AUGUR vs AUGER

I want to write a blog that people look forward to reading, one that gets bookmarked and linked to and shared. I think about something I want to discuss.. Then, instead of writing about it, I play another game of spider solitaire on the computer so that I can think about it some more. How's that working out for me? Not so well.

Bad grammar and incorrect word usage bothers me. I've managed to pass at least some of this on to my children. When we watch TV together, we all shout "ly" at the TV when somebody leaves the -ly off an adverb. Example: Somebody on TV says "Wow, I did bad." "Ly", I'll add. I thought this trait had skipped my daughter (the most normal of my three children), but I recently found out she does it, too. It made me happy.

So today's Grammar Rant is about AUGUR vs. AUGER.

AUGUR, as a verb, means, according to Merriam-Webster, to foretell (or to predict the future) especially from omen. AUGER, on the other hand, is a sharp tool that is used chiefly for making holes. So, when I recently read in a book "This augers well," what the author was trying to say was that it was a good omen for the future. What they in fact said was that it drilled holes well.

This kind of word misuse is just poor editing, in my opinion. It's the kind of error that stands out to me, but might easily be missed.

I also have a collection of typos that made it through spell checks because they actually spell another word. A medical student wrote a report of a patient encounter in which she complained of "irritable bowl syndrome". This still makes me laugh. Then there was the grant proposal they asked me to edit in which the "faculty" had been called "faulty". Just one letter different, but what a difference in meaning!

Old, Fat and Unashamed

I enjoy reading fat-positive blogs, the ones that encourage women like me to accept ourselves and love ourselves the way we are. There are quite a few of them. As far as I can tell, though, they're all written by young women. I couldn't find a blog encouraging old, fat women to accept themselves. If there are any out there, I'd like to know about them. At the moment, though, I believe I'm unique, maybe even a trendsetter.

Because that's what I'm trying to do with this latest incarnation of my blog: learn to accept myself the way I am - old and fat - and not to see either of these qualities as a failing or drawback. I'd like to believe that I can be beautiful and attractive even at this age and size.

A thought on my previous entry (Cosplay): I could dress up as Ursula, the villainess in The Little Mermaid. I read recently that the character was based on Divine, the old drag queen who was in the original version of Hairspray.

Meanwhile, I am trying to move to a new city. I've been trying halfheartedly for over a year, but have been thwarted by the amount of clutter in my house. Last Christmas we rented a storage locker and the kids and I have moved some of the clutter there. A lot of it came from my mother's house, and I'm not ready to part with it.

I decided over the weekend that I've had enough. The house is going to have to go on the market as it is. The realtors who have looked at it haven't been thrilled by it - it's a small, 100+-year-old house that needs a new kitchen. But it's got hardwood floors, central air conditioning, a wide staircase and a good-sized bathroom, and it's in a good neighborhood in the bad city where I live. Also, I want to sell it cheaply, as long as I make more selling it than I paid for it.

How do I get pre-approved for a mortgage when I already have one? I don't plan to hold them both at the same time, but for some reason, the fact that I currently carry a mortgage doesn't make me eligible to get a new one.

Every day I want to do some small thing to make the house ready to sell. Yesterday I lugged the vacuum cleaner into the cellar and vacuumed up spider webs until the vacuum cleaner bag was full. I also threw out or recycled a bunch of old boxes that I was saving for no reason - just a habit, learned at my mother's knee, never to throw anything out if it might be useful later on.

I want either a small house or a condo in a residential area, close to public transportation and shops and restaurants. I want more space than I currently have (or at least more storage space). I want a dishwasher. I haven't had a working dishwasher in over 20 years. I'm sick of doing them by hand. I want natural gas heat and I'd love central air conditioning. I need two off-street parking spaces (my younger son lives with me). If it's a condo, the association needs to allow both of our cats. And I don't want to pay a lot. I don't ask much, do I?

Old Fat Lady Cosplay?

My goal with this phase of my blog is to inspire myself to live again, and not to give up just because I'm getting old. There were some things I hoped to accomplish in my life that I have not yet accomplished, and I feel myself wanting to give up. Will I ever write a novel that gets published? Will I ever travel outside of the United States and Canada? Will I ever attract another man?

I didn't go to the tattoo convention. When I read the website, I decided the convention wasn't really aimed at gawkers (although I'm sure it attracted a few). So I'll keep watching tattoo shows on TV and see what I can learn.

I've been watching a show on Syfy called "Heroes of Cosplay". "Cosplay" is a blend of "costume" and "play"; it's dressing up as a character (usually from a video game or a geeky movie) for any one of a number of conventions. I'd love to do it, but the show makes clear that old, fat women would not be welcome. One of the young women kept raving about how much weight she had gained and how she could only play the fat version of a character. She played Merida from Brave because Merida (an animated character) is curvy. This woman is NOT fat, incidentally. If there were any old, fat women in costume dramas or video games, I'm sure I'd be welcome to dress up as one of them.

I'd love to go to King Richard's Faire (our local Renaissance fair) in costume, but I don't have anybody who would go with me if I did. The kids would be embarrassed - and I'm pretty sure all of them also want to go in costume, but don't have the courage. I bought a cape last year, and I plan to wear it when we go this year. That's as close to a costume as I'm likely to get.

I'm a MythBusters fan, and this past weekend Jamie and Adam were at DragonCon. Adam dressed up as Jack Sparrow, and he looked amazing. (Jamie, true to character, dressed up as himself.) It just makes me wish I could try a costume.

My sons were at PAX Prime in Seattle, and PAX also attracts cosplayers. Once again, I really wish I had the courage. I will go to PAX East if I can next spring here in Boston, but I don't see myself going in costume at this point.

Old Fat Lady and Tattoos?

Last year, I happened onto a show called Ink Master. It's on Spike, whose target audience is male. I loved it. I have no idea why - I don't have any tattoos (yet!) and I always thought I disapproved of them. They're permanent, and if you get tired of them, you can't scrub them off. If, ten years later, you no longer want your significant other's name tattooed on your arm, due to the fact that s/he is no longer your significant other, you're screwed. The tattoo that made you laugh in your twenties might just embarrass you in your forties.

However, I'm now in my sixties, and I expect my tastes aren't going to change too drastically in the next few decades. I secretly want to apply to be a canvas for the next season of Ink Master. Don't tell anybody! Some of the contestants don't want to tattoo old people because aging skin handles differently, but they've had at least one woman in her 70s on.

There are other shows about tattoos, but they all seem to be slanted towards repairing or covering up bad tattoos. Tattoo Nightmares is a show about three L.A. artists who specialize in covering up bad tattoos. Then there's Bad Ink, set in Las Vegas. These two characters (a tattoo artist and his sidekick) go around looking for bad tattoos, and they've found a lot of them (example: a large-size woman who had "EXIT ONLY" tattooed right over her ass crack). Occasionally, somebody even wants to have their bad tattoo covered up, although more people than you'd think just want to keep their tattoos because either they have appalling taste or they're used to them.

These bad-tattoo stories all seem to start the same way: "I was out with my friends and we were drinking..." That's all it takes - too much alcohol and the encouragement of a few impaired friends - to lead to waking up in the morning with a horrible tattoo. Frequently, they were under age 18, and were tattooed by somebody who didn't know what they were doing.

