MKIA and Other “Professional” Designations

I salute people who have pursued extended education in a specific field of study. I would rather have my taxes done by a CPA than by my landscaper who says he is “really good at math”. When I am sick, I search for a Doctor who knows how to diagnose my problem and write a legible prescription. But I think some of these designations are being distributed like car-wash flyers. Take the insurance industry (Please) ~ I took 10 courses to achieve a CLU designation. After obtaining this dubious honor, I found that the studies really didn't help me accomplish my job duties any better but it showed my clients that I had a commitment to my career. At least, that’s what my boss said when convincing me to pursue this purported sought-after designation. However, if I were to ask 100 people what CLU stood for, the only ones who would know would be others in the insurance industry and some of THEM wouldn’t have a CLU-E. As a matter of fact, there are over 30 designations that are available just within the insurance industry, including, CFP, RHM, LUTCF, FLMI, CHFC. Run these by your insurance agent and see if he/she owns any of them or at least KNOWS what any of them mean.
There is an online degree program from Belford University that sells degrees from $379 - $779. I could get a Masters degree for $479 by providing my “life experience” information. Oh, but if I don’t have any “life experience” info, I can take an online equivalency test. Wow. There are similar web sites available to obtain a minister’s license. A friend of mine actually became a reverend in 5 minutes (and $35) and used it to legally preside over the nuptials of her daughter and fiancé/groom in Florida.
Maybe we should just create our own titles. One that I think applies to most of the Murphy family members, including the younger ones, is MKIA ~ Ms (or Mr.) Know-It-All. A friend of mine is a PhD and college professor. She was recently lamenting the fact that her college students did not know the meaning of a particular word. It just so happened that I had no idea what the word meant either! Do you think that I would ask her after what she said about her scholars? Heck no…but I thought I would show HER, so I said, “Well, that seems polysigrievious, doesn’t it? She barely hesitated and replied, “Of course!” The word “polysigrievious” is a word that I made up for a speech class assignment in college. But my MKIA friend wouldn’t dare ask me the meaning!
My nephew Sean recently emailed me a link to a web site that pays a person $3.00 for every TIP that would be displayed on their web page. Heck, they will go bankrupt by paying me, Peg Murphy, MKIA, for all my usable hints about house-cleaning, restaurant tipping, event parking, laundry, pest control and life in general. When I order my next set of business cards, I think I will print, MKIA behind my name. I wonder how many will actually ask me what it means or will they pretend to know?
The real designation should be for the parents of children ~ maybe the Mom with six kids and a husband who pays more attention to the TV than to burping the baby should have three letters behind her name: SIT (Saint in Training).
I think I’ll create a designation for myself.
Peg Murphy, CRAP ~ (Can you figure it out?)
Certified Right About Pretty-much-all-things

How Can I Get Bankruptcy Insurance?

Some people ask me why I left a lucrative career in the Insurance industry. Today I have the perfect example as to why I ran, not walked away.
I will be 56 on Monday. An early birthday "surprise" came in the form of an increase in my health insurance premium. Since I am self-employed, I have an individual policy that I pay for every month. For those of you who work for an employer who provides benefits of any kind, consider yourself blessed.
I have a $2,000 deductible and $25. co-pay for Doctor's office visits. I must spend the full $2000 in health care before I get any prescription drug benefit and then I pay $25 per prescription.
I have NO dental, vision or chiropractic benefit.
In August on 2004, my health insurance premium was $316/month = $3772/yr.
Today my renewal bill is $781/MONTH = $8,372/yr.
If this continues to increase at this rate, in 4 more years I will be spending $35,000/yr on my health insurance.

Right now I am thumbing through the policy to see if it has ANY mental health coverage because I'm about to need counseling big time.

