Dear Telemarketers

An excerpt from my upcoming book, "Letters I'd Like to Send, But Don't or Can't:

Dear Telemarketers,

I’d like to apologize for breaking up with you.  I know I added insult to injury by also making myself unavailable, but I really didn’t mean to hurt you.

Yes, I took the coward’s way out and asked my friend, the National Do Not Call List, to let you know I didn’t want to talk to you anymore.  I could have told you in person, but I wasn’t sure how well you would take the news our affair was over, and I didn’t want to feel guilty.

Please understand that I had to do it.  I just couldn’t handle the pressure of entertaining so many of you on the same day.  I felt like a slut.

I’ll always think of you, and remember our good times.   You stimulated me.  Yes, you stimulated me to tap into my inner resources and creativity.  Role-playing was so much fun with you.  I remember playing the lovely Widow with twelve starving children, who couldn’t afford anything.  I remember sobbing and beseeching you to find a good man for me.  I promised I would willingly give myself to this wonderful good Samaritan and marry him, if only he could help provide for my children.  I did weep on the phone well, didn’t I?

Of course, I loved using my theatre experience to lose myself in each role.  My favorite conversations with you involved me playing a sweet, but mentally-challenged woman, along with her imaginary dog, Sparky, who had come home from the institution for a weekend visit with her family.   Even though he was imaginary, Sparky barked for you and helped me communicate.  “Me and Sparky” always volunteered to go out in the parking lots and look for coins for you since you always seemed so needy and we weren’t allowed to have any money of our own.  Of course, you had the easy part as you only had to hang up.

I will certainly miss you.  Just remember it’s not anything you did – it’s me.  I just need some time to find myself.  Right, Sparky?  Woof!  Woof!

The Continuing Saga of Living with a Princess Cat

The Princess Cat loves being the only cat in the household -- she's much more loving now that she doesn't have to compete with any other cat for attention, even jumping up on available laps seated in the brown recliner, since no other cat can reserve that particular space.  She even purrs faintly when her chin is rubbed. 

Last week the Princess Cat seemed pleased with a new food dish of porcelain that had goldfish painted on the bottom and decorated with additional goldfish swimming around the outside rim.  I'm sure she appreciated the replacement and upgrade from the boys' old, plastic, blue bowl, and she loves the new pastel-colored water bowl, too. The porcelain bowl somehow seems more fitting for her princess status.

Last week, for no apparent reason, Ginger let me know she wanted the right side of my queen-sized bed to sleep on.  I've slept on the right side for years as the lamp, phone, and alarm clock are all on that side of the bed, so it's convenient. 

Monday night, however, I awoke shortly after going to sleep to feel Ginger balancing on the remaining two inch strip of bed behind me.  I have no idea how she could balance on such a small area on the edge without falling off.  She kept pushing against me, and I realized she wanted me to move over to the left.   Other cats usually find an unoccupied space on a bed and curl up there, but not Ginger.  She had the whole rest of the bed to sleep on, but she definitely wanted to sleep on the right side.  She continued nudging me repeatedly, to make me move over and create more room for her. 

It's a big bed and I don't really mind the left side.  So, yes, I moved over -- I just put my glasses on the left dresser instead.  Cats obviously do have distinctive personalities, as most feline owners will attest, but this orange and white one that lives with me, definitely has preferences in many areas.  I love her as she is.   She truly qualifies as a "Princess" Cat.

Vile Ice Cream

Ben and Jerry's has a new ice cream flavor out called "Schweddy Balls."

Adults may find it amusing if they watch SNL on late night tv, but really?  This should not be on ice cream sitting on shelves in grocery stores or on the ice cream which kids will eat.  

There's simply no reason to name an ice cream with such an in-poor-taste name, even by a cutting-edge company.  Let's face it -- there are many other more creative name possibilities.  Even if a company wants to use a marketing strategy that involves identifying with pop culture or a famous person, other choices abound.

