Laconical Me

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Word Porn (which I follow on Facebook) is my idea of excellent continuing education.  I thought laconic meant lazy, but it turns out it’s way more fun than that.

laconic (adjective luh-KAH-nik)

Definition: using or involving the use of a minimum of words : concise to the point of seeming rude or mysterious

For as long as I can remember people have remarked on how quiet I am, or wondered why I’m being so quiet, or assumed because I have very little to say to them that I’m arrogant and rude.  Or quite possibly incredibly dense.  Well maybe I am all of those things.  But mostly it’s a matter of being an introverted deep thinker with so many things to say I can’t even choose one.  So I just sit there looking all mysterious.

I do quite like the mysterious notion.  I’m so damned mysterious I can’t even figure myself out.

But enough about laconic me.  Another thing I can’t figure out is what to do with all my used Tassimo coffee pods other than just tossing them in the garbage and having them end up as landfill. I love the coffee but the packaging drives me nuts.  The pods (coffee, plastic and foil) are six or seven to a box, two boxes to a package and wrapped in more heavy-duty foil.

I’m waiting for the coffee maker to die so I can evolve into a less wasteful polluting mess of a human being by getting something more Eco friendly.

Today I tried cutting some used pods in half with an exacto knife, emptying the coffee grounds into the compost bin, and then scratching away at the glued on foil so I could put the plastic in the blue recycle bag.  That stuff is hell to get off.  Three destroyed pods, thirty minutes and one cut thumb later, I cleaned up my colossal mess and googled how to recycle Tassimo coffee pods.

Well all on your own you really can’t without hurting yourself.  But there is a company that will sell you a box and a shipping label, and once you’ve filled the box up with used coffee pods,  UPS will come by and pick it up for free and deliver it to the box sellers who then do the separating and recycling for you.  The smallest (cheapest) box is a hundred dollars.

Laconically speaking, F that.

Now are you not relieved that you don’t have to talk to me face to face and listen to my inconsequential rants?  This is why you should never encourage a normally quiet person to say something because once they get going it just might all come out and it’s hard to shut them up.

I’m much better at listening anyway.  So maybe I’ll just stick to that.

Hope you’re having a marvellous last day of March!

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This only pertains to recycling coffee pods. I’m good at pretty much everything else.

Sharing My World 68

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Share Your World March 27 

(But first some missed questions from last week….)

How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you are?

I think 40 is a pretty good age to be.  It’s somewhere in the middle of your life after you’re over the trauma involved in being a kid, you’ve gotten pretty good at functioning as an adult, and there’s still so much to do with your life and so many good things to come.  You know, as long as you don’t get hit by a bus or eaten by spiders.

However, I can believe all I want that I’m in my forties until I look in a mirror and go, ‘whoa’, that can’t be right.  It’s funny when some musician or celebrity I’ve known about since I was a teenager is celebrating a birthday and I think it’s shocking how old they are.  Because if i stop to think about it for a minute, I have to admit I’m around that same age myself.  And then I realize we’re both still looking relatively good for being such old farts.

So, you’re on your way out and it’s raining. Do you know where your umbrella is or do you frantically search for it all over your apartment/house?

The umbrellas are in a basket above the coat rack at the back door.  Even though they are very handy, this does not mean that I will remember to grab one on the way out.  Those things are going to look brand new forever.

Do you recharge your energy by going out with friends for a good time or by spending quiet time alone?

Quiet time alone.  I don’t even know what that other thing means.

Name three things you and your spouse, partner or best friend have in common.

  1. Coffee first thing in the morning.
  2. We are each responsible for our own laundry.
  3. Family comes first.  Well, right after coffee and laundry of course.

Does your first or middle name have any significance (or were you named after another family member)?

My middle name is Mae because it sounds good with my first name, like Ellie Mae and Daisy Mae.  But it’s neither of those, thank gawd.  My dads eldest sister was May, my maternal grandmothers nick name was Mae, and I was born in the month of May.  There really was no escaping it, was there?

Music or silence while working?

Definitely silence.  The more silent the better.  I am very easily distracted.  Being distracted makes me irritable.  So shut up and let me drink my coffee before you try to talk to me.  Haha, sorry, I’m still on the things in common with your spouse question.

