C is for Curmudgeon

grumpy-old-men

New Thoughts On Words

C is for Curmudgeon

Cranky, cross, and Cantankerous

Quarrelsome

It’s someone else’s fault

Is being a Curmudgeon a choice, or about loss?

Crappy, critical and uncompromising

Like a Republican who is sore

Callous, cautious, careful

A Curmudgeon ruminates the same thought

Perhaps their hippocampus is shrinking, their dreams forgotten, or tossed

Left alone to commiserate

A connoisseur without a cause

Realizes a critical point

Dick Chaney could be their new boss

A special thanks to my friend Mary for suggesting the word Curmudgeon and to Michael Ray King for encouraging writers to write poetry.

B is for Bootylicious Bouillabaisse, The Alphabet Series

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New Thoughts On Words

B is For Bootylicious Bouillabaisse

    Bootylicious is on my mind. It happens to writers. Words jump into our minds and refuse to leave. I could blame Beyonce` Knowles and the Super Bowl; but the truth is I like the word. Its rhythm somehow attaches itself to bouillabaisse and bingo, becomes an onomatopoeia dancing around my head.

The American language evolves quickly and popularity is why Webster includes a word in the dictionary. Merriam Webster has a paid staff that scans publications and records the frequency of a new word or expression before deciding.

The Webster dictionary defines booty as spoil taken from an enemy in war or loot. In the real world Bootylicious is slang and a compound word joining booty or buttock with delicious. The song “Bootylicious” made the term well-known.

Words are added yearly. Recent additions are cougar, helicopter parent, soccer- mom and EEVO an original by Rachael Raye.  A few of the words for 2012 are: man cave, coperniciu, energy drink, game changer, gastropub, mash-up.

So what does Bootylicious Bouillabaisse bring to my mind?

Picture Beyonce` dressed in a black corset and spike high heels joining  Julia Child in the kitchen for a cooking lesson.

We will need something like the time machine in “Back to the Future” to transport Beyonce` to Marseille to learn from the American chef and food writer.

Close your eyes and imagine  Meryl Streep as Julia Child in Julie and Julia if you have to.

Julia opens the conversation with,  “to me the telling flavor of bouillabaisse comes from two things: the Provençal soup base — garlic, onions, tomatoes, olive oil, fennel, saffron, thyme, bay, and usually a bit of dried orange peel — and, of course, the fish — lean, firm-fleshed, soft-fleshed, gelatinous, and shellfish.”[3] Wikipedia

Beyonce`  questions the chef, “Lean and firm, that part girl I know what you talkin bout. Gelatinous…I know you gotta work your jelly. Gelationous? Got to text Jay Z. He’ll know bout that.”

Julia emphasises the B saying, “bouillabaisse is a fish stew. You combine two actions, blhir (French to boil) and abaissar (to reduce).

Beyonce` says with an attitude and one hand on her hip,  “I can boil fine, real fine. She shakes her booty to mimic Julie’s stirring

Julia’s voice crescendos saying,  “Not a hard boil, a slow steady bubbling.” And purses her lips saying ” Then turn it real low and slow.”

Beyonce` says “I gotcha, girl”

Bon  Appetite

                       ….just saying

Laughter Clubs

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Aging & Attitude

Laughter Club

In the dark, the digital clock with extra-large numbers taunts me with the time, 1:54AM.

I typically wake at this hour and according to Roger Ekirch, it is not that I cannot sleep, simply the end of the “first sleep”. Time to get up and check for comments on my blog post.

A faithful reader has written, “I miss your humorous side.”

No kidding, I am currently writing about Smart Thermostats and worrying about water waste.

I miss my humor too and thinking of joining a Laughter Club.

What is a Laughter Club?

They are fully independent, not-for-profit, non-political, non-religious and non-competitive community-based associations of diverse people who choose to be happy. In other words, Baby Boomers who believe laughing about nothing can ward off aging.

In the sixties, students were sent to detention.  Now these “Breakfast Club Scoundrels” have convinced others to join them in acting and looking ridiculous, claiming 100 chuckles is equal to a ten minute cardiovascular workout.

I read about Laughter Clubs in “Health, Fitness and More”. Linda Marlow a certified Laughter Leader was interviewed about  laughter workshops. The back of her red T-shirt reads, “Laugh Til it Helps” and to call 1-800-Now-Laff, for help.

A list of 25 yoga exercises that included, Air Kiss and Ear-wiggle Laughter Greetings can be found on-line. Intrigued I played the YouTube video, however I needed to rewind the tape several times to decipher the instructor’s plea to “Imagine your feet have roots” and there was no laughter only deep breathing.

