It is 2 pm. We finished lunch at 1 and then I sat and went through my email – so many newspaper articles and book reviews and I want to read them all. I scan through some, read others in their entirety but not truly absorbing their content. There are still more left unopened.

There is the book I am reading while I eat lunch. I skipped the middle, the beginning was of interest, the last third even more so, I have about 100 pages left to read. I want to, I do.

Mornings are so busy – especially the mornings that include a shower for my husband. I grab a half hour here or there to do some of MY stuff – read some of those articles, pay a bill, research a new doctor. Do some odd housekeeping chores, laundry, wash dishes, cook lunch.

Then there is this afternoon time. I can barely keep my eyes open – so tired. Lately I have been lying down after lunch, during this time that I am now writing instead of resting, and I’ll drift off for 40 winks because my brain knows that I have to be up at 3:15 to make my husband his coffee and snack to have at 3:30 when he watches Jeopardy re-runs.

6 o’clock comes quickly. Evening meds and other odds and ends – perhaps wash all the dishes – from lunch and afternoon snack, I often save them all up and just do it all in one fell swoop. Oh, and my husband’s physical therapy exercises, have to do those as well.

Where does the time go?

7pm – a light supper and then sitting like a lump, watching television I have no interest in, wasting precious time doing nothing when I could be doing something – my husband wants company – he sits all day in his recliner – unable to do anything on his own. While I flit around the apartment doing this and that – fetching for him – trying to steal a moment here and there for me – but there is no ME.

And here I sit writing when I could be catching a much needed nap, because I need to, write this, at this moment. Write this. Write other thoughts that are swirling through my mind.

But I must stop now. I need to lie down – just for a bit. Please.

There was no shower song this morning but there was a laundry song – Enya – Only Time.

I miss having a fully functioning brain

I know I promised not to whinge and whine and kvetch about my life as it now stands – just barely stands – lo these past 5 months.  But my brain is mush, getting mushier by the day. I miss have a perky peppy brain. I miss writing. I miss reading.

So perhaps I can make myself a promise to write some nonsense here every day.

How about we talk about pie? Y’all know I love pie, most particularly fruit pies with a side order of key lime pie. Considering lime is a fruit I suppose we can throw that into the fruit pie category. Tho it is like a cream pie and I don’t like cream pies.


Much as I like to bake, and I’m not a half bad baker, I can’t do pies. The crust is easy-peasy, I do an all butter crust, it’s the fillings that never come out right. Therefore when I get pie-cravings I buy frozen pies that you bake at home. Oddly, baked in a bakery pies are never all that good.

My husband has finally succumbed to my pie preference when it comes to baked goods (in addition to his devotion to Twinkies and Hostess Cupcakes – eww!) and asks for pie every week when I put in the grocery order.

Here’s what you need to know about store bought, frozen, bake-it-yourself pies – fruit pies must be Marie Callender. I just took a Dutch Apple Pie out of the oven – Heavenly. Dutch Apple is also known as Apple Crumb Pie. I have my mother’s recipe for apple crumb pie, always a favorite of mine, but I have never attempted to make it.

When it comes to pumpkin pie Mrs. Smith’s is the way you want to go. Mrs. Smith’s fruit pies – Meh. The pumpkin pie? Hoo-Boy that’s good eating. I have consumed an entire pie in one day.  I do not share my pumpkin pie.

A very good key lime pie? Edwards. Edwards does cream pies and you can buy them whole or individual slices. The pies are adorned with something that purports to be whipped cream, I always scrape it off. My husband has me add even more whipped cream. That’s a thing with him – he smothers all desserts in whipped cream. My husband is a culinary philistine.  Don’t get me started.

Today’s shower song – John Denver – Take Me Home Country Roads


Miscellaneous MIshegoss

Somewhere, sometime I wrote about my tendency to think in quatrains.  Most of my reactions are 4-line poems. Rarely do they progress into a complete poem and often, in my opinion those 4 lines ARE a complete poem.