The WHO (World Health Organization) completed a study in 2000 that compared 191 countries in the area of health. The United States is the biggest spender in health care (allocating over 20% of GDP, compared to other countries at 8-10% GDP).
Unfortunately, out of 191 countries the US ranked 31 overall and last in the 17 industrialized nations, including Ireland, Spain and France.
I have trouble even naming 31 other countries!
Guess which country has the honor of boasting the longest life expectancy? We bow to Japan ~ 74.5 years (WHO 2000 report)
United States? We ranked 24th @ 70 years. (based on those born in 1999)

I actually feel so good after venting my frustration that I'm going to cancel my annual mammogram, pap smear and colonoscopy and if I took valium, that prescription would not need to be renewed.

If anyone wants to know what I want for my birthday, it's a promise to vote in the next election for someone who can do SOMETHING about this embarrassment.
Or, money is always a welcomed gift too.

I have officially stepped down from my TIDE soap box now. Where's the Irish whiskey?

Kiss My Grits

Is it a coincidence that the very foods that I find un-appealing have disgusting names? BEETS. Beets sounds like a food item that wants to throttle me? GRITS. Ugh. Now THAT sounds like I’m going to swallow a grime pie. CHUTNEY might be left-over snacks from the squirrel gathering? CABBAGE sounds like garbage if said by a person from Boston. (Yum) STEWED PORK HOCKS. Not only do I not want to digest “hocks”, which I can only associate with baseball players and their nervous habits, but inebriated hocks are way off my menu. Heck, I even have a problem with DEVIL’S FOOD CAKE or DEVILED EGGS. I visualize a pitchfork rising up as I approach either of those food items. RATATOUILLE makes me stutter when I even attempt to pronounce it so why would I want to eat it? RUTABEGA sounds like I forgot my wallet. I won’t even look at a SMELT, whatever that it. Because I like to be neat and tidy, it took me a long while to even take a nibble of a SLOPPY JOE. I wonder who invented that meal and would I want to even see his kitchen? I am a canine lover so HOT DOGS are strictly prohibited. NUTS and PEAS are not my favorite either. Maybe I think way too literally.
Now, on the other hand, I would swim in BEARNAISE sauce or at least, drip it on almost any other food choice, including my cereal. Who wouldn’t enjoy RELISH and HONEY (no, not together!) ANGEL FOOD CAKE and CHIFFON PIE are desserts that must float off the plate and carry no calories. DUMPLINGS are to live for and CANAPES are succulent while FRITTERS are fantastic. SWEETBREADS seem to be the exception to this food moniker hang-up I have.
Now it seems that I have developed a bit of an appetite. What will I have to eat? Problem ~ it seems that I have painted myself in a food court corner with my pickiness based upon the names of foods. Solution ~ I will visit a SMORAGSBORD without wearing my glasses and enjoy whatever! (well, maybe not PICKLED PIG’S FEET)

Agony of De-FEET

I have been blessed with a large walk-in closet. It's absurd to see the amount of clothes and shoes that I own but never wear. It seems that I keep reverting back to wearing the same old comfortable turtleneck, sweater, corduroys and moccasins. Since I work at a desk located in my own home, I don't have to break out the stiletto heels and dry-cleanable suits and satin blouses. (Thank you, Lord!)

Recently I decided that I needed to review my footwear inventory and perform a spring cleaning (in the middle of January).
I made one huge mistake.
I counted.
A woman should NEVER EVER count her shoes. I have this adding machine in my head that turns on automatically and calculates what I have spent.

Let's review:
Four pairs of western boots that I will only wear to a costume party. It seems that each of my three trips to a western town and one yahoo of a rodeo visit inspired me to think that I should give the memory of Annie Oakley a run for her six-shooters. I have four hats to match, of course.
I own eight pairs of spiked golf shoes. When I say "spiked", I don't mean someone has snuck vodka in the souls, I mean they have spikes on the bottom of them. Golfers haven't been allowed to wear spikes in their shoes for 15 years because they tear up the greens. They have replaced the spikes with useless nubbins now on the soul of their shoes, which is no fun. They don't create the snappy clicking sound that you hear when you are looking for your errant golf ball on the neighboring fairway's cart-path.

