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Happy Dance! I Got a New Award!

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We writers are a needy bunch, aren’t we? Who but writers would feel compelled to invent blogging awards and then pass them around to their online friends?

But hey, recognition — in any form — is a heady thing, and I for one certainly won’t turn it down!

Liebster Blog Award

Which brings me to my latest accomplishment. My friend Izzie over at The Whatever Factor recently passed on the Liebster Blog Award to me — Thanks, Iz, I ‘preciate it!

Now most of the time it pains me to admit ignorance, but here goes: When I saw the Liebster Blog Award, I had no idea what it was.

It sounded like “lobster” to me, and at first I thought it had something to do with food. Or Lent.

So I did what any good writer would do — opened up another window to research the term.

“Liebster” is a German word meaning “dearest” or “beloved.” Its connotation also extends to “favorite.” (Since I don’t have a single drop of German blood, no wonder I wasn’t familiar with this word!)

But somebody considers me a favorite. Cool! I’m almost speechless!

As with most other blogging awards, the Liebster Blog Award carries some heavy responsibilities, none of which I take lightly. Without further ado, here’s what is supposed to take place next:

  1. Thank the blogger who gave you the award and link back to them.
  2. Copy and paste the blog award on your blog (get it from Google Images, if you’d like).
  3. Pass the Liebster Blog Award on to five other bloggers you admire.
  4. Let your recipients know of the award by leaving a comment on their blogs.
  5. Bask in the love of the blogosphere.

Now, the Liebster Blog Award is supposed to be presented to relatively “small” blogs — those with fewer than 200 followers. But I have NO IDEA how many people are following these blogs, nor do I have time to try to figure it out! If your name is listed here and you have w-a-a-a-y more followers than 200, don’t shoot the messenger, okay? Just re-read Rule #5 above and be happy!

And now — Ta Da! — my choices for the Liebster Blog Award:

So off you go — congratulations and don’t forget to spread the love!

A Tricky Test for Tuesday

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Look at this picture, then let me ask you a question — Which one’s the shampoo?

Garnier shampoo & conditioner

Are you sure? Look again.

Now imagine taking this scarlet duo into the shower. Add a bit of water to your eyes, dim the lights (to simulate your shower curtain or door), and take off your glasses.

Not so easy-peasy, is it?

Let’s try another pair. Which one is the shampoo?

Herbal Essence shampoo & conditioner

That’s obvious, you say. Why, even the bottles are shaped differently.

Okay, smartie. Try these, then:

John Frieda shampoo & conditioner

Getting a littler harder, isn’t it? Remember, you’ve got water in your eyes and the lighting is weak.

One more, then I’ll make my point:

Dove shampoo & conditioner

No, I’m not trying to trick you. I really did use one bottle of shampoo and its coordinating bottle of conditioner for each photo!

You know, I never gave much thought to the difficulties “old” people encountered when they turned 40 and started needing reading glasses.We’ve all heard the jokes about the guy who mistakenly used hemorrhoid cream instead of toothpaste.

But “old” people aren’t the only ones who use glasses for close up seeing.

And young people don’t corner the market when it comes to shampoo and conditioner.

Why can’t manufacturers help out a little, instead of making these duos identical?

A few weeks ago, I guessed wrong and put the John Frieda conditioner on before shampooing. Not a pretty thing, I’m telling you. Who wants to stand in the shower, get all pruney, and double-shampoo?

The only reason I buy matching shampoo and conditioner in the first place is their sales pitch — you get the best results when you use products from the same line together. Who knows if that’s true? And who wants to find out by mixing ingredients from one company with those of another, ON THEIR HEAD?

Maybe the manufacturers are concerned with making a fashion statement in my bathroom.

Maybe they just like having matched bottles on the supermarket shelves.

Maybe it’s cheaper to make matching bottles for this stuff.

I don’t think so.

I think it’s a concerted effort to make me feel older than I am and to ensure I use all the hot water trying to figure this stuff out.

What do you think?

(By the way, the shampoo is on the left in each photo. Did you guess correctly?)

How do you tame the Social Media Monster?

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Are you, like me, sometimes overwhelmed by the proliferation of social media and the expectation that we ALL participate — in everything?

The arguments are persuasive:

  • Writers need a platform, a following, to show agents they’re able to promote their manuscript
  • Businesses need to connect with potential buyers and generate “buzz” about their services or products
  • Nobody in the entire world can possibly connect with as many people in real life as is possible online

But all that connecting can be exhausting, especially for writers (who tend to be introverts anyway and often find it easier to hole up and just write).

And perhaps it’s lots worse on those writers who, like me, can’t write full time right now because they must work at a paying job. Or those with small children. Or aging parents. Or…whatever.