I was cleaning out my ‘sent’ email folder and found an instant reaction quatrain that had popped out of my brain when reading a friend’s blog post. Here it is (the quatrain, not my friend’s blog post):

Holes to be mended,
Holes to be filled,
Holes made Whole,
By dint or by will.

(© Grace St. Clair
June 12, 2022)

That’s pretty complete right there. I like it.

I was texting with my daughter about her father’s condition (a result of his stupidity) when an incident occured in her home involving her husband and her 3-year old. The 3 year old was brought to tears. Daddy finally fixed the problem he caused, my daughter’s remark was “Just another example of men not listening and doing stupid shit 🤷🏼‍♀️”  Now that needs to be printed on a sticker and distributed far and wide. Perhaps the title of a reality tv show, the show would never go off the air for lack of material.

I came across an Instagram account called @disappointingaffirmations. The author’s name is Dave Tarnowski, his IG bio reads “All words and photos by me. Bipolar/ADHD/mental health advocate. Realistic mental attitude.” It appeals to my often less than sunny outlook but it also can be very dark, darker than I want to go.  This one tho appealed to me a lot and I shared it –

Here’s My New Anthem

Never Gonna Not Dance Again written and performed by Pink

If someone told me that the world would end tonight
You could take all that I got, for once I wouldn’t start a fight (Yeah, right)
You could have my liquor, take my dinner, take my fun
My birthday cake, my soul, my dog, take everything I love

But, oh, one thing I’m never gonna do
Is throw away my dancing shoes
And, oh, Lord, don’t try me, really, not tonight
I’ll lay down and die, I’ll scream and I’ll cry
We’ve already wasted enough time

I’m never gonna not dance again
I’m never gonna not dance again
Oh, I just wanna pop and lock to my records
There go all of my clothes
Never gonna not dance again
D-d-d-dance, I’m gonna dance, bruh
D-d-d-dance, I’m gonna dance

I want my life to be a Whitney Houston song (I wanna dance)
I got all good luck and zero fucks, don’t care if I belong, no
If I could kill the thing that makes us all so dumb
We’re never getting younger, so I’m gonna have some fun

‘Cause, oh, one thing I’m never gonna do
Is throw away my dancing shoes
And, oh, Lord, don’t try me, really, not tonight
I’ll lay down and die (I’ll lay down and die)
I’ll scream and I’ll cry (I’ll scream and I’ll cry)
Know that I’m starting a fight

I’m never gonna not dance again
I’m never gonna not dance again
Oh, I just wanna pop and lock to my records
There go all of my clothes
Never gonna not dance again
D-d-d-dance, I’m gonna dance, bruh
D-d-d-dance, I’m gonna dance
D-d-d-dance, I’m gonna dance, yeah, d-d-d-dance

I’ll lay down and die, I’ll scream and I’ll cry
You know that I’m starting a fight (Fight)
I’ll lay down and die, I’ll scream and I’ll cry
We’ve already wasted enough time
We’ve already wasted enough time

I’m never gonna not dance again
I’m never gonna not dance again
Oh, I just wanna pop and lock to my records
There go all of my clothes
Never gonna not dance again (Hey, hey)

Never gonna not dance again (Never gonna not dance again)
Dance again (Let the music play ’til the end)
Dance again (Never gonna not dance again)
Dance again
Let the music play ’til the end (Hey)
I’m never gonna not dance again
Dance again (Let the music play ’til the end)
Let it play, yeah
Dance again (Never gonna not dance again)
Dance again (Let the music play ’til the end)
Come on, come on
(I’m never gonna not gonna dance again)
(So let the music play ’til the end)
Yeah, yeah
I’m never gonna not gonna dance again
So let the music play ’til the end
(Why’d it stop?)


Overwhelmed with gratitude and thankfulness (and a little glee)

for having been born and brought up in New York City and having the father that I had.  New York City is the entire universe in 300.46 square miles. Thanks to my father I got to experience just about every square foot of it.

How do I keep this short and sweet? It all started this morning, with me being grumpy about some inconsequential shit on the internet that pissed me off and that I couldn’t let go of – ignorant yahoos.

