Thanksgiving Perfection?

I realize I am rushing things a bit as it isn't even Halloween but I was watching a cooking show on PBS the other day and it prompted this.  The point behind the episode was how to cook the perfect looking turkey for the holidays and it really got me thinking.

I admit I have only cooked a turkey once and only for Thanksgiving.  I am not a fan of turkey and honestly cooking an entire turkey for one person is a bit ridiculous.  I cooked the turkey two years ago for a joint dinner with some friends.  My friend had a turkey and was going to cook it, but since I had the bigger dining space we decided to cook the bird at my house to make things easier.  I ended up having to go to the emergency room. I was on blood thinners at the time and cut my finger going into a drawer for twine to truss the bird.  Once the bird was in the oven and I washed my hands again the cut wouldn't stop bleeding so...  Needless to say I will never again cook another turkey.

That is my personal Thanksgiving nightmare and I am sure others have ones that are much worse but my point again is, why should there be nightmares?  I thought Thanksgiving was about being with family and/or friends and eating.  That doesn't mean it has to be perfect.  We are humans and by that very nature, fallible. Nothing is ever going to be perfect and who cares what it looks like, as long as it tastes good?  The other issue I have is traditions.  I grew up eating certain things on the day and the day after.  Since my father died twenty-two years ago I haven't had those same foods because I have never been "home" for Thanksgiving.  My mom and I were invited to various places and after she passed away I have spent the day with friends.  The only tradition has been that we each bring our own part of our tradition to the meal.  In my house it was never a big deal.  Mom would be in the kitchen, killing herself quite frankly and cooking for hundreds, listening to my high school football game.  Dad would be in the living room watching whatever football was on television.  I would hide in my bedroom doing something, either reading or trying to find something on television other than football.  I would hide because I really dislike football and wanted to be as far away from it as possible.  Mom would put a delicious dinner on the table and then not eat.  As she had been in the kitchen all day she was too tired to eat.  She would have leftovers about 10:00 that night after I had cleaned up.  My favorite part of the day was to steal the stuffing that was sticking out of the bird.  It was generally overcooked and I loved it.  Of course Mom would yell at me, mainly because I was faster than her and not occupied so I could steal it before she got to it.

That brings me to another issue - stuffing the bird.  One of the things this program on PBS raised was that issue.  They stuffed part of the dressing into a cheesecloth sack then put it in the bird, once the bird was done that sack would be emptied into the remaining stuffing and that would be cooked. The reason being that  stuffing does not reach the desired temperature to kill bacteria if the bird is cooked to its desired temperature.  My feeling is, while I understand the science behind it, I don't understand the logic.  I ate stuffing straight out of the bird for 27 years and never once went to the hospital or got food poisoning.  Now we are so bacteria conscience we can't do that and what do we have?  A generation of kids who are allergic to everything.  While science has its uses, its taking all the fun out of eating for me.

Thanksgiving is meant to be a day to be grateful for what we have.  We should be grateful for our imperfections.  So what if dinner doesn't look like a Norman Rockwell painting.  We are with the people we care about, warm, safe, healthy and happy - that's what is important.

From dust ye come....

Will the world come to an end if we don't dust our homes?  I was thinking about doing a survey of women, simply because most men don't see dust and if they do don't see it as a problem, about whether or not they like to dust and how often the task is completed.  I am convinced there is a correlation between the two.

I recognize there are medical reasons for people to keep dust at a minimum and for those people I would happily dust were they to visit my home.  I am talking about the rest of us or at least the percentage of the population who are genetically capable of seeing dust and recognizing it as an issue.  Do we really need to dust that often?  Scientists have said that even the cleanest houses have microscopic bugs.  I am not even going to discuss the critters we don't see that we ingest on a daily basis in our food and drink.  So what if the furniture has a fine layer of dust on it?  Of course one answer to that is keep the blinds drawn and the lights low so you cannot see it.   Life is too short and there are too many other things to do in the world.

I run a duster over things every so often as I am walking past them, or when I'm on hold with some utility company.  It is also one of the reasons we have hands - to send those dust bunnies flying as we go by.    However, I would rather spend my time reading, dancing, sewing a gift for someone or knitting perhaps for charity than dust.  That doesn't mean my home isn't clean.  It may not be spotless but it is tidy.  The kitchen, baths and Mojo's litter boxes are always clean.  I simply dislike dusting.  I have too many things, tchotchke if you will, and it takes too long.  When I am changing things over seasonally I may dust.  Though I shamefully admit; I have a chess set that was my father's in my dining room on the bottom shelf of my server and several of the pieces were knocked over during an earthquake we had in August, 2011.   I didn't reset the pieces until I was home for Easter break.  In my defense there are a lot of pieces and to dust them really well takes some time.  I do not dust on a weekly basis.  Life is too short to waste time and that is a waste of time.