I, personally, am not going to buy such a product no matter how good others argue it may taste (if it does) because I'm not going to support uncouth, only-out-to-make-a buck-at-any-cost business people.  Yes, I know businesses, by their very nature, have a right to make money, but where's the line?  Senseless vulgarity shouldn't have a place in main-stream marketing.

 No wonder the French hate American tourists -- inappropriateness and rudeness seem to be prevalent and acceptable everywhere, even in our ice cream names.  C'mon, America -- stop being such crass, disgusting, mannerless, "I can do anything I want and you can't stop me" Jackasses.

Road Rage

Heading down the highway, I often notice the road sign "Drive Slow."  Granted, there's not always a lot of room on road signs so they are often abbreviated, but when The Department of Transportation can make longer road signs that say "Do Not Enter" and "Columbus (I 70 symbol) West," as well as many other beauties, such as "Road Work Next 5 Miles" or "Grand Canyon National Park 4 Miles," then why would anyone make a grammatically incorrect sign, and worse, the "higher ups" or management not send the signs back to be redone correctly?

Obviously, the sign should read "Drive Slowly."  "Slow" is an adjective and modifies nouns and pronouns; "slowly" is an adverb and modifies verbs ("drive" is an action verb), adjectives, and other adverbs, and tells how (Drive how?  Slowly), where, when, why, or to what extent.  Yes, the current signs reflect idiot usage that most people think is correct because they've seen it that way so often on the roadways, courtesy of the uneducated, uncaring, simple-minded dolts at The Department of Transportation.


We have become a nation of complacent imbeciles and lazy slugs who care nothing about details, doing things well, and least of all, using good grammar.  We tolerate stupidity.  We have become a Nation of Nincompoops.


Granted, this may seem like an inconsequential detail to some, but if we let this slide, what else that's incorrect do we begin to ignore?  Where does it stop?  Would we want our surgeons to be incorrect?  Would we want our airplane pilots or journalists to be incorrect in their jobs?  Certainly, there should be people who find this blasphemy a blight.  Have others spoken out about this mutilation of our language?  If so, why has their call for action to change poor grammar on our highways been ignored?  I am puzzled.  It has been said many times over that the future of our country is our children, so do we want our children to see these signs that show such a lack of learning and respect for education?  If we don't care, then why should our children care?  Is this what we want?

The Department of Transportation is part of the government and therefore, a business.  Is this good business to present a company in an unfavorable light by displaying an attitude of slovenly behavior?    This isn't a catchy marketing slogan that's grammatically incorrect; it's a flagrant disrespect for good language skills.  What about how others perceive us?  Do we want businesses and people in other countries to see our business flaws and look down upon us? 


I, for one, cannot condone this incompetency, and am calling and e-mailing The Ohio Department of Transportation's Director and assistant directors.  Here is the Contact Page for ODOT:  http://www.dot.state.oh.us/Contacts/Pages/default.aspx.  I urge people to make a stand and demand our government use correct grammar in this situation.  Rise up, not quick, but quickly, and don't let government bring us down to Big Brother's dumbed-down level of inadequacy.  Please fight for correct language, and ask that road signs be changed from "Drive Slow" to "Drive Slowly."

Cold-Blooded Killer

I admit it -- it's true.  I've killed another vacuum cleaner.  Unfortunately, this vacuum cleaner, who met such an untimely demise, belonged to someone else.  I'm not even sure what kind of vacuum he was.  But he's dead.


Please believe me when I say I certainly didn't intend to harm Mr. Vacuum, not any of his parts, not even his screws, his clutch or his belts.  Matt (my son) and Moe (my friend), however, left me alone one fateful, late summer day in the capital city at my son's off-campus apartment to clean the long-forgotten, rotting potatoes left behind weeks before. Indirectly then, the death of the vacuum should be attributed to them for leaving me by myself.  Yes, it's Matt's and Moe's fault...this time.