In one of the Bad Ink episodes, one of the guys (I think it was Ruckus, the one who isn't a tattoo artist) was trying to entice old people in a retirement community to come and get a tattoo. One woman took them up on it. She was older than I am.

There's a tattoo convention in Boston this weekend. I could go - I'm on my own for the long weekend. I could even come back with a tattoo. I looked at the page of artists, and there are a lot of gorgeous tattoos being shown. Bright colors, unique designs, different styles, from realistic to abstract, cartoon-like, or like the cover of a fantasy novel. I think I'd like something in color. But where? My ankle? My shoulder? I thought about having a tattoo that would incorporate my spider veins on my legs... I think I'd want something I could hide if I wanted to. I don't know. My kids would probably think I've gone crazy.

What Can Old Fat Ladies Do? Take 2

Last year, I was diagnosed with carpal tunnel syndrome. This was a surprise to me. I had some aching in my right arm, but nothing too severe. I made a couple of changes at work - I have a fancy mouse that operates with a handshake grip, and I repositioned my keyboard - and I think the carpal tunnel syndrome has cleared up. This is significant because, due to it, I had given up knitting. I have always loved to knit and crochet, and I'm reasonably good at it. My kids all have afghans I crocheted for them. (I have one, too.) I knitted many baby sweaters and hats over the years for my friends. More recently, I have made several pairs of mittens each Christmas for our church's Mitten Tree. Last year, I was unable to do so, which was a disappointment to me.

Meanwhile, my shoulders were giving me trouble. I had rotator cuff surgery last January on my left shoulder. My right shoulder has bone spurs that make it painful to reach up for things. I haven't been able to lift anything too heavy (another reason that we haven't put the house on the market yet - I can't move things to the storage locker without help).

In spite of these things, I decided it was time to try knitting again. While I was down at the Cape earlier this month, I bought a pattern for a cardigan for myself, some lovely blue yarn with flecks (they called it "tweed"), and I started knitting. The back is about half done, and everything's going well so far. This has lifted up my spirits tremendously, at least as far as my body's limitations go.

I've also had trouble walking. It turns out that the pain in the balls of my feet was due to something called a Morton's neuroma. Actually, two neuromas, one in each foot. There's really nothing to do about them except to wear the right shoes, ones that don't compress the toes. I now have a pair of orthopedic shoes. They're huge and clunky, and I haven't worn them anywhere yet. The orthopedic shoe guy approved my sandals, so I figured I'd wear them until the weather gets cold enough for large clunky orthopedic shoes.

Last week I decided it was time to stop malingering and to get out walking at lunchtime again. I am challenging myself to go out and walk three days a week. I've had problems with arthritis in my right hip - something I REALLY do not want to admit to, because it makes me sound so OLD. I think exercise can help (and if it can't, I don't really want to know about it!). I did the three workday lunchtimes last week, and in addition, took a Saturday walk along Lynn Shore Drive. I took a walk today, so this week is off to a good start.

So, it looks like I'm not yet too old and decrepit to knit or to walk. YAY!

What Can Old Fat Ladies Do?

What can old fat ladies do? I'm hoping to explore that topic here.

As I get older, I feel more limited in what I can do. Skydiving? Probably not. Do old fat ladies with fake knees jump out of airplanes? I had a brief mourning period back when I was 38 because I had never jumped out of an airplane, and I was already too old to do it. At age 38! If I had actually wanted to try skydiving, I could have. For all I know, I still could.

Why the preoccupation with skydiving? Two reasons. First, I'm a fan of Top Chef Masters. The season premiere earlier this summer showed all but one of the chefs (even the older, fatter ones) skydiving into their first cooking challenge.They made it look easy, and even the terrified ones claimed to have loved the experience. Second, my son-in-law recently jumped out of an airplane (skydove?). He's young and athletic, and loves to try new things. My daughter didn't join him in the jump, though. I wonder if she'll regret it when she's in her sixties? More likely, she'll have done it by then.

So what can I do? The fake knee limits me in a couple of areas. I was told that I couldn't run or ski. I hadn't been doing much of either of those recently, so I figured there wouldn't be a problem.

But what about climbing Mount Everest? Could a person with a fake knee do that? Somewhere in the back of my mind, I want to be able to do it. I love reading about Everest, watching documentaries about Everest, imagining myself in this most unforgiving of environments...but realistically, I know I'll never climb it. For one thing, it takes months of acclimatization and a vast amount of money. For another thing? See "fat", above. Add "out of shape" to that.

Which brings me to something an old fat lady can do: get into shape.

Today I Googled "personal trainer arthritis" to see if I could turn up any local personal trainers who dealt with people like me. Clearly, I should have chosen different words for my search. I found exercises for people with arthritis, but realistically, I won't do it on my own. I need somebody who will inspire me and motivate me without shaming me or belittling me. I need a location near where I live -

- and that's where everything grinds to a halt.

I want to move away from the poor city where I live now. I want to move closer to Boston. I wouldn't join a gym where I live now even if such a thing existed. (There's a YMCA; not sure what else.) So I've been putting off my dreams of getting fit with a personal trainer until some indefinite date in the future, After I Move. That date doesn't seem to be getting any closer.

2011

I am glad that 2011 is drawing to a close. The year has been filled with emotional peaks and valleys, ranging from the virtually perfect wedding of my daughter to the very sudden death of my mother, still fresh enough that I can't write those words without tears coming to my eyes. One of my children's aunts, my younger sister-in-law (does one say "ex-sister-in-law?), also died. Both these women attended my daughter's wedding, and I'm glad they were able to be there.

In 2011, I fought for and received a promotion, which moved me from the weekly to the monthly payroll. Since then I have been fighting to have enough cash to see me through a month. The last three months, especially, have been a struggle, with my cash pretty much gone after my car payment on the 19th. That's another thing that changed in 2011: In February, I unloaded my 1999 Saturn for a new Civic, which I'm leasing because the monthly payments are much lower. Having a new car has been wonderful. Having a new car payment, less so.

Once again, an entire year has passed by without me having a date or even meeting a man near my age who is single and available. This is not the way I expected my life would be. I become more withdrawn every day. I wouldn't even know how to talk to a man who might be interested in me. In fact, I find it a little harder every day to believe that there is a man out in the vast universe who might find me interesting or attractive. I'm afraid I've forgotten how to be either of those things.

The best part of 2011, after my daughter's wedding, was my week on the Cape in July-August. I'm always better at the Cape - healthier, less apt to overeat, more apt to go outside, more complete in myself. I still want to retire to the Cape. My older son and I visited the Cape the weekend after my mother died, earlier this month. We needed the outing to a place Mom loved, too. The Cape is a very different place in December, with most of the summer attractions closed. But it's still the Cape, and I think I'd be all right there even in the off season. (If anybody reads this, "the Cape" is always Cape Cod. I live closer to Cape Ann, and I realize that there are a lot of Capes all over the world. But only one is THE Cape. I've asked people from other parts of the country what they think of when they hear "the Cape", and the answer has always been Cape Cod.)

Earlier this week I made MP3s out of my Cat Stevens albums from the early 1970's. I want to quote part of a song from "Tea for the Tillerman" - "there's so much left to know and I'm on the road to find out." (The song is called "On the road to find out".) That's what I've lost in the past few years - hope for the future. Those lines remind me of what I've lost. I may be older now, but there's still a lot left to know, and it's only my own fears that are keeping me off the Road to Find Out. That's what I want for 2012 - to be back on that road.

