no, seriously. let them eat cake. just ask pope francis what his opinion is.

colleges do it.

social service agencies do it.

summer camps do it.

for-profits do it.

orphanages do it.

even families do it.

and they're all wrong to do it.

what is it? serving nice food to the "important" people and serving ordinary (sometimes even crappy) food to the regular "slobs."

every "parents'day" while i was in college, the dorms dished out fancy grub. t-bone steaks, baked potatoes with your choice of toppings, ceasar salad - not regular iceberg junk - and an assortment of desserts, catered from the local wherever. and they put tablecloths on the tables and centerpieces in the center. even the salt and pepper shakers were upgraded.

same thing at social service agencies when the people with the deep pockets stop by.

same thing at summer camp, also on parents' day.

same thing at rich businesses trying to get richer.

same thing at orphanages. (come on. you really think they served daddy warbucks that slop?)

it's even the same thing in our families. we save the nice dishes for holidays, when company will be over. we plan menus that go above and beyond when "special" family members are invited. on wednesday night with "just" the nuclear family? somethin' out of a box. or a bag.

i am not going to spend one second discussing why all of these places/people do this - we all know why. come on.

"Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me."

did it to one of the least of these, too.

did it to me.

"one step closer to being a man"

with apologies to whomever (whoever? i never know) that title might offend......


yesterday, my 5-year old grandson, charlie, fractured his tibia in what the docs say is an especially bad break. right before leaving the hospital last night, his parents (my daughter and son-in-law) snapped this photograph:

don't let the photo fool you - charlie was not a happy camper. he hurt like holy hell.


i posted this pic on my facebook page and without surprise, the comments came rolling in. but one of them stood out like a, well, like a sore thumb (up). i mean, like a sore leg:


"one step closer to being a man."


plenty of you are probably gonna go off all half-crazy with "what kind of sexist comment is that " but i couldn't be prouder of the man - john ashman - who made it. or of the boy - charlie bowman - whom (who?) he made it about.

john ashman knows that being a man has nothing to do with being macho. being a man has everything to do with going home at the end of a long day/night in the emergency room and being patient with your little siblings who want to jump all over your cast.

being a man is saying, with tears in his eyes, "i'm okay, grammy. i'm okay." and in so doing, is becoming okay.


john ashman knows that boys do not become men overnight. any more than girls become women overnight.

and he knows that the school of hard knocks toughens ya up - gender aside - better than any other school anybody has ever dreamed up.


john ashman has earned the second syllable of his last name.


charlie bowman is earning his.

prom

time to kick that tradition to the curb. which is saying a lot. cuz you know how i feel about tradition.

if prom ever did make sense, it certainly doesn't now. to paraphrase peter, paul, and mary, how many roads must have a fatal prom night accident on them before we call it a day? er......a night?

i remember my first prom (i actually went to two - my junior year and my senior year). i hounded my parents - and, surprisingly, they eventually gave in - to let me stay out all night. i argued that a prom without an all night is like something - i forget now what my analogy was - but it must have been pretty good because like i said, they gave in.

i also remember my grandfather, upon learning what i had chosen to wear for "after prom" (a pair of purple "hot pants"), telling my mother that she had lost her mind. my mom thought so, too,  but defended her (their) decision with a sigh and something lame along the lines of, "well, i guess times have changed."

indeed. times had changed. sign enough right there that the slope was starting to slide. 

and you know how slopes are.......

they only slide down.

how to inhale

i like to cook fancy and i like to cook down home and lemme tell you somethin' - down home smells better. 

waaaaaaaay better.



right now, i'm makin' pork chops and beef stew. and later on, ima make lasagna and a ham. and let's just put it this way......i'm not gonna need the lasagna or the ham to make it smell good in here.

fancy food that you stack vertically on a plate drizzled with balsamic something or other sure does look good. and it tastes fabulous. but when was the last time you walked into somebody's house and said, "mmmmmmmmm! smells like balsamic something or other drizzled on a plate!" 

i love a good dover sole with clarified butter and lemon reduction. it looks good and it tastes like someone cooked it in heaven. but, from a smell standpoint............meh.

i remember once when i made cream of chestnut soup laced with sherry. and the time i made chilled melon soup with champagne. newsflash: neither chestnuts nor champagne smell all that good. especially compared to a burger.