The turn-your-stomach stench permeated the apartment to such an extent when we first opened the door that the two of them quickly volunteered to go forth to seek cleaning supplies at the local French store, known as Tar-zhay.  I stayed behind to tackle the problem.  

As a super mom, I began efficiently cleaning the fermenting taters and their sticky, stinking slime, which had encompassed everything in the oozing goo's path.  I eventually contained the offending odor-ridden spuds and the sopping paper towels in a garbage bag I stashed outside the open apartment door since the smell could knock your socks off, and I needed to air out the humble abode.  


The two allergic-to-foul-odor sissies had still not returned, so as I glanced around, I decided to help out and bring more clean to the college kid's living quarters.  


I scooped up two dozen gum wrappers littering the desk and surrounding floor.  I tried to organize the oddities on the desk, and then dusted most of the living room.  Next I decided to vacuum the zillions of black specks sprinkled on the cream-colored carpet from the eroding faux leather of the desk chair.  


Surprisingly, the vacuum cleaner didn't even blink at me as I gingerly opened the closet door.  Surveying his apparatus and appendages, I felt confident I could suck up the black dots easily.  


As I began, I hummed "Hang on Sloopy" and daydreamed.  I remember thinking what a great mom I am.  My thoughts continued along the same vein.  My son is so lucky to have me as his mom.  Heck!  He would probably fall to his knees and kiss my feet when he saw how wonderful I made his apartment look.  Moe would be impressed with my domestic skills.


Then it happened.  I reached under the corner of the futon to retrieve something protruding from under one corner and did not notice the impending doom lurking nearby.  It was already too late.  By the time I smelled burning rubber, I turned my distracted gaze back to the beastly vacuum, only to discover he had sucked up part of the futon cover.  He began making gurgling, suffocating sounds.


I couldn't save him.  Even though I quickly pulled the coverlet out,  the mechanical monster only emitted a deep sigh before collapsing in my arms.  Horrified, I tried to restart him, but he could no longer suck.  He made pitiful noises to warn me it was the end.


I can't get that day out of my mind.  I feel so guilty.   I didn't even know him. He belonged to my son.  I thought I had put my past behind me, but mental pictures of Hoover, Kerby, Sharp, Bernina, and other unnamed victims, floated before me.  If only a stiff drink could obliterate these haunting ghosts from the past.


I'm a Killer.  I've killed before, and I'll probably do it again.  Please help me.  I don't want to harm another vacuum cleaner.  Can anyone recommend a competent counselor?

School Days

Ah!  Back to School Sales litter the paper with their ads, enticing parents to shop their stores for needed bargains, but the county fairs keep calling the masses, the sultry summer days still abound, and no trees have seriously started changing leaf color in preparation for their winter hiatus.  School children, however, will be pulled back into classrooms all over this Ohio county this coming week of August.

I can't say I ever wanted to go back to school while summer still flourished and myriad activities, from swimming, lightning bug catching, picnics, or camping lured me outside.  I remember school starting after Labor Day when I was a child, which somehow seems more fitting to me.  With all the fanfare about children needing education to keep up with the Joneses, I mean, other countries, the argument touted by many calls for starting in mid-August in order to get in an Ohio required 182 days, without extending the school year to mid-June.

Why do we need 182 days of instruction?  How did anyone determine this was the proper number?  Are there school days or parts of days or classes which could be used more efficiently?  Could we not tighten up our schedules and lesson plans if needed?  Actually, all the public schools I know go longer than the required number of hours per day (5 hours minimum for grades 1 -- 6, and 5 1/2 hours minimum for grades 7 -- 12) required by the state of Ohio.  One school district here has the high school students attend 7 hours with a half hour lunch; another one puts in 6 hours and 37 minutes with a half hour for lunch.  These extra hours all add up.