If you had a special place for your three most special possessions (not including photos, electronics, people or animals), what would they be?

We had a garage sale and then made several big donations to Goodwill.  So any potential most special possessions are now someone else’s problem.  It’s very freeing to get over attachments to things.  Plus it frees up a lot of storage space.  You know, for all those things that aren’t special.  Okay, the real answer is my top dresser drawer.  I don’t even know what all is in there anymore.

The Never List: What are things you know you never will do?

  1.  I will never stop being surprised and dismayed when people die.  We are all in our forties so it’s just bizarre when it happens.
  2. I will never voluntarily sky dive, deep-sea dive, springboard dive or bungee dive.
  3. I will never again be responsible for a pet.  With me these things tend not to end well.  However, as I say this, I am thinking about the video I watched of shelter dogs on a bus being distributed to their new owners and their forever homes and it made me cry and really really want a dog.  For about half an hour until I calmed down and got over it, as little stray dogs everywhere breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Optional Bonus question: What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?

I’m grateful for the witches around the world who have twice now performed their binding spell on the big DT to thwart his and his cohorts efforts to do harm.  Looks to me like it’s working.  We all have to do whatever we do best.

I’m looking forward to April and the REAL start of Spring around here.  Which sometimes isn’t until May actually, but I’ll settle for the snow going away as a good omen.

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How to Make Your Eyes Look Like Eyes

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Or like deep, daring, slightly hypnotic black holes in your face. Your choice.

I wonder what Revlon thought they looked like before she put all that shit on them?

I’m certainly not anti makeup, don’t get me wrong.  Artfully applied it can bring out your best features and play down whatever you think your flaws are.  When I first started experimenting with eyeliner and mascara, and yes that would have been in and around 1964 when this ad came out, I confidently believed a heavy hand and bold strokes were the way to go.  God forbid anyone should guess what I looked like with my face washed.

My mother was pretty tolerant although she did suggest that sometimes less is more.  Then apparently even she got used to my new face.  Once I came down to dinner with no make up on at all and she wondered if I was sick.

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Happy first day of Spring everyone.

Guinness and Double D’s

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Infographic credit: Leo Kavanagh/Global News

Yes I am a day late for St. Patrick’s Day but I still would like to share what I learned yesterday so we can all get it right for next year.

Do not shorten the name Patrick to Patty.  If you do, some true Irish person will have a stroke.  Double D’s everyone.  It’s PADDY.  Keep the other one for hamburgers and peppermints.

And Green beer is sacrilegious.  Gotta be Guinness.

I feel qualified to school you on these points because I have at least one Irish ancestor.  My maternal grandfather was mostly Irish.  There’s also English, German and a lot of Scottish in my roots.  W’s roots are French, Swedish and although no one talks about it, possibly Iroquois.  So that makes our kids absolutely one hundred percent Canadian.  My son somehow inherited a love for the occasional Guinness.  Obviously from his great great grandfather who didn’t drink but I’m sure that’s just a minor detail.

During my little blogging hiatus I started many drafts but I have decided to delete most of them because they are turning out to be a lot like my “memories on Facebook” in which my eight year old status updates make absolutely no sense. I’m sure at the time they meant something profound but now all they’re good for is proof of possible insanity.

One such ‘draft’ here says only “illegal bowling pants” and nothing more.   That one I can still explain.  A kid in Newfoundland won a bowling tournament but was later disqualified because of the black pants rule.  His black jeans had faded so it was decided (probably to appease some disgruntled whining parent) that they no longer met the strict kids bowling tournament dress code.  All the shit going on in the world and in Canada this makes for big news.

Happy Belated St. Patrick’s Day!  Happy Birthday today to our middle (of three) granddaughter who is twelve.  TWELVE!  She was three a couple of years ago wasn’t she?  Time for kids drags on and on and for us years disappear when we blink.  Or also when we consume too much Guinness our concept of time can go a little wonky. It’s not all about age.

Sharing My World 67

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Share Your World March 13 2017

Do you push the elevator button more than once? Do you really believe it makes the elevator faster?

