Wrong or Write

My Holiday’s Better then Yours

noreply@blogger.com (CJ) — Sun, 20 Dec 2009 22:43:00 +0000

Hanukkah has passed, and Christmas is less than a week away, with New Year’s Eve close on its heels. A powdered-sugar snow has sifted from the sky all day, leaving roads slippery but passable – needless to say, I am not on the East Coast!

I find myself thinking about the holiday season and what I know about it. The question is, which holiday? I know this seems radical, but Christmas is not the only holiday in December. For all my Christian friends, what a wonderful time. By all means, celebrate: sing carols, wish everyone a very merry, and shop ‘til you drop. But don’t forget that those around you may not share your faith. Don’t be defensive – just be aware and thoughtful.

I have friends and colleagues who celebrate Christmas, Hanukkah, Eid'ul-Adha, Boxing Day and Kwanzaa (but usually not all of them). Of those who are open about their beliefs, I enjoy celebrating with them. I am as delighted to be wished a merry Christmas as I am when someone calls out “Happy Hanukkah.” And I am very satisfied to be wished a Happy Holiday – that sales clerk does not need to know my personal beliefs, nor does he or she need to fear my reaction at being politically correct or not.

Here’s an idea. Feel free to wish those around you a Merry Christmas during the month of December. And, if you like, during Hanukkah, wish your friends a Happy Hanukkah. And so on – I don’t think that it’s terribly important that you share the same holidays or beliefs as the other person – what you’re honestly sharing is your hope for blessings, peace, joy and those other intangibles we humans so lust after.

At the very least, educate yourself about other cultures and beliefs. Doing so does not make you less of a Christian, but more of one.

To learn about Jewish holidays, visit:

Union for Reform Judaism: http://urj.org/holidays/jcal/
Orthodox Union: http://www.ou.org/holidays

To learn about Kwanzaa, visit:

The Official Kwanzaa Website: http://www.officialkwanzaawebsite.org/index.shtml

To learn about other religious and cultural holidays, visit:

noreply@blogger.com (CJ) — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 15:05:00 +0000

We did something different for the holidays this year. My extended family (parents, siblings with spouses, nieces and nephews with spouses or dates, even dogs) gathered at my sister's house for a holiday celebration - earlier than usual this year due to one person's work schedule. Generally we draw names from a hat in November and bring a gift for just that person. Then we also bring small gifts to tuck into stockings, although last year I brought collapsible camp chairs, which definitely did not fit into stockings.

Lately the quantity of stocking stuffers grew until we were back to the chaos of too many gifts to appreciate, and escalating costs for people who were struggling to make ends meet due to layoffs. So this year, we skipped the gift exchange and went for cookies instead.

Each family brought four dozen of a single kind of homemade holiday cookie. We arranged them on platters and then "shopped" from each others' offerings, filling our containers with a yummy assortment of goodies that we could then share in our homes or other holiday gatherings throughout the season.

It was fun - there were sugar cookies decorated with royal icing, "magic" cookie bars, oatmeal cookies with red and green M&Ms, peanut butter cup kisses, Kris Kringles with bits of candied cherries in the center, chocolate chocolate chip cookies, and stained glass cookies, with little heart-shaped windows made of melted Lifesavors candies. Oh, and there was fudge - technically not a cookie, but delicious all the same.

Here are some things I learned: we miss the point of Christmas or Hanukkah when we focus on gifts; my family are very competitive and there was whining about who did and did not "win" some prize ribbons provided by my niece; and we love to cook and to eat (big surprise).

We also gave a few gifts: three family members have birthdays within a week of the celebration, so we sang "Happy birthday," shared a huge cake ("three layers of chaos!") with super sweet frosting, and gave gifts. We had music, too - holiday songs and jazz, keyboarding provided by my dad and nephew, vocals by my mom and me.

When we left with full bellies, groaning about the condition of our tummies, we were happy and satisfied. And now we have a new holiday tradition - the cookie exchange - and will forgo gifting until the next generation of babies comes along. The holidays have evolved from object-obsession to gathering, talking, hugging, singing, laughing and eating together - accent on the "together." May your holidays be as cheerful and joyful as can be.

The Sniff Test

noreply@blogger.com (CJ) — Thu, 01 Oct 2009 00:32:00 +0000

I was thinking with my nose recently. I am visiting Battle Creek, Michigan, home of Kellogg Company - the Cereal City. On Monday morning I stepped out of my hotel and the smell hit me. It was like something wonderful baking. I was pretty sure my grandma was lurking nearby, pulling a pan of something golden and toasty out of someone's oven. Except for the fact that it was raining, I wanted to stand and inhale deeply...many times.

When I entered the Kellogg Company headquarters, the smell disappeared. I had nearly forgotten it when I left the building that afternoon, but there it was again. Stop, take a deep breath. A flood of memories, all linked to baked goods. The feeling was so overpowering, I ran into the nearest coffee shop and bought a pumpkin scone to savor on the trip home.

Smell can be a powerful force. It can trigger deep, strong memories and emotions without warning. I remember a stay at the Koehler resort in Wisconsin a few days before Christmas. The weather was strange - no snow, just an annoying drizzle. We checked in, then started across the courtyard to our room. Again - stand and inhale. This time, though, I breathed the intoxicating nectar that is cocoa. By the time we unpacked our bags, I was gripped by a craving for chocolate. We sought out the concierge to find out where the chocolatier was that was creating these wonderful aromas. He looked puzzled for a moment, then his face lit up. There was no chocolatier (rats!) but the gardener had just mulched the plantings in the courtyard with cocoa husks, the waste by-product of making chocolate. Alors! I was desolate...and desperate! Chocolate! I must have chocolate! Fortunately, it was the holiday season at a resort. I didn't have to venture too far to find some, but it was far inferior to what my imagination conjured up, based on the musky smell.

Think about it. What smells jog your mind or emotions? Does the smell of chlorine bring back memories of swim classes, or your mom doing laundry? What about the smell of baking or toasting bread? Fresh herbs? I can't just use fresh herbs when I cook - I must thrust my face into the leafy greenness and breathe. I can't walk past a pot of lavender without running my fingers through it like I was tousling my little boy's hair, then holding my hands to my face with a goofy smile, I'm sure.

You know what? I was going to talk about how bad smells can be equally compelling, but I won't. I'm having too much fun with the good stuff. What about bubble gum - the old Bazooka eraser-pink hunk o'stuff? or face powder - does it make you think of a favorite aunt? Mmmmm...

So this afternoon I pulled back into Battle Creek and when I opened the car door, I stopped and inhaled for a moment. Yes, I'm sure grandma is here somewhere, and I'm getting hungry again. I love this town!