Think about the act of dusting.  What exactly are you doing?  Using a object to pick up the dust.  Well you aren't going to get it all so what happens the rest of it? It moves from one surface only to settle onto another.  Then you vacuum.  Most vacuums aren't perfect, the act of vacuuming creates dust.  I read somewhere that if you have a cat you shouldn't vacuum right before a friend who is allergic to cats comes to visit because the act of vacuuming sends the dander flying through the air and makes it worse.  So what does that tell you?  Anyway, once these tasks are finished dust will return to surfaces right away.  Unless your house is hermetically sealed, face it, you're gonna have to do it again.  Seems like a lot of wasted energy to me.

So go have lunch with some friends, dance, knit or watch a sunset.  These things are much more rewarding.  The dust will still be there when you get home.

Too much free time?

Summer items completed tally : July1 - September 22

Sewing:
fleece pants, skirt, nightshirt, pillowcase, gift bag

Quilting:
5 potholders, assembled one wall hanging (binding not completed), table runner, small wall hanging (assembled only), sewed binding on 4 potholders assembled in spring

Knitting:
3 hats, scarf, 3 dishcloths,baby blanket, edging for sweater

Crochet:
2 dish towels

Reupholstered:
6 dining room chairs, one foot stool


I need to do this list to remind myself that I have been keeping busy on my 'work hiatus'.  Much of this was accomplished with things I already had at home a.k.a - the yarn and fabric stashes.  This does not include the closet cleaning and basement reorganizing that was done which resulted in a trip to donate things to the Salvation Army nor the countless books I have read and the time spent in the library looking for job. 
As I said, I have been busy. Granted much of this was accomplished while sitting on my butt in front of the television.  It is mindless white noise while I knit or do my hand stitching.

Despite the fact that I have no income and no cost-effective health insurance, I am working through a back log of things that started several years ago.  I want to say 4 years since I moved to my current house but then I realize I moved much of it from the apartment so I would say 8 years since moving to Virginia.  However with the exception of the yarn since I didn't learn to knit until I moved down here, the fabric and clothes to sew came with me from Pennsylvania.  It is good incentive to not buy anything.  I just walk into the basement look through the stash and pick a project. 

This puts me in a good position for when I go back to work.  I can move forward with the projects I already have and not feel overwhelmed by all that is available. All I need to do it choose something from the recently reorganized stacks and go on.  I even have time to write the book I have always said I would write and it's nothing like I thought it would be.

Lest you be too envious of my position recall what I said previously, I have no income and I pay about $500 a month for my health insurance.  I am enjoying the time off but I would be much happier if it had come about because I had hit the lottery (which I don't play very often) and didn't need a steady income anymore. This freedom and lack of stress has come at a price.  I can't afford to dance or compete right now.  My outings consist of trips to the library, grocery store or any free activity I can find.  I have been eating out with friends but it is often because they pay for my meal, of course I did that when I was making decent money so I guess that isn't so bad.

I could start talking about what Americans value but that would be a whole other ideal.  We want free time to do things but the way we work means that we put all these things off until we retire or are not working.  There has to be a balance in life.  While I don't miss the stress I have been under for the past five years from my previous job, I do miss the freedom the income provided me.  Odd that I would use the word freedom as between the commute and the work hours I was logging a ten hour day and when I got home I was too exhausted to do much of anything besides watch television.  When I wasn't in work I spent the time getting the necessities done such as laundry and grocery shopping.  I guess the steady income gave me the security to buy the things I wanted to do in my free time.  Now I have the free time but not the financial security.  It has given me the opportunity to evaluate thigs so that when I do start working again I can put a balance in my life between work and home.  I will make time to do the things I enjoy because I don't want to forget about them.  I will value those things more because I understand that they require the income from work to have the freedom to play.

Justice

As I am home more now during the day I am watching more television.  It’s background noise and doesn’t make me look like a crazy cat lady, talking to Mojo.  While I am not a fan of reality television I have started to watch a program whose goal is to find the next drag queen star.  This makes me both depressed and hopeful at the same time.

