These are the days that try men’s souls. And women’s.
I speak not of our nation’s economic woes, nor of the mountains of snow threatening to collapse our roofs. No, ladies and gentlemen, I speak of the days leading up to Valentine’s Day.
Recently, I reluctantly purchased something with accordion pleats, reinforced gussets, and elastic closures. No it was not, as one friend suggested, a corset. I bought folders. Legal sized folders. If you are over the age of 21 and own anything beyond a toothbrush, tickets to a Lady Gaga concert and perhaps a winter jacket, you know precisely the folders of which I speak.
When your husband is going to die…you don’t believe it. Even when you hear the word terminal, you don’t believe it.
However, when your husband’s heart has just stopped beating and his mother is standing in your kitchen with her slacks down around her knees because, along with being emotionally numb at the loss of her child, she has the (as yet undiagnosed) beginnings of Alzheimer’s…. and your 4 year-old-son is skipping cheerily through the house proclaiming in a sing-songy voice, “Daddy’s dead!…Daddy’s dead!”…well, you begin to believe the nightmare you have just walked into.
Most of us are familiar with the concept known as “six degrees of separation.” It’s the idea that all humans are within six steps of connectivity. That whole friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend thing.
Happy World Menopause Day, Ladies!
Just when you thought there were no more holidays for Hallmark to cash in on…here you have it. A day for the world to celebrate the cessation of our menstrual cycles.
One can only wonder what goes through the minds of boys when they not only do things like this, but also have the forethought to photograph themselves doing it.
This would be my driveway. I admit to purchasing the “sparklers,” and also admit that perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to go along with the suggestion that we purchase 4 multi-pack boxes of them.
Another item to add to my always growing collection of flagrantly inappropriate religious artifacts.
One can only wonder…did someone design this with the sole intent of it one day finding its way to my IW blog? Because, really, why else would this exist in the world? Nothing against the Virgin Mary…but does she need to be housed in a …well…words just fail me at this point.
I LOVE this card.
The fact that I have it taped to one of the glass panes of my kitchen door goes a long way in explaining why my house was not chosen for the celebrated “Cape Elizabeth Kitchen Tour” which will be taking place in a few short weeks.
(This weeks ”NO SUGAR ADDED” Column, in The Forecaster Newspapers)
I hate running.
My adversarial relationship with the sport began as a freshman in college. After a few too many Fritos, a friend suggested we form a running group. Before I knew what I was being sucked into – wham! – my alarm clock was rudely awakening me at 4:30 a.m. on a chilly autumn morning and I was propelling myself toward the iconic steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, just like Sylvester Stallone in “Rocky.”