Of course, I have kept twelve pair of high heels from my past life associated with the insurance industry and just looking at these mini-torture chambers makes my toes curl...literally.

One would think that one would throw out their tap dancing and ballet shoes...especially if they are size 4 and "one" in now size 8 but not me!

As I continued surveying the "shoe corral", I found seven pair of winter boots, including my first pair of "desert boots" given to me by my college roommate in 1973. That year we gave each other the same present without knowing it. (The pair Lynne gave me were of a much nicer quality than the ones I gave her, darn it!)
I even discovered that I had two pair of saddle shoes left over from 1964!

Add these to my every-day rotation of five pair of tennis shoes (I haven't played tennis in 27 years but it sounds better than "grocery-shopping shoes") and six pair of clogs, three mismatched shoes of some kind or another, four sets of slippers, and nine pair of sandals (most that need repair), there is enough footwear to stock four Consignment Shops.

I should NEVER have counted. My calculations showed that I was harboring nearly sixty pair of shoes at a value that approached close to $2,328.34.

So, what do you think I did? Any sane, normal person would throw the fool things out or certainly donate them to a worthy cause.
Not me.

I stuffed them all back in the closet and quickly closed the door before they filed out in protest of poor living conditions.
I think I'll wait until tomorrow to tackle my sock drawers.

Stupid Pet Tricks

I'm sure that you have heard of David Letterman's Stupid Pet Tricks (SPT) ~ where Fido can carry a beer can to the waste basket on command and Sparky can pick up the phone receiver when it rings and Billie-bunny rabbit can ride a skate board.
Well, when I was a small lass (not Lassie) we, too, had a dog that could have qualified to earn the nominal $50.00 for 15 minutes of canine fame. When we first got our tiny French poodle puppy named Fluffy, my 6'1" Dad would get down on the floor and the puppy would lick his earlobes. Pop thought this was such a cute trick that once, when his friend, Jack McCarthy came over for a visit, Dad said, "Jack, watch this." With that, he stretched out on the floor, face down and called "Here, Fluffy, here Fluffy..." Dad was sprawled out alone in the center of the room with his hands on his head waiting for his new pet to perform for what seemed like an hour. After about five anxious minutes of cajoling, Fluffy finally came though with the only trick she felt like doing at the time: she crawled under a chair and relieved herself. Jack McCarthy roared with laughter and gave Fluffy a standing ovation while teasing poor Pop unmercifully. Dad muttered something ~ and that may have been the first time I went to Mom to ask her what a word meant ~ whereby she insisted that if I were to ever repeat it, I would get my mouth washed out with soap.

Back to David Letterman ~ His Stupid PET Tricks was so well received that he started Stupid HUMAN Tricks (SHT). I'm sure we ALL know someone who would qualify for this great honor, but yesterday I saw the Queen of SHT driving on the highway.
I was driving north on Rt. 75, taking some friends to the airport in Dayton and the weather was near blizzard-like conditions. The roads were snow covered and so slippery that we saw cars sliding off the road every half mile. A lovely wintry snow-ice mix was adding to the challenge of keeping the car ON the road. We never drove over 30 mph for the entire 45 mile trip that normally takes about 48 minutes. Yesterday we were lucky to arrive at the airport safely in a nerve-racking 98 minutes.
I think you get the picture.
Apparently a woman driving in the middle lane at 8 mph didn't.
We assumed that was holding up the few cars driving behind her because she was so nervous maneuvering her vehicle with the terrible road conditions. Then we saw her roll her window down and stick out her hand that was holding some kind of stick. As we drove closer, attempting to carefully pass her, we realized the "stick" turned out to be a snow scraper! She was attempting to scrape the snow/ice off her front windshield while steering! The four of us in the car were speechless (a SHT for the four of us, to be sure!) as we could not fathom the silliness of this individual. I thought that maybe someone from Candid Camera was filming expressions of motorists who witnessed this bit of insanity.