Julie & Julia & Me

noreply@blogger.com (CJ) — Sat, 29 Aug 2009 04:15:00 +0000

Yesterday I saw the movie Julie & Julia, the story entwining the lives of Julia Child, renowned American French chef (I mean, an American who was schooled in French cooking methods) and Julie Powell, a writer who never got off the ground until she decided to cook her way through Mrs. Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking in one year, and blog about it. Julie was successful, in the cooking and the blogging and, eventually, the book.

The movie made me think about the types of work that really make me happy - cooking and writing. I have considered going to cooking school. The more I learn about cooking, the more I realize I don't know. That doesn't bother me, it excites me. It means there is so much I can learn.

As a cook, I am self-taught, including cooking shows and websites and books and just plain experimentation. My husband encourages me, because in almost 29 years of marriage, there have been only, by his count, two meals that were inedible, and neither of us remember them. There have been many good and a fair number of great meals, though, so I guess I'm still on the plus side.

There's something freeing about cooking for me. Often, I decide on the fly what I'm going to cook, and it changes as I go. I may stand in front of the pantry or the freezer, pondering the contents - what's there that I've forgotten about? Can I do something interesting with this? Hmmm...

When things don't work as planned, no worries. Sometimes I'm the only one who knows. My mom taught me that there are never lumps in the gravy, but there may be dumplings! If the sauce doesn't thicken, then call it au jus. As long as it is (1) not raw, unless that's the proper state in which to serve an item, (2) not burnt, unless you are torching a brulee, (3) hasn't been dropped on the floor, unless you are Julia Child - then serve it with your head held high!

Over time, I have developed a few fail-safe classics - tomato basil bisque (I know, it's technically not a bisque unless it contains seafood), pears poached in red wine (and its summer cousin, peaches poached in white wine), pasta with fresh vegetables and garlic, marinated flank steak. In fact, I always - I mean ALWAYS - keep canned diced tomatoes, fresh basil, minced garlic, evaporated milk and good Parmesan cheese on hand. You never know when you might need to whip up a pot of tomato bisque for unexpected guests!

Alright, I've convinced myself. I'll sign up for a knife skills class at the local cooking school. Let's take it one step at a time and see where this leads. I won't be dedicating my life to cooking my way through the recipe collection of, say, Alton Brown - that schtick has been done. But I may wax poetic about my culinary successes, and I'll share my failures, with a modicum of humor and a dash of salt.

And now, I'm hungry!

Post-Walk Reflections

noreply@blogger.com (CJ) — Thu, 20 Aug 2009 14:30:00 +0000

It's been a few weeks since the Breast Cancer 3-Day Walk. My blisters have healed as time has passed. I realize I need to record my thoughts about the event before time further gets away from me.

I walked further this year. I completed 50 of the 60 miles - a new record for me. Seventeen miles on day one, 19 on day two and 14 on day three. I could have done all 17 on day three, except the bone in my right foot (the fifth metatarsal, which has been broken three times and repaired with a screw) began to hurt early in the day. I jumped on a bus to rest the foot and resumed walking after lunch.

I met some wonderful people. Even with over a thousand participants, plus many volunteers, it's surprising how often you cross paths with the same people over the course of three days and 60 miles. Friendly walkers would pause to chat as they passed by me (everyone passed me by - I told people I walk slowly so they will feel like they are going fast).

Best t-shirt of the event. Hands down, the prize (which consists solely of my admiration) goes to the breast cancer survivor with whom I dined Friday evening. Her shirt read: "No, they're not real. The real ones tried to kill me." Last year's award went to a man with "Does this fanny pack make my butt look big?" on the back of his shirt.

Least favorite t-shirts. I'm sure it's just me, but I don't particularly like the team names and t-shirt slogans that use slang names for breasts. I grew up hearing these words as derogatory terms and to me they still sound like insults.

Favorite time at camp. It was wonderful to get mail at camp. Last year I didn't know people could send you mail until I got to camp. This year I made sure my loved ones got the mailing instructions. I got six cards and letters, which cheered me on and kept me going.

Least favorite time at camp. So I've just walked about 20 miles. Now I have to hydrate and refuel, then shower. The camp was set up with the various facilities at a significant distance from each other. Things seemed further away this year, and for someone with arthritis, walking 20 miles was enough. There were times I wanted to go to the 3-Day Cafe or the vendor tents, but just could not walk any more. Golf carts???

Favorite time on the walk itself. Knowing that someone you know will be waiting for you at a cheering station is incredible motivation to keep moving. My wonderful family and friends waited for me in sun and heat at four different sites on days two and three. Seeing them brought me to tears more than once.

Least favorite time on the walk. Rain! We started days one and three in the rain. It was funny, though, to see the lengths to which walkers went to keep their feet dry. I saw women with the tops of their shoes and socks sealed with duct tape, with their feet encased in plastic bags (inside their shoes), with plastic bags tied around their ankles. Me? I just walked and made sure to put on dry socks at midday.

This was a great experience. I honestly don't know if I can do it again next year. The physical toll on my body - the exhaustion, the joint pain - was pretty heavy. But I won't rule it out yet. I walked in honor and memory of a number of women - friends and the friends and relatives of friends. I was a walking memorial, and there's something holy about that. Few things in our lives can be seen that way. I will cherish the memories and the names.

The Eve of the Walk

noreply@blogger.com (CJ) — Fri, 31 Jul 2009 03:45:00 +0000

I should be asleep. It's after midnight - any sane person would be asleep, knowing she has to get up at 4:45 a.m. Knowing a full day of grueling exertion, walking 22 miles of concrete - the first leg of 60 total miles - awaits.

But I am awake, thinking of the first day of the Breast Cancer 3-Day, starting in the morning. I'm thinking of the women on my honor roll: friends and friends of friends, all facing breast cancer or surviving it or losing the fight. I've lost track of how many names are lettered on the sash I will wear - there must be 16 or 18 by now.

I keep repacking my gear, trying to weed out anything superfluous, winnowing down the weight of my duffel. I lay in bed and close my eyes. Instead of drifting off to sleep, though, I review the contents of my belt pack. Can I fit one more necessity in it? Is the disposable poncho good enough if it rains? Did I remember to pack sunscreen? Insect repellent? Ibuprofen?

My husband, my soul mate, is sleeping in the next room, breathing softly. He has supported my strongly held belief that I must walk this 60-mile trek again, raising money for breast cancer research, raising awareness and educating women and men about this horrid killer. I am very close to my personal fundraising goal...but just how close does that take us to a cure and prevention?