There are other ways to benefit from a Laughter Club without leaving your home.

  • The  Phone Laughter Club
  • Electric Shock Laughter
  • Laughter Finger Racing

Phone laughter is free. Electric Shock Laughter is touted as the easy way, but no, I did not ask for details. You can finger race on your own and not only laugh but improve your brain function, a  BOGO.

However, a Smart Thermostat can save you up to $200 a year.

… just saying

P.S. Thank you, Marsha.

Is Lying A Crime?

“Not only did I lie about lying, but I lied about lying about lying. And you’d better believe that’s the truth. 
”
― Jarod Kintz

By a lie, a man…annihilates his dignity as a man.
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Aging & Attitude

There is a conversation going on in my head, not a monologue – talking to yourself.

It is a dialogue. Something like this:

“Is it a crime to lie?”

“Depends. If you’re asked, ‘Does this dress make me look fat?’ It would be a death sentence or life without parole, and just stupid, to say anything but no.”

“So, a white lie, something small and insignificant is okay? Not like Lance Armstrong, Casey Anthony or that woman in Phoenix, Arizona, well she lied but decided to tell the truth, not really the truth, a different lie about the truth.”

“Lying under oath, perjury, is a crime, however Anthony worked briefly for a company that worked for Universal Studios and wasn’t being investigated when she lied. Armstrong told Oprah he didn’t believe he was cheating or committing a crime and considered doping necessary to level the playing field and lying was the right choice.”

“So it’s okay to lie.”

“Well, kind of, the Supreme Court recently ruled on the subject of lying ­­­­­­– Xavier Alvarez sued saying it was a violation of American’s First Amendment, our freedom of speech for him not to be able to say he was a Medal of Honor recipient. He won.

“Lying to the public was a crime, look at Nixon and Watergate”

“Clinton, too – they were presidents, held to a higher standard.”

“Although it’s a lie, Xavier Alvarez can say he won a Medal of Honor, but Casey Anthony can’t say she worked at Universal Studies during an investigation, if she was read her rights.”

“What about Manti Te’o, can he lie about having a girlfriend.

“Well Manti Te’o wasn’t lying, he didn’t know the truth.” 220px-Lars_real_girl

“But had he known the truth it would be his First Amendment right to lie. Remember that indie movie, “Lars and the Real Girl”.

“Blame Voltaire, he said, “I may not agree with what you say, but I will fight to the death for your right to say it.”

“I thought that meant the individual’s right to express an opinion and question others. Voltaire didn’t say I will defend your right to lie.”

“The actual quote is, ‘We have a natural right to make use of our pens as of our tongue, at our peril, risk and hazard‘. ~Voltaire, Dictionnaire Philosophique, 1764- consequences were included.”

It may be a  First Amendment right to lie, but it is still wrong.
…. just saying

A White House Christmas

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 Aging & Attitude

My eyes swell with tears, and throat chokes with emotion as I read the letter confirming our Christmas tour date at the White House. Ten days later inside the White House, I am misty the entire visit, and once back home, can barely respond to inquiries of “How was your trip?”

It is not just about the decorations, or First Family’s dog, Bo, a life size replica, made from chicken wire and eighteen thousand one-inch black and white pom-poms .

It is an experience.

At the East Wing entrance, you walk past snowflake wreaths into a foyer of red, white and blue, and instantly feel more than a guest. The tree in this foyer is a tribute to military families. The gold star ornaments pay respect to those who made the ultimate sacrifice. You can write a note of thanks to service men and women. www.JOININGFORCES.GOV.

Visitors are welcome to wander through the nine magnificently decorated rooms and two hallways until you tire of being there, or preparations for a state function start. On this day, a luncheon and afternoon tea are scheduled, so guests will vacate by 11a.m.

We have plenty of time to soak up and absorb the glitter, glitz, and magic.

The theme for Holidays at the White House 2012 is Joy to All and HGTV’s special programhighlights the planning and process of decorating the People’s House. Please click on these links, you will see Bo Obama and the magical decorations. Eighty volunteers spent two to three-days creating joyous splendor throughout the White House. All rooms are decorated but only the State floor is viewed by the general public.

My favorite, a tree in the Book Sellers area, glass bubble ornaments in primary colors; orange, red, purple, blue and green, cascade around the branches. The circular simplicity leave an elegant effect and a lasting impression.

And it gets better.

The East Garden room is a children’s wonderland of gingerbread wreaths and “Boflakes” hung on trees. The Library pays tribute to past Presidents, and First Families. The China Room is set to enjoy a holiday dinner. The Vermeil Room celebrates past First Ladies. The East Room displays American folk art. The Green Room reflects on the joy of a winter garden, The Blue Room honors troops, veterans and military families, The Red Room remembers First Lady Dolly  Madison and her famous Wednesday-evening receptions with cranberry floral arrangements.  The State Dining Room filled with vibrant holiday tones displays the 300-pound gingerbread house.