I swear I am going to start carrying my video camera everywhere from now on. Although, come to think of it, I'm glad I haven't been video-taped for some of the SHT I've done, like getting in what I thought was my parked car while a woman was sitting in the passenger side, waiting for her husband to come out of the bank.
She should have locked her doors...at least that what I told the police.

A Magical Surprise Gift

I must lay the groundwork for the unfolding of this super surprise. First of all, I had two parents that were ordered and delivered perfectly according to my own specifications. They were darn near perfect. I suppose one of the very few things about my Dad that could have used just a teeny bit of improvement was in his rare releasing of compliments. My Dad passed away two years ago and I have often wondered if he had been proud of me. I do remember him bragging to his friends now and then on the phone (when he thought I wasn't listening) about something I had done of noteworthy attention. But that was when I was a kid. As we grow up we still need our parents approval and I did, indeed, received it from my Mom. Dad was just a little less verbal.
Well, the other day I had re-connected an old phone that I hadn't used in a while. It doubles as a fax machine and two days ago when I entered the room, I could hear a beeping that signaled that I had received a fax. There wasn't any fax that had come through so to stop the beeping noise, I pressed what I thought was the STOP button. A mechanical voice came on saying "YOU HAVE ONE MESSAGE..."

I thought, "that's funny because I haven't used this answering machine in probably four years"

It was my Dad's voice. He had never liked answering machines and if he left a message, it was usually very short and to the point. In his last two years of his life his voice had lost a lot of it's luster and zest. But this message was Dad speaking in an excited, strong voice and my best guess is that he had read an email that I had sent him telling him my progress in selling some thingamajig....

His message was ~ "Hi, Honey! That is great news! Wow! Six sales in a row! I can't believe it..I mean, one or two, but SIX? That is great. I am so proud of you.
...give Bailey (my dog) some extra turkey to celebrate! I'll talk to you soon!"

I stood in stunned silence as a couple of tears made their way down my cheeks.

Thanks, Pop. I'm proud of you too. I can only imagine the trouble you went to for that message to finally get to me. Better late than never.

I won't be erasing that message any time soon, for sure.

Love in the Afternoon

My nephew (37) has a pastoral role at a great Church here in Cincinnati. Tomorrow there is a dinner party being thrown for 120 people who normally don't know when their next meal is, not to mention WHAT it will be. Sean has been asking for help from the community to provide the various items that most of us take for granted will be on our dinner plate on a daily basis.

I know that when I prepare food for friends and family, I love the "chores" of shopping, preparing, cooking and presenting. I feel like the whole process is one giant gift of love that I can show without wanting anything in return. (Ok, maybe I want just a LITTLE help with the dishes)

Take today for example ~ Sean and Annie's 6 year old son, Griffin, was at our house because he was too sick to go to school. I volunteered to watch him for the day and around noontime, I made one of his favorite lunches ~ Grilled cheese with 2 pickle spears and a sprite.
I told him that I made it with lots of love.
As he bit into his sandwich, he looked at me and said, "Peggy, I just swallowed a kiss!" After another few bites, he shouted, "I have all this love in my stomach..it's as big as GOD!"

Well, now, someone has been raising this wee one pretty darn right.
I also surmise by the way his Dad is approaching this free dinner for tomorrow night, there will be 120 people who will feel the love...and you know what? The ones providing the dinner will feel it right back.