I am depressed in that I feel there is no justice in the world.  Women have been raised to spend hours primping to make themselves look attractive and professional while it is acceptable for men to do nothing and yet still be seen as both professional and attractive.  Along come these men who slap on a wig, several inches of make-up, fake hips, butts and something called breast plates – which I didn’t know existed until today – and become some of the most stunningly beautiful women I have ever seen.  The host of the program is a well known drag queen.  In his clothes, he isn’t someone who would call attention to himself but when she comes out dressed she is amazing; a woman who would definitely turn heads.  I think it is unfair that men can do this.  The flip side is that if some, quite frankly, plain looking men can do this to themselves there must be some hope for me.

I started watching the show because I was curious as to how men could strut down a catwalk in a woman’s bathing suit.  Anyone knows there are obvious anatomical differences between men and women, yet these men can dress like that.  I have learned this anatomy alteration can be done with, what I assume is the careful, application of duct tape.  I have always known that duct tape could be used for a multitude of things but holy cow this is truly an astounding use.  Once that secret was revealed I continued to watch to learn how they applied their make-up.

I was happy to learn that in the first season they used the same brand of make-up that I have been using when I dance in the ballroom competitions.  I shouldn’t have been surprised in that this brand started as stage make-up.  Trust me the product may be the same but the results are the difference between a goddess and a zombie and I am not the one coming out of this looking like Venus.  I have spent countless hours and who knows how much money with saleswomen at the cosmetic counter trying to learn how to hide my flaws but to not avail.  I can still walk out on a competition floor tanned and made up and look like I was auditioning for a part in Michael Jackson’s Thriller video.  That is not the intention at all.  I need to find me a drag queen.  If they can successfully cover up a five o’clock shadow then the dark circles under my eyes should be a piece of cake.  I need a fairy godmother to be transformed into Cinderella on the dance floor and I want her name to be RuPaul.

Parents 2.0

My parents both passed away by the time I was 35.  I don't believe my dad ever saw a PC, his video camera was bigger than the typical 'purse puppy' and I think we had barely transitioned to VHS before he died.  My mom made it to dial-up and cell phones, though they were the size of a shoe. No reference to Get Smart intended.  Needless to say, every time I see advances in technology I wonder what my parents would have thought.

I know neither one of them would have been wary of the changes.  My dad would have embraced them a bit faster than my mom I think. I could see him happily mowing the lawn with Sinatra, Dean Martin or even Michael Buble (whom he would have loved) playing on his MP3 player.  After scoffing at the cost, he was an accountant after all, he would have happily used up the meager 2G data plan on my tablet in a few short days.  The cellular data providers would have loved him.  He would have been in his element in the age of instant information.  I would not have been surprised to learn he had his own page on a social media site.

My mom, on the other hand, would have loved a DVR.  I remember as I was growing up that the hours between 1:00 and 3:00 Monday-Friday were sacred.  While she might not have been sitting right in front of the television, she was home and within earshot.  This wasn't difficult considering we always had a television in or within viewing range of the kitchen, in every occupied bedroom and the living room or den.  Her thing was the soaps specifically Another World, Days of Our Lives and their spins offs.  It was somewhat frustrating for me as a child.  I was lucky enough from age 6 til 14 to have my own in-ground swimming pool. But I could never use it during those hours - there wasn't a television close enough to the pool area.  Needless to say unless it was an emergency, and I tried very hard not to have those during the afternoon, I was stuck at home in the summer.  Oh the liberation when we got our first betamax - by then we were living in a town where I could walk to things and not in the country but I still needed her to take me to the mall because I did not have a license.  I realized I could drag her away from the television and it even saved her time in that she could fast forward through the commercials.  The only down side was that there was a fixed amount of time on those tapes which required her to stay on top of them before they filled up.  When they would go away I was required to keep her up to date on all that had happened while she was away - at least I didn't have to watch the commercials and I could skim through them so I could summarize.  With today's technology she would be over the moon.  Not only could she save several months’ worth of soaps but she would have a network dedicated entirely to the proliferation of the genre, not to mention all the online access options available to her.
Alas, Another World went off the air in her lifetime.  Days, I learned is still alive and kicking. I happened to turn it on a few months ago out of simple curiosity.  Sadly, it didn't take me long to get up to date on things.  Many of the characters are still there and portrayed by the same people only about 14 years older.

I know my parents would have enjoyed all that the new technologies have to offer. I know my adolescence would have been much freer with the options offered to them in the age of instant information and mobile technology.  Kids these days don't know how easy they have it!

The out of doors should stay that way.