We can all find excuses for NOT connecting online. Yet the reality is, there are only 24 hours in a day and, if you listen to the “experts,” we need to be sleeping 8 of them. That leaves 16 hours. For those who work, subtract 8 more (or 10 if you have a long commute), bringing your total “free” time to 6 hours.

Six hours to do basic personal maintenance (like bathing), run errands (banking, grocery shopping), taxi the kids to and from lessons and sleepovers, kiss the spouse, walk the dog, cook meals, and clean the house.

That doesn’t include time for yourself — to read, soak in a spa, exercise, paint, take up piano, or write.

What’s the answer?

If you look at the history of social media, you’ll find that blogging started in 1997. Facebook debuted in February, 2004, Twitter in March, 2006, and Google Plus in June, 2011. More than 845 million people are on Facebook and at Twitter’s five-year mark, some 350 billion “tweets” are delivered each day. In addition, countless webinars are now available, on everything from how to make your small business successful to how to plot that story lurking in your head.

No wonder we feel deluged!

Some people address this problem by periodically scheduling a vacation from online activities. They fold up the laptop, turn off the i-pad and phone, and unplug from the busyness.

That’s a good idea. We all need to recharge occasionally.

Other people set a timer. When their hour (or however much time they’ve allotted) is up, that’s it. No looking back. No cheating.

Do our online friends miss us when we don’t show up? I’d like to think so because I miss them when they’re absent for a time. But, if we announce that we’re taking a sabbatical, at least we’re letting everyone know we’ll be out of touch.

My suggestion (and it’s more a “Memo” to me rather than something you need!): Remember why you started down the social media path in the first place. Enjoy your time connecting. But don’t feel you have to be connected 24/7!

How have you tamed the social media monster??

I’m so Versatile!

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The Versatile Blogger award

My friend Karen over at The Kazual Kreative recently bestowed an award upon me, and I thank her for it most sincerely!

Now I’ve seen these doo-dads around for a while, usually on blogs I enjoy reading because they’re posted by writers I’ve come to respect. To join their ranks is a humbling, yet exciting, experience.

As with any prize, there are rules attached to its full acceptance. I suppose one could simply grab the award and run, but where’s the fun in that??

I digress.

The Versatile Blogger award requires a nominee to:

  • link to and thank the person making the nomination. Check.
  • add the Versatile Blogger image on their blog. Check.
  • list seven things about him(her)self.
  • link to 15 blogs to “tag” as future recipients. Spread the love around, you know.

So, without further ado, I present 7 facts you might (or might not) know about me:

1. I wear silver-colored metals better than gold-colored ones.

2. I have never liked balloons.

3. Or clowns.

4. Once I rode in a hot-air balloon (totally cool and totally unlike party balloons!)

5. I also flew in a single-engine airplane. (But not at the same time as #4. Obviously!)

6. I don’t particularly enjoy being wet. Either from rain or from a swimming pool.

7. I won’t eat lima beans.

Phew, that was challenging. Who knew a person could make such a fascinating list, huh?!

Moving on, here are my nominees for the Versatile Blogger award. They’re listed in no particular order. And yes, I’ve checked to make sure I’m not repeating (wouldn’t want anyone to have to come up with new facts and links after they’ve done it once!).

Wait a minute. Linking to 15 previously non-rewarded blogs is more time-consuming than I’m willing to tackle. So I’m changing the rules. I herewith present eight nominees for the Versatile Blogger award. Anyone who regularly reads my blog and wants to be included in my list can e-mail me. Or just assume you’ve been included and thank me with a nice link!

Note to those who “control” this award: No, you may NOT take it away from me, just because I failed to find 15 blogs to link to! I tried, really. But this thing has been around the block a few times now, and while I should be miffed I wasn’t among the first to receive it, better late than never. Face it — it’s mine, regardless of whether I followed the rules. And I’m NOT giving it back!

To the following lucky bloggers, Tag, You’re It!

1. Memoir Writer’s Journey

2. One Sister’s Rant

3. The Whatever Factor

4. My Odd Family

5. Any Shiny Thing

6. Dawn King

7. Down the Road

8. Janna T writes

A Painful Anniversary

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Three years ago on this date, my dad lost his battle with esophagus cancer and entered eternity.

I remember him waking up in the wee hours of the morning, unable to catch his breath. We called the paramedics, who rushed right over and strapped him to a gurney for the trip to the hospital.

‘Do you want us to give you something to help you breathe?’ they asked him.

Dad nodded.

His eyes were huge. I’m certain he must have been frightened. And worried.

A ventilator was inserted, and off they went.

Some time later, Dad’s doctor came to the waiting room to inform us Dad wasn’t going to win this round.

‘He’s pulled out of these things before,’ Mom argued.

The doctor’s face was as grim as his words. ‘Not this time.’

He went on to explain what was happening to Daddy medically and, based on his experience, what Daddy’s foreseeable future would entail.