The task is daunting...progress is slow, but there is progress being made. What can I do, besides raising money? I can learn and I can share what I learn. So here's what I know:

Nearly 200,000 women and 2,000 men will be diagnosed with breast cancer in 2009
Over 40,000 women and 440 men will die of breast cancer this year
Breast cancer is the most common form of cancer among African-American, Chinese, Japanese, Korean and Filipino women
The two most important factors risk factors for breast cancer are being a woman and getting older
Men with breast cancer often get treatment at later stages than women because they are less likely to report symptoms immediately, and this can affect their survival

Please learn about your risk and the signs and symptoms of breast cancer. Then share what you learn with your family members and friends. And if you can, please make a donation, however large or small, by clicking the pink box at the right or visiting http://www.the3day.org/goto/connie.walks. I know we'll all sleep better at night.

The Joys of Being Owned by a Cat

noreply@blogger.com (CJ) — Fri, 03 Jul 2009 23:11:00 +0000

We didn't see ourselves as cat owners. When we said a final goodbye to our dear canine friend last fall, my husband and I agreed to wait before bringing another pooch into our lives. We said we would wait until we had completed the three trips we had scheduled in the winter and spring, and then we'd see.

Then my friend's cat got sick while my friend was out of state, so we took Sabrina in and nursed her back to health. When it came time to send Sabrina back home, we had a tough time giving her up and our lives were a little less full.

So we put the word out to our friends at Love-A-Stray that we would consider rescuing a cat, but not just any cat. We wanted a female, spayed, front-declawed (please, no lectures) with a warm and snuggly personality. It wasn't long before such a kitty was found, and we had a new critter in our home.

Belle - her name was Jingle Bells, but that wasn't going to fly - rules our roost. Fortunately, she has decided - for now - to let us stay here too. She talks to me constantly, squeaking and chirping and meowing. She expects a dollop of wet food every evening and will chew me out if I'm late. She is fascinated by our bedroom, where she is not allowed, and plots how she will sneak in. She also plots how she will sneak out into the garage. It's not that she's trying to run away, it's just that she's not allowed, which makes it more attractive to her.

Belle especially likes to curl up on my lap and stare into my face. She's completely entranced with the laser pointer. She also likes the stick with the feathers and streamers and will carry it around with her, much like a dog.

Our lives have changed so much, but it feels so right to have a pet again. The house doesn't feel empty, I have someone to talk to (and who talks back), and Belle clearly dotes on me. At least she has good taste! She's a messy eater who hates to get to the bottom of the bowl, and given the chance, she will drink from the toilet. Other than that, we're delighted to have Belle in our lives.

Thinking about getting a pet? Please consider rescuing an animal through Love-A-Stray: Click here for more information.

Cutting the cord

noreply@blogger.com (CJ) — Thu, 28 May 2009 20:35:00 +0000

So today we cut the cord...literally. We no longer have a landline - a standard telephone line - in our home. This has been coming for a while. We keep expanding our mobile services, relying more and more on the little hand-held device that is so addicting.

Then one day we realize that the only calls we get on the landline are solicitations - sales, charitable organizations, political canvassers...and my mother. For this we pay $45 a month?

Now that I thnk of it, my son has never had a landline since he went away to college and then moved on to real life. If he can do it, why not me?

Our phone service was bundled with cable and internet service. I was warned "That's what keeps your rate so low. If you 'unbundle,' the prices for the other services will go up." Imagine my pleasant surprise at our new rate without phone and dropping a few cable services we pay for but don't use. The bill dropped by about $80. Wow - I can think of a few other things I can do with the money!

So I called my folks and told them to please use my mobile number. Right away, dad calls the landline and notices that the voicemail is still intact. He also calls back, worried that I have forgotten and put my old landline number on the resumes I am sending out in my job search. I reassure him that I have thought of that and am okay. "Just looking out for you," he says.

So I'll pack up the phones and put them away for now. Let's see how we do with completely mobile communications. We may never go back.

Diary of an unemployed writer

noreply@blogger.com (CJ) — Thu, 21 May 2009 22:54:00 +0000

Monday - first thing this morning I got the news: I've been RIF'd. Thank you, it's been fun, here's your box. No hurry. Take time to say goodbye, hugs all around, but be gone by the end of the day. I call my husband, my son. I go to lunch with a co-worker who is retiring at the end of the month. We commiserate about what to do next over wine and pasta. We laugh - drinking at lunch and back to the office! What are they going to do - fire us?

At home we sit down with the bills, analyze our income, the small severance amount, our meager savings. How long can we subsist on one income and unemployment? What bills can we trim, what extravagances can we do without? Time for an honest appraisal. I am giddy with weak gallows humor. I practice saying "Would you like fries with that?"

Unemployment, day one. Thought I would sleep in, but my internal alarm wakes me at 6 a.m. Showered and dressed (no jeans!), have breakfast while reading the paper. I can't believe we put the Sunday classifieds out with the recyclables on the tree lawn! Set up the home office, the dedicated email account. Call the outplacement company. The return call is from a former co-worker from the 1990's! It's a small world after all. They can't get me into the program until the middle of next week, so I'm on my own until then. Cancel the fitness membership - walk for free or workout for $45 a month? No brainer. Also cancel the holiday weekend at Put-in-Bay and save about $500. Looks like we'll stay home, grill some burgers, maybe paint the bathroom. Whoopie! Eating at home saves money but more work. I start straightening and cleaning - not going crazy, just doing a couple of things like mopping the kitchen floor, clearing the kitchen counters. Bake some cookies - chocolate chip/pecan.

Unemployment, day two. File for unemployment - online, while on a conference call for a volunteer organization. Everyone shares their concerns and best wishes. Start a list of each call and e-mail contact I make, with notes for following up. Update my resume - takes me forever to figure out where I saved it from the last time. Well wishes continue to pour in from colleagues, relatives. Cancel the land line phone, which we had planned to do for weeks but never got around to it. Reduce our cable TV services. Never watch it anyway. Clean some more - scrub fingerprints from door frames and light switch plates. I now know what my cat does all day...sleep in my desk chair. She insists on sharing it with me, squirming between my back and the chair back, pushing until I scoot to the edge of the chair. Well, one of us was comfortable. I struggle to print business cards and waste most of the card stock because I can't get Publisher to adjust properly. I get twenty nice cards and a stack of off-center ones that I will reserve for updating family with my new address, and maybe for dropping into "free lunch" jars at restaurants. Go to dinner with friends, using a coupon to save $5. More where that came from.

