Elaine Smith Writes

Anything She Wants

Category Archives: Life in General

Learn something new

Every day.

It keeps you young.

I read that somewhere.

Sort of hoping it’s true, because I have been invited to a pumpkin carving today.  By my first cousins twice-removed.

Now I am going to help you learn something.  First cousins, twice removed, means that my grandparents were their great-grandparents.  I know that’s what they are called because I have a lot of cousins.  A lot of cousins.  And, once upon a time, my mom gave me this handy-dandy relationship chart, when I was doing some genealogical research, so that I could get the terminology right.

All that is actually beside the point, however.

The point is that I have been invited to a pumpkin carving by my little first cousins, twice removed.

I don’t think I have ever actually carved a pumpkin in my life.

And my little first cousins, twice removed, are somewhere south of six-years-old.  (I don’t know their exact ages.  What do you want from me?  I know they are twice removed!)

Being south of six, I’m guessing that most of the carving is going to be done by the adults in the room.  This could be. . .interesting.   The problem, as I see it, is that the pumpkin is actually supposed to look like something when you are done carving it.  I’m guessing that dadaism is unlikely to be appreciated.

Oh, well.

You’re supposed to learn something new.

Every day.

I guess today is my day for pumpkins.

I’m so bummed!

But I’ll get over it.

I’m bummed because I have been faithfully blogging every day since June 10th.  Every day!

It was a little goal I set for myself.  Start a blog.  Write every day.

For four months, I have been meeting that goal.

Thursday, however, something went wrong.

I wrote a post on Wednesday night.  I looked it over.  Spell-checked.  Proofread.  Formatted.  And I thought I scheduled it.  But last night, when I logged in to work on a post for today, I discovered it sitting there with a big bold “Draft” label on it.

Oh, it had the right date and time listed where the schedule information appears, but something happened.  I must have neglected to push the button that would switch it from a draft to a scheduled post.  I thought I did.  I even think I saw the post appear in my inbox.  (Yes, I subscribe to my own blog.  How else am I going to know if something goes wrong with the delivery system?)  Apparently, I was seeing things, however, and it never went out.

So, today, you may get two posts.  Because a person can’t waste a perfectly good blog post, can she?

But my perfect record is spoiled.

Sigh.

This is a very dangerous moment.  It’s like having a piece of birthday cake for the first time since you started your diet six weeks ago.  If you let it become this big failure, you figure you might as well eat the whole cake.

Oops.  Failed to meet the standard I set for myself.  Missed a blog post.  No point in continuing.

Or, you can decide that a piece of cake during a celebration is not a terrible lapse.  You can eat salad tomorrow.

So, I’m bummed.  And a little annoyed with myself for not double-checking.  (Rushing to watch the VP debate–but that’s no excuse.)  On the other hand, there are far bigger tragedies in the world.  Far bigger.

A 14-year old girl was shot by a bunch of religious thugs because she wanted an education.

Yes, it’s important to adhere to goals and maintain standards.  On the other hand, my message to myself today is to keep a sense of proportion.

14-years old.  She wanted an education.  They shot her in the head.

My little blogging error doesn’t seem like such a big deal, does it?

 

And then you’re afraid you won’t.

Why I got a flu shot.

[Note:  This post was intended to appear on Oct 11.  I’ve just noticed that I apparently never hit the Publish button.  Ruined my perfect record!]

 

I got my flu shot the other day.

I’ve been getting them every year around this time for the past couple of years.  Never bothered before then because I thought I’d had the flu many times.  I had all kinds of illnesses over the years with flu-like symptoms.  I was pretty miserable each time, but no big deal.  Better than a poke in the arm with a sharp needle, anyway.

Or so it seemed.

And then, I got the flu.

At that point, I realized all those other illnesses were something else.  The flu is to those other ailments as an anaconda is to a garter snake.  You don’t want to fool around with the flu.

When I had the actual flu, I was out of commission for about a week.  Fever, chills, and an aching in the bones that just wouldn’t quit.  It was exactly like that old joke:  First, you’re afraid you’re gonna die.  And then you’re afraid you won’t.

What a misery!  I understood for the first time how it was that the 1918 pandemic killed so many people.  Estimates are as high as 50 million.  I’m sure whatever strain of the flu it was that I had was nowhere near as virulent as the 1918 version.  It was bad enough, though.

Consequently, I get a flu shot every year.  I don’t want to go through that again.  Better a poke in the arm with a sharp needle.