Thoughts on my Birthday

On my eighth birthday, I received a softball bat and ball. I was delighted. That evening after supper, we went outside to play on the neighbor's field (which he kept mowed for the neighborhood kids to play ball on). I remember staying outside until long after the sun set. My bedtime back then was 8:00, and I know I was still outside playing softball in the twilight then. The glow of the sky, the warmth of the air, the crack of the bat - these are some of my favorite childhood birthday memories.

I have many other happy birthday memories, but this one always reminds me of how long the days are getting by mid-May. It's still light at 8 p.m., even on the endless gray days we've been having recently.

I always thought May was the best month to be born in. The days are usually warm without being too hot. My mother's back yard was full of lilacs and other spring flowers. I was given a Mayflower viburnum bush for my birthday one year, and it was always covered with fragrant blossoms by my birthday. The yard was full of lilies of the valley and violets (both purple and white), and somebody would usually pick me a nosegay for my birthday. Down by the woods, the bluets and wild violets were in bloom. My sister and I used to make May baskets out of paper cups for our grandmother and the elderly woman who lived next door to her. We'd fill them with wildflowers and leave them on their doorknobs on May Day morning before we went to school. (It helped that our school was practically next door to those houses.)

Today, a house sits on the old ball field. It's been there for a good 30 years, probably closer to 40. My mother's house will be on the market soon. I'm allergic to lilacs, but I'm still considering planting a shoot from one of hers in my yard. Nobody has picked me a nosegay in years. Yeah, I miss them. I just threw out the forsythia that was in my little vase, and I'd love to have something new in it.

May took on a different aspect as I got older. School is winding down for the year. Most colleges have exams and graduation in May. Every committee I used to be on had its final meeting and banquet in May. Choirs I have sung in (or rung in) tend to have concerts in May. Our handbell choir gave one on May 1st. When I was in college, my birthday tended to fall during reading week, and there was almost always a party (for me and all of the other May birthdays - there are a ton of us, and most of us are on Facebook). We needed the study break. What better excuse?

Sometimes I feel as if my days are drawing to a close, that I've hit my own late May twilight. When I sat down to write this, that's the direction I thought I'd be heading. But right now, I don't really feel that way. Maybe there will be more birthdays filled with flowers (that don't make me sneeze!) and sunshine. Not this year (at least for the sunshine). But there's a flicker of hope somewhere inside of me, one that it's been harder to keep alive recently. May it continue to flicker.

That rite of passage, the Prom

I did not go to my high school prom.

Last night's Glee episode, entitled "Prom Queen", has me thinking about the prom in general. If there are any Gleeks out there among my handful of readers who haven't watched the episode, please consider this a SPOILER ALERT!

Let's start with the struggle to find a date for the prom. I never dated in high school. It wasn't my choice, but there weren't any brave young men at my high school who would take the risk of being seen with a fat chick. Or at least not with me, smart, moody, sarcastic, with absolutely no sense of style. So, not surprisingly, nobody asked me to the prom. I've consoled myself with the fact that, on prom night, I was home with a fever of 101° (turned out I had rubella), so I wouldn't have been able to go even if I'd spent the money on a dress and a corsage and a ticket. But I still wish I'd had a chance to go.

One of my favorite characters on Glee this season is Lauren Zizes, played by the talented Ashley Fink. Lauren is a fat chick, and she does exactly what she wants. She's dating one of the most popular guys in the school, Puck, and they're running for Prom King and Queen. She didn't have to worry about finding a date - just finding a dress. "I've been to Ann Taylor Loft, Filene's Basement, and, like, six Forever 21s and I cannot find a dress that fits," she wailed. (She should have tried Lord & Taylor - that's where I got my mother-of-the-bride dress, which is the dress I would have worn to the prom all those years ago.) There was a great scene in a dress shop, where the girls had brought Kurt along to be their fashion adviser. Lauren came out in a horrible ruffled yellow number. "I think I look like a lemon meringue pie," she moaned. I'm not sure how they found the dress she ultimately wore, which was royal blue and looked great.

Through this scene, I was thinking about what it might have been like for me to find a dress that fit in 1968, and I'm glad I didn't have to go through that struggle. I know I would have ended up sewing one myself. That was how I survived high school; I knew how to enlarge a size 16 pattern to fit myself, so I could stitch up copies of whatever was in style. The trouble with sewing something for yourself, though, is that you can never be sure what it's going to look like on you until it's done. So I could have easily bought yards of expensive fabric and ended up looking like a poorly-upholstered sofa.

Then there's Mercedes, who is a little plump and doesn't have a boyfriend. She and Rachel asked Sam to the prom. Sam is currently broke and living with his family in a motel room, so they kept it low-budget (sure, they did...those girls found some great dresses at Goodwill, if that was true). I fall in size somewhere between Mercedes and Lauren, and I know that when I was in high school I would have been delighted to find a store that carried my size.

Kurt asked his boyfriend Blaine, and then dressed up in a kilt for the occasion. I hadn't heard the leak of who would be voted Prom Queen, so when it turned out to be Kurt I was duly horrified. That's the kind of cruel trick that I always worry somebody will pull on me - the fat, ugly, unpopular chick getting called out as the winner in a contest I would never even enter. Anyway, Kurt pulled it off, and even danced with Blaine after he was crowned. I don't believe this would ever be allowed to happen in a real high school; even if cruel kids wrote in a gay guy for prom queen, the principal would never allow the vote to count. In typical Glee irony, the prom king was the closeted gay guy, Karofsky, who was supposed to be paired with Santana, who discovered this season that she's a lesbian.

The music the Glee kids performed turned out to be a collection of really bad songs - was this intentional? It might have been. That YouTube sensation, "Friday", which I had managed to avoid hearing until then; "Jar of Hearts", which always sounds to me as if the young woman wrote it in a notebook during some boring class in high school - "You're going to catch a cold/from the ice inside your soul..." Really? Ewww. They ended with ABBA's "Dancing Queen", which is a classic but still, when you think about it, a pretty weak song. (Sorry, I was never an ABBA fan.)

So I'm left wondering if anybody really had a good time at the Glee prom. Finn and Jesse St. James had a fight (over Rachel!) and were evicted from the prom before the King and Queen were announced, which ruined Quinn's evening. She expected she and Finn would win. Artie could never convince Brittany to go with him; she chose to go alone. He consoled himself by spiking the punch, but Sue Sylvester caught him. (He was spiking it with lemonade.) Santana was furious because her date won Prom King and she didn't win Prom Queen. Karofsky was miserable, just because of his struggle with being gay and not ready to come out.

Chances are that even if I'd gone to my own prom, I wouldn't have had fun. But I still find myself regretting that I didn't go, and wishing that, at my advanced age, I could have another chance to deck myself out in a pretty dress and a corsage and go to a formal dance with a nice guy.

Screaming for help in my dreams

This morning I woke up at 8 a.m. from one of those heavy dreams, not quite a nightmare, and it was hard to shake it off. I was just as exhausted as if I hadn't slept at all. The dream's somber atmosphere still clung to me as I got out of bed, and I found it a strain to relate to the real world. I considered skipping church, but it was Palm Sunday and I have always loved the beginning of Holy Week.