I should realize after spending 25 years with cats that they are like children.  If they disappear for a while and it's too quiet that is time to worry.  Last week Mojo disappeared for about three hours one evening.  Normally he stays in the living room with me while I watch television.  I figured he was either in my bedroom or the basement and didn't think much about it.  When I went to bed, however, I heard a rather muted meow. I opened my bathroom door to find the toilet paper completely shredded and Mojo sitting in the open window.  He wasn't very happy with me but it could have been worse, at least he was in a sizable room with a window that looked out onto the front of the house and he had entertained himself by shredding the toilet paper.  I apologized profusely and lavished him with kitty treats.

So last evening, when he had been missing for about an hour, I began to worry.  I checked my bathroom again, then my bedroom closet and the powder room, all places I had been in the past few hours but no Mojo.  I went down to the finished basement fortunately I turned on the lights at the base of the stairs before heading down.  As I rounded the corner I found him staring at an object on the floor.  At first I thought it was a cord or something, I had been in the basement sewing earlier in the day.  As I got closer I realized the cord seemed to have a head.  Now at this point I have to say with pride that I acted largely like an adult and didn't scream bloody murder.  I grabbed Mojo, flew up the stairs and slammed the basement door.  Needless to say, Mojo was less than happy to be separated from his toy.  My first fear was that it was poisonous and he had eaten some of it.  Based on the amount of complaining he was doing I figured he was ok.  Mind you, this was at 9:00 last night so like anyone else, I was in my pajama which on this particular evening consisted of men's Fruit of the Loom boxers and a camisole as it was a warm evening.  A this point I wouldn't have cared if I were naked I had the Loch Ness Monster in my basement and I wanted him out.  I did what any articulate, capable, single woman would do - I ran next door to get my male neighbor.  I knew he was still wake because the lights were on in their living room.  I had to ring the doorbell several times.  He said he thought it was his wife and since he knew she had her key he wasn't going to bother coming downstairs until he realized her car wasn't outside.    I was so scared I could barely talk.  There are two things of which I am afraid frogs and snakes.  Frogs creep me out but thanks to a bullying episode in elementary school, I am terrified of snakes of any size.  My poor neighbor must have thought I had a python in the basement. He was kind enough not to laugh hysterically when he saw that the predator was smaller around than my pinky and barely eight inches long.  As I curled up on the top of the back of my sleep sofa, he moved the creature via a shovel to the backyard.  Before he left he said the way to tell if they are poisonous is to look at the shape of the eyes.  My response was, "sweetie, I don't EVER plan to be close enough to a snake to look at the shape of his eyes". Once I opened the basement door, Mojo flew down there and stayed down there the rest of the night.  I don't know if he saw this intruder as a playmate or something against which he should defend me.  I choose to think of the latter.  I have continued to praise him for keeping his mommy safe.

First thing this morning I went out the basement door and covered the back with mothballs and crushed eggshells.  I have heard both are deterrents to snakes.  I had what I think was a baby copperhead outside that door earlier in the summer.  After placing the mothballs I didn't see it again.  I was thinking that I needed to replace them as we had had several days of rain.  Guess I didn't do it soon enough.  The more disconcerting thing is that when I was putting out the mothballs I found the skin to a much larger snake by my seldom used trash can.  I live in an interior unit and it is a pain to bring the can up the hill to the curb so another neighbor is kind enough to let me put my one weekly bag in their can.  After seeing the skin I have no plans to move that can until those miserable reptiles hide for the winter.