Since I am rarely in a hurry I don’t care if the elevator is slow, or even if it goes in the wrong direction because I got on the wrong one and someone else pushed the buttons first.  Not that that has ever happened to me of course.  Another thing that might not have happened is me arriving so early for an appointment that the receptionist told me to go have a coffee and come back in 45 minutes.  Because it was too early to check in.  Who knew that was even a thing.

So the answer to both these questions is no.  Elevators don’t have speed choices no matter what magical number of button pushes you try.  But if it makes you feel better and less panicky, go for it.

Do you plan out things usually or do you do them more spontaneously (for example if you are visiting a big city you don’t know?)

You don’t normally get places 45 minutes ahead of time without meticulous planning for every conceivable disastrous circumstance that might come up.  It’s annoying sometimes when absolutely nothing goes wrong after so much anticipation.  Spontaneity is scary.  Always have a plan.  And six back ups.

Describe yourself in at least four uplifting words.

Loving and Kind.  Tolerant and Accepting.  Grateful and Generous.  Well those are all things I aspire to anyway.  A work in progress.

If you had a choice which would be your preference – salt water beaches, fresh water lakes, ocean cruise, hot tub, ski resort or desert?

Okay, so that’s salt water, fresh water, water under a boat, hot water, frozen water, and no water at all.  But there’s a beach!  I’ll take the beach.  And probably stay out of the water altogether.

Instead of the Optional Bonus Question, here are some random questions from previous world sharing weeks.  I missed them.  Spending too much time in elevators perhaps.

Which are better: black or green olives?

I love black olives on pizza and green olives in egg salad.  I don’t believe they should compete against each other trying to prove which one is better.  Which is just a fancy way of saying I can’t decide.

Do you chew your pens and pencils?

No.  I don’t know where they’ve been.  And many of them are charcoal.  That would not end well.

Do you sleep with your sheets tucked in or out?

I used to love it when we were little and our dad would tuck us in.  But the minute he left the room I would get myself completely untucked because it felt awful to be constrained, even if it was only by blankets.  I like my arms and my feet out.  I hate zipped up sleeping bags.  I do not tuck in anything including children.  I live in constant escape mode.

Have you stolen a street sign before?

No, but I was in possession of a stop sign once.  It was left behind in the closet of the bedroom I used where I boarded while going to university.  In black marker I wrote “I’ll Never” at the top of the sign and “Loving You” at the bottom.  With STOP in the middle.  I thought I was being ridiculously clever and funny until I tried to give it to W. as a gift.  He was appalled and freaked out because did I not know that stealing street signs was ILLEGAL???  Such a romantic, completely missing the point.  I don’t know what became of that altered sign or where it ended up,  but I do remember putting it back in the closet and waiting for the police to arrive.

Do you cut out coupons but then never use them?

Yes.  When they expire I put them in the paper recycle bin.  That’s sort of like using them I guess.

Do you have freckles?

Yes I do. I think I was born with them.  They are everywhere.  And now I have age spots on top of them.  In another life I was a Dalmatian.

Regarding your fridge, is it organized or a mess inside?

HAHA!  I don’t know what that means.  I can find things.  Isn’t that all that really matters?

Thank you to everyone who has followed and visited my blog in the past month or so even though I’ve raised some suspicion as to whether or not I have been in a coma or out of the country or tied up and gagged.  Or unable to get my sheets untucked.  I will try to do better.  But you know me, I always say that.

Doesn’t make it any less true.

It’s the news people.  I’m blaming the news.  I read it and then I can’t even.

Have a great Thursday.  Clean up your damned fridge.

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Quiet Minds

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Quiet minds cannot be perplexed or frightened, but go on in fortune or misfortune at their own private pace, like a clock during a thunderstorm.

[Robert Louis Stevenson]

And here I thought January was going to be such a boring month.  Now I want it to end for a whole different myriad of reasons.

I really miss my complacent quiet mind that didn’t involve itself much in world politics and all the fussing and fighting my friend.  It’s been MIA for almost two weeks now, off somewhere being frightened and perplexed I guess.  The clock during a thunderstorm is beginning to feel like a ticking time bomb.  It seriously needs to yell and scream at somebody.  Reading the news is like watching a friend self destruct and having no idea what you could possibly say to them or do to make things better.  Worried that they’ll destroy you and everything around them in the process.