In the dream I had just spent what felt like a week (but was probably just a few minutes) screaming for help, crying, begging somebody to listen to me. The theme was repeated in several different settings, over and over. In all of them, I was deeply depressed and desperately in need of somebody to lend me a hand.

It started at what seemed to be a retreat. I was at a college campus somewhere in the mountains. People of all ages were there, taking courses and discussing them with each other. But for some reason, nobody would listen to me. I went up to a group of people I thought were friends, and tried to join in the conversation. When I tried to say how I felt, though, they didn't want to hear it. I felt invisible, as I sometimes feel in real life.

So I sat down in the grass by the junction of a couple of paths, and I cried. People passed by, but nobody stopped. One even went so far as to ask me why I was crying, but she didn't stick around long enough for me to answer. I kept on crying, feeling more alone than ever, hoping somebody would stop and talk to me, but nobody ever did.

Then the dream shifted. For some reason, my sister had built a huge new house for our mother right next door to the house we grew up in. (There isn't room, but this was a dream, after all, and the landscape is expandable in dreams.) This house was so big it had a college dormitory in one end and a museum in the other. I kept trying to find the bedroom that was supposed to be mine. I wanted to collect a shawl I thought I'd left there, so I could wrap it around myself and maybe feel a little more secure. There were elevators all over this house, and they led to all sorts of strange locations. I remember there was a room where Mom's chocolate was kept. (My mom is a chocoholic.) And I kept trying to find somebody to listen to me. It was clear my mom wasn't going to; she didn't want me to be sad, so she ignored me when I was. (In the dream, not in real life.) I found a therapist or minister or somebody who should have wanted to listen to me, but she didn't have time for me. And I never did find my bedroom.

For some reason my sister had bought Mom a little flying car, like in the Jetsons. I thought we were riding over to wherever we were going in a helicopter, but it was actually a little golden car and Mom was driving. My mom gave up driving maybe a year ago, and it was significant to me in the dream that she could manage to drive this car.

And then I woke up. I still hadn't found anybody to talk to, and the weight of this need hung over me. It was difficult to shake it off. I found myself contemplating this dream during the sermon at church this morning (sorry, Lisa! but hey, Tim was making a paper airplane out of the program, and I think a couple of other choir members might have been dozing...). I decided to try to write about the experience in my blog to see if I could untangle what it really meant.

When I left church I could still feel the grim atmosphere of the dream clinging to me, and I was afraid that I'd have a difficult afternoon today. But I stopped at Trader Joe's and bought a few things we needed, and after I got home I took the cats out in the yard and raked up a couple more bags of leaves. (By then I was out of bags.) By now I feel all right. The sun is out and a few daffodils are in bloom in my yard.

So what was going on with that dream? I think I'm worried about my mother. My sister did move Mom into a large home where she has her own apartment - an assisted-living facility - but while Mom has a wheelchair, she doesn't have a flying car. The symbolism of Mom driving a golden car into the sky doesn't escape me, though. I just hope she doesn't drive off too soon.

And I frequently struggle with feeling unheard and feeling invisible. It's easy for me to see, when I'm awake, that sitting by the side of the road and crying, waiting for somebody to come and help me, isn't the way to solve my problems. Writing this blog entry, which will link to Facebook, is a way to help me feel a little more connected, whether anybody really responds or not.

Coexist?

Yesterday as I was driving home from work I passed a parked car with that "Coexist" bumper sticker I've been seeing around for years - the one where all the letters are represented by religious or other symbols. "Hmpf, a Unitarian," I thought with a smile. I was brought up Unitarian-Universalist, and I still have a soft spot in my heart for them. I agree with the message of people of different religions getting along with each other. Hmm, I thought, I could put one on my car (which, being brand new and leased, is currently unadorned with anything representing me or my thoughts, or where I or my kids went to college, or which sports team I cheer for). I was surprised to find out that the idea left me cold.

I wouldn't put a "Coexist" bumper sticker on my car, or, for that matter, wear a "Coexist" t-shirt, because the concept of coexistence is too isolating for me. Let me explain.

I looked up "coexist" in the Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary, and it told me that it means:

1. to exist together at the same time
2. to live in peace with each other especially as a matter of policy

Nothing wrong with that, right? Well, it's not all that different from the way I am right now, where I live beside my neighbors but rarely exchange a word with them. I ride the subway every day, crowded in beside people who remain strangers even as we stand pressed intimately together. I attend church on Sundays without revealing very much of myself. I'm not a member, and nobody has asked me to join. What does that mean? I'm not sure, but it sounds a lot like coexistence to me.

I think of myself as coexisting with my type 2 diabetes. It's there, but it doesn't define me. My artificial left knee, too. Most of the time I go about my life without allowing it to hold me back.

Every Friday there is a Muslim religious service in the classroom next door to my office. I've gotten to know the imam a little; we say hello and exchange a few pleasantries when we see each other. Yesterday I asked him if it was still snowing outside. (It wasn't.) That's closer to harmony than mere coexistence. If I were simply coexisting with my Muslim neighbors, I might just shut my office door and pretend they weren't there. (They do have a tendency to stand in the hall and chat after the service.)

The religious symbols on the most common of the "Coexist" bumper stickers are:

• C: a crescent moon and star, to represent Islam
• O: a peace sign
• E: representing a male/female symbol, but not very well since it has to remain open
  
• X: a star of David to represent Jewish people
  
• I: it's dotted with a pentagram in a circle, to represent Wiccans and pagans
• S: it's woven into a yin-yang sign, for Taoism
• T: It's a cross, to represent Christianity

There are many other versions, some of which are better than others. I found one made up of computer-company symbols - at least it started with Apple and ended with Windows. I'm not sure what the other ones are, and neither is the company selling the t-shirt. There's one in which the O is a pentagram, the "e"=mc², and the I is dotted with a mandala for the Buddhists.

Anyway, I think I'd rather have one that says "Harmony." I found one online that says "Live in Peace & Harmony" where the H was a cross and a matching stick that I don't recognize, the A was the Star of David, the R was based on the Unitarian chalice (of course!), the M was humped over a nine-pointed star (Baha'i?) and a pentagram, the O was a peace sign, and the Y was a dove. I'm not sure what the N was supposed to represent, and I can't find an explanation online. The ampersand was the Om character for Hinduism.

I think I am the most comfortable and truly myself when I am singing with other people in harmony. That's why the concept of living in harmony with my neighbors, rather than simply coexisting, means so much more to me.

Perfect

I find myself deeply moved by the new song by Pink, "Perfect." (As it turns out, there's a frequently-used obscenity in the title that I wasn't aware of until I watched the video on YouTube today. I'm working with the radio-edited lyrics for this blog entry.) I feel as if the lyrics were written for me. I've spent most of my life obsessed with the need to be perfect; because of my weight issues, I've felt as if I have no room for error anywhere else. In order to make up for being fat, I have to be perfect in everything else I do - perfect singing, perfect grades in school, never angry, always the perfect friend, perfect mother, perfect employee. Obviously, I can't ever succeed in this. Who can? I set myself up for defeat before I even try.