But it is not just about the decorations.

It is about American pride.

It is about the Princeton Tigertones singing acappela in the North Entrance Hall. An excited 2012-12-04 09.22.48preschooler yelling “I found it” and pointing at a red Bo Obama glass ornament hung low on a tree.

It is about Abraham Lincoln poised above the State Dining room fireplace, his face lined with evidence, that all men are created equal.

2012-12-04 09.07.12You can hear JFK’s poignant request, “Ask not what your country can do for you, but what can you do, for your country.”

It is about meeting three Marines on the Metro, who are returning from Arlington Cemetery and a service for fallen unit members. We have a light discussion about their medals and uniforms. As the doors open, I struggle to say “Be Safe,” before leaving. The soldier’s eyes meet mine and revealed war’s reality but he replies gently, “We try, Maam.”

A White House Christmas tour is not just about the decorations.                                 

                                                                  …just saying

Manly Men

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                     The Gingerbread Men

It would not be Christmas without “THE MEN”, Gingerbread Men cookies that are a family holiday tradition.

The recipe and trademark attire of  a three raisin vest and sliver of Marchiano cherry lips was created for my daughter’s kindergarten class. This year is their thirtieth celebration.

As class mother in 1982, my responsibility was to provide a holiday refreshment; traditionally a white flour sugar cookie, dripping in red icing and sparkling with glitter sugar, accompanied by cherry  Hi-C Juice.

I could not do it.

My children had been told Ritz crackers were cookies and did not learn differently until they went to school. Birthday cake was carrot cake made with whole wheat flour, and I baked bread.

I searched for a  festive substitute and found gingerbread cookies in The Good House Keeping Cookbook on page 657. Determined to make the cookies healthier yet, I eliminated the sugar, increased the molasses, added whole wheat flour, and loved the results.

They are cute. Their crooked lips and misshapen eyes add personality. But not everyone likes them, it is an acquired taste and even Mr. Wonderful took his time coming on board.

When grammar school was over, I could not stop baking, started delivering decorative containers of MEN to  neighbors, and decorated a table tree in our  foyer with gingerbread men, to wish the teenagers Merry Christmas.

One year my daughter pulled me aside  to whisper there was no “MAN” for Laura. We scribbled a name tag and she hurried to follow my instructions, hang it in the back of the tree and tell Laura to look again, carefully.

These small memories grow huge in my heart and make my holidays special.   … just saying             


Do You Tweet?

Aging & Attitude

 

“Do you Tweet?” Christine asks me, as the waitress approaches the table.

We are having lunch at The Olive Garden. It is a celebration of sorts; Christine has a new website  and food blog, Pudbudder. Tricia’s, children’s book, “Detective You’re” is in the hands of an illustrator, and my short story, “Wheels of Circumstance” is an FWA selection.

The waitress interrupts to tell us the specials and ends by saying, “I’ll be back to take your order.”

“I have a Twitter account but never Twit?” I responded

“It’s Tweet, you tweet, not twit on Twitter.” Twitter links to LinkedIn and can increase your followers. I have 452 followers. I’m doing resumes for people in Australia”

Tricia and I, thankful to know someone tech savvy are impressed, and leap on the opportunity to ask questions we feel too stupid to otherwise ask.

“If it is called twitter, why do you tweet and not twit?”

Soft spoken Tricia  inquires politely, “What’s Twitter?”

“Twitter is an online social networking service where people can send and read text-based messages of up to 140 characters, known as ‘tweets’.”   Wikipedia’s definition; “a short burst of inconsequential information, and ‘chirps from birds’.” Christine says smiling.

“I think I was a bird in a former life,” I comment.” But why characters? Why not spaces?”

Tricia asks, “Couldn’t they send a short email?”

“I don’t know.” Christine rolls her eyes and continues, “This is like trying to convince cavemen they’d be better off using matches.”

The waitress is back and takes our orders.

When she is gone, Christine leans across the table to Tricia and questions, “Do you know what a hash tag is?”

“Don’t be a twerp, how would I know about hash?” Is Tricia’s not so polite, reply.

“It’s a number sign, # you can use it to share a twitter story.” Christine taunts and proceeds to inform us; Twitter is undergoing changes and now has Tweetups, Tweetie, New Twitter, and Retweets.

I have a headache.

We leave the restaurant two hours later laughing about Twitter, tweets and twits.