Unemployment, day three. My cat now thinks I will be here every day. It is no longer a novelty to have me around, and she is bored with me. There's a professional association luncheon today, so I dress up, taking care with hair and makeup. Except only about 20 people show up because of the holiday this weekend. Still, I pass out a bunch of the few perfect cards from last night (and get a compliment on how well-designed they are!). Get a spam e-mail for a scam headhunter web site - Google it and delete it. Apply for my first opening since losing the job. Receive career advice from half a dozen people, most of it conflicting: Target large corporations; no, target small companies; no, target non-profit organizations. Hang out your own shingle. Take on freelance work. Take some time off and relax, but don't waste any time in this economy. Hold out for the money, perks, title, whatever; no, settle for less and you can work your way back up. Leftovers for dinner - getting two meals out of last night's dinner. I hate leftovers.

Everyone marvels at how calm and self-assured I seem, but in reality, doubts linger. I hear of people out of work for years. No medical insurance for years, forgoing needed treatment for serious conditions. I start to think about looking for work teaching cooking or selling fabric and crafts...and it's only day three! Good grief!

I promise not to turn this blog into a day-by-day, blow-by-blow description of the ups and downs of job hunting. Hell, even I wouldn't read that. Three days of self-pity is enough. Let's move on.

On Holiday in the Big Easy

noreply@blogger.com (CJ) — Mon, 30 Mar 2009 19:49:00 +0000

New Orleans! The very name conjures up visions of brightly colored beads and feathered masks, the sounds of trumpets and drums and saxophones. I have been in the Big Easy for four fun-packed days. Let me tell you what I've learned so far.

This city is always just one heartbeat away from a party. Other cities say they know how to party, but this town leads the pack.
Old style dixieland jazz can peacefully coexist with new age rock. I sat listening to a jazz quintet at the Maison Bourbon. In between jazz numbers, we could hear the rock stylings of the band across the street. Funny thing is it seemed right.
Women clad only in bra, thong and black high heeled boots should not bend down to pick up whatever they have dropped - let it lie! 'Nuf said.
Anything tastes good smothered in powdered sugar. A hot beignet with plenty of sugar for dipping is pretty darned close to perfection. And every bakery has a sign claiming to have the best beignets in NOLA. It could take weeks to taste-test every one.
The party doesn't stop just because the power goes out. When a transformer blew up a few days ago, putting much of the French Quarter in the dark, the party moved into the street. You couldn't get a frozen daiquiri, but the beer was still cold if you could pay cash.
"Gaytown" is quieter, nicer, and cleaner than much of the rest of the French Quarter. The African-American cross-dresser stood in the center of the street, shouting "Welcome to Gaytown!" He was very cute (pert!), as was the window decorated for the gay heritage parade - complete with about 15 Ken dolls in drag!
New Orleanians (don't really know how they refer to themselves) treat their sports teams like anyone else - love 'em when they win, bitterly complain when they don't. This goes for college sports. We saw the Tulane Green Wave fall to the Houston Cougars...but it was a perfect day for baseball.
A $6 beer doesn't taste as good as a $3 beer - paying through the nose gives it a bitter aftertaste. However, Cafe du Monde recently raised the price of a cafe au lait - from $1.35 to $1.82.
Playing an instrument on the sidewalk does not make you a street musician - you still must be a musician. Every instrument can be found - guitar, sax, double clarinet, cello - even a wild group of youngsters playing percussion and brass - they sounded like a high school band let loose without a conductor - having a ball, and please drop a buck in the cardboard box at their feet.
New Orleans is the only major population center I have visited that does not hide its poor. The NOLA you see is the NOLA you get - it's all out there, with no apologies.
An informal tour through the lower 9th ward with a colleague left me speechless and in awe of our human arrogance. Rebuild if you must, but do so with the lessons from Katrina in mind - build raised houses, not on slabs.

More to come later...on cooking classes and voluntourism. Y'all come back!

Welcome to the family!

noreply@blogger.com (CJ) — Wed, 11 Mar 2009 01:33:00 +0000

Parenting is rough. You start out with big plans for the future, but also with trepidation. Are we crazy, bringing a child into this world?

The excitement mixed with fear eventually gives way to fatigue, swollen ankles and heartburn. Then one day the child arrives, and you are awestruck. Soon you will be tired again, and then by turns exasperated, delighted and tired (oh, I already said that). Life will never be the same, and for most of us, that's a wondrous and great thing.

And while this little red-haired, pink-skinned, chubby-cheeked wonder is growing, you think ahead and begin to have hopes for his future. You hope he does well in school, has a best friend, finds a skill and a passion. And you hope he finds love.

No matter what you do - how many parenting books you read, how firmly you maintain discipline, how open and accepting and loving you are - there are no guarantees that this baby will have any of those things, or be the person you think he will - or should - become. You do your best, say your prayers if you believe in God, and try not to get in the way as he steps out as his own person.

My little boy is now 25. He did well in school. He had - has - best friends. He found many things that he is good at and passionate about. And now, he has found love. He and his girlfriend announced their engagement last week, to the great delight of my husband and me.

Sometime in the next couple of years, I will gain the daughter I have always wanted. And at some point after that, my son and his wife will experience the awe and fear of parenting...and the cycle will begin again. I am happy and excited, and from here, the future looks incredible.

Ode to Tea

noreply@blogger.com (CJ) — Sun, 18 Jan 2009 21:46:00 +0000

Is there another drink - or another food - that is a soothing, welcoming, warming or comforting as tea? I have yet to find one, and frankly, I am not actively searching for one.

When I am blue, hot tea cheers me. When I am upset, it calms my nerves. When I am hungry, hot tea with Splenda TM keeps me from snacking.

When I ache, a cup of hot tea soothes me. Somehow, it braces me when I am tired and yet is a calming influence before bed.

Yes, like most Americans, I enjoy iced tea, but I use it as a hydrator - it quenches thirst and is tasty, but it is not the mood enhancer that the hot version seems to be.

My tastes trend toward black teas - darjeeling, oolong, orange pekoe - and almost never include green tea. Give me a cup of Earl Grey, with its floral aromas, or either English or Irish breakfast tea, strong and sweet.

Lately I have come to enjoy chai (of course, with Splenda and skim milk), even though spiced teas have never been attractive to me.

I like some herbal teas as well - rose hips, lemon and lemon grass, for instance. But hold the chamomille and the peppermint - smells like grass to me.

Ahhh! Here's a cup of darjeeling, lightly sweet, in a hand-painted ceramic mug (I know, because I painted it). I can feel tension draining away and a smile returning to my face. There's a pot of homemade beef vegetable soup simmering on the stove, snow is lightly falling and there is still a hint of daylight at 5:15 on a January evening. Hard to imagine a life any better than this.

A Fond Farewell

noreply@blogger.com (CJ) — Tue, 11 Nov 2008 17:43:00 +0000

It has taken me a month to be able to write this post. On October 9, we said a final farewell to our little furry friend, Duncan. Life had become a struggle and we finally had to admit that it was time.