Pretty, pretty please
Don’t you ever, ever feel
Like you’re less than
less than perfect
Pretty, pretty please
If you ever, ever feel
Like you’re nothing
You are perfect to me

I feel as if somebody should have spoken these words to me when I was a child. Maybe it's my emotionally-distorted hearing, but for as long as I can remember I've heard any criticism as condemnation. Any time I displease somebody, I'm afraid that person won't like me any more. I never feel anywhere near perfect. A lot of the time I feel barely human.

You’re so mean when you talk
About yourself - you are wrong
Change the voices in your head
Make them like you instead
So complicated
Look happy you’ll make it
Filled with so much hatred
Such a tired game
It’s enough, I’ve done all I can think of
Chased down all my demons
I've seen you do the same

The voices inside my head never say anything kind to me. I look in the mirror in the morning, and I see an aging woman whom no man will ever love. I see scarred, worn-down, reddened, wrinkled skin, puffy eyes, a mouth that's forgotten how to smile. I wish I could change the voices in my head and make them like me instead. Really. This is something I've been struggling with especially hard for the past ten years. Chasing down the demons. Right now, I'm losing the battle. I'm losing heart. I'm giving up.

If I had a baby to rock right now, I'd be singing these lyrics to him or her, softly, as a lullaby. Pink is pregnant; I imagine that she wrote this song for the child she's carrying. (She admits this on her website: "Making this video was a very emotional experience for me, as was writing this song. I have a life inside of me, and I want her or him to know that I will accept him or her with open and loving and welcoming arms.") Or maybe for herself, or for a friend or close relative. Some people have suggested it was an answer to the recent gay suicides. Whatever reason, it speaks to me.

Good Times at Choir Practice

Last year, after 6 years of playing handbells at a nearby UCC church, I finally joined the chancel choir. Why had I hesitated for so long? I had a number of vague reasons. Joining the "singing" choir would mean that I would have to attend church almost every Sunday, and I was enjoying having my Sunday mornings to sleep in. This was especially important to me, since five days a week I have to get up at 5:30 a.m. for work. The handbell choir plays about once a month, giving me lots of free Sundays. Also, I wasn't sure I could still sing. This vague feeling resulted from the fact that - after a lifetime of being complimented on my lovely singing voice - nobody at this church had ever told me that I sang well. I had come to expect the compliments. Without them, I was losing my self-confidence.

Yeah, that was pretty stupid of me. Or pretty conceited, I don't know which. Probably a little of both.

Anyway, several of the regular sopranos moved away, and the choir director asked me to join. I hesitated for a while (I was going to miss sleeping in on Sunday mornings), but finally gave in. And I was immediately glad I did. A few months later, I encouraged my younger son to join. He's got a lovely tenor voice. Now we're regulars.

I have sung in choirs since age 9. I love singing in choirs - it's one of my favorite things in the world. My natural range is soprano, but because I can sight-read well and carry my own part, I sang alto for years, through high school and college. I sang soprano in junior high school, which meant that when the choir director handed out "Do you hear what I hear?" this past Christmas, I already knew my part - I'd sung it back when the piece was new, in 1962. {cringe} How did I get so old so fast?

The choral piece I have sung with the most directors throughout the years is Randall Thompson's "Alleluia". I sang it in high school and college as an alto, but I've sung it enough since then that the soprano part is more familiar to me. A few weeks ago, the choir director handed it out to perform later this season (Easter? I'm not sure). I'm thrilled, not just because I love to sing it, but because now my son can sing it, too. It showed up on one of our Christmas records for some reason, and he could already sing along. If the tenor part had merely been the soprano part an octave lower, he'd have been all set.

Last night, however, the choir director handed out a piece I haven't done since college. I know this because I'd never sung the soprano part. It's a Brahms "Geistliches Lied" - "Lass dich nur nichts nicht dauren" (translated as "Let Nothing Ever Grieve Thee", if I remember correctly, in the version we're singing). We're singing it in English. We used to call it "Last Ditch" in college. It's good to be singing it again.

There's another good piece we're doing this spring, an arrangement of "Ubi caritas" by Paul Basler. I had never heard of him before this piece. We're singing it in Latin. Kids these days don't study Latin in high school any more the way I did. (I can just hear my sons saying "Yeah, but it was still a living language back then.") This is another experience I'm glad my son is getting. Anyway, the choir director was helping us with pronunciation. The first line is "Ubi caritas et amor, Deus ibi est." ("Where charity and love are, God is there.") He said that we were singing it so that the end of the line sounded like "Deus CBS." Now I can't stop thinking of singing it that way.

Probably the best song we sang this year so far was "Down to the river to pray", as it was sung in "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" It's so mystical, or maybe that's just because of the way it was in the movie, with all those people dressed in white heading for the river to be baptized.

The funny thing is, I don't even have to give up sleeping in on Sunday mornings. Choir generally doesn't meet until 9 or 9:15, and believe me, sleeping until 8 beats getting up at 5:30.

RuPaul's Drag Race? Why Not?

Why should a middle-aged (if you stretch the definition of "middle age" well into what used to be considered, um, old) straight woman enjoy watching "RuPaul's Drag Race", where gay men compete in full drag to be named America's Top Drag Queen? Well, as I said my title, why not?

The new season started on Monday. This is the second year I've watched the show (I missed the first season). Last year I was rooting for our Boston contestant, Jujubee. She came in third, which isn't too bad, but I still think she should have won.

I'm looking for a new show to blog. For the past three years at this time, I've blogged enthusiastically about "American Idol", a show I've watched since its first season. Last spring, after the wrong person won for the second year in a row, I decided not to blog the show when it started up again this season. The problem is that you're allowed to vote multiple times for each person. The singers who won were more acceptable to the conservative audience, who were patient enough (or crazy enough) to vote over and over long after my patience faded. Anyway, I'm a little sick of competitions where "America" controls the voting. Want to know how good "America" is at picking the best people for the job? Just look at the clowns we elect to represent us.

So I thought, why not blog about RuPaul's Drag Race? I love the show, and there isn't as much online chatter about it as there is about American Idol. And there's plenty to say.

This year there are 13 contestants. Drag queen names can be really funny, although most of these are pretty mundane. I'm listing them alphabetically by first name:

• Alexis Mateo
• Carmen Carrera
• Delta Work (she's one of my favorites)
• India Ferrah
• Manila Luzon (where do you think her ancestors are from? Her boyfriend is last year's contestant Sahara Davenport.)
• Mariah
• Mimi Imfurst (pronounced "Me! Me! I'm First!")
• Phoenix (who is from Atlanta, GA, not Phoenix...)
• Raja
• Shangela Laquifa Wadley (she was eliminated first in Season 2, and has been given a second chance)
  
• Stacy Layne Matthews (she's from Back Swamp, NC)
  
• Venus D'Lite (which sounds kind of like a diet dessert to me)
• Yara Sofia

Three of the ladies are "big girls": Delta Work, Mimi Imfurst, and Stacy Layne Matthews. Watching these ladies strutting around in sexy clothes is inspiring for me. First of all, I want to know where they get their outfits, especially the sexy corsets and bustiers!

The theme of the first show is Christmas (Xmas? Does it make a difference?) The first - what? challenge? event? - is a photo session in which they are asked to jump on a trampoline while snowflakes are sprayed at them; their photos are snapped while they are up in the air. They were all dressed in drag at this point, so some of them were jumping with long gowns or boots (I think anyone wearing stilettos removed them first!).