(second newsflash: i appear to like soup.)

(third newsflash: i appear to like alcohol.)


speaking of soup, have you ever walked into an ohio house on a cold autumn night and smelled homemade chili?????



and to think that some of you live in florida.

THIS side of the rainbow

i understand the appeal - and the value - of traveling. 

i just don't feel the need to do it.


it's funny. before the bottom fell out of my life, i enjoyed traveling. had a big long list of places i wanted to go. now, i don't. my big long list is now short. so short that it doesn't have any place on it that i haven't already been. 

aren't i lucky? and smart?


you might think i'm the opposite of lucky and smart. you might think i'm:

1. depressed
2. small-minded
3. boring
4. in need of an energy drink

i am none of those things. trust me. i know myself better than you know me. most of you know me via a computer screen. come on.

my tragedy brought me to the best possible place on the map - home. i mean that figuratively. and literally. 

sometimes (and i do have my moments), i think about going somewhere. somewhere exciting. somewhere new - fresh. somewhere where i can learn something different. appreciate something different. get to know people who are nothing like me.  and then.....i realize.....

i'm there.

look is more than a magazine that stopped being published in 1971.

i attended a seminar on autsim spectrum disorder this week and while i didn't learn too much of anything that was new, i was reminded of the importance of.......looking.

the seminar presenter asked us to name off some things that would lead us to assume that two people, if we were to look at them out in public somewhere, were friends. as opposed to strangers - or even just acquaintances.

the group said things like smiling. sitting or standing relatively close together. making eye contact. leaning in (no, not sheryl sandberg's leaning in - the literal leaning in). hugging. taking a selfie! 

stuff like that.

so then, what the presenter did was, he walked over to one of the seminar attendees, sat down right beside her, and leaned in. gave her a hug. looked into her eyes. smiled at her. pretended to take a picture of them together. and then he said to her......"you're my friend!"

and even though it was just an academic exercise, she scooted back. she looked wary. actually, she looked like "what the??"

the presenter then asked us what he had done wrong. "i did everything you guys told me friends do! i sat close to her. i smiled at her. i hugged her. but she backed away! what did i do wrong?"

well, said one of the attendees, you can't just do those things one time and expect to be friends. friendship takes time.

"time?" said the presenter, "take time???? where do i take the time? do i take the time over there in the corner? or do i take the time over to the woman i would like to be my friend? where do i take the time? and........where is the time.......so that i can take it? i don't even know where the time is. is it in one of you guys's purses?"

no, no, said another attendee. you don't really take time. what we mean is, being friends is something you build. it doesn't happen right away.

"something i build? like legos? where are the legos???"

the point, obviously, was to drive home for those of us who are not on the autism spectrum how confusing and hard life can be for some of the ones who are on the spectrum. that what we just take for granted can be rocket science for someone with autism.

and the bigger point, at least for me, was the reminder that it isn't just those who are on the autism spectrum who find life confusing and hard. we all find life confusing and hard. in one way or another - for one reason or another. 

one of the primary skills that clinicians who work with people who are autistic try to teach their clients to do is to make eye contact. to look another person in the eye when you talk to them. sometimes, to look them in the eye even if you're not talking to them.

look them in the eye, we teach autistic children.

look me in the eye, autistic children teach us.

angry on Easter

i know of no other denomination whose members leave church before church is over. unless someone is sick. but catholics do it all the time. it's outrageous to me.

but, the outrageousness of that can be topped by catholics who leave church early even. when. the. priest. started. things. off. by. asking. them. politely. not. to. 

and, what tops the outrageousness of that are catholics who leave church early even when the priest started things off by asking them not to.......on Easter Sunday.

i feel like turning over tables!

no. the Christian message of forgiveness is not lost on me. neither is the one about respect.