All these hours add up.  By adding all the additional hours together, we provide many extra days of instruction, so schools could actually start after Labor Day and still end in May.  Actually, this also provides a bank of days that could be used for inclement weather days if you get right down to brass tacks, negating the need to make up a few of them.  

Another argument by some is that students forget too much over summer break.  In this modern day when all families either have computers or access to libraries' free computers and usage times, why can't next year's teacher, for instance, send ( or hand out to students before the previous year ends), a summer requirement or project sheet with certain completion dates requiring students to read, do math activities, write, work on a science project, complete a social studies activity, etc., or even provide enrichment opportunities not available during the regular school year to ensure on-going learning, but at a slower, less strenuous pace with a more flexible time frame to accommodate individual family needs and plans?  This can be done at every level, and students without computer/scanner access could be given post-paid envelopes or a drop off location at a library, for instance, to send in assignments.

Teachers could also, in many cases, utilize a seasonal approach if warranted, and focus on summertime in reading, writing, social studies, etc.  It can be fun as well as educational to do activities connected with this special season, from such things as writing poetry dealing with summer, to science projects involving fireflies, to math equations involving Olympic divers or hiking -- the possibilities are endless.  Schools could even run the buses one or two days during the summer, and do field trips, or spend time at 5th grade camps, or do any enrichment activity, rather than use instructional school days.

I think schools should re-evaluate their options and give serious reconsideration to not starting until after Labor Day when kids are more ready to devote time to studies, rather than start (sometimes mid-week) and then stop for the big Labor Day, end-of-Summer activities that occur across the nation.  In addition, poorer schools without air-conditioning in hot-weather climates will be much more student and staff friendly, helping everyone to focus with a later start.  Can't we do some field trip enrichments during summer rather than disrupt entire school days, especially at the middle and high school level, for one class who takes a day for a field trip?  Let's use our time more wisely, be creative, and still enjoy the dog days of summer as well as provide recuperation and vacation time.  Start schools after Labor Day and end at the end of May with some summer projects and summer field trips.  'Tis a season for everything.

Who the Hell Is Mowing?

      On this damp, dismal, gray Friday morning, like so many other gloomy days of this summer, I cannot believe my ears!  Incredibly, I hear the sound of a lawn mower.  I instantly begin muttering to myself until it turns into a growl to no one in particular, and I bark out, "Who the Hell is mowing?" 

     I look out the window.  Yes, indeed, as I suspected, one of my neighbors is mowing his lawn.....again.  That's the second time this week he's mowed.  Why can't he, along with the rest of my neighbors, wait at least a week to mow?  What is wrong with these wackos?  No one needs to mow more than once a week.  Heck!  You could even wait a week and a half and that would be great.  Don't these mowing maniacs realize how bad they make other neighbors and their yards look?  Are they sadists?  Is this a competition and they are trying to mow before anyone else and achieve that elusive "one upmanship"?  They need help.

     Grass is a part of nature and should be revered and enjoyed.  It's a natural part of the environment, along with beautiful wildflowers and trees. Yes, it should be maintained, but do we prune trees every 4 or 5 days?  Do these eager beavers cut their own hair every 4 or 5 days?  Then why cut the grass so often?

     Why is there such frequent mowing in my neighborhood?  What possesses people to do this?  I find it incomprehensible.   Why does one neighbor have a lawn service come in to mow with their professional machines, and then he goes out when he gets home and re-mows with his push mower?  Do these certifiable folks have nothing better to do with their time except to play "Yard Man"?  Are these henpecked husbands?  Are these women who have an OCD streak?  Are they trying to outdo the Joneses?  What are they thinking?

     I realize some of my neighbors actually put fertilizer and other stuff  on their yards to make the grass grow even faster than normal.  Are they totally insane?  Think about it -- people put chemicals on their lawns to make grass grow faster so they can mow more often.  I think these people need to be committed.