People Watching

I love to "people watch". Maybe I am just plain NOSEY? I LOVE waiting rooms at Doctor's offices ~ the bigger, the better because I have more victims, er, I mean, behaviors to observe.
Today I only had 10 precious minutes on my observation deck at a new (to me, anyway) large Dentist office. I am always a wee bit nervous going to the dentist and my nervousness was heightened a bit because this was a new dentist to me. I had the first appointment of the day at 8 a.m. and this particular dental practice housed three dentists and many other hygenists, X-Ray technicians and office personnel. My first order of business was to take note of the efficiency of those working behind the counter. The first person who signed me in and took my new patient paperwork could do a myriad of duties simultaneously. She was definitely the sterotype "Mom with 5 arms, 4 pairs of eyes and the ears to match" as she could multi-task with the best of them.
Her hands were a blur as she guided me through the page on the forms that I forgot to complete, while, in a soothing voice, answered the questions of the man with insurance coverage concerns. While I was doing my homework, she processed someone's payment as she gave them instructions for a follow-up procedure. All that...AND, she was nice!
As I stood with my mouth open in awe, another woman came up to me and introduced herself as my dentist's assistant and she welcomed me to the office with a warm handshake and genuine smile. When she did that, two others looked up from their duties and offered greetings with phrases like, "Welcome..glad you're here"...
Was I in a Sesame Street Twilight Zone?
I took my seat and settled in for some premier waiting room observing. I expected to be there at least 20 minutes because the room was pretty filled. Unfortunately for me, the room was being emptied faster than the OSU players after the Fiesta Bowl.
Patient names were being rattled off and they disappeared behind the door and into the 10 chairs that were waiting to comfort them and their mouth during their time of cleaning, drilling, grinding, filling and molding.
I didn't see or hear anyone crying. That was a good sign at a Dentist office.

So, my name was called and another friendly woman introduced herself and asked how I was doing and even looked me in the eye and waited for my answer! She then took me to my room and the dentist came in to introduce himself immediately and to tell me he would be right in after finishing with the patient in the next room. I felt like I was in someone's home and the hospitality was oozing from everywhere!

The Dentist returned and spent almost an hour with me asking me questions and examining my mouth and ultimately referring me to another specialist for my particular unusual problem. He said he would call me later to find out what the referring Doctor recommended but that this appointment was a "no charge". (I have no dental insurance so this bit of news was most welcomed)

OK...my ultimate observation from this visit is that I would like everyone of his staff to come over for dinner and be my bff. Now on reason for this ultimate experience is that maybe they let that "happy gas" (that is sometimes used on patients) escape through the air-vents and that's why everyone is in such a good mood.

Whatever it was, it was a delightful surprise and I didn't even have to rinse and spit once!

I Have a Dream ~ Remove H A T E

"Like an unchecked cancer, hate corrodes the personality and eats away its vital unity. Hate destroys a man's sense of values and his objectivity. It causes him to describe the beautiful as ugly and the ugly as beautiful, and to confuse the true with the false and the false with the true."

~ Martin Luther King Jr.

For the sake of these and all our children:

Two Fool-Proof Weight Loss Plans

Finally! Stop the presses! Seriously, here is the perfect diet. I’m not kidding, here it is…


Eat less. Exercise more.


OR…

Try new recipes ~
It never turns out like the succulent picture on the little glossy card ~ and it is usually un-edible.


You can quote me.

Who Gives a Hoot

My latest conundrum (I love that word) is being awakened by the annoying sound of woodpeckers doing what woodpeckers do best against the side of my house. I wonder why they do that. Haven’t we all heard the phrase, “Oh, you’re just beating your head against the wall” ~ interpreted as, “quit it…you are not solving any problems and you are hurting yourself!”
So, haven’t woodpeckers heard this famous saying? What exactly are they trying to accomplish, anyway? Is there a “Pecking Olympics” being held somewhere in our neighborhood? If there is, my little Woody is certainly training hard for it.
Now please understand that I am all for sports, competition and athletic training, but my insurance company frowns upon claims for damage done by members of the aviary world. So, I decided to contact my local bird store and ask for assistance. Phil was quite helpful, informing me that an owl would certainly scare off woodpeckers. Since he didn’t have a real live owl to sell me, he sold me a 24 inch plastic owl with a swerving head and a sound that resembles a sick goat that emits from little “Oscar”. I felt compelled to give a name to our “Guard-Owl” since I don’t want to say, “Hey, you ~ you’re mid-morning break is up, starting hooting.”
Phil also suggested that I should change the position and location of Oscar or the woodpeckers would “catch on” and return to their pecking order. Now if a woodpecker is so dumb as to beat their beak against a hard object all day, are they smart enough to discern a plastic Oscar from a real owl?
$25.95 says I should pay attention to Phil. Plus the fact that after 5 days without changing Oscar’s placement, there were FIVE Woody’s at the side of my house, competing now in the Pecking Olympic trials.