This is life, though, isn’t it?  Never meant to be easy.  There will always be ignorance and fear and hate right along side all the understanding, compassion and love.  I always thought I knew which one would win in the end.  And then a white Christian male murders people in a mosque.  And the victims are the ones he calls terrorists.  There’s a special place in hell for the perpetrators of such senseless violence, right next to the ones who incite it.

Amidst the shared grief and despair there’s always something we can be grateful for, right?  How long is your list?  I hope it’s longer than mine.

  1. Humour.  Satire.  Political cartoons.  Protest signs.  Because if you don’t laugh you might start to cry and never stop.
  2. People with functioning brains saying intelligent things.  They are a delightful contrast to the ones who believe thinking isn’t really all that important.
  3. Protesters and reporters and journalists who refuse to sit down and shut up.
  4. Social media, freedom of speech, freedom of the press.  The right to ask questions and get truthful answers.  All things that could be taken away from us.  In this day and age.  It boggles the mind. Do I believe everything I hear or read?  Of course not. There is progressively more bullshit to sift through these days, but there is also thoughtful, actually factually backed-up information.  There are insightful gems.  These are well worth the time it takes to find them, and have helped to restore my wavering faith in the basic goodness of humanity.
  5. The love and compassion that’s out there and has always been out there despite all the misguided evil efforts to destroy it.  I am so very thankful that all the rampant stupidity and hate has not lured all of us into stupidly and rampantly hating back.  It is so very tempting to add to the chaos instead of the calm.

Here’s something we can all hang on to.  These mortal men (yes, take heart, one day they will die just like the rest of us) who have had power gifted to them can have that power taken away. They are not Gods. Some of them are not even that smart. Some of them are probably certifiably insane. They can be stopped.  And I know there are good people ceaselessly working on stopping them before going to hell is the least of their worries because they will have all of us living with them in some version of it right here.

Am I taking all this too seriously?  I don’t know.  But better to err on this side of the fence than to regret not getting it before it’s too late to change the downward spiral we’re all being sucked into.

So do not let them beat you down and wear you out and make you want to give up. Never doubt that therein lies the method to their madness in their gleeful rush to keep their so-called promises, one after another after another, so you can’t wrap your head around how little forethought or concern for legality or unhappy consequences has been taken into account before they’re slamming the next thing down on the table.  And the shit that happens after that is SO not their fault.  Wow.  They are counting on everyone to become overwhelmed to the point of weary acceptance, not knowing what is legal and what is truth or which way is up.  Too busy fighting with each other to notice or care any more what’s really going on.  And away they go.

Resist and keep resisting the things you know in your heart to be wrong.  Because to do otherwise is unthinkable.

Sorry I’m not my usual flippant frivolous self these days.  I’m just not ready yet for the world to end.

This Tree

“I read the news today, oh boy” (McCartney/Lennon)

Every morning while we sit drinking our coffee, W and I trade interesting or funny or unbelievable crap we read about on our different news feeds.  Sometimes it’s really entertaining tuning in to the next instalment of the current gong show going on in our neighbouring country.  Sometimes it’s downright frightening.  I’m afraid that all the attention, no matter how negative, simply feeds the beast.  I’m afraid we all might soon be buried alive in alternative facts (a new and improved name for bullshit). I’m afraid there might be some devious method to their madness, piling it on so high and so deep that we lose the will to claw our way out from underneath it.

So in the interests of not feeding the beast (while at the same time not turning my back on him either) here is a slide show of our wintry ice-foggy  backyard.

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I snuck in a couple of shots of my bad hair day to show you how I am becoming one with nature.  By resembling a half dead tree.  Or something way more poetic than that.  This awesome big old tree is the same one in which my sisters grandson discovered an alligator nest last fall.  We had no idea it was harbouring such an amazing thing. Around Christmas time this same grandson explained to his grandma how he could recognize Frosty from the other snowmen by the brown hammer in his mouth. For sure this boy is going places.

I hope gazing at this tree with its magnificent icy alligator nest sheltering branches towering above the other frozen things in our yard on this cold grey January Monday gives you a brief respite from whatever doom and gloom crap is taking up valuable space in your brain.

If not, here’s something completely different.  Not all news is bad.

Family of boy in Justin Trudeau town hall photo to name baby after prime minister