Single Lady

I heard recently, on a Sunday morning television news magazine, that in some major US cities over 40% of the people are single. It was comforting to learn that I am more of the norm these days.  Don't get me wrong, I want to get married, it just hasn't happened yet.  I should try to be optimistic.  However,  some part of me never thought I would be married.  Of course, it doesn't help that when I was 25 my mother walked into the den when I was watching television and informed me that by Victorian standards I was considered 'on the shelf'.  This was a quaint euphemism for being a spinster.  Of course the fact that I later became a librarian and have lived with cats half my life doesn't help any.
I'm not sure how I feel about reaching the half-century mark having never married.  Sometimes I hate it especially as I watch my single friends enter couple hood which leaves me alone many evenings and weekends.  Of course the flip side is that I have seen many people in bad relationships and having been in one myself for four years I appreciate being single.  Then there is the part of me that wishes I had someone to be a witness to my life, to paraphrase Susan Sarandon in " Shall We Dance?".  I suppose in the age of social media one can live alone and still have witnesses to one's life.  That however means one has to post all aspects of  one's life on social media, which I don't choose to do.  I'm not looking for a man to save me.  I am capable of taking care of myself.  It would be nice to have someone to worry about me or make me tea when I'm sick.  It is also nice though not to have to worry about cooking for someone or cleaning up after them.  This is not a dig on men but they don't see a dirty house the same way a woman does.  There is scientific evidence of this phenomena.  I can't cite the studies off the top of my head but I have read several over the years.  Men's brains aren't wired the same as women's, their perception of things is different.  Cleanliness is a matter of perception.
Obviously I am conflicted about my single status.  I think it might be difficult for me to be in a relationship.  I have been alone for so long I am somewhat set in my ways.  I am not sure I would be open to change, besides I hate dating.  I am pretty much a 'what you see is what you get' type of person.  Dating, at least at the beginning, is about playing games - flirting, verbal volleyball etc..  While I enjoy the challenge of a good verbal give and take; I once stayed out until 4 am discussing the definition of reality with a male friend, I can't flirt to save my life.  I never learned how and quite frankly I think it's ridiculous.  It's a good thing I didn't grow up in the Renaissance or the Middle Ages.  I would have been a terrible damsel in distress.  With the exception of cars and anything electric, just give me the proper tools and a book and I can figure it out on my own, thank you very much.  Of course, that doesn't apply to my life, but that's for another day.  According to research men like damsels in distress because they like to fix things for them.  I like fixing things on my own.  However, if there is a man out there who won't try to fix things either in my home or about me but is willing to deal with frogs and snakes I might be willing to negotiate.

Passion

Ok don't want anyone to get excited, it's nothing off color. I have been on a 'work hiatus' for the past two months. Other than finishing up some long standing projects, I have been doing research about how I can use and market my skills as a librarian in another manner.  I have been reading a book about how to find your passions in life and use them.  I came across the book because it was referenced in another book.  Librarians call this 'citation chasing'.  I had to buy it because my library did not own it but as it was only $2.99 at Amazon I could live with that.  It's probably a good thing because every time I pick it up something I placed on hold from the library comes in.  It's been tough to get through anyway, not really sure why.  I know what my passions are; research, baking, knitting, reading and ballroom dance.  Sad part is that the only one of those that is really transferable to a career for me is the research.
Over the course of my life I have thought about opening a patisserie, or a yarn shop but honestly it wouldn't work for me.  I am terrible at retail and too much of an introvert to market my own business.  As I think I mentioned before I did have my own professional organizing business but didn't do very well selling the business.  I know what I am capable of why can't people just see that in me?  Could also be why I am still on a 'work hiatus'.   I also need a steady income and employer provided health insurance to survive happily. After much soul searching I finally realized entrepreneurship is not for me. I have thought about writing a book as well and once I come up with a good story line I will try to write something that is more for public consumption and not simply for my eyes only.
That leaves the ballroom dancing.  This is without question the real passion in my life.  I haven't danced for almost six weeks and I am miserable.  Sadly it is not a pastime for those on a 'work hiatus'.  It is a very expensive obsession and requires a viable income to pursue it.  I learned the hard way the last time I wasn't working but kept dancing, and  I am still paying for that.  If I were 30 years younger I could find a way to dance while unemployed but at nearly 50 that's not an option.  So here I sit, trying to find a way to follow my one big passion and keep Mojo in the manner to which he has become accustomed.

My Fair Mojo

I was originally going to call this cat vs. squirrel but a short time later I realized it was more an issue of an Eliza Doolittle transformation of my big guy (a.k.a. Mojo).

The morning started as it always does.  I opened the back and front doors to get a cross breeze before I had to hunker down into the hermit like existence of a Virginia summer.  Mojo did as he always does, once he stops screaming for and then inhaling his breakfast, he planted himself at the front door.  It is much more interesting than the back as the back door opens on to my second story deck.  There isn’t a lot of activity out there so needless to say he prefers the comings and goings at the front door.  At one point I noticed Mojo was in attack mode - for a cat that means ears alert, body tense and back end wiggling.  I looked for the cause of the behavior and  found a squirrel sitting on his hind legs taunting Mojo.  At this point I decided squirrels were bullies.  He felt he had the upper hand.  You could almost see the squirrel telling Mojo that he was a pampered, spoiled house cat, which of course he now is.  The bully didn’t realize he was up against a street-wise feline.  As I have said Mojo came from the streets.  While he is well behaved and when I said no and shooed the squirrel, Mojo backed down.  I’m sure the squirrel was thinking, from his perch in the tree, that Mojo was a wimp.  I feel confident, however, that had I let the big guy out the door he would have been eating squirrel for brunch.