We found Duncan, or maybe he found us, when we had been dogless for over a year and were starting to look for another canine companion to join our family. This little guy, a miniature poodle, was found wandering the streets of a nearby community and was picked up for transport to the local pound. A dispatcher instead called Love-A-Stray, a local rescue organization, and that's how we found him. After being neutered and having nine teeth pulled, Duncan came home to us.

We have no knowledge about Duncan's past, but he became an indelible part of our family. He was old - probably about 17 when he passed away. He had a deformed spine, giving him a hunchbacked appearance. He almost never stretched out straight but instead curled into a tight ball of fur.

Speaking of fur, Duncan's was originally apricot, but by then was mostly white and very thin along his ridged back. When we picked him up, he had a raging ear infection that took months to tame. One ear stood straight out at all times. Sometimes it looked as if he was sending semaphore signals with his ears.

Duncan was very hard of hearing - this could have been the result of a long-term ear infection or just because of his age. He heard only sudden sharp sounds - the slam of a door, or a sharp clap of hands - but he could not tell where the sound was coming from. He rarely spoke - Duncan barked only twice in the entire 16 months or so that we had him, both times when he was very happy and excited about something. I think he didn't speak because he had nothing to complain about.

In the last year, Duncan's field of vision narrowed to a small area in which he could see movement and the contrast between light and dark. If he got confused about where he was, Duncan would stand perfectly still, staring down toward the floor. He stood so long that we worried he had gone senile or had had a stroke. But he was just waiting. If you moved your hand or foot through that little space he could see, he would turn and follow you, obviously happy. I think he was brilliant that way - he could have wandered about, walking into all kinds of hazards, but instead he stayed put waiting for someone to find him. I recall that our son learned in Boy Scouts what to do if he ever got lost in the woods - stay put and wait for rescue. Smart dog!

Duncan was a snuggler. In his last few months, he especially loved to lay in my arms, with his head on the crook of my elbow, dozing while I watched TV. I would sit there until my arms fell asleep, not wanting to disturb him.

I knew we would only have him for a short time, but I didn't want to face the facts - no one does. When we finally took him to the doctor's for the last time, Duncan did not go quietly. He struggled and fought to the end. He was a scrapper, probably all his life.

Our friends tell us how lucky Duncan was to have had the life we gave him - a caring home, a soft bed, plentiful food, love and affection. But honestly, we were the lucky ones.

Green as I Can Be

noreply@blogger.com (CJ) — Wed, 24 Sep 2008 16:44:00 +0000

Everywhere you turn, somebody is urging you to "go green" - act in an ecologically preserving/restoring way. Frankly, some of the urgent "go green" messages are just plain dumb.

A major oil company wants to impress with its green attitude, reinventing itself with alternative energy sources or methods. I will admit to skepticism here. I mean, how great is your commitment to sustainability and conservation when your entire stable of products is based on burning fossil fuels?

While I applaud green efforts by anyone, we need to face reality. There is probably no completely environmentally sound lifestyle or business practice. Think about it. You grind your fair-trade organic coffee beans to make your morning coffee. Even if you use a metal mesh filter, thereby saving a paper filter from the landfill, you're not completely green. You used either tap or bottled water to fill the pot - that tap water most likely went through a filtration or treatment system, the bottled water came from a jug or bottle. You used electricity to pump and heat the water and brew the coffee. Do you add your coffee grounds to your garden, or pitch them in the trash?

Recycle aluminum, paper, plastic or glass? Does the energy expended to recycle something exceed that needed for new production? Are you really practicing sustainability if you purchase carbon credits to offset your flight to Vegas?

There is no perfect sustainability, as far as I can see. So here's what I am doing about it. I take reusable shopping bags with me most days (I am occasionally forgetful, you know), even though I sometimes have to push to get the store to use them. I print on both sides of the paper whenever possible. I reuse paper that's been printed on just one side, or on only one part. I drive a hybrid vehicle and get 52+ miles to the gallon combined highway and city driving. I reuse plastic containers for food instead of plastic wrap or foil. We are changing our light bulbs to low-energy bulbs as they need replacing. I recycle clothing and housewares to charities whenever possible, and I've given away things using FreeCycle.com instead of the trash. I combine trips in my automobile, planning out my errands by the side of town I am visiting. I am the champion of turning off lights when not needed. I recycle my trash for curbside pickup. And I even use Blackle instead of Google to save minuscule amounts of electricity.

Here's where I could do a better job: batteries, wasted food, wasted packaging (buying bulk instead of individual servings), unplugging chargers and appliances when not in use, walking or bicycling more. Really, I need to try to reduce in addition to reusing and recycling - I don't really need so many possessions...except my books, and those I tend to buy from (and resell to) a resale shop anyway.

I know - no matter what you and I do, it falls short. But if we are doing something at all in the right direction, I think we're making the world more sustainable. I am willing to keep trying new ways to save our planet, and I am glad to know so many others are doing the same. Thanks - as the author Terry Pratchett wrote, "ONLY YOU CAN SAVE THE WORLD!"

Maintaining my point of view

noreply@blogger.com (CJ) — Sun, 07 Sep 2008 22:37:00 +0000

Another summer is almost over. A summer full of trips, weddings, parties, food, wine. You may know that I am dieting. My goal for the summer has been to maintain the weight I worked so hard to lose.

I've done it! for the past 12 weeks or so, I have managed to maintain my weight loss, yet still enjoy the parties, food and wine. Now that life is returning to "normal," I hope to settle back into my diet routine and continue losing.

Why is it so hard to stay faithful to a diet plan? Why do I feel deprived and resentful - or even obsessed - if I don't have the cake or sangria or nachos? I wish I knew. Not that knowing would change my behavior, of course.

Last night I ate two - count 'em, two! - pieces of wedding cake. I have no idea why. So...back on the wagon. Tomorrow is a new day, and I start over every day. I just finished reading a memoir of a medical intern. A woman whose husband died, leaving her alone and sorrowful, offered the author some advice that I think is profound. Often, people will say "Live like it's your last day" or "Live like you are dying" - meant to inspire us to look at life with new eyes.

Her advice was, "Live like it's your first day." Every day is new - a fresh start. I like it.

noreply@blogger.com (CJ) — Sun, 07 Sep 2008 22:23:00 +0000

On Sunday, August 24 I staggered off the urban trail after 60 miles. The occasion was the Cleveland Breast Cancer 3-day, a grueling 60-mile hike through lovely neighborhoods, scenic parks, quirky little communities, and stark urban miles with nary a shade tree in sight. Did I mention the heat? The mercury climbed to 90 the first two days. Unfortunately, many of our pit stops did not include shade - oops!