‘He wants to tell us something,’ my mom insisted. ‘Can’t we take the ventilator out?’

‘Yes, I’d recommend that. Let Nature take its course.’

Meaning, Daddy would die?

‘It’s time,’ the doctor said. ‘There’s nothing more we can do other than keep him comfortable.’

After the ventilator was removed, Daddy still couldn’t speak to us. His eyes held ours as he lay on the hospital bed, propped up amid pillows and hooked to various monitors.

We talked to him, held his hands. Prayed.

And tried not to let him see our tears.

Our parish priest came to administer the sacrament of the sick (last rites, it used to be called).

We prayed some more.

By this time, Daddy’s eyes were closed. His breathing was shallow.

‘Is he in pain?’ we asked the nurse.

‘No, we don’t think so,’ she said. ‘This is going to take a while. You all look exhausted. Why don’t you go get a bite of lunch?’

Food? At a time like this?

‘You have to eat,’ she insisted. ‘I’ll call immediately if there’s any change in his condition.’

Grudgingly, we left, but didn’t go far.

About forty-five minutes later, we re-entered the hospital corridor, and Mom’s cell phone went off.

‘We’re here,’ she told the nurse. We raced back to Daddy’s side.

‘This is really it?’ I asked.

The nurse nodded.

‘I’ll turn these monitors off so you don’t have to see or hear them,’ she said.

She pulled the curtains shut, plunging the room into semi-darkness.

Tearfully, we said our goodbyes as Daddy took his last breath.

Let’s Try This Again

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When I was a kid, I looked forward to maturity.

Not old age, mind you. Maturity. When you could stay up as late as you wanted with no one to tell you otherwise. Eat dessert first if you wanted. Drink hot chocolate and read all day.

Maturity, when you’d become a poised, confident, serene woman, instead of an often-clumsy, tentative, ‘fraidy-cat child.

So when is this maturity supposed to arrive? ‘Cos it hasn’t yet, and I’d have thought it should have by now.

Take the other night for example.

I’d driven my mom somewhere and pulled into the driveway expecting to push the button on her rear view mirror that would open the garage door. It didn’t work.

‘Where’s your actual remote control?’ I asked.

‘Inside the house,’ Mom said.

Great. Since the front storm door was latched, one of us was going to have to traipse around to the back door and through the house to get to the garage.

‘I’ll go,’ Mom volunteered.

Sure. Who wants to be responsible for an 80-year-old woman stumbling around in the dark, trying to open a door?

‘Let me,’ I insisted (and she didn’t try to talk me out of it!)

I left the car and approached the gate (the same one the yard man seemed to “forget” to close earlier). After several attempts to unlatch it, I grew irritated when it refused to open.

Glancing around, I decided I’d simply hop (!) over the fence.

No big deal. I’d hopped many a fence when I was a kid.

No chain-link fences, but what difference could that make?

Ditto for not being thirteen any more.

So I threw one leg over the top of the fence but found I had no toe-hold. My jeans leg and boot got caught in the top of the fencing and, before I could blink, one leg was suspended mid-air while the rest of me was scrambling around in the damp, muddy grass!

Such poise. Such grace. Such bravado.

Such maturity.

I’m fortunate I didn’t break something. Shoot, I’m fortunate it was dark and the neighbors weren’t glued to their windows!

America’s Wealth Gap Widens

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I read something in this morning’s newspaper that stunned me.

The article was talking about how wide the “wealth gap” has grown between the young and the old in this country.

Households headed by a person aged 65-plus, for example, are worth 47 times more than those headed by a person under the age of 35.

The article went on to say older households are increasing in assets, while younger people are racking up more debt — chiefly via student loans and housing. It said young people are returning to school for advanced degrees in hopes the current poor job market will turn around; in addition, many young people are struggling to pay mortgages on homes that have shrunk in value from when they bought them during the housing boom.

On the whole, this makes me angry.

I truly sympathize with young people who want their share of the American Dream. Fine houses, big cars, furniture, annual vacations.

And I’m sure that many can’t find suitable employment. Jobs aren’t being created in many industries right now; some jobs have gone overseas, and many companies have enacted hiring freezes as they wait out an uncertain political arena.

But who told these young people that they’re supposed to have RIGHT NOW what the older generation has worked a lifetime for? Who told them their salaries should be in the six figures, right out of college? Who told them to live paycheck to paycheck? Who told them everything should be “even”?

Many oldsters scrimped and saved their entire lives. They “made do” with old clothes, old appliances, old furniture. They didn’t take vacations (unless, like my parents, it was a quick trip to visit relatives). They stayed in one home rather than constantly “trading up” to fancier neighborhoods.

And they invested wisely. Real estate, stocks and bonds, retirement accounts, their own businesses.