to thumb your nose to those of us who are here because we take this stuff ser.i.ous.ly is one thing. to thumb it to a priest is another.

and to thumb it to God is, is........well. it is so offensive that as soon as i get done turning over tables, i'm gonna spit.

and pray.

pray that God spits, too, and makes mud out of it, and puts it on your soul,

so you can see.

the Easter garage

abby and the kids and i (eli was sick) went to my parents' house today to have a little pre-Easter celebration. and guess what the hit of the day was?

no, not the Easter egg hunt (though they loved it).

no, not the Easter cookies and treats (though they loved them).

no, not the pbj sandwiches which grandma and grandpa made them - instead of some kind of fussy, uptight glazed ham.

no, what they loved the most was.......(wait for it).......

grandma and grandpa's garage. their garage!



first of all, my parents' garage, with a door to the inside and a door to the outside, creates an irresistable circular running course. you can either run from the garage to the outside, through the garden, into the condo, and back into the garage OR you can really mix it up and run from the garage into the inside, out through the garden, and around into the garage again. either way, this is more fun than should be legal. (and, with the shrieking volume what it was, it's probably wasn't.)

the other thing is, these children have never seen a garage this clean. this airy. with this much room to move. only my parents would have a garage that looks like all it needs is a comforter and it could be a 4th bedroom. (which, sidebar here, my mom told me that she and my dad asked their cleaning lady if she would be willing to clean their garage - for extra pay, of course. and the cleaning lady said, sure, she's never had anyone ask her if she would clean their garage before but, what the heck, sure.....i'll clean it. and i said to my mom, i said, "mom, what on EARTH is there to clean in your garage? we could have a WEDDING in that garage!" and my mom said, well, i know.......but it's not perfect. and i said, mom, no wonder i'm screwed up. i have a mom who wants a perfect garage. and she said, just imagine how much more screwed up you'd be if you DIDN'T have a mom who wants a perfect garage. and.......i gotta admit......i had to stop and think about that one.)

but, anyway......the kids loved the garage. and every now and then, i'd hear my mom saying to my dad, "i hope there's nothing out in that garage that can hurt them," and my dad would say, "nah. just a circular saw or two." and my mom would say, "well, as long as they're clean."

:) 

no, not ANY way you slice it.

i like to cook but i am not "a cook." if i were "a cook" i would cut up celery like this: chopchopchop. 

what i do instead is, i grab pretty much the first knife in the block and start cutting - not chopping. and i cut slow. like this: cut........cut........cut........

the reason i don't grab the big knife and chopchopchop is that i don't know how. i mean, i know how to grab a big knife (don't piss me off!) but i don't know how to cutfastlikethis: chopchopchop.

i have tried to chopchopchop but i just don't have the knack. what i "lack in knack" i make up for in (besides poetry).....appreciation.


i appreciate the fibers in the celery. sometimes, i cut slow enough to count each one. dinner might be late, but i live alone, so who cares.

i examine the garlic skin. hold it up to the light. i've found that the more you can see through the skin, the more garlicky the garlic is. bet you didn't know that, you chopchopchoppers.

peppers are fun to cut. especially the orange ones. maybe just because i like orange.

onions? well, sigh. onions are a pain in the ass, period. the best way to cut onions is to use a machine. that's just the plain, God's honest truth.


i realize that "real cooks" - the ones who chopchopchop and use all the right utensils and wear white coats - end up with way better meals than i do. but i am not aiming for 5 stars. or even 1.

what i'm aiming for is a good enough meal that i had the good enough common sense not to rush through before it even was a meal.


not to mention the pleasure of writing about it the next day.

