo

This quote first appeared in a story in the First Edition of Alcoholics Anonymous on page 380. The quote began the story "An Artist's Concept":

AN ARTIST'S CONCEPT
    "There is a principle which is a bar against all information, which is proof against all arguments and which can not fail to keep a man in everlasting ignorance-that principle is contempt prior to investigation."
     --HERBERT SPENCER

The story was dropped from subsequent editions and the quote was moved to appear at the end of Appendix II called "Spiritual Experience". This would be on page 570 in the Third Edition and on Page 568 in the Fourth Edition.

Spencer was a very widely known English philosopher, scientist, and theologian during the 1800's. He was also among the creators of the field of sociology. Some were of the opinion that he was among the greatest minds of Victorian England.

I had a debate with one of my friends about whether or not I would be flamed or slammed for quoting Herbert Spencer on Facebook or in my blog, because of the many interpretations of his political thoughts. Whether he was liberal, or conservative, or libertarian - or a hated anarchist by early 20th century standards, I will stand by my agreement with the above quote. For this reason, I have done some research on the current "To Poo or Not to Poo" movement.

For those not in the know, there is a current movement against using shampoo. In fact, in googling this matter, I came across the following:

 

To go No Poo is to stop using shampoo. Why would you want to do this?

1. Shampoo is expensive.
2. Chemicals in shampoo can irritate and dry out your scalp and hair.
3. Chemicals in shampoo can be hazardous to your health.
4. Your body produces oil to naturally condition your hair and keep it healthy. Using shampoo daily upsets the natural balance and causes you to produce more oil than necessary to compensate.

 

Excuse me. I am going to go and vomit now. I am sorry. You may fling your un-recyclable plastic bottles into my face, heave a fistful of Vidal Sassoon products into the side of my head, throw vinegar in my eyes or all of the above. I am sorry. My forehead is part of my face. I wash my face twice a day. My hairline starts at a certain point and the skin underneath my hair is my SCALP. I have an avid disgust for scalp smell. We all know what it's like: spicy, fetid, as rank as rotting eggs. It is not nice to be near. Who on earth would ever stop bathing? Washing his/her face? And I'm being told by the media that I should not shampoo my hair? Is that not like saying we should not cleanse a part of our bodies?

 

I am not buying this.

 

Something is rotten in the state of hair hygiene, and it's more than the stench of sweat and grease and pollution. Someone has to be playing a cosmic joke on us....correction, on females. I have done my investigation. I have contempt. I will poo. I will poo every day. And with my favorite Redken products, including conditioner. And I hope that everyone who plans to come within fifteen feet of me will poo also.

 

Poo for me. You'll be glad you did.

Not All My Children

My other KNC dolls, all of whom I love equally and dearly, requested that I post their photos on this blog, so I will start with Charlotte Willow. Charlotte, originally named "Carlotta," is my first acquisition - she was an early Christmas present from the man in my life. We both love her dearly, and she will always be queen of the group. Lisbeth, not to be outdone,  insisted on having her picture posted again.

I have one of each face mold, and each is unique and precious. There are boy dolls available as well, and it's just a matter of time before I cave. I'm a goner if they come out with one that looks like Charlotte with dark hair and dark brown eyes.  (I guarantee that the first person who reads this entry will tell me that they already have.)

                                                         1. Charlotte Willow Andersson

2. Lisbeth Clementine Johannson

 

3. Evita Katharina Swedberg

 

4. Amber Anja Eriksson

 

5. Brigitta Henriette Hartmann

 

Someone-- please unfreeze my credit card, cook it over a hot flame and liquefy it. For I am a mad woman, totally enamored of and obsessed with these elegant dolls. They have melted my heart.

 

That's why they're called "Heart and Soul."

 

 

The rare, elusive Clementine

I've collected dolls since 1997. I probably have at least 60 My Twinn dolls, at least 6 American Girls, an assortment of Apple Valley dolls I've made from kits, a couple of Himstedts, a couple of Adoras, two Berjusas, some random 18" dolls, a few rare finds, two Barbies and even two action figures. I've probably forgotten to list the rest, because it's late and I'm tired...but I made a new discovery after the My Twinn Doll Company discontinued their 23" dolls and are now offering 18", non-articulated dolls with ugly pajamas and plastic shoes. I do have three of the 18" ones, but the sorrow over the 23" demise steered a bunch of us who collect My Twinn to the Heart and Soul Kidz 'n' Cats line by Sonja Hartmann. I am addicted to these beautiful dolls! I've managed to acquire five since October and I have a sixth one coming.

What, you say, does this have to do with the rare and elusive Clementine? Keep reading....

My Twinn used to have about 48 face molds. One of my favorites was called "Clementine" by the collectors. I had one custom-made, and she has the type of dreamy look that I thought could never be outdone by any other dollmaker. This is Robin Elise, my custom-made 23" My Twinn Clementine. (Her little friend is our sable Burmese, Cassandra.)

When My Twinn began to make the 18' dolls, they resurrected a mold called "Kim" by the collectors, and I caved. The 18" version of this sculpt reminded me so much of the discontinued Clementine that I had to have her. This is little Rowan, with her big sister Robin. I think Rowan is a precious girl, but I still wasn't satisfied.