Anyway, the 1,200 walkers who participated raised over $3,000,000 for breast cancer research, awareness, education and support. Some of the walkers were survivors, others walked to honor someone special. I wore a Miss America-type sash bearing the names of 11 women who have been touched by this devastating disease. My wonderful donors contributed over $3,200 for this effort.

One of the names on my sash is Lois Hatch. Lois was my bridesmaid 28 years ago. She handstitched a quilt for me when my son was born 24 years ago. She fought breast cancer twice and lost the second battle in 2003. She is the reason I took on this challenge.

Now, I'm not usually an outwardly emotional person, but I shed a lot of tears this weekend - especially at the end of the trail. When I reached the entrance to the Cleveland Convention Center, I was startled to hear a roar - a stadium cheer went up as I entered the space. A gauntlet of cheering people - walkers who had arrived ahead of me - stood in two long lines, forming a path. They clapped and cheered and held out their hands to touch me as I passed by, tears streaming down my grubby sunburnt cheeks.

Two women who had befriended me on the trail - Kitty, a 1-year cancer survivor, and her sister Beth - shrieked midway down the line and the three of us hugged and jumped up and down for a moment. Then I passed through, was given a victory shirt and a pink rose, food and water. Then I turned around, found Kitty and Beth and began cheering the walkers arriving after me.

The next day, I felt stronger (but a bit stiff) and able to walk tall (that part is figurative - I actually hobbled gingerly, trying to avoid pressure on my blisters). I found myself thinking, "Next year, I'll do this differently" and then catching myself. Next year??? Am I nuts? I knew I wouldn't be walking again in 2009 because the event is planned for the day of my mother's 70th birthday celebration. Except that when she found out about the conflict, mom offered to reschedule her party, and then some friends offered to join me as a team. It looks like I may do this again.

Many thanks to everyone who made this possible. My donation website will be active until about September 24 - if you would like to contribute to the dream of a world without breast cancer, please click the 3-Day icon in the right-hand column. Thank you.

Smiling even though I'm wearing (ugh) pink

noreply@blogger.com (CJ) — Wed, 25 Jun 2008 23:55:00 +0000

First, you have to understand that I don't like to fund raise. For years, I have done only the minimum for the charities I otherwise support, either on my own or through my husband's employment. But then along comes a cause that I didn't know I wanted to support.

Second, understand that I don't like pink. Yet I have two pink blouses and a pink skirt in my closet - and that's another essay topic. I won't buy anything that professes to support the Komen Race for the Cure ONLY because these things tend to be pink. I will donate, but don't try to make me wear or display pink. Glad to have that off my chest.

That said, I find myself campaigning to raise a substantial amount of money for breast cancer education, treatment and research. My website is pink. My collateral materials are pink. And in August, when I camp amid hundreds of others in between long, hot, sweaty days of distance walking, my tent will be pink. Blechh

Why am I doing it if I dislike pink so much? Because my friend, Lois, died of breast cancer five years ago. Because my friend Joyce is fighting breast cancer now. Because another friend's mom is dying of breast cancer. Because 200,000 women (and men) will be diagnosed with breast cancer this year, and 40,000 will die. Because I don't want me, or any of my family members, to become a victim.

The Breast Cancer 3-Day Walk brings together thousands of men and women across the country. Each day, for three days, they walk about 20 miles - 60 miles total - raising money and awareness of the dreaded disease, making friends, and healing hearts. Veteran walkers tell me the miles pass quickly and (almost) effortlessly as they chat and hug and laugh and cry together. Boy, I hope so!

I have thrown my lot in with these sturdy women and men. On August 22, 23 and 24, I will earn my blisters and (maybe) work off a pound or two. I hope I will make new friends, and I hope my walking and talking will keep Lois' memory alive.

If you are moved to help, please click the Donate button in the 3-Day photo at the top right of this blog. And please think kindly of me in August. I can use all the help I can get!

A little off the back, please

noreply@blogger.com (CJ) — Fri, 06 Jun 2008 01:50:00 +0000

So I've been dieting lately. If you know me at all, you might say "So what? You're always dieting." And it seems that way. My earliest recollection of trying to lose weight was when my mother enrolled me in TOPS with her - Take Off Pounds Sensibly. I must have been 11 or 12 at the time. All I remember, though was having to keep a food diary. I am the world's worst journaler, as evidenced by how infrequently I post to this blog!

Over the years, I have tried most mainstream diets. Weight Watchers - three or four times (or more). Nutrisystems. Atkins. And even when not on a formal weight loss program, I have "watched" what I ate, living on my own made-up program.

And the results? Sometimes I lost weight - a few times losing 25-45 pounds. But always, after a certain point, I gradually drift away from the eating program and back into old habits. I get bored, or tired of being vigilant, or something. And then I regain the weight, plus a few for extra measure.

So I've been dieting lately. I found a program that fits me, instead of one I have to adapt to. I eat six times a day, and almost no wheat. I get my carbohydrates from fruits and vegetable, of which I eat 7-9 servings a day. And I've lost 33 pounds to date in 4+ months.

The wheat thing. Very interesting. For the past 5 or 6 years I have noticed that immediately after my evening meal my sinuses fill up and I start sniffing and hacking. My son's former girlfriend, who was obsessed with wheat allergies and convinced she had one (her physician said otherwise) was sure I also had an allergy to wheat. I brushed it off.

When I started the current diet and stopped eating bread, (1) I didn't miss it - what a shock! (2) my nasal passages stayed clear, (3) my heartburn/acid reflux disappeared. Hmmm. When I occasionally break bread, (2) and (3) return. Things that make you go hmmm.

The good news - I've lost two+ sizes, I enjoy Greek yogurt with blueberries for breakfast, my husband thinks I'm sexy and I have enough energy to deal with my new job and any stress that heads my way.

Here's my big secret for weight loss: I start over every day. Whether or not I've been successful - whether I gave in and ate the birthday cake or queso and chips or whatever, I start over the next day. And somehow that has worked for the past 20 weeks.

I think I'll keep trying for a while. Maybe this is the time I break the curse and find a way to maintain. Watch this space for updates. If and when I hit a loss of 50 pounds, I will post a new photo. Cheers!

Keep the Change

noreply@blogger.com (CJ) — Sat, 05 Apr 2008 16:20:00 +0000

Today I am thinking about change and how our acceptance or struggle with change affects our lives.

When it comes to change, I am of two minds. I am easily bored, so change is often welcome. But I like routine in certain areas of my life, and anything that changes my routine means I might forget things or skip steps.

I like the excitement change can bring - new concepts, new people, new things to learn, new thrills. But I like things that are comfortable and dear - my leather reading chair, my books, a cup of sweet Irish breakfast tea. I want everything to be where I think it belongs, whether it's in my kitchen or my favorite store. And when stores change their floor plans or someone puts the good flatware in with the everyday, it makes me crazy.