A short time after this occurrence I heard chattering and saw tail twitching.  I then spied a robin on the sidewalk.  It was then I realized I had an Eliza Doolittle on my hands.  To very loosely paraphrase Eliza from the classic Lerner & Loewe musical ‘My Fair Lady’ - “I’m a good boy, I am.  I done wash my face and hands before I come....”  That’s Mojo, he’s a sweet cat and mostly well mannered.  Like Eliza, he does still have some rough edges.  I have no idea how long he was on the streets, I only know that he was.  Like any creature who has lived on the streets for any length of time he has had to develop survival skills.  Now he has come to me for gentrification.  He wants to be 'more genteel-like' and I aim to see that it happens. For six months into the experiemnt he is doing well, I will keep you posted.   Hopefully my screen door will survive the summer......

Introverts R Us (Me, I ?)

For some reason, perhaps my impending half-century mark, I have been reading a lot of non-fiction the past few months.  I know how it began, I came across two books on alternative careers for information professionals.  This led to a winter and spring of, as librarians call it, citation chasing.  If an author made a reference to another work I found interesting I would seek it out.  I did as much as I could via the public library but for a while I was getting a lot of boxes from an on-line book retailer.  Honestly, who could resist a book on finding your passion in life for $2.99?  I have yet to read it.  Sadly, books that I own take a backseat to library books.  I hate paying overdue fines.  Except for my brief foray into the life of Jen Lancaster my non fiction journey has led me to extensive reading on introverts. 

This has been quite an awakening for me.  I have come to understand that I’m not the lazy curmudgeon/hermit I thought I was but simply a card-carry introvert.  This is not to be confused with being shy, though I am also that, many of the studies show there is a distinct difference in the two.  People who know me are probably thinking – how can she ballroom dance and be an introvert? Answer, very easily.  It takes a lot for me to walk out on a dance floor to compete – and I’m not referring to the hours it takes to tart myself up either.  Despite what people have said to me, I’m not a very good actor (though I have read that many actors are also introverts.  Read; stage fright).  I wish I could dance the way I imagine I do in my mind.  Sadly my imagination is better than reality.  To get over the nerves I tend to, much to my coach’s chagrin, go into my own personal space while dancing.

            I know I’m an introvert for many reasons including:

                        1.  I dislike crowds of people

                        2.  I’m ok going 24 hours without talking to anyone save Mojo.

                        3.  I recharge my batteries best by being alone

                            (extroverts need people around them for that)

That’s why despite my desire to save money I’m better off not sharing a hotel room at a competition.  I noticed I get grumpy and edgy at competitions and this is why.  After spending several hours in the chaos that is a dance competition I need some down time (common with introverts).  If I don’t get it when I need it things can get dicey.  I really don’t like parties with a lot of people and I never choose to go to bars.  If I’m in either situation I need some quiet time to prepare.  I can’t spend an entire day at warp speed.  I get much more accomplished if I break up tasks with time for knitting or reading.  I come home exhausted from my current job.  I thought it was from the stress of doing a job for which I am not suited.  Well, it is, but in a different way.  Most afternoons from 12:00 – 3:30 I am being bombarded by people with no down time.  I always said I would be happier in a job where I could hide and do research all day.  I thought it was because I didn’t like people.  While I’m not a ‘people person’ I don’t dislike people – I just need space away from them when there is too much stimulation around me.  I was miserable in my last job.  While there were countless reasons for that that had nothing to do with my personality, such as a toxic work environment for everyone, I again have come to understand it wasn’t all me.  For the last year I was in the job I was forced to share a very small cubicle with two other people.  This is a nightmare for an introvert.  Introverts don’t function well in a crowd.  According to the book Quiet by Susan Cain there have been studies done that show introverts productivity decreases when placed in that sort of environment.  About 20 years ago I went to a career counselor and I took a Myers- Briggs test, while I don’t remember all my letters I know I was classified as an introvert.  Pity it’s taken me this long to understand fully what that means.

            So, to all my friends who might read this; if you invite me somewhere and I say no please don’t take it personally.  I are an introvert and you may simply be asking me at a time when I need to recharge my batteries.

            Hm, there might be a t-shirt somewhere in all of this….

A Cat's Life

Driving home last night I realized that while I named the blog partially for my cat I haven’t mentioned him much.  I’m trying to avoid the spinster librarian who lives with a cat stereotype or the crazy cat lady moniker.