But then I received a New York Times ‘newsletter’ in my email that featured a story about Marvin Gaye singing the national anthem. When I shared it with my husband his reaction was “meh” whereas I was blown away. This led to a discussion about music and the realization that because of where I grew up and with whom I grew up my views and tastes were more far ranging than my husband’s.

And that is due to my father.

I know of people who have lived for several generations in New York City and know jack-all about what’s there. So sad.

As soon as we were toilet trained and had acquired manners my father took us to every single museum in NYC.  Not just the art museums but the numismatic museum down on Wall Street, all sorts of museums covering every topic imaginable.  He took us to white-tablecloth restaurants; to the theater.

And yes to the zoo, the botanical gardens, the planetarium, the circus,the rodeo, the horse races, Yankee Stadium, Madison Square Garden – no type of sport was left out – we were introduced to it, if only as spectators.

At home we were surrounded by music of every form and format. And books – my father came from a family of readers – anything with print on it was perused.

Music? Oh my word – there was ALWAYS music. And NYC, being NYC, you could twirl your way around the radio dial and there was no music unrepresented. There was no culture unrepresented. There were radio stations that broadcast in languages other than English.

So much popular music originated in NYC – doo-wop, rap, beatbox, hip-hop – we heard it all first. Nothing was banned, nothing was off-limits. You only had to be curious enough to stop and listen.

Food? Oh hell do not tell me anything about food, just don’t. From the mundanity of mashed potatoes to haute cuisine – I ate it. And not the Americanized versions. The real deal.

It wasn’t just that you lived in a city with people of other cultures, you experienced their culture, and they yours because you were in and out of their homes. They were your friends and when we were young we took our differences for granted.

My parent’s friends – all my “Aunts” and “Uncles” – a veritable United Nations.

That’s how I grew up. As an adult my native curiosity took me farther and wider. I’m thinking I got my curiosity from my father –  it’s something people have commented on my whole life – my shrink said “You are the most curious person I have ever met”

How do you not wonder about the world that surrounds you especially when the world you live in is so diverse and strange and magical.

So, yes, right now feeling happy and bouncy and lucky and grateful that I had the father I had, growing up in the city I did and being blessed with a sense of curiosity that leads me down rabbit holes even Alice never dreamed of.

Let’s Revisit That

“Positive negativity” – an oxymoron?  The reverse of toxic positivity?  I’ve never been sure why NOT liking something is viewed as a bad thing. Negativity is defined as “the characteristic of being pessimistic or contrarian”. Disagreeing with someone or something is also negativity. Why is this a bad thing? If no one ever disagreed or disliked we would still be living in caves eating raw meat with our hands!

Here is my declaration – Positive Negativity is a good thing. Feel free to have an opinion and not have to defend it, particularly if it’s a matter of personal taste.  Be Your Own Self for pete’s sake.  Adopt my motto “No thank you, none for me but you enjoy it”

I am not often clever, rarely am I clever, but I think I got off a good one in my answer to Ann‘s comment regarding her being irked by ‘influencers’. I likened influencers to Border Collies herding the sheep.  Pretty good, right? Or not, hey – I like it.

Rory asked an amusing question this morning – “Name 5 uses for a stapler other than stapling” I could only think of two – as a weapon or a paperweight. I think those are only valid if you have a stapler like I have – This stapler is approximately 53 years old, solid metal and it weighs a ton. Somehow I doubt a modern day stapler would be good for either of those uses. The only other stapler I have is a mini, made of plastic, and barely useful for even that.

This stapler was mine when I worked for Elgin National Industries back in the 1960’s/70’s. When the company closed we were ‘allowed’ to take odds and ends home. I took this stapler and an antique desk chair that came from the original Elgin Watch Company offices. Sadly, I no longer have the chair – it was a beauty. (The stickers on the stapler were my initials – GMT – the G and M have disappeared by the T is still there.)

BTW – the mug in the background holds my pens and pencils and says “Lives – Get One” I think it was a gift.