Then, they visited a thrift shop to buy clothing (or whatever they could find) to create the perfect Christmas outfit. Shangela bought a large white bulbous lampshade, with the intent of creating a kind of a snowman look. Mimi whined that thrift shops didn't carry her size. (Delta and Stacy Layne just went about finding what they needed, without a single whine. I admired them more for that.) Carmen bought a gold mesh belt, which she said she was going to use as a skirt. I didn't believe her. I should have.

Back at the workshop, the area had been bedecked with Christmas decorations. The queens dismantled them in seconds, scavenging treasures to make their outfits all the more fabulous. Shangela took the snowman, which was almost as big as she was. Raja grabbed a small Christmas tree skirt (you know, the kind that goes under the Christmas tree, where you put the presents...). Both Venus and Phoenix smashed up ornaments and glued them to the lapels of red garments (a vest for Venus, a jacket for Phoenix). Venus was pissed off that Phoenix was copying her idea, even though that wasn't even true. Mimi decided to dress up as the Virgin Mary, and later had a major meltdown about how terrible her costume was. Just another night at the Drag Race.

The next night, the costumes were judged. Bruce Vilanch was a guest judge, and he dressed up like Santa Claus. Vanessa Williams was the other guest judge. Carmen was the first one to strut down the runway. She was wearing that gold mesh belt and very little else. The rear view consisted of a sprig of mistletoe right over her butt crack. The front view looked like a thong. You could not even see a telltale bulge of her, um, manly parts. Manila was dressed in a red minidress trimmed in white fur, and she carried a fur muff. Yara Sofia came in wearing a Rudolph nose; her wig was styled so that it came up in a large antler-like roll on top. She was wearing a gold dress, which she took off to reveal red undergarments. Phoenix came out in her silver ornament trimmed jacket, which included huge clusters of ornaments on each shoulder, and a disc covered in peppermint stripes worn as a hat. She also wore a very short skirt. RuPaul said "O Holy Night, that skirt is short. I can see her figgy pudding!"

Stacy Layne was wearing a bright shiny red dress, knee-length, cut low in the bodice. She strutted her stuff proudly. I wish I could believe in myself the way she does. They played a voice-over of her saying "I think it's time for a plus-size queen." I agree with her. Venus was beautiful from the neck up; she wore a brightly decorated ponytail that the judges later said was the best part of her outfit. Her crushed-ornament-bedecked vest looked overdone, and she wore a gold skirt with gold garland sewn (or glued?) around the hem. I thought she still looked good, but the judges didn't agree.

India was wearing a red-and-gold dress cut down to her navel. Not sure where the impressive cleavage came from. One of the women judges said "Look at those two treats." Delta came out dressed for Kwanzaa, the judges said, with a gold headdress on and a black dress with huge flowing green sleeves. She looked very elegant. Alexis wore a ruffly red dress with large silver snowflakes attached.

Mimi came out in her blue-and-white sparkly dress, clutching a bundle that looked like a baby. She had a red heart pinned in her cleavage. She was followed by Mariah, who was dressed in a silvery gray pantsuit, kind of, although the pants came to the knees. There's probably some correct term for that kind of outfit. I'm fashionably challenged...

Raja was right at home on the runway. She was wearing that tree skirt, which looked perfect on her, and the layers of Christmas-wrapping-like shirts and vests, black boots trimmed with white fur, and a large bow around her neck. Her wig was white and frothy. As she left the runway, she lay down and did a snow angel. (Not that there was any snow, but everybody got the point.)

Shangela brought the snowman (which she named "Frostula") in with her. They were dressed alike, in red garland-trimmed green bodices and rounded white below - the (fake) snowball on the snowman, and the lampshade on Shangela. The lampshade was kind of falling apart at the back by then, though.

RuPaul selected Mariah, Delta, Yara, India, Phoenix, Stacy Layne, and Alexis. "The seven of you all stood out...for not standing out from the crowd." They were all safe, though, and were sent to the lounge.

The other six represented the best and the worst, and I wasn't 100% sure which was which. They liked Carmen's very sexy (as in practically naked) look, and they liked Manila's outfit, but they didn't like Shangela's get-up; they suggested she was upstaged by the plastic snowman. Santino said Venus looked like "a sad Christmas elf."

RuPaul said to Mimi, "You've got such a big heart," meaning the one glued to her front. "I've got a big everything, girl," Mimi laughed. She seemed to be in the top 3, if I can figure out what the judges meant.

Raja won the photo challenge earlier, and the judges had only praise for her costume.

After the contestants were sent to the lounge, the judges conferred. Vanessa said about Carmen: "I'm still mesmerized how she tucked all that stuff. I don't know where the heck it went, but it was an amazing tuck."

"Condragulations, you're safe." RuPaul said these words to Mimi and Manila. Raja got, "Condragulations, you are the winner of this challenge." making her a two-time winner. She got a gift certificate from sequinqueen.com. Venus ended up in the bottom 2 with Shangela. Carmen was safe, but I have no idea if she was in the top or bottom three.

Venus and Shangela had to lip-sync for their lives; the song choice was "The Right Stuff" by Vanessa Williams. Shangela did a great job, and Venus basically went on the attack, shoving Shangela around on the stage. When Shangela's lampshade skirt fell off, Venus grabbed it and pulled it back over Shangela's head. It was clear to me who should be eliminated - the very pretty, but not very nice or original, Venus D'Lite. And she was told to "sashay away."

Next week, I think they're doing some kind of sci-fi drag. I can't wait!

I still care. I just don't seem to show it very well.

Today I found out that one of my friends from first grade through high school had died. Last Tuesday, while I was home from work with a bad cough and a fever feeling sorry for myself, my old friend died. I wish I'd known in time to say goodbye.

We had kept in touch since high school until only a few years ago, after I moved to Lynn in 2003. At some point I stopped sending out Christmas cards, and she stopped sending hers to me. I guess I deserved that.

And the question I'm asking myself is: Why did I stop sending out Christmas cards? It wasn't because I stopped caring about the people on my list. I still cared - still care, present tense - every bit as much. It wasn't because sending them was too expensive. I may not have much extra money, but I'd gladly spring for cards and postage. No, the reason is that I stopped believing I had anything interesting to say. It's a function of the depression I struggle with every day of my life.

I feel guilty because I didn't live up to my potential. I didn't finish my master's degree. I work as an administrative assistant. I couldn't keep my marriage together. I moved out and left my kids with their dad, which seemed like the right idea at the time. They're grown now, and at the moment the boys are in the other room playing a board game, and my daughter called yesterday from Chicago, so I don't think my relationship with them suffered. But I still feel like a failure.

I feel boring because I don't do anything spectacular in my life. What would I say in a Christmas card? "I didn't take any wonderful trips to foreign countries. I didn't finish a novel and get it published. I didn't go out on a single date for the sixth year in a row." How many ways can I say "I play handbells" - one of the most interesting things about me?

And so I've lost touch with a lot of wonderful people, people I wish I still could talk to or write to or exchange Christmas or other cards with. And on some vague level I think it can all be fixed. But then someone dies, and the chance is gone forever.

Another new year? Slow down!