Later that evening I login in to my Twitter account, take the Twitter -Tour and learn, one has to follow to get followers.

So, who will I follow?

Mr. Wonderful is watching the ALDS series, the Yankees are playing Baltimore.  I type Yankee in the search bar.  Mike Blooomberg, aka Mayor of NYC, tweets, “Go Yankees”

Ruth Westheimer, aka Dr. Ruth, Psychosexual Therapist,(I am surprised is still alive) tweets, “So-A-Rod benched”

Nothing exciting is happening here.

I  plan to watch Blue Bloods on CBS and figure the TV program is a safe search.

Jim Wahlberg, Dorchester, MA, no known relation to Danny, Donnie Wahlberg, real life brother to Mark Wahlberg well know for the movies, Ted and The Fighter is tweeting, really flirting with Paula NKOTB.

Not of interest to me.

However, Donnie was recently interviewed by Gayle King, of whom I am a big fan. She asks an interesting question, waits and respects the answer.  Sunday morning Gayle tweeted she’d been to Streisand concert and to the Barclay for burger bash with her favorite mayor.  I am jealous.

Gayle has 589, 454 followers and one more, me.

As of today I have one follower, dear Christine, but who is counting.

                                                                               …just saying

Welcome to My Beeping World

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Photograph by Kyle Merriman, National Geographic

Aging & Attitude

   Welcome to my beeping bleeping world where everything beeps, rings or vibrates. It is a typical sunny day in Florida, the sky is clear, the clouds pure white. The select button on our Mr. Coffee, is green. Fresh brewed coffee will be ready in a few minutes. Although the brewing sounds like a choo-choo train speeding into the station before screeching to a stop, Mr. Coffee will beep four times to wake me  from a coma and remind me, I want caffeine. In the mean time, I open the refrigerator and ponder what to eat for breakfast; soy yogurt and rye toast or maybe… pumpernickel bread, perhaps egg white French toast or  two suicidal eggs over easy (430mg cholesterol).

My thoughts are interrupted by the refrigerator alarm, four consecutive beeps, notifying me, like I do not know, the door is open. Why the alarm, I am retired, and deciding what to have for breakfast.

Simultaneously, Mr. Coffee beeps to signal the coffee is ready. I grab the half-and-half and close the door. The pot sputters, spits and spills but the coffee is not really ready. There is time to kill.

I open the freezer, grab chicken for dinner and use the time before beeps to rearrange the veggie burgers and throw out a Carvel cone experiencing frost bite.

Oatmeal  seems a better choice for breakfast than the death wish eggs, and confident, I can outsmart the deafening microwave notification system by hitting cancel with five seconds left on the time pad, mix up a bowl.

Life is good. I get dressed and skip my way to the grocery store wearing a hooded sweatshirt as several dairy and frozen food items are on my list.

In the produce aisle among the melon, cucumbers, and squash is an electric cart shopper, a man, handling tomatoes: cherry, plum, beefsteak; comparing firmness and price, travelling in reverse. He is having difficulty making up his mind and a triple beep loud enough to reach Mars sounds every time he backs up. We have already said “Good Morning,” when he parked, not in a handicapped space, and walked into the store. Maybe the trip used all his stamina because he cannot stand to squeeze a tomato.

I toss a pre-weighed plastic bag of fresh green beans, three times the amount I need in the cart and sprint through the dairy aisle before escaping to the warmth in my car.

The car’s automatic beeps indicating; a seat belt needs fastening, the key is still in the ignition, or lights have been left on; are easy to ignore but not the variety of long, medium, and short signals from my Medtronic insulin pump and continuous glucose monitor that change to vibrate if not responded to and yes wake me from sleep.  Checking the alarm message is equivalent to texting while driving. It is lunch time, so I find a Panera .  After placing my order, I am handed a beeper device that will, blink and vibrate when the food is ready. I substitute as waitress.

The restaurant is noisy and includes banging sounds from the kitchen. I find a seat in a heightened state of awareness, and wonder, will I be searching my blouse for my concealed pump when really my lunch is ready.

                                                                                        …just saying

Beeping Household Items

  • Alarm clock
  • Humidifier
  • Electric toothbrush (after every minute brushing)
  • Telephone handsets
  • Clock radi0
  • Computers
  • Washer
  • Dryer
  • Fridge
  • Freezer
  • Coffee maker
  • Dishwasher
  • Oven
  • Microwave
  • Digital cameras
  • Fax machine
  • Printers
  • Stud finder
  • 2 cellphones
  • Security alarm
  • Fire Alarm

My Most Embarrassing Moment

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 Wet & Wild

Aging & Attitude

   My most embarrassing moment occurred the summer of 1986 on Long Beach Island, a well know vacation spot for families from the New York, New Jersey and Philadelphia area. The drive along the Garden State Parkway to exit 63A and over the Manahawkin Bay Bridge, affectionately called The Causeway by locals, is a true Jersey experience. The unique bridge lights, famed Strand of Pearls, are memorable viewed at night.