I highly recommend a flu shot if you haven’t already gotten one.  It only hurts for a minute.  (Obviously, you should check with a doctor before taking any kind of medication you’ve never taken previously.  But it’s worth checking.)

Today, I am thankful that I have access to modern immunization procedures.  And I am thankful that I have medical insurance that covers a yearly flu shot.

And I am more than thankful that I do not have the flu!

 

You can do everything

Just not all at once.

Here’s a tip for you.

Multi-tasking is a myth.  So, there’s no point in wishing for that third hand.  Your brain can’t manage as much as you are already giving it, let alone more.

The modern world—and, for all I know, the ancient one—has led us to believe that we are faster and more efficient if we try to do more than one thing at a time.  Check your email while you make phone calls.  Write the report while you watch 60 Minutes.  (Trying to be charitable there.  Most of us are watching Dallas—or Honey Boo Boo, I guess.)

It’s all a juggling act, we say.

The truth is even a juggler is only handling one thing at a time:  a ball, a bowling pin, a fire baton.  The juggler is handling each one quickly, to be sure, and switching her attention more rapidly than most of us to the next, but she’s only handling one.  (I know.  I learned how to juggle in college. Don’t get me started on what my dad said when he realized that’s where my tuition dollars were going!)

Think about it.

Your computer multi-tasks.

Or does it?

If you’ve got any of those tools that analyze its performance, you know that it really doesn’t.  Resource allocation is the term.  Your computer is switching resources rapidly between tasks.  It looks like it’s doing more than one at a time, but it really isn’t.

Thus, the extremely annoying paradox of modern life that you have to do less to do more.  You either have to set things up so that you can focus exclusively on your most important task—which is likely to be impractical—or you have to allocate your resources so that you can focus serially on several important things.

There are things you can do to help make that easier—and some of them are sure to come up later in this blog—but they all tend to involve a few tasks in themselves.

Scheduling.  Prioritization.  Organization. Automation.

I’m sorry.

That’s just the way it is.

Stay tuned for more suggestions, but for now. . .just slow down.

What a dump!*

 Where does your trash go?

I’m not entirely sure where the weekly garbage pickup ends up, but out here in the boonies, we make regular trips to the dump.

Anything outside of ordinary household refuse or those things designated as recyclable, must be disposed of by the homeowner.  Either we have to make special arrangements with the disposal company, or we make a trip to the dump.  Consequently, I have a more intimate knowledge of the amount of trash people generate than those who just lug things to the basement for a city super to handle.

It’s amazing—and somewhat horrifying.  I live in Florida, remember.  Where a restaurant is known as Hilltop throughout many management and actual name changes because it sits on what is essentially a bump in the road.  Flat.  The land is flat, flat, flat.

Out at the dump, though, there is a definite—and big—hill.

Landfill.

Every time I go there I think of future archaeologists excavating this giant mound to find out what the people of the twentieth and twenty-first century were like.  And I feel it’s good we have written words.  Although possibly, we might want to get some stone tablets out and do a little better than paper and ink and electrons to preserve our history.

All that aside, though, the dump is a strikingly well-organized place.  You drive in right onto a scale where your whole car— contents, passengers and all—is weighed, and the checker-in gives you a card with a number on it.  Then you make the rounds:  hazardous waste over here, construction debris there.  Metal, plastic, glass, ordinary garbage—all have their own areas.  You empty your vehicle and drive out over another scale.  You  hand in your numbered card, and the checker-out cheerfully announces the poundage you’ve left behind.  Each family is allowed 500 pounds per week.

500 pounds!  Per week!

We’re going to be buried in trash if we can’t figure out better ways to recycle it.

* One of the iconic lines used by Bette Davis impersonators–from Beyond the Forest, based on the novel by Stuart Engstrand, screenplay by Lenore J. Coffee.

It’s all over

By the time you read this…

…the first Presidential debate of the 2012 election season will be over–which makes this an overwhelmingly thankful Thursday.

The candidates, I’m sure, are thankful to have it behind them.

Their supporters are thankful that, all in all, they can continue supporting their chosen candidate and hoping, praying, working for the defeat of the other guy.  (In all likelihood, neither man did anything so overwhelmingly outrageous during the debate as to cut the legs out from under his campaign.  If one of them did, I’ll have to come back and edit this scheduled post!)

The political pundits and newscasters are thankful that the amount of attention they’ve gotten in the past few hours has ratcheted up significantly.