I’ve already talked about Mojo’s upbringing to this point and my history with cats.  Each time I lost one of my cats I swore it was the last.  Yeah, I know ‘never say never’.  After losing Nacho in October 2010, adopting Jingles, and then losing him in November 2011; I swore I was done.  I enjoyed the lack of responsibility, no vet bills, etc.  I realized despite the financial and personal freedom – not to mention the fact that it is a lot easier to rent a place when you have no animals – I was lonely.  So back I jumped into the pool.  What can I say; I’m a sucker for dark haired, blue-eyed males.(All six of my meezers have been either seal or chocolate points.)  I wanted to refrain from my usual follow up to that statement but I can’t .  They are the perfect men; they don’t leave the toilet seat up or hog the remote to watch football.  Jingles did have a thing for Dance Moms though but we would watch that together.

Siamese are highly intelligent, vocal and independent; a breed that is not for everyone.  I have heard that some rescues won’t take them because of these traits – basically they are divas but that’s what I love about them.

When I lost Jingles I let the director of the Siamese Rescue center from which I adopted him know.  I asked her if I could volunteer now and then to get my meezer fix because I wasn’t going to go through that again – twice in less than a year was too much.  Crafty woman that she is, she invited me to an upcoming event at the center – that way I could learn about the volunteer opportunities, yeah, right.  I guess I must have sucker written on my forehead.  Knowing I could also visit the current adoptees I checked out the profiles on their webpage (gratuitous plug http://www.siameserescue.org/).  Admittedly, Mojo was my second choice but when I walked into the center and saw him, the ear makes him easy to recognize – he had me at his first purr.  Mojo is a diva, drama queen, ex street thug and teddy bear.  I was told he was found on the streets of my state capital behind a vet’s office.  If you can see his picture you can see that his right ear is damaged.  Best guess is that he was in a fight got a hematoma in his ear which calcified so he has a dented ear which requires a little special care.  He is my favorite type of meezer known as an apple head.  They are bigger they don’t have the thin face or rat-tail.  Mojo is built like a football player- he is very stocky and looks big though he’s just about 9 lbs – he’s all fur. (As I am coming to discover now that the weather is warm and he’s shedding.  If you come to my house in black pants or skirt don’t sit anywhere unless I give you a towel.  His hairballs, I must say, are very well made – symmetrical and well formed, which fortunately makes them easy to clean up).  I brought Mojo home the day I met him – what can I say, I’m easy.  Jingles transport from the center was very traumatic so I was a bit wary.  Other than the fact that he screamed like he was being tortured for the hour long trip home, it was uneventful.  In the dining room, I opened the door to the carrier, he walked out and looked around as if to say – “This is where I’m going to live, it’ll do.”  Three hours later we were on the couch together watching an NCIS marathon on TV.  Other than a small accident in February that required me throwing out an area rug, its been smooth sailing. (He just came over and plopped himself on top of my notebook.  As I’m writing around a cat who is alternately eating the pen and licking my forehead I hope I can read this later – turns out I couldn’t had to do some creative editing.  My guess is he doesn’t want his life publicized.)  He has settled in well the ‘survive at any cost’ mentality is disappearing.  He is less inclined to steal my dinner – happened once – now that he’s sure of a constant supply of dry food.  He is a bit of a food critic though.  If he doesn’t find the canned food to his liking, he attempts to bury it – think cat in litter box after he has finished his business.  However, having spent time not knowing when his next meal would be, he eventually eats it.

He, like all Siamese, is a diva and thinks the world should revolve around him.  Of course, it does.  The drama queen in him does not like to be too hot or too cold.  As I have said before, I’d rather spend my money on dance lessons so I keep the heat at 65.  He doesn’t like this.  The second the heat goes on he stretches himself across the closest register.  Conversely I have yet to turn on the AC despite several days in a row at or near 90 – it’s already cooled off so what was the point.  Now he stretches out on the floor between the front and back doors to catch any cross breeze.  He hasn’t been sleeping with me because the bedroom is too hot.  He doesn’t come upstairs until it’s time for me to get up.  Anyone who says animals aren't intelligent has never lived with one.  Mojo has the instincts of Leroy Jethro Gibbs.  My breathing changes because I’m waking up and that cat knows it.  No matter where he is in the house he’s up in my bedroom and on the bed in a flash walking all over me.  The only reason he was on the bed with me last night was that it was raining and the upstairs had cooled down.

So that’s life with my guy as of now.  He thinks I should cater to his every whim and I do, most of the time because the companionship, unconditional love and joy he brings into my life are worth it.