Talking about Ann – on her blog this morning she mentioned that she ‘stuffed manicotti’. I commented that you don’t stuff manicotti because they are crepes, and she probably made cannelloni, which is a tube of pasta you do stuff.  Ann is the only person I can say that to and not get a lot of grief. Which is why I love Ann.

In case you don’t know the difference I wrote about it HERE.


I’m just lucky that way…

While I was scrub-a-dubbing in the shower the other morning  my mind was swirling and  tossing with  my reaction to something I had just read. Then it coalesced into – No everybody doesn’t.

Everybody doesn’t need “Nature’ – to interact with, to be out in it. Everybody doesn’t find it soothing, or rejuvenating.

Everybody doesn’t like or need Everything.

What I’m lucky with is a strong sense of self. My psychotherapist friend commented on that aspect of me. Given my childhood one would think I would be the last person on the planet to have that trait – and yet I do.

Not to the point of me reeking with self-confidence. Oh no, because if I did my life would have turned out very differently. But to the point that I know ME. And I’m really confident in who I am. And that who I am is exactly right.

You know my “About Me” page – “The first thing you should know about me is that I am not YOU. A lot more will make sense after that.”

So all that Nature stuff that philosophers thru the ages have touted, and all those annoying positivity people keep throwing in people’s faces, just makes me twitch and pisses me off. Guess what world – some of us enjoy Nature from the inside of the window.

I’m stressed and itchy and twitchy. No I don’t want to go for a walk – anywhere. I don’t want to go outside. I certainly DON’T WANT to go for a walk in the park or the woods or even around the block. As much as I like walking I’ve always looked at it as transportation – a way to get myself from one place to another. Is it enjoyable? Sometimes, and sometimes it is just expedient. It is in no way soothing, unstressful or anything more positive than getting where I need to go. Period.

I learned the hard way that looking out my window and seeing sky and trees is a total necessity to my mental health and well-being. The operative phrase here is ‘looking out the window’. 

While I am obsessed with light, sunrises and sunsets don’t really interest me. One more photograph of a red sunset, oooh’d and ahh’d over leaves me ho-humming. Unless there is some incredible play of light, which there usually isn’t. Seen one sunset/sunrise, seen ’em all. (Inside joke there.)

Years ago, when I lived in New York City, a friend asked why I never got out of the city for a country weekend. I asked “Why would I? What does the country have that NYC doesn’t” Central Park was always enough ‘country’ for me.

And quiet? I treasure quiet. Do you not know how quiet a city can be? Spookily quiet. Comfortingly quiet. Safe and cozily quiet. The most amazing moments of peace for me was an early Sunday morning, after a snowstorm, standing in the middle of Park Avenue, no cars, no people, twinkle lights on the scraggly trees along the median. The world seemed to have stopped and I was the only one in it – Heaven! So brilliant that I can conjure the scene and the feeling even now.

My point? So many people are not as lucky as I. They look outward for clues and cues to who they should be. And they rarely come up with anything that makes them feel good about who they are. Who they really are. It sucks their self-confidence from their souls.

When you write about ‘everybody’ you are contributing to this soul-sucking. Because they think you know better because “everybody’.  I need the word ‘everybody‘ (and that includes ‘everyone’) to be stricken from the language. It pisses me off!

You want to talk about what brings you pleasure and joy! By all means, I’d really like to know.  But to insinuate that those things should bring me pleasure and joy? You might want to re-think that. Please re-think that. I won’t rain on your parade, don’t rain on mine.

Please make it about YOU. Your likes,dislikes, pleasures and joy. Yours. Not mine or anyone elses. Not everyone’s. Or everybody’s. YOURS.

I can appreciate without wanting or needing. I love your enthusiasms, please respect mine. We can learn from one another without embracing the other’s point of view.

There is no ‘one size fits all’. There is no one answer. But there is the one YOU.

I hate the phrase “You do you” – it drips with sarcasm and dismissiveness, at least that’s the way I hear it. But there is some truth to it – said kindly and sincerely.

Appreciate yourself. Trust what makes you happy. Even if it seems like no one else shares your happy. Because there IS someone else who does.

Why do we have our best ideas in the shower? I know I do. My best writing gets done in the shower.