If an informal poll of my friends is any indication, popcorn makers are thankful that sales increased as folks prepared to enjoy the show.

And I am thankful that we live in a country where debate is allowed, encouraged and even celebrated.  Where we are free to voice our opinions, however partisan, however well- or ill-informed.  Where we are free to judge our leaders loudly, openly, and harshly.  Where we get to see some part of this wacky, nearly always almost broken system play itself out in public, with the freedom to watch it or to ignore it.

The system is, indeed, nearly always almost broken, and yet it seems to survive.  I’m thankful that I get to hope it will survive this time, too.

As Winston Churchill said, “Democracy is the worst form of government. . .except for all those others that have been tried.”

So, I’m thankful for the Greeks and the Athenian democracy, for the Barons at Runnymede and the Magna Carta, and–although their influence on our founders has been disputed–for the Iroquois League of Peace and Power.  (I will step outside my original intention in this post not to take sides, for just a moment, and say that if we’d been influenced a little more by the Iroquois’ reported inclusion of women in our governing processes, we might be better off today!)

It’s an amazing thing we do every four years.

It’s maddening, hilarious, expensive, lofty and idealistic, down and dirty, boring, fascinating. totally insane and immensely important.

Thankful may not be a strong enough word.

A wacky weight loss tip

…or maybe not.

Maybe it’s not so wacky.  And maybe it’s not a weight loss tip.  And maybe everybody else already knew this.

But maybe somebody else will find it useful.

Who knows?
Here goes.  (little poem)

It suddenly occurred to me, a few years ago, and just as suddenly recurred to me this week, that you don’t have to eat breakfast food for breakfast.

“Duh,” you say.

But hold on a minute, and let me explain.

I’ve been reading all kinds of things all my life that say breakfast is the most important meal of the day.  When I was a kid, there were all kinds of articles and little news stories about helping your kid do better in school.

Then, just a few years ago, the Readers’ Digest ran a story about how most people’s weight loss programs fail because they try to make too many changes all at once.  The story advocated making one small change a week.  (I think it was a week—maybe it was a month—but you get the idea, right?)  And the very first change they recommended was to have a good breakfast.

And we’re back to “Duh.”

The thing is—I’m not that wild about breakfast food.  I don’t like oatmeal, eggs—yeah, okay, sometimes but that involves cooking and it doesn’t usually go well for me, soggy cereal—not a big culinary delight, and most other breakfast foods seem way too sweet for early in the morning.  Toast and bagels, I do like, but no one could argue they provide a solid nutritious meal.

But I was reading about this “change one” idea and lamenting the fact that I don’t really like breakfast food when I remembered that runners “carb up” before a marathon by eating pasta.

Pasta!

In the morning.

“Well, why not?” I thought.

So, for a while there, I would have pasta for breakfast. Or a smoked turkey sandwich.  Or, sometimes, a warmed up plate of gaucho chicken, lemon chive potatoes and broccoli from the previous night’s dinner.

It all tasted much better than donuts and pop-tarts.

I had more energy throughout the day.

And I was skinnier.

That last may be a prost hoc ergo propter hoc* fallacy, but it hasn’t been disproven yet.  So, now, in addition to being back on the treadmill, I’m back to having dinner for breakfast.

Try it.

 

* Latin for ‘after this, therefore because of this‘ which is the kind of faulty logic that lets you assume that you broke your favorite glass because a black cat crossed your path earlier. (If that’s one of your superstitions, I’m sorry, but it’s just not true.)

A fish in the driveway

Not just out of water.

In the driveway.

I guess I’ve been more startled by some things—a snake unexpectedly slithering across my path, a sudden crack of thunder, the smoke alarm going off—although that’s never really all that unexpected when we’re cooking.

But, honestly. . . a fish in the driveway?

Yesterday, I was having a productive day.  Straightened up around the house, a little light dusting.  Did my full workout.  Gave the MotH a haircut.  Finished one of the unending loads of laundry.  Made myself a master shopping list for a serious grocery run and a Home Depot shopping spree.  (We live at Home Depot since we moved.)  Took care of some emails and some paperwork, and was just about to take a short break when I decided to go get the mail.

I wandered down the driveway, taking my time in appreciating how much the lawn has improved and enjoying the fine sharp line of my edging work, and marveling—as always—at how brazen the squirrels are around here.

When, suddenly!  A horde of flies, and I glanced down to see a fish.