     Do these frenzied fruit loops find pleasure in these economically depressed times in spending all their hard-earned money on gasoline to mow so frequently?  We should be helping our country and not using gasoline unnecessarily.  Grass can wait a week, or even longer, to be mowed.  What is the deal?

     I do not share this urgent, incessant compulsion to butch my grass and act in a frivolous manner by spending money and gasoline to scalp it to acceptable proportions as dictated by the neighborhood nut cases.  I may be semi-retired, but I refuse to mow more than once a week no matter how much my grass grows.  Thank goodness the house on one side of me is still for sale, and their yard looks far worse than my jungle.

      Stop mowing the grass so often, you fanatic freakazoids, or I will turn you in and Mother Nature will deal with you!!!

    For the rest of you, please join the Less Mowing Is Beautiful movement!  You don't have to mow so often.  You can enjoy nature, plus help save the environment.  You can save money.  C'mon -- you know you want to become a part of the "grass roots" movement!

Dear Jennifer Lopez,

Dear Jennifer Lopez,

I confess that I didn't know much about you until this year and never really cared for you - I thought you were a stuck-up, high-class, Hollywood prima donna, a diva who used her looks to hook fans.   I was wrong.

Since you took the role of a judge on American Idol, the whole world learned about the real person you are.  You have personality, you care about others, and you're compassionate.  You took your job on the show seriously and professionally.  You let us in to see you as a great mother and wife, as well as someone who nurtured other aspiring singers.  We saw you  work hard and  share your art with a  performance on stage.  I was truly impressed by what I saw two nights a week on Fox.  I think that being a judge was one of the best things you could have done, not only for your career, but  because it showed people the real Jennifer Lopez, not just the persona and facade of the recording artist on stage.

Today, as I surfed the tv channels, I discovered a movie on television that I thought looked mildly interesting.  The blurb on the channel guide said the 2004 movie starred Richard Gere.  To my surprise, I recognized Max from Dancing with the Stars as well as you.  I smiled when I realized Paulina was indeed you, and that you would be dancing in the movie.   I loved your acting in Shall We Dance, plus your character portrayal.  The movie showed me one more side of a talented Jennifer Lopez. 

Thank you so much for sharing yourself with us this past American Idol season.  I'm glad to know you're such a warm, wonderful person -- in my opinion, you're not only classy, but a true star.

                                                                           A new fan

Write-on Writers Conference

I attended the fifth annual Write-on Writers Conference Saturday, April 30 in Coshocton, Ohio, along with fellow Y-City Writers member, Rita Smith.  We had a great time with some great people, enjoying the camaraderie as well as the displays set up.

A full-time professor at OSU from 1968 to 2001, specializing in American literature, poetry and folklore, Dan Barnes, Professor Emeritus, spoke at the opening session on The Sense of an Ending:  Some Models for Poets and Writers.  Dr. Barnes used excerpts from short stories, book reviews, poems, and a Frost as well as a Dickinson manuscript worksheet, along with playing the piano, to demonstrate how successful closure to any literary work is not only necessary, but how it can be achieved and even reinforced.

The first session I attended dealt with narrative poetry, and although it seemed intended for newer writers, I enjoyed the variety of narrative poetry presented as examples.  The presenters used poems by Robert Frost and Li Young Lee, as well as their own, and the discussion that ensued was lively and interesting.  They also included in the handout three writing exercises designed specifically for narrative poets to encourage more people to write poetry of this type.  (If you’re interested in seeing the handout, let me know.)

I participated in the second session conducted by Dan Barnes entitled “Poetic Closure,” which dealt in more depth with issues introduced in the opening session.  In order to participate in this particular workshop, each participant had to submit three of their own poems prior to the conference so Dr. Barnes could specifically show each individual closural strategies to improve and strengthen his/her own poem.  I learned so much from listening to his analysis of each person’s poem and his suggestions for improvement. 