:)

dirty feet

Christ taught us to humble ourselves so low that we would stoop - literally - to wash - literally - another person's feet.

indeed......that's humble. but, so too is (or can be)the washee. we don't usually think of it from that perspective. i think we should.



i wasn't expecting a wake-up call in the form of my feet, but that's how it came nevertheless:

tonight, in many Christian churches across the world, 12 people from each congregation (12 apostles/12 people......get it?) will have their feet washed by their priest, pastor, minister, whatever - in observance of Christ having done the very same thing for His apostles in the upper room on the night before He was crucified. He did it to instruct them how to behave. how to erase the lines between the haves and the have nots. to teach them that only by being lowly can they be elevated. and to show them that, hell, if He can do it, they sure as shootin' oughta be able to do it, too.

that's what happens tonight. what happened last night, for me, is where my wake-up call comes in.

last night, i received a facebook message saying that my church needs more volunteers to have their feet washed. would i be willing to volunteer? 

first thing i did? first thing? i took off my shoes to examine the state of my pedicure.

second thing i did was run upstairs for the pumice stone. on the way to getting the pumice stone, i mulled over what color polish i should choose, too.



and then, my feet did what all humble feet should do - they stopped. they stopped dead in their unpainted, calloused tracks.

facts

here's one for ya: there are too damned many of 'em. or, more accurately, there are too damned many supposed of 'em. half of 'em (that's a fact) are no more a fact than the man in the moon.(see what i did there?)

we are flooded in this world with so-called facts and then it's our job to plow through half (fact) of 'em and figure out which half really is factual and which half isn't factual. which, of course, nobody has the time to do. only to end up finding out that it isn't half of 'em that are factual anyway, it's only a quarter of 'em that are fact. fact.

one of the biggest problems in the world (fact) is that people's common sense goes right out the freaking window when they're presented with 'em. you really think that all other things being equal, children do as well in day care centers as they do in their parents' arms? i mean, huh? think that through, people! 

and, if it is true, then what the hell does that say about a parent's value? or, more accurately, what does it say about your values if you value a ridiculous "fact" like that?



all of the above is fact. no need snopesin' it.

do they still have debtors' jail?

i owe the feds seven thousand somethin' and the state of ohio a thousand somethin.' true story.

if i were not an idiot, i wouldn't owe the feds a dime - they would owe me (a little) - and i wouldn't owe the state a dime, either. but, alas. i am an idiot.

i began drawing spousal support last year and - idiot me - i plum forgot that i have to pay income tax on that sucker. PLUM FORGOT!

add to that the fact that since i plum forgot to set aside money for taxes for 2013, i also plum forgot to start setting aside money for taxes for 2014. until just recently, that is.

just recently (and by "just recently" i mean about 3 weeks before i had my taxes done), some kind of crazy light bulb, apropos of NOTHING and totally out of the blue, went off in my head. and i was like, O. M. G.  - I. HAVE. TO. PAY. TAXES. ON. MY. SPOUSAL. SUPPORT.

the light bulb, which hereafter will be referred to as GOD, saved me from probably having a heart attack or hell, who knows, freaking suicide - just kidding - when my accountant, 3 weeks later, announced to me, "well, nancy, you owe seven thousand somethin' to the feds and a thousand somethin' to the state of ohio." had God not nudged me, i might not be here writin' this post. which some of you probably wouldn't mind.

but, anyway, after God nudged my idiot self and before i went to my accountant, i did the math myself. i rounded up on all the numbers and, thank my personal light bulb, GOD, for giving this idiot the good sense to do that because when i heard "seven thousand somethin' to the feds and a thousand somethin' to the state," i was actually pleasantly surprised. i was braced for ten thou.


i am filing this post under the label, "things that make no sense," because if being pleasantly surprised to learn that you owe seven thousand somethin' to the feds and a thousand somethin' to the state of ohio doesn't fall under the category of things that make no sense, i don't know what does.


idiot.

love the one you're with.

not necessarily something huge, but something. you are. why do you think no one else is?



of all the things that drives me crazy about this life, the biggest is a lack of understanding.


hell, it's easy to be empathetic for obvious victims, such as the poor. or the discriminated against. but, to paraphrase Christ, what's the big deal if you're empathetic to people who obviously need empathy? anyone (almost) can do that. big whoop.


what's really impressive is if you can take some of that "easy empathy" of yours and apply it smack dab where every instinct inside you tells you not to. 


you are not a good (enough) person if you don't love the ones you don't love. or like. or get. or agree with.


you are if you do.


boom.