Much of our stress comes from change or the anticipation of change - anxiety, sadness, fearfulness, even dread. But there are good stressors, too, linked to change: excitement, anticipation, joy, exhilaration. As negatively as the "bad" stressors affect our health (mental and physical), "good" stressors have an equally positive effect, I believe.

I am thinking about change because this week I changed jobs. I have gone from a comfortable role managing internal communications for a large organization to a new and unfamiliar role as a communications consultant for a major human resources consulting firm. I have so much to learn that I have assigned myself the descriptor "sponge."

There are "bad" effects of this change: I developed many friendships through my previous job and worry that most of them will fade away over time; also, I enjoyed a comfort level working in a familiar industry with known audiences and problems.

But the "good" effects amount to more, I think: New friendships, new challenges, and new opportunities await me; a shorter commute - I didn't realize how much the commute affected me over the past 18 months; and most strikingly, the knowledge that I have been recognized for my experience, knowledge, and abilities by others.

We all know people who fight against change. Some of the ones I know like that are negative, angry, and frustrated. They often live their lives in a reactionary mode - things "happen" to them; they don't affect or control things.

It's so much healthier to recognize change as inevitable, find out how it truly affects you, and then find a way to either accept and work with the change or find alternatives, whether that means a new job, kicking a habit, or opening yourself up to new experiences and relationships.

One of the reasons my husband and I get along so well is that we both face change in a similar fashion. We may mourn, briefly, whatever is passing, but we face and scrutinize change, and frequently embrace it. We both have family members who cannot face change this way, and it's very sad.

Change, then, if you can. Change, when embraced, can mean personal growth and self-fulfillment. If the change you face does not appear to lead in that direction, ask yourself how you, yourself, can change so that you grow and are fulfilled. I hope you come to find change as rewarding as I do.

A New Year, but Old Questions

noreply@blogger.com (CJ) — Tue, 01 Jan 2008 18:56:00 +0000

Today is January 1, 2008. I'm not much of a resolution-maker. Instead I think about things - lots of different things - and wonder about them. Why they are the way they are, why don't they work better, why don't we change things.

Like...chenille sweaters. Chenille sweaters are a failed idea. I know, chenille is soft and cuddly and warm, especially a micro-fiber chenille. On the flip side, though, they shed incessantly on everything. I can't wear one to a nice restaurant, because it leaves fur on the tablecloth and chair back. I can't wear it in the car, because it leaves fur on the seats, doors, and seat belt, ensuring I will enjoy chenille fuzz on all my other clothing.

I can't wear it to work because of the fine coat of fur it leaves on my office chair, to be transferred to my back every day for the rest of the month. Plus I will have had to wear it in the car to get to work (see previous paragraph).

Wash a chenille sweater often enough and you may succeed in defuzzing it. However, doing so strips the sweater of its capacity to warm the body, leaving holes and weakening the strands. So just throw it away.

Did I mention I love sweaters? Recently I set up a series of wire cubes for storage, then sorted all my sweaters by style (cardigan or pullover) and by color. Even after pulling out a number of sweaters for donation to charity, I counted between 50 and 60 sweaters.I know, no one needs 60 sweaters. My son says I can't possibly wear them all in a season, but he forgets that (a) we live in an area with a very long sweater season, and (b) I'm a woman who is often chilly.

A great sweater will be thick, soft and cozy, with a loose fit, arms that are roomy and long, but not so long i have to roll them back, and a v-neck or loose turtleneck. It can be wool or acrylic, but washable (not shrinkable) is best. And no chenille!

Color - hmmm. Until I sorted and filed my collection recently, I didn't realize just how many red sweaters I have. I think I'll be branching out to different colors soon. In fact, I don't even own a black sweater...yet.

Now I'm a bit chilly, having removed my only (and last) chenille sweater. I'm going to defuzz my turtleneck, then snuggle into a great non-chenille sweater for the evening. We'll spend the rest of New Year's day nibbling snacks, eating leftover pasta for dinner, and watching football. New Year's can be a great holiday, can't it? Happy 2008!

Christmas Memories

noreply@blogger.com (CJ) — Tue, 25 Dec 2007 04:07:00 +0000

For our families, Christmas is a special time. Okay, that was so-o-o-o cliche! But we love Christmas - we tend to over-everything at this time of year. My husband's mom was famous for overindulging her grandchildren and decorating anything that wasn't moving. My husband loves to turn out the lights and watch the Christmas tree - he says the lights twinkle when you squint your eyes.

And me - Christmas is an annual milestone in our life journey. It sounds mundane to say that the day simply marks the passage of time, but that's not how I mean it. I can track events in our lives by the Christmases we celebrated.

When our son was a year or two old, we dressed him in a new camoflage outfit at Christmas, and my dad, Papa, convinced him that no one could see him because he blended with the scenery. I think that was the year I made my mom a red velour robe with feather boa trim. Oo-la-la!

One Christmas, Grandma Joann gave our son a two-seater tricycle. Of course, we had to assemble it. We were up til two or three in the morning. He wanted a baby sister that year. Instead he got a "My Little Sister" doll - nearly life-size. Grandma Joann also gave him a "My Little Buddy" boy doll - our son tried to throw him in the trash. He REALLY wanted a sister!

For years, my husband and I shared our gifts Christmas Eve, after our son went to bed, so that Christmas morning was all about our son. When he grew up, we started sharing our gifts on Christmas day, too. And it felt odd, at first.

This is the first Christmas that our son will not be here when we awaken on Christmas morning. We have a family tradition - children receive Christmas Eve gifts of new pajamas, so that their Christmas morning photos show them in pretty new clothes. I called our son to suggest Dad and I could drop off his Christmas Eve gift on Sunday, December 23. He said, gently, "Mom, it's okay. I'll get it when I come over on Christmas day." **sigh**

Time passes. Christmases happen each year, and each year we get older, our children become adults and have children, and traditions evolve. What Christmas memories will our children's children have? What traditions will they carry on? what new traditions will our children establish for their children? And why am I talking in questions?

Merry Christmas. Happy New Year. And may all your dreams be as brilliant when you awake as when you sleep. cj

One More for Dinner

noreply@blogger.com (CJ) — Mon, 19 Nov 2007 18:18:00 +0000

It's Thanksgiving week, and once again I am trying to time out my chores so it all comes out even at 4pm on Thursday. I have lists scattered on various flat surfaces, in my purse, on my laptop. I apparently am a compulsive list-maker. At least I don't have a list of my lists.