 

Other workshop sessions included “Taking Your Book from Idea to Publication,” “Technology for Writers,” “Tweaking Ideas and Slanting Your Stories,” and “Songwriting.”  The closing featured three Ohio Poetry Association poets who read some of their poems, and then an Open Mic session for workshop participants rounded out the day.  Let me know if you need any information on any of the topics presented.

*An additional tidbit of information that might be interesting to the older crowd that I gleaned from the conference:  Did you know anyone 60 years old and older can take free classes at any of the Ohio universities and colleges?

*Dan Barnes also recommended the following short stories:  Hemingway’s “A Canary for One,” Edith Wharton’s “Roman Fever,” and Kipling’s “The Gardener.”

Living with a Senior Cat

Living with a 19 year old cat, who in human years is 92, provides a unique perspective on life with a senior cat, as well as provides some insights into life, in general.  

Like our other pets through the years, Chase was a rescue -- he was a stray no one seemed to claim or want.  We didn't plan to keep the long-haired, gray, baby kitten so we called him simply "Baby Cat" for the first six months or so of his life.  After my son saved the kitten's life by rescuing him from the fishing line in the garage wrapped around his throat and growing tighter as he struggled to free himself, we realized he was part of our family, and we officially named him Chase.  

In his prime, he weighed a whopping 22 pounds and hunted every day.  He adored me and loved me unconditionally, protecting me from evil vermin.  I always called him, "My Diamond in the Rough," as I sensed that below the surface he only followed polite house cat rules to please me. 

Five years ago at the age of 14, I noticed he didn't want out as often and didn't jump on the deck railing anymore to tap at the kitchen window when he wanted in.  I didn't realize at that point why his behavior had changed.  Later, I understood he was getting older and those things were harder for him to do.  His long, beautiful gray hair began matting to the extent I couldn't comb the mats out or trim them anymore, so we started taking him once a year at the beginning of summer to have the groomer give him a buzz cut.  I had to laugh the first time we picked him up as the groomer left longer hair around his face and at the end of his tail.  He looked like The Lion King, but he seemed to understand, that like senior citizens, he needed help with something he couldn't do for himself anymore.

When the young punk of an upstart kitten belonging to my daughter came to stay with us for a couple of months before her wedding, an older, wiser, more mature Chase got tired of the whippersnapper's antics one afternoon, and simply pinned the anti-social youngster to the ground with one paw and held him there until the young'un decided to surrender and quit bothering or hissing at the big cat.   Chase was simply well adjusted and used to a menagerie of other animals about him -- he was also tough enough to handle anything or anyone, including the hyper-active kitten.

Chase finally gave up going outside at all.  I think he realized he wasn't the active, young hunter anymore, and his arthritis made him yearn instead for a sun bath.  Chase's arthritis became more evident, and he could no longer jump up on anything or down.  I decided to make a bed of fleece blankets Matt donated so Chase could have a bed beside mine since I was afraid I would not hear him in the night when he wanted down from my bed.  I didn't want him to hurt himself or break a brittle bone if he jumped.  Chase adjusted to his bed beside mine.  He got up usually at least once in the middle of the night, like an old man, to go to the bathroom and refuel.  He always meowed politely to let me know he needed covered back up with his favorite Star Wars blanket, and then purred.  Again, like an elderly person, he seemed to be cold more than he used to be.  I could feel his ears and tell he wasn't making that up.

Two years ago, I found Chase using the bathroom on the plastic lid underneath the palm tree in the dining room.  I couldn't figure out what the issue was; Chase never missed the litterbox.  I chewed him out and took him downstairs to remind him the litterbox was in the laundry room.  He had several more accidents, never on the floor, but only on the plastic lid under Palmie.  The vet checked him and shook his head.  Nothing was seemingly wrong physically, but the vet had some dire warnings.  I went home, thought about the problem, and decided to bring the litter box upstairs to the bathroom.  Chase was as good as gold using the litterbox in the new location. I'm sure he tried to communicate his relief with a wise, cat smile.  He couldn't do stairs anymore and had been trying to tell me.