Called LBI, the island known for its beach umbrellas, sand castles, and surfers, has no boardwalk, and is minus the frenzy of other nearby beach communities like Seaside Heights, famous for Snookie and the TV show “Jersey Shore.”

My husband says his most embarrassing moment was asking a cousin when her baby was due and she responded, “I’m not pregnant.”

His experience pales next to mine.

Makes you wonder what is behind embarrassment.

My children and husband watched the incident.

In 1986, my son was eleven, my daughter, nine, and me; I was thirty-eight years old. I do not know the age of the pimpled face teen.

The week was uneventful, no rain or black flies, and the mosquitoes only came out at night. Our friends and their two kids visited a few nights, and we went to the Wet & Wild slide in Beach Haven.

Recently, I Googled  Wet & Wild on Eighth and Bay Ave, and it is renamed the Thundering Surf Water Slide, but the giant pink bubble gum colored slide remains the same.

The kids enjoyed Wet & Wild so much we went back. My husband, not up for the wet and wild experience, joined other parents in the gallery to cheer and applaud when the ride ended. I was eager and grabbed a rubber magic carpet for the ride.

For the vacation, I purchased a hot turquoise one-piece swimsuit; halter-top, knotted behind the neck and perfect for swimming.

After several carpet rides, I was starting to enjoy myself, you know let loose, when the embarrassing moment happened. To this day I am thankful my husband was standing in the gallery, keen-eyed.

I landed in the bottom pool with the heavy magic carpet on my head, choking on water. My eyes opened to Pimple Boy staring at me like he is stoned.

I managed to remove the mat from my head and stand, then heard a voice call my name. Once my husband had my attention he pointed to his chest.  I looked down. Yes, I was fully exposed and playing to a full crowd, about twenty people.

Pimple Boy popped more zits and I scurried to hide and put things back in.

I sort refuge behind the stairs, where my two children where hiding, and exclaimed out of breath, “The most embarrassing thing just happened.”

In whispered tones, they mouthed, “We know, Mom.”

I wonder what Pimple Boy’s most embarrassing moment is.

What is your most embarrassing moment?

                                                         …just saying

Peculiar

Picasso Blue Nude

Picasso Blue Nude   Aging & Attitude

My only aunt died recently at the age of ninety-two. Peculiar is how my mother describes her sister. It is a kind word choice considering, and gives my aunt personality and style, rather than label her strange.

Born on January 13, 1920, her dad, Charles Achilles DeSalvo, proudly named her Marie Antoinette, (while her mom was sedated) though she was called Carol; and legally changed her name once twenty-one.

As a twelve-year-old, I thought her a princess arranging articles of clothing (padded bras, garter belts and silk panties) on the bed, to wear after a bath. She wore high heel, open toe, sling back shoes lined with Kleenex tissues, as slippers; bathed with Palmolive soap, used a pumice stone to ward off foot callous, brushed with tooth powder and applied makeup sitting at a dressing table in a house coat. The final step once I zippered her newest dress was to take out the Bobbie-pins and comb through her hair. She did not dilly-dally wanting to be only fashionably late for cocktails.

Aunt Carol was frozen in time. Nothing changed for her since 1958 when she owned a green Buick.  She had a Nancy Regan style, but never went to Washington. Her hair-do the day she died was the same as the day my parents married. She never had children and did not marry until sixty. She did not wear slacks, low shoes, socks, or sneakers. Every dress she owned was individually surrounded with plastic and stored in a closet. I still can hear her response to the mention of denim, “Only cowboys wear denim,”  she said with a sharp rise in her voice, clutching a tissue.

Picasso Blue Nude

Aunt Carol loved to shop and demonstrated peculiar behavior at the checkout.  She watched carefully every item rung up as though it was her first trip to Disney then waited for the cashier to ask, “Will that be cash or charge?” which did not happen. Aunt Carol eventually said “Credit Card,” with a look of distain, opened the metal clasp on her black leather purse, and removed a zip lock bag.  A wallet wrapped in Kleenex tissue; the tissue secured by a blue rubber band was inside the plastic. Unwrapping, the wallet was a slow process that suspended time for everyone around her. Eventually she removed a credit card and paid. I wonder what her life would have been as Marie Antoinette DeSalvo.

                                                                                  …just saying