When an old year ends and a new one begins, I have often written a summary of the previous year and/or a list of hopes or goals for the new year. In 2010 I reached a milestone, one of those birthdays with a zero on the end (I'm a very youthful 60), and now it seems as if all those years are zooming by so fast that I barely have time to write about one before the next one is colliding with it. 2011? Really? I'm not done with 2009 yet!

2010 started out with my daughter becoming engaged to her long-time boyfriend. (He proposed on December 31, 2009. It was very romantic, based on the pictures he put up on Facebook.) A lot of 2010 was filled with planning the wedding, to be held this March. For the most part, this has been a positive experience. But the fact that I am not exactly amicably divorced from her father has caused a little stress for both her and me. I wish I knew how to fix this.

During 2010, I didn't have a single date. I didn't flirt with any guys. I didn't even have a pleasant conversation with an eligible man (for me, that means single, in my age bracket, and employed). All the men I know are married or gay (or possibly both, this being Massachusetts). I just wish I had a male friend to go out with from time to time. I have no desire to get married again. I took down my personal ads after meeting too many unemployed guys who were only looking for somebody to sponge off of or lure into bed.

During 2010, though, I did go on vacation twice. In June my sons included me in their week at their father's family summer cottage on the shore of a lake in New Hampshire. I'd been there many times over the 24 years I was with their father, and I was glad to get a chance to go back without him. We brought my two cats. The older one, Peaches, had been there a few times before, back in the late 90's. I couldn't tell if he remembered it. The younger cat, Zoe, fell in love with the screened-in porch, where she could chatter at chipmunks and birds to her heart's content.

In August, I spent a week in South Harwich, Cape Cod. I blogged about it while I was there, so I don't have to talk about it now. I still want to retire to the Cape someday. No, that's not quite true: What I really want is to be rich enough to own property there and in the Boston area, and split my time between the houses. That's what daydreams are for.

It's hard to come up with any more positives. I didn't finish NaNoWriMo this year (after 4 wins) because I chose a very dark subject matter (The Apocalypse in Boston!) and writing about it was draining. Besides, my daughter and her fiancé were here for a week, and we were busy with wedding-related things.

I played Antidepressant Roulette for too long, starting in August of 2009 and still continuing today. After I decided I'd had enough of the Crazy Pill Lady in December 2009, it took me several months to learn that there was nobody else in that practice who would see me. (Long story. I hear the Crazy Pill Lady lost her job, so apparently I wasn't the only one she misdiagnosed.) I went to my Primary Care doctor, and she referred me to another agency. They assigned me to a psychiatrist who retired six months later. Then they placed me with somebody else. He's got me on Celexa, which I started right before Thanksgiving. I have no idea how well it's working. I'm very high-functioning anyway, so getting through the holidays could have been just a coincidence. I figure I'll know how successful I've been when I finally get asked out on a date again. By an employed single guy in my age bracket. Sigh.

My mom is getting older, just like me. She's 86, and has a hip that badly needs replacing, and needs to be in assisted living. Most of the burden of her care falls on my sister, who lives nearby. I just feel guilty. The hip replacement is scheduled for the end of this month. Assisted living is sure to follow. My sister has found a place for her. They'll even let her keep her cat.

So, 2011 has major changes in store for my family: My daughter's wedding, my mother's surgery and her move to assisted living. As for me? I just hope to be able to get through it all.

Large and In Love?

So CBS has decided to feature a large-size couple in their new show "Mike and Molly". I wasn't sure where they were going to go with this. Is it going to be one massive fat joke, or will watching it be a healing experience, the way watching "Huge" was all summer? "Huge", on ABC Family, featured a group of large-size teens at fat camp, and was touching, funny, and remarkably liberating for me. The teens were allowed to be real kids, not merely fat jokes. It is one of the best shows I've ever watched, and I'm anxiously awaiting Season 2 (which may or may not happen).

Anyway, I taped "Mike and Molly" Monday night and watched it last night. The main characters are introduced as going about their lives trying to lose weight: Mike, a cop, is eating a plain unadorned hot dog while his partner chows down on an actual plate of food. Molly is on a treadmill of some sort (I don't know exercise machines; I'm sure this one has a name, but all I know is that she was walking on it), and her scrawny mother and skinny sister delight in eating chocolate cake in front of her. Okay. This all rings true. Some people can eat anything and stay thin. Some of us can walk for hours and stick to our diets and struggle to lose an ounce.

Then, Mike and Molly "meet cute" (as all the reviews have been sure to note) at an Overeaters Anonymous meeting. One of my friends met her husband at an OA meeting, so I was kind of tickled by this concept. Mike's cop partner Carl attends the meeting with him. Molly's thin but apparently drug-addled sister Victoria comes with her. Why? I have no idea. Mike's last name turns out to be Biggs. How much of a fat joke is that? I wish they'd chosen a better last name for him, something neutral, instead of something that lends itself to so many digs at his size. Anyway, the first irritating fat joke that I remember comes up when two large people are walking upstairs next to each other and meet somebody coming down. The two large people completely block the stairwell. Real life? One of the fat people would have moved behind the other. For the purposes of the TV show, though, they made them stand side by side. I could have done without that. It added nothing to the show.

Well, Mike is too shy to ask Molly out, even though she's clearly interested in him. Carl eggs him on without making any references to his or her size, which I liked. I would have probably gotten counseled by my mother: "You might as well go out with him. Who else will want to date you at your size?" (This frequent occurrence goes a long way towards explaining why I married the wrong man...) She invites him to speak to her fourth-grade students, which he does, with mixed results. At the next OA meeting, he works up his courage to ask her out, doing so while leaning on a table, which collapses at an inopportune moment. Another fat joke I could have done without - the Collapsing Furniture. Guess what? We fat people rarely break furniture. The last thing that should be done on a fat-positive show is to have a main character break furniture because of his size.

Anyway, Molly's house is robbed, and Mike finally asks her out while taking a police report. Sort of cute for a socially awkward guy no matter what his size.

I'm writing this the next day, and I'm not rewatching the show as I do it, so I know I missed things. My feeling at the end was that it could develop into something better as it goes along, but the pilot was not that good.

Dancing With The - What, Now?

I'm not a regular viewer of "Dancing with the Stars". So far, I seem to have only watched seasons in which Olympic skaters were dancing - the first season I watched had Apolo Anton Ohno (he won), the second Kristi Yamaguchi (she won, too), and the third Evan Lysacek (he didn't). I'll admit, I love to watch any ice skating event the Olympics has to offer. Evan's season was the most recent season. They had some questionable "stars" on then, too - Kate Gosselin?! "The Bachelor" Jake Pavelka?! Anyway, I had heard a few rumors about who might be on the show this season, and I'll admit I was a little curious.

Not curious enough to watch "Bachelor Pad", though, where the DWTS "stars" were announced last night. So I didn't find out who was actually going to be on the show until this morning. And now I know for sure that "Stars" should be replaced with "Z-Listers, Has-Beens, and the Truly Infamous."

Let's start with Mike "The Situation" Sorrentino, from that train-wreck of a show "Jersey Shore". He thinks he's a star, but he's not - he's a sickening joke. I resent that they validated his inflated view of himself by asking him to be on this show. Harrumph. Truly Infamous.

Then there's Bristol Palin, most famous for having a baby out of wedlock. Being the daughter of a politician doesn't make her a star. She has no more right to be on that show than Kate Gosselin did. Somewhere between Z-Lister and Truly Infamous.