I returned to the store with Oscar tucked under my arm, requesting a refund from Phil. He pointed to the sign that said, “ALL SALES ARE FINAL, which to me says he joined the Woodpecker brigade in “not giving a hoot”.
Surprisingly, I did buy one more item from dear Phil ~ a shovel.

Raw Data or "Batter" Up!

Maybe I'm the only one in the entire universe who doesn't like uncooked cookie, cake and brownie batter. On the very rare occasion that I might actually BAKE something, if I take the used bowl and mixing utensils to the sink to wash, whomever is within 50 yards will verbally attack me like I was about to put filet mignon down the garbage disposal or aiming a hair dryer at a 6 foot Snowman.
Then the bowl, spoon and spatula are converged on like bees at a honey convention.
Why would anyone like un-cooked batter? And if everyone seems to love it so much, why do we not see it on the menu of our local dining establishments?
I can see it now:
(1) 2" fudge brownie - $1.95
(1) Tablespoon of uncooked brownie batter - $2.50

And just so I am making myself perfectly clear, I also don't care for almost ANY uncooked "real food" (excluding the raw veggies and fruit that I so dearly cherish).
Please don't try to tantalize me with high-brow sushi and steak tar-tar. Which reminds me, if raw sirloin (hamburger, to me) is such a delicacy, why would those in charge of fancy cuisine names tack on "tar-tar" to their precious "ground round"?
Oh, wait. Maybe I can figure this out myself. Let's return to the menu scenario.
Which would Mr. Fancy Pants want to order when trying to impress Ms. Snub-nose who happens to have a nice set of "who-whos"?
$5.95 - 2 oz. raw catfish or
$18.95 - 2 oz. sushi

$5.95 - Burt's Best Burger or
$18.95 - Tar-tar du jour accompanied by the chef's special sauce (probably mustard)
Heck, one doesn't even get a sesame seed bun here!

I'm guessing that George Forman is "in my corner" on this.

Return Those Library Books!

My parents taught us to use the library instead of spending money on buying books. I figured that my folks read an average of about 4 books a week between the two of them.
If the average book cost $10.00 (hey, they read both hard-back and paperback), that would be a savings of $40/week. In one year they saved $2000...or over 50 years ~ WOW! $100,000!
So, why don't more people use the library?
People say, "well, I don't like reading what others have held in their hands"...oh, PLEEZE! Then you had better not ever turn a doorknob or use a shopping cart!
Some others will offer this as an "excuse": "I like to keep them around so I can re-read them" I understand! That's why there is a LIBRARY.

I just read two stories in the news...one where a gentleman was returning a book he took out in 1960 and owed $171.35 in fines. The library had written this over-due/missing book off but the guy decided he wanted to "do what was right"...
The next story is a little different. A woman in TEXAS (you know, that state that wants to cecede and be it's own country) was driving her car when a police officer pulled her over for a minor traffic offense. As he checked her record, he found she had no insurance and her license had been revoked. He was getting ready to write her a ticket for all those infractions when he found that she had a warrant out for her arrest for unpaid library fines that totalled $118.00. Out came the handcuffs and off she went to jail. I guess in Texas, you can drive like Annie Oakley but don't you be dodging the "library law".

I probably have paid for a wing of our library in fines. I must average $1.10/book in overdue fines but it sure is better than buying them. Don't get me wrong, I have a huge library of my own filling six floor-to-ceiling shelves. My excuse is the books were either given to me as presents; the books are of such an unusual topic that no library will carry them or they are reference books or they have been personally autographed.

By the way, two HIGHLY RECOMMENDED books that you will soon want to read are Humor Can Be Kinda Funny, and 55 Jobs in 55 Years, both books due out in March/April written by a not-so-famous author, available at local bookstores and Amazon.com. You do NOT want to borrow these from the library. You DO want to buy them and many other copies for friends, family and strangers. I also can get them autographed for you.

