Ever since I dumped that cup of coffee (with cream) on my dining room rug, I’ve been thinking it’s time for a new rug. I don’t think that curdled-cream smell will ever entirely dissipate. The more I look at it, the more I wonder why I got that rug in the first place — it doesn’t match anything else. My curtains have a dark green background with lighter green leaves and dusty rose-fading-to-beige flowers. The dining room chairs are the same colors in a small pattern. Why I thought a black and burgundy rug would work, I have no idea. Perhaps because it reminded me of a rug at home when I was growing up. In any case, I find myself looking askance at that rug and wishing for something lighter and prettier. Last week’s paper had a full-page Macy’s ad touting “Huge Rug Sale! 60% off! Come and bring your measurements, fabric swatches and designs.” Hmmm…… Read More »
The Fast Food Shuffle
It was Sunday night and I never make dinner on Sunday night. I usually have a big bowl of popcorn and glass of cold milk. (Okay, right here let’s take time out to tell what we all drink with popcorn — and I know everyone goes for something different.) It might have started back in college when the dining hall was closed Sunday night. They fed us the main meal at noon and then we got a sack lunch for evening. It was always the same — a sandwich of indeterminable meat-like substance which my roommate, Ruth, called “mousemeat,” an apple and a little bag of chips. The counter in the student union building did a big business Sunday evenings. But I digress … A nice big bowl of hot buttered popcorn! My normal Sunday night dinner. For some reason this Sunday I didn’t actually have lunch. When I got… Read More »
Going to the Y
To begin with, I truly admire anybody who gets themselves out of bed and works out whether at a gym, or riding a bike, or going for a hike, or doing laps at the pool. I set what I thought was an attainable goal — 6 mornings a week for 40 minutes. Amazing how many things can interfere from a phone call that changes my focus to a one-day-class that breaks my routine to simply not wanting to get out of bed. Still, I’m pretty faithful. And I find the people at the Y intriguing. The one who puzzles me most is the woman who carries her purse with her everywhere. She doesn’t do the treadmill — she walks the track lugging her handbag. There are small cubbies and even new lockers right there on the workout floor where people can stash their stuff, but she apparently feels the need to have her handbag… Read More »
“Write What You Know”
Anybody who has ever said, “I’d love to write, but I don’t know what to write about,” has surely heard the answer: “Write what you know.” And what do we all know about? Ourselves! As I’ve gone to book fairs and book signings, I have found that the vast majority of the books are autobiographical. I always buy a book, just to give support and encouragement. So now I’ve read quite a few autobiographies and have discovered that they have much in common: they are well-written, they start out with a “grab you” event that makes me want to keep reading, they have a unique story and … they are boring. They are not boring to the person who wrote it and to their family and their friends, but I keep thinking, “when’s it going to get better?” I find that about the third or fourth chapter I start skimming, looking for something… Read More »
Writing My Blog
Once upon a time I heard a newspaper columnist say “writing a daily colum is like being married to a nymphomaniac. It’s wonderfully exciting at first, but eventually it becomes a chore.” I love to write and cannot imagine it would ever be a chore, but I realized that posting something daily might be more than I bargained for, so I devised a plan: I’ll alternate between writing about Phyllis Diller and about wine — the two things I actually know something about — and I’ll do it every other weekday: Monday, Wednesday and Friday (okay, you had that part figured out). I’m sort of thinking now that I should’ve included cats. I know a lot about cats. And a lot of cats. I write poems for my cats (I call them cat raps because, really, they do not rise to the level of poetry) and my cats are a source… Read More »