A very dead fish.

Lying in my driveway.

Now, it is true that I live near water.  Fish have been pulled out of it.  Inevitably, however, they are on the end of a fishing line.  They may flap around briefly on the dock, but they go one of three places:  back in the creek, into the crab trap, or into the kitchen.  Never, ever do they end up 50 or 60 yards away in the middle of my driveway.

It was startling.

Kind of like how the Egyptians must have felt when those frogs started falling from the sky.*  (I know, I know—they came up out of the Nile and didn’t drop from the sky at all.  When I was a kid, however, I thought they dropped from the sky, and I still like the story better that way. )

Actually, that’s what I assumed happened with the fish.

Some kind of aerial battle—osprey vs. eagle—and nobody winning.

Although, I’m not sure why one of the combatants wouldn’t have come down to retrieve the prey.  Possibly, they don’t like to lower themselves into civilization like that.

I suppose an alternative theory might be one of the neighborhood black cats—but they are usually hunting the aforementioned squirrels or various songbirds when they come by—not dragging dinner and then leaving it behind.

However it happened, it was startling.  And kind of icky.

And, of course, the MotH was nowhere to be found

I could have left it there until he returned, but it was already somewhat fragrant.  And there were those flies.

So, with great presence of mind and consummate bravery, I got the shovel out of the garage.  There was a one-woman funeral procession and burial at sea.

Any minute now my heart rate will be returning to normal.

A fish.

In the driveway.

What could it possibly mean?

Other than a little help from the gods when I was stuck for a blog post.

Thank you, gods.

I guess.

 

 

* Exodus 7:25 – 8:11

Some people say

but all of us should think.

“Some people say” is not a legitimate news source.  If you’re hearing that phrase on whatever “news” program you are watching, take a moment and think about it.

It takes work. . .hard work. . .for a reporter to get someone to go on the record.  Once a person has been quoted, he or she can be refuted.  Anyone who wants to do so can check the facts.  We can evaluate the credibility of the source.  We can verify that yes, in fact, someone did say this. We can find evidence to support or contradict the statement.

“Some people say” is either lazy reporting or an attempt to get you to swallow a lie.  There’s a good chance, when you hear that phrase, that the “some people” are the editor or the reporter himself or the person with the biggest axe.  For grinding, that is.

Journalism is about reporting facts accompanied by proper attribution.

Propaganda is “some people say.”

 

 

 

Boogie down!

The 27-Fling Boogie

The 27-Fling Boogie is an invention of Marla Cilley over at FlyLady.net.  The FlyLady is full of tips and tricks to get your house in order and keep it that way.  Lots of good information, and much of it has been helpful to me.

One of the most fun and effective things is the 27-Fling Boogie.

As I recall it, once you’ve decided which “zone” of your house is going to get your attention, you–very quickly–identify 27 things to throw away and 27 things to give away.  Put them in bags or boxes or whatever, and get them out of the house.

Right into the garbage can.  Right into the trunk of the car.

The purpose of moving them immediately is to prevent the inevitable second guessing that occurs if you keep the box or bag long enough that you take another look.  If you’re anything like me, you will re-think your decision.  Hey!  I might need that sometime.  If the bag is already in the garbage can and the box is already in the car, ready to go to Goodwill or wherever, they are probably going to stay there.

It seems simple, doesn’t it?  Hardly worth a whole bog post.

The thing is, there is something about the number 27.  Maybe it’s the rhythm of it.  Maybe it’s the magical quality of being a perfect cube (3 cubed).  Maybe it’s that it’s a high enough number that you have to really stretch to find enough items to meet the goal–so you steel yourself to get rid of that sequined purse that you have never used. “27” keeps you at it when you think it’s time to stop for cake.

The “boogie” plays into this, too.  It has a connotation of fast and fun.  As does “fling,” really.  The idea is to get moving.  Don’t stop to think.  Fling!

After a while, in subsequent iterations, you’re not going to find 27 things in a particular zone.  That’s when you expand the boogie to the whole house, I guess.  (Actually, the way it’s described on the FlyLady website now does apply to the whole house.  It may be my faulty memory that makes me think it was originally applied to zones.  I did do quite well culling my bookshelves, though, when I 27-fling boogied through my office.  Whatever works, right?)

And on my next boogie, I’m going to cube it a little further.  27 things to throw away, 27 things to give away, and 27 things for a garage sale.

Boogie down!

 

 

 


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