Now that I think of it...libraries are closed half the time...and many times there is a problem parking and the weather is usually hot, cold, rainy or snowy as you walk from the car to the library, where they don't always have the book you want when you want to read it...
come to think of it, who needs libraries? Amazon.com forever!

Tic Toc, Tic Toc, Where the Heck Is My Clock?

It seems as though my life revolves around time.
As soon as I awaken, I look at the alarm clock to see if I should bolt out of bed and start the day in a frenzy or ~ will the timepiece grant me a “stay of execution and grant me “just 5 more precious minutes”? It doesn’t seem like there is a happy-medium (unless you count the psychic who gets paid big bucks to bring messages from the dearly departed). I am either rushing to catch up to the clock or wanting time to move more quickly ~ i.e. watching Dr. Phil in the lobby of an auto repair shop.

I don’t wear a time-piece but I LOVE timers. Ecstasy would be to have a timer in every room of the house, guarded by a backscratcher and a nail file. That would give me such security! Of course, in the living room I would need about 4 timers. I could use one to be set to stop me reading and remind me to turn on “Dangerous Housewives”; another to nudge me in the direction of taking the garbage out by 9 p.m.; one more would allow me to double check the automatic oven-cleaner’s timer; and the last one to tell me it’s bedtime.
At this very moment, I have a timer set for 12 minutes so I can finish this article and move on to the timer that prevents me from burning the brownies and then one that reminds me not to leave the wet clothes in the washer to mildew.

I remember the time my brother asked me to tape record a radio show that he was going to be on in Columbus. He said, “just turn your recorder on about 10 p.m. Can you remember that?” I was rather insulted but shrugged it off. I figured the best way to remind myself to complete his request was to employ a method that I had read about where one slides a rubber band around their wrist. The theory is that when you looked at this foreign object, the memory light bulb would burn brightly and shine on the reminder subject. So, there I was, on my comfy couch, totally immersed in this great book, Valley of the Dulls, when I noticed this elastic on my wrist. I searched my brain as to what it was I was supposed to do and when I couldn’t remember, I figured it was there to remind me to get more sleep, so off I went to bed. Two hours later the phone jarred me awake and my brother was asking me if I got the recording. He was so happy about his appearance on this radio show as he felt that he had really been quite funny, if he did say so himself.

I’m not sure he ever forgave me.
Well, the timer just rang so I’m done here. Now, what did I say I have to do next?

Gone Fishin'

I am in the mood to go away.
Stop the blog.
Stop the world, I want to get off now.
It is probably the "POST HOLIDAY LET-DOWN"...and the fact that I am starting my 56th job BEFORE I turn 56 in February. It may also be that my editor returned 3 chapters of my book, 55 Jobs in 55 Years for re-writes.
WHAT? My book isn't perfect?? GRRRR...what do THEY know?

So, the world looks so different from just 4 days ago. It was still Christmas season and there were still fun lights to enjoy as you drove around the neighborhood.

Maybe if it snows and I can fulfill my promise to Griffin to make the "Best snow igloo this side of Europe" I will feel better.
Isn't there always something on the horizon that we hope will come closer so we "feel better"?

Ah, today I make my own fun and forget what I don't have; release the fact that people don't act EXACTLY like I want them to; and nurture the wonderment I do have.

Amen, sister.
But I still may go fishin'. I haven't done that for 35 years and I was lousy at it but had a great time!

Cheers To You in 2007!

I received this New Year's Wish from a good friend and thought that I would pass it along ~

My Wish for You in 2007

May peace break into your house and may thieves come to steal your debts.

May the pockets of your jeans become a magnet of $200 bills.

May love stick to your face like Vaseline and may laughter assault your lips!

May your clothes smell of success like smoking tires
and may happiness slap you across the face
and may your tears be that of joy.

May the problems you had forget your home address!