And THEN - when I got bitten by the 18" KNC Heart and Soul bug,  I discovered the most marvelous face of all! This is Lisbeth, from the Kidz 'n' Cats collection. She has that same elusive, numinous face that I adore in Robin, so of course she came to live with me. This is my Lisbeth Clementine- I didn't even change her name except to add a middle name. I didn't even take down her hair.

Now, the Hartmanns have released photos of the 2014 collection, and I have discovered Teresa. I desperately wanted another KNC doll with this face sculpt and golden brown hair with bangs, but this darling is a bangless blonde. Still, I couldn't resist, and she is on layaway; her release date is in late April or early May. I'm not a fan of the name Teresa.  This is Tressa Elisabeth (her name is a work in progress):

Tressa's look is a work in progress too. I never claimed to be an expert with Microsoft Paint, but I have plans for this girl. I love to re-wig dolls. I wanted to customize a KNC doll with this face mold. When I get finished with her, she is going to be a true little sister for my Robin. Here is a paste-up showing how she might look with golden brown hair and bangs.

 

Or should she be Tressa Clementine?

 

Stay tuned. I have promised her that when she comes to live with me, she will get to wear cute pink boots to go with the pink dress she's coming in, and she'll have her head on straight. I'm not sure I will be able to say the same for myself.

Link to my favorite author's blog!

Paul Dale Anderson has a blog here - check it out!!
http://pauldaleanderson.blogspot.com/

Retail therapy

So I got salt and all sorts of other gunk on my favorite UGGS, and couldn't get them completely clean - and panicked....went to EBay to replace them and got sidetracked by this glorious pair:

and decided I just HAD to have them - so I ordered them. Having done this, I got on a roll and figured I'd find some cute pants for summer - the type you can roll up and turn into capri pants. I got lucky and found three pairs - purple, chocolate brown and navy, and ordered them. The frosting on the cake was this delicious hoodie:

which I of course had to have.

Well...

The boots arrived. I picked up the box from the porch and ripped that sucker apart so quickly it scared the cats. I pulled out the boots and put them on and strutted around the living room, thinking I was very cool - after which I sat down and wrote glowing feedback....and then looked at the boots once more. And the box. The color was "Pansy." These are my new UGGS.

They really aren't that pink. And I do love them. They actually go with a lot of my stuff. So, sigh. They're on my feet as we speak.

 

Today - in this insufferable snow - I drove down to the mailbox to pick up the pants I ordered, after getting the email that they had arrived. I forgot to mention that when I placed the order, I noted that the sizes were listed as Small, Medium, Large and 1X. Everyone who knows me knows I'm no Twiggy, and I can live with 1X, even though I am frightfully jealous of Marie for getting so skinny. That said, I retrieved my package and brought it up to the house and ripped it open, and got out the purple pants first, of course, and put them on. Perfect fit. Then, I looked at the size.

22W.

22W!!!!!!!!

 

I know it's just a number, but I got out my measuring tape and all my other summer pants. All of them were the same size - and the new ones weren't any bigger. I also noted that when I was 20 pounds thinner I was wearing the summer pants from the last few years which I KNOW are size 1X, and they fit me fine. Very forgiving pants, those.

 

I still felt panicked. 22W. I can't do this. What am I going to do? I know - I'll call the company. I need some talk therapy. So a very nice guy (!!!!) answers and I explain the problem. I tell him that my pants say 22W and they fit me fine and I thought they were 1X, and I didn't think I could handle the idea of wearing pants with a label bearing those numbers. I even went so far as to measure my body and tell him how the numbers matched up with their charts.

Then, I looked at their charts again. Just as I was doing this, he was reminding me that in their company, there is no XL.

NO XL.

"Your pants are 1X," he assured me.

Relief.

So - my pants marked 22W are really, honestly and truly 1X, which is fine with me and will be fine with me even if I lose some of this annoying weight.

I'm still going to wash them and put them in the dryer on HOT.

 

The hoodie is due to arrive Monday. It will probably be about three sizes too small. Going now to put my credit card in a container of water and place this container in the freezer.

 



Well, that was fun

So I went through my hard drive, searching in my documents under "Xanga," "My Strands," "Writings," "VIgnettes" and anything else I could think of to find past attempts at computer journaling and blogging. I have offered them here, for what it's worth. Many of them didn't make the cut, because I don't think my friends and family would be able to get together the sum it would take to bail me out of jail if such postings were made public.

I had a miserable block of time at my job of 35 years - it was toward the end of my career, which mercifully ended when we lifers got offered a buyout and I was able to retire at the age of 59. My workplace had changed from a congenial, family-like atmosphere of participatory management and freedom to be outrageous to a divide and conquer, corporate takeover mentality replete with branding, taglines, elevator speeches, upselling, and disciplinary action up the wazoo. Supervisors, formerly mentors who were supposed to coach staff, began to be required to write us up for the slightest infraction. My personality clashed with the fake personality I tried to acquire to survive there. When I left - luckily with an honorable discharge (retirement) - there were too many layoffs for me to count here. I survived the Titanic and I still have the scars.

Revisiting those days has been therapeutic. It teaches me that there is nothing - absolutely nothing in my life now that warrants complaint. The biggest problem at hand as I write this post is our futile search for a full replay of the figure skating gala finale at Sochi. Who got the rights and whisked it away? It's snowing and I want to watch skating. Real skating. Not slideshows. Not pictures. Skating! I should know how to find this on the Internet. After all, I was a librarian.

Sort of.