David Hasselhoff falls squarely into the "Has-Been" category. They should have asked his beautiful daughter, Hayley, who has been so entertaining in "Huge" this season.

Florence Henderson? Mom to the Brady Bunch? Has-Been. This season's Cloris Leachman. (oops, I must have watched another season if I remember Cloris - was there a skater on then?)

Michael Bolton?! Oh my effing Gawd! I used to love him in about 1990. Definitely a Has-Been.

There are the obligatory sports stars, who are completely unfamiliar to me. Rick Fox, a retired LA Laker, and Kurt Warner, "retired NFL quarterback" (which tells me nothing. He didn't play for the Patriots, so I never heard of him.)

Singer Brandy Norwood is going to be on. She's sort of a star, I guess. I used to love her on "Moesha" (a show my daughter loved back in the 90's).

I'm not sure who Audrina Patridge is, either. I never watched "The Hills", I'm happy to say.

I'll give Margaret Cho credit for being a current star. And maybe Jennifer Grey, who is at least still on TV. I never heard of Kyle Massey, but that's because he's on "That's So Raven", and I don't have any tweener daughters any more.

So am I going to watch this season? Oh, probably, at least at the beginning. I want to watch The Situation make a fool of himself.

Cape Cod vacation, part 5: Back Home

The last time I wrote, last Wednesday, I was uncertain about going to the beach. Well, I did end up going, and it was just as windy as it had been on Tuesday. But the tide was higher, and I decided to go swimming anyway. I had a great time in the water, jumping waves the way I used to when I was a kid. I took a picture of the seagulls sitting on the beach in front of the lifeguard's station, all facing into the wind. I thought it was funny to see a beach full of seagulls instead of sunbathers.

Thursday I met my sister and my niece at Dunbar Tea Room in Sandwich. We had tea and curried chicken salad. It had been raining, and the humidity was intense. We visited a "magical" gift shop, Lavender Moon, which was fun. My older son was on his way down to the Cape by then, so I returned home. It took him the same 3+ hours to get there as it had taken me the previous Saturday. Traffic. Grrr.

Once he arrived, we played Lexulous while we waited for my younger son, who was working until 9. We got sandwiches from the Box Office Cafe for supper. Finally, at around 10, we called my younger son, who grumpily said he had to work Friday morning. I wonder when he was planning to tell us...

Friday morning we had breakfast at (yes, again) the Box Office Cafe. It was very humid again, although not as windy as it had been. We decided we needed to go for a ride in an air-conditioned car, so we headed up to Orleans. We located the Old Jailhouse Tavern, a place my parents loved to go when my kids were small. I wasn't sure it was still there, but it was, although we had to resort to my son's GPS to find it. We decided to have lunch there. It wasn't very crowded, so I wasn't expecting it to be as good as I remembered. But I enjoyed it.

After that we visited Earth House, the aging-hippie Mecca that I love to go to. I took pictures of the minerals to show my daughter, who is getting married in March to another geologist - they plan to incorporate minerals into their centerpieces. I also bought a sodalite heart, which I added to the other odds and ends I carry in my pocketbook - snowflake obsidian in my wallet, because somebody told me once I'd never go broke if I carried it there; rose quartz, because it's supposed to attract love, even though by now it's pretty clear it isn't working; a cowrie shell just because a woman I didn't know gave it to me at a time when I really needed something to hold onto. Here's what sodalite is supposed to do:

Sodalite helps one to arrive at logical conclusions via a rational mental process by eliminating confusion and stimulating the intellect. It helps one to find a direction of purpose with lightness of heart. It provides for solidarity, fellowship, and commonality of good and purpose within a group. Sodalite encourages self-esteem and self-trust, as well as companionship and trust in others. It helps one to recognize and actualize one's true feelings.

(At least that's what I think it says on the paper that was with the more expensive heart I didn't buy. I took a picture of it, but it isn't in focus.)

Anyway, I could really use help with my rational mental process, confusion, etc., not to mention self-esteem and self-trust.

My younger son finally arrived at about 4:30. He and I promptly went to the beach; older son sat at home on the couch, being lazy. We had a great time in the water. The waves weren't as big as they'd been on the windiest days, but they were still a lot of fun to play in.

We ordered pizza from (guess where!) the Box Office Cafe for supper. Yum! A Usual Suspects and a Pineapple Express.

Saturday we had to be out of the rental by 10 a.m. We made it by 9:45. After I dropped off the keys at the realtor's, we drove past the Chatham lighthouse the way we do every year. We couldn't find a parking place, though. Was everybody looking for sharks? So we headed up towards Orleans, through Pleasant Bay. Lovely scenery. Oh, and of course the weather was perfect, on the day we had to leave. We visited Earth House again (younger son wanted to go, too) and this time I bought a shirt that I hadn't seen the day before.

We were in three cars, so we headed home. Since the Seafood Sam's in Harwich Port had closed, we decided to have lunch at the one in Sandwich. It turns out to be close to the Cape Cod Bay end of the Cape Cod Canal. Younger son had to dash off to work, but older son and I walked out to the end of the canal after lunch. I took a lot of pictures.

Anyway, I'm home now. I just wanted to wind up the blog.

Cape Cod vacation, part 4: Windy

Yesterday was a very windy day. When I finally went down to the beach in the middle of the afternoon, it was practically deserted, and I found out why as soon as I stepped out of my car. No, not the sharks which are offshore not too far from here. It was the sand. The wind was driving a fine mist of sand into everything in its path. A lot of the sand looked smooth, with all the footprints erased, from the relentlessness of the wind.

And the water was rough. Three-foot waves, which might not be much in other parts of the world, but are significant in Nantucket Sound. I stood on the shore for some time, letting the waves crash against my legs, but I finally decided not to go in. I felt like a sissy, but the fact is, I thought I might have trouble getting back out again because of my artificial left knee. If I hadn't been alone, I might have reconsidered. Other people were in the water, but obviously they were strangers to me (I don't actually know anybody down here).

It's windy again today, and very humid. I'm torn. I'd love to take a swim, but I don't know if I want to go to the beach. Last year I challenged myself to get into the water every day. I've already blown that for this year (I didn't submerge myself yesterday). But this year my only challenge was to make sure I got to the beach four times (enough to pay for the sticker), and I've already been there three times. I can drive down any time, and I might just do that.

Yesterday's outing was a trip down Route 28 to West Dennis and a discount Indian-style clothing place. I bought two sundresses, one of which I can wear to work. It's a purple print and has an actual top, not just straps. The second one has spaghetti straps and I couldn't wear it to work, but in color - green and periwinkle - it's a close match to my old favorite sundress that I bought at a place which has since gone out of business. I wore it yesterday afternoon and I felt great about it.

Today I made it down to Marion's Pie Shop for a cinnamon roll for breakfast. I ate half of it. Those things are huge! I stopped at the Box Office Cafe for a cup of Sumatran coffee to enjoy with it.

I went down to Harwich Port and got a bargain pedicure. I think I should have asked for the full version. It was kind of a disappointing experience; the pedicurist didn't say much, and she didn't clip my nails, which I think she should have.

Anyway, I might go to the beach this afternoon. Or maybe not. I don't know yet.