I see both sides of this issue. My son’s in college, so I can’t help but worry about what kind of future he will face; my mother is of “the greatest generation,” so she must remain vigilant and careful with her savings. While son has youth and time on his side, mom can’t return to the workforce.

The last thing young people need is a bunch of old folks occupying space in the employment lines!

Every generation hopes the one behind it will do better — be better educated, amass more money, be healthier and happier. But all that takes time.

Young people must curb some of their impatience. Instead of envying Grandma for her savings, perhaps they should bust their bottoms to emulate her wisdom.

What do you think?

Celebrating Halloween

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Halloween has never been one of my favorite holidays.

Sure, I did trick-or-treating with My Favorite Domer when he was little, and we decorated the house and enjoyed candy corn.

But too much mischief takes place at that time, all under the disguise of “harmless fun.” And too many adults try to take over the dressing up from what should be a kids’ occasion (something about seeing a “witch” behind the teller’s counter at my bank doesn’t sit well with me!)

But my fondest memory is when Domer was little and in day care. There, they learned by heart a darling story by Erica Silverman called Big Pumpkin.

“Once there was a witch who wanted to make pumpkin pie. So she planted a pumpkin seed. She weeded and watered, and after a while a sprout poked through. And then a pumpkin grew. And it grew. And it grew. And then it grew some more.”

The witch tries to yank the pumpkin off the vine but fails. Along come, in turn, a ghost, a vampire, and a mummy. All these characters try to remove the pumpkin from its vine, but they, too, are unsuccessful.

Finally, a tiny bat appears, acknowledges the size of the pumpkin, and volunteers to help.

The witch, ghost, vampire, and mummy survey the size of the little bat in relation to that of the pumpkin and start to laugh.

“I may not be big and I may not be strong but I have an idea,” the bat says.

By holding onto one another and working together, the creatures are able to remove the pumpkin from the vine. The witch makes pumpkin pie and invites the others to her place to have a slice.

Then she takes one of the seeds and plants it for the next time.

The story’s not scary, the rhyming is age-appropriate, the lesson is reasonable and something most of us want our kids to hear.

So, instead of competing to see who can dream up the scariest costume or get away with the most mischief or gorge ourselves on the most sweets, perhaps we might consider curling up with our little ones and introducing them to a good book.

How do you celebrate Halloween?

A Little Something for the Maid

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The past month has necessitated my spending several nights in motels, and I’ve got to admit, I’m not the happiest camper when traveling.

I like to get away, mind you. What I don’t particularly like is that hotels just aren’t home.

For one thing, the rooms are cramped. Bed, TV, and desk are jammed into one tiny space. There’s one door and one window; the decor’ is sterile, usually still life paintings or landscapes.

Room temperature isn’t home either. The best hotels have screens on the windows, letting guests have fresh air. Or ceiling fans in each room. But those AC/heating units are clunky, noisy, and probably filled with mold.

Nor is the lighting homey, especially in the bathroom.

How can I be expected to put mascara on in the dark??

It doesn’t seem to matter where you stay — hotels don’t feel as clean as home.

But the maids try. And they should be rewarded.

When I worked in pharmaceutical sales, my managers always instructed us to leave a dollar per person tip for every night we stayed in a hotel. Along with a little note to thank the maids for their service.

The housekeeping staff has a hard job — try hoisting those huge mattresses to change sheets; try cleaning toilets or bathtubs for several hours.

And it can be dangerous. They don’t know when some goon will try to jump them or leave a biting dog uncrated while they’re trying to clean.

Obviously, maids are being paid. That’s their job. (And in this day and age, they’re fortunate to have jobs!)

But every little bit helps, and I’ve never had one turn down the extra cash.

What about you? Do you leave a tip for the housekeeping staff, or is this a new idea?

Good-bye Fall

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Fall is coming to a close in my area — or maybe it just feels like that.

Leaves have mostly turned; many have already dropped off. The days are shorter, the daylight surely is. Flowers are slipping into dormancy, my Sheltie’s winter coat is thickening, and there’s a crispness in the air. Homes are adorned with pumpkins and Halloween decor’.

As I write this, a steady rain is pattering upon our patio outside. The sky is gray and bleak.

But sunlight and beauty linger in my camera from last week, so I decided to post the pictures before the snowballs start flying. Hope you enjoy them!

Sugar maple leaf turns golden

Sunlight streaming through trees

Dogwood tree turns coppery

Leaves on tree, leaves on ground

Tree turning red and gold

Tree turning gold from its top down

Weather forecasters are predicting another long, harsh winter for folks in my area. I think it has something to do with La Nina. Whatever, I’m not looking forward to ice. Cold I can take; snow, too, in dribs and drabs. But ice? Not my favorite.

How about you? What part of winter do you dislike most of all?