I am also a compulsive recipe hunter. I can cook nearly anything (and I do it well) and have more than enough recipes to last the rest of my life. But for some reason I must continue to collect food ideas. I watch cooking shows - Iron Chef America, 30-Minute Meals, etc. - and use what I learn to improve the food I prepare.

This Thanksgiving is no different. Last year I learned how (and why) to soak a turkey in a brine solution before cooking from Alton Brown's show, "Good Eats." This year I discovered that World Market carries a jar of turkey brine ingredients - just add water! I'm in heaven! I apply new techniques to old favorites and I still haven't learned not to try new recipes when entertaining.

This year's menu will be roast turkey, cornbread dressing, mashed potatoes, gravy, sweet potatoes with streusel topping, carrots, cloverleaf rolls, cranberry orange relish, pumpkin pie, and a cheesecake made by my son. Just when I was worried about having too much food for four people, my husband called to ask about inviting his sister and her family from Detroit. The day is saved!

I love Thanksgiving, and for more than just the food. I love the idea of a holiday dedicated to giving thanks and showing appreciation. I have a wonderful family, a great job, and a lovely home. I have my health, my mind, and my heart. I have more than I will ever need and am so grateful.

I have wonderful people in my life - close and caring friends who continually show me how much they care, the love of a good man, an adult son of whom I am terribly proud, and an extended family/support mechanism. I wish these things for everyone this Thanksgiving. Oh, yeah. And peace.

Me, ABC

noreply@blogger.com (CJ) — Mon, 22 Oct 2007 16:59:00 +0000

Recently I attended the IABC Heritage Region Conference in the Cincinnati area, October 14-16. IABC - International Association of Business Communicators - is a great networking organization for anyone who is responsible for communication at any type of organization. Many of our members are self-employed while others are in various aspects of organizational communication.

The conference was literally packed with informative sessions. I learned how to podcast, how to build my own social networking site with Ning, how to better manage communications overload, why my organization should "let go" and let our customers help shape our communications, and why I should become accredited.

The professional accreditation of Accredited Business Communicator, or ABC, is one thing that will set me apart from my non-initialed peers. The process is rigorous - 4-1/2 hours of written and oral exams and a peer review of your work - and must be approached seriously. I have decided to prepare to take the exam next October at the regional conference in Connecticut.

I'm a test agonizer. I fret and worry and sweat until I'm a complete mess before exams. Then I pass and swear I'll never do that again. Hah!

Accreditation is the next step for my personal and professional development. I'm actually getting excited - selecting the two work samples that will represent my entire career will be the biggest challenge. I have an idea of the projects I'll submit, but I have to start putting things in writing, fleshing out details and making sure I have everything.

The test will be tough, too. There don't appear to be black-and-white answers; much is subjective. But one thing at a time, I guess. Plenty of time to panic.

Me, ABC. Kind of has a nice ring to it, don't you think?

If you have questions about IABC or would like more info, visit http://www.iabc.com/.

Life Is a Highway, I Want to Ride It All Night Long

noreply@blogger.com (CJ) — Mon, 13 Aug 2007 17:32:00 +0000

I have driven a small SUV for the past year as I commute about 100 miles a day. The car gets about 22-25 miles per gallon, which is not bad for that sort of vehicle. But when gas prices escalated, I one day realized that I was filling up my car's gas tank two or three times a week, at $45 a crack! Whoa! Stop the insanity!

One Saturday I insisted that hubby and I look at hybrid cars. I did my research on the different types of propulsion methods, battery life situations, etc. and settled on the 2007 Toyota Prius. We were met at the dealership by a very knowledgeable and pleasant salesperson, Johan, a South African expatriate with that lovely accent. We went through the process and left that evening with a new car. Bye-bye, PT Cruiser! We had some great times!

I am a self-described tree-hugger (my husband snickers when I say that). Now that I have the Prius, I feel less guilty about driving so far to work. I fill up once a week, about 10 gallons. I average about 50 mpg, but I'm hoping to do better as I get more used to the car. I figure I saved about $90 in gas the first month.

I took a trip to Michigan a few weeks ago in my Prius. I started out with half a tank of gas and drove the entire way without stopping. In fact, I drove most of the way home without stopping for gas - about 258 miles. I can get used to getting 500 miles plus to a tank of gas.

I'm learning to be in less of a hurry - that alone saves gas. I'm paying attention to how I stop and start the car, when to begin slowing down. I get a kick out of seeing my actual current gasoline consumption jump from 45 mpg to 90 mpg when I have correctly gauged the road and conditions and can almost coast along at optimum speed with minimum effort from the engine.

I find that instead of throwing away plastic drinks bottles from my long drives, I now collect them and pitch them into the recycling bin at the end of the day. It's a little thing, but once I started thinking more green, it just seemed like one more good idea.

No, it's not much, and it may not be enough. but this is my way of greening my life, in addition to the low-energy light bulbs and adding insulation around doors and in outlets. What are you doing to green up? What else could we do?

Getting Old Is Not for Sissies

noreply@blogger.com (CJ) — Mon, 13 Aug 2007 17:13:00 +0000

This morning I spent time gathering everything I was going to need from my car for the day so that I could quickly transfer it from my car to the rental car at the dealership. My service appointment was for 7:45 a.m. and I ended up being five minutes late. But as I pulled into the lot, I suddenly wondered if I had the appointment right. I pulled to the side and hopped out to retrieve my Day-Timer from the back. Sure enough, my service appointment is for next week, not today. I sheepishly got back in my car, turned around and headed toward the turnpike.

My memory - how I miss it! Also my waistline, my hair, my flexibility and my stamina. 2007 is a milestone year - I turned 50 this summer and let me tell you, I'm much too young to be this old.

The memory thing, though, that's the worst. I started noticing that I was "losing" words about two years ago, after I had major surgery. I was sure it was due to the anesthesia in my system, but the ability to think and talk off the cuff had drained away.

Now, after talking to many post-menopausal women, I think it is more related to age and changing hormone levels. Suddenly I feel stupid. I communicate for a living, after all! If I can't speaking fluidly and candidly, what use am I?

Thank goodness for the written word. When I write, I can put down whatever comes into my head and adjust the words in a later edit. Not so with the spoken word!

I have a friend who told me that when his dad started to move slower and more stiffly and grunted or groaned when he rose from his chair, the son was unsympathetic. He thought, why are you making such a big deal about it? Just get up!

Then my friend turned 40 and suddenly, it seemed, he moved slower, got stiffer, and had some aches and pains when he got up in the morning. Now he understood and had sympathy for his dad. His dad wasn't lazy or looking for sympathy - he was just growing older.

The good news, though, is that while time has temporarily robbed me of some vocabulary - temporarily because eventually I figure out the exact word I want to use - I still have my wits, intelligence, humor, and optimism. I'm still me, just a little slower.