According to Dr. Ricky, Chase may be elderly, but he has a good heart.  Tumors began growing in his ears a few years back, however, and the vet couldn't help him.  He told us that eventually the cat would be deaf.  He is. Totally.  I still talk to him because I think he can sense what I'm trying to say.  I just have to remember that when it's time to eat, for instance, I have to go over to touch him if he's asleep, or give him a hand motion, otherwise, to come to the kitchen.

As he's aged, Chase has become more arthritic and lost lots of muscle.  He doesn't run and play like he used to, but how many elderly people do, and he sleeps a great deal of the time.  Last year when the vet saw him, he told me to look at how his eyes didn't dilate in the light anymore, and that he would eventually lose his sight.  He has. Numerous times when I'm sitting in the recliner in the living room, I will see him pass by me and go to the computer chair in the dining room and stare up at it because he thinks I'm there; I'm not. 

Just this week, I noticed Chase walked into a wall.  Ginger, my 3 year old cat, figured out she had the upper hand and was like a ninja.  She would sneak up on him, flog her girly paw at him a couple of times, and run.  He couldn't see her, and she would be gone, so he only flogged air.  Last weekend Matt carried the cat litter sack in and left it in front of the sink in the bathroom. I discovered Chase walking along the line of cabinets to the litter box, but he was stopped by the 25 pound sack in his right-of-way.  When he tried to move over to go around, he couldn't see and moved too far to the left, bumping into the bathroom scales; he couldn't find his way through.  I told Matt we can't put anything in his way.

Yesterday, and again today, I saw Chase go up to the television and put his face right next to the screen. I couldn't figure out what he was doing at first.   After being that close to the screen,  he turned in one direction and moved in a direct line to one of his favorite spots in front of the heating vent.  He used the tv to get his bearings.

It tugs at my heart to see my beloved cat struggle with daily tasks, but I know he's not in any pain.  He's still the loving, purring guy who makes me smile.  He still loves his "kitty crack," and actually stands under the coffee table and howls for it each morning.  And, he howls loud enough to wake the dead (he can't hear himself).  He really doesn't play with his toys, but he wants the catnip on them, and then he lays down contentedly on top of them.  Perhaps the catnip has medicinal powers? 

He's lost some weight, so I upgraded some of his food to a little better type.  He seems pleased, but he still likes Meow Mix available whenever he wants a quick snack.   He eats and drinks well, and doesn't let me forget if I'm late feeding him.

We are keepers of God's creatures.  I try to make sure my Big Boy has whatever he needs and is happy.  I know his life has been a good one, and mine has certainly been better for having him be a part of it.  I truly wish no person or animal had to age after a certain point, and no one had the ravages of old age creep up. In the meantime, I think we have to live each moment and appreciate every nanosecond of our time together with out loved ones, human and animal :)

Does your look need reassessed?

Have you thought about how you dress? What's your special occasion look? Check out these pics and accompanying text on Yahoo.

I think Beth, who doesn't like her look, needs to be honest -- she looks fabulous, as do all the men's choices. Congratulations to the men for good taste, but what I think all women should take from this, is we should periodically reassess our looks and see if we've fallen into a slump, and to keep in mind what we do look like and how others perceive the message we are sending out. And, if you are fortunate enough to have a man in your life, I think you need to keep in mind what he likes as well as you, and reach a compromise. Sadly, so many women take their men for granted, and then wonder why their men look elsewhere.

Ack!

Ack! I realize it's been a year and a half since I last posted a blog entry. Writing friends are asking me for my blog's web addy, and I have to explain since Yahoo 360 ceased to exist, I have been a homeless blogger who hasn't found excitement and bonding in other sites. Facebook sometimes bears the brunt of my frustrated lack of blogging.

Henceforth, I will make a concentrated effort to blog again. Welcome to the new era for Musings of a Muddled Mind.