Channeling my Inner Muffy

I was going to call this Channeling my Inner Buffy but ever since the program about vampires became popular it doesn’t have the same connotation it had 32 (eww, has it really been that long?) years ago when I entered college.  I have always liked the preppy look, though I have moved away from it professionally.  Personally is another issue I have to say.  I was going to an 80’s themed social dance a few weeks ago; I was driving to work the day before trying to figure out how I could put together a preppy 80’s look because I didn’t think I had the clothes anymore.  It took me a few miles to realize I had all the pieces, I just needed to put them together in the right order again.  I had  thought the look was all but dead until a friend of mine turned me on to Jen Lancaster’s books.  At first I didn’t like her because she was just like many of the women I disliked in college but I persevered.  I figured anyone who loves her rescue animals as much as she does can’t be the witch she came across as in her first book.  I’ve come to realize she has a lot of very good qualities, not the least of which is her penchant for shirts decorated with an alligator.  I haven’t owned one of those shirts in years.  I wore out the ones I had in college and I thought they had disappeared.  However, after reading the aforementioned author I realized they were still very much alive albeit very expensive.  Come on $100 for something I could get in a big box store for $25 dollars are you kidding?  Granted it would be missing the requisite reptile (had to look that one up I wasn’t sure if they were reptiles or amphibians – it’s been a long time since middle school science) but I could live with that.  On Sunday, I hit my local outlet mall – actually went to return something and ended up spending more money.  I scored big time – found out this mall now has an outlet for those wonderful polo shirts.  Decided I would go in to see how much they were selling them for.  As luck would have it they were having a Memorial Day sale and they were only $35.  That is a much more realistic price.  Only found one in my size but it is a rich shade of purple which looks really good on me.  Further down I went to another of my favorite preppy enclaves which had for a while moved away from its roots and scored yet again. A coral and white striped seersucker wrap skirt embroidered with pineapples for $15 – in this store that is almost unheard of, who cares if it is a season old it was $15.  Of course the sleeveless polo dress embroidered with their logo (a golden fleece not a horse – don’t do the horse logo shop; their clothes don’t fit.) was a bit more but still…

I was sitting on my deck reading Monday morning, Mojo was attempting to unlock the screen door or failing that, rip a hole in itto join me outside.  When he succeeded at neither and began to yowl as only a Siamese can I decided my sanity was more important so I headed to the local pet mega store to get him a leash and collar so he could safely be with me and not try to taka header off the balcony.  What do I find but a pink and green argyle collar?  Ok, so he was male at some point in his life and I realize I’m probably pushing the limit with pink and green And a pink bell but it was too me not to buy.  We’re working on the collar and leash thing in total but he doesn’t seem to be too offended by the color of the collar.  As for me – I need to start wearing my pearls and penny loafers on a more regular basis…

Lunch should be abolished

Without question my absolute least favorite daily task is deciding what to eat for lunch.  I accept that lunch is a necessity but why does it have to be so difficult?  If one works outside the home one is at the mercy of the work environment.  I think my dislike for lunch stems from my years as a temp and substitute teacher.  The first day at a new location was always peanut butter and jelly.  PB & J can survive without refrigeration.  I would never know what the facilities would be; was there a refrigerator and microwave or failing those a cafeteria of some nature?  Granted when I was in schools I knew there would always be the latter but sometimes it was eat at your own risk.  I did get lucky a few times.  The teacher’s dining room at the high school I should have attended had my parents not chosen to uproot me my freshman year made a matzo ball soup that was amazing.  One school where I worked had a cafeteria staff worthy of a restaurant.  They would start preparing the Thanksgiving meal two days in advance – everything was made from scratch.  It was torture for me because the kitchen was very near the library so I got to smell turkey, pies and breads baking for two days.  It was worth the wait.  The staff decorated our tables with real tablecloths and candles and the meal was served family style.  The last high school in which I worked was attached to the area vocational school which boasted a culinary arts program.  Once a week the classroom was opened up to the teachers so the students could learn how to run a restaurant.  I looked forward to those days – the meal was abundant, reasonably priced and always good.  Of course regardless of where one works there might always be the occasional pot luck meal where homemade goodies abound.  Where I am currently employed is in the middle of nowhere.  The closest restaurants are in another state and it takes twenty minutes to get there, difficult when you are given thirty minutes for lunch.  We are lucky in the spring to have a small barbeque stand available but they are only open on Friday.  This requires me to come up with meals four out of five days.  If I am ambitious and cook over the weekend then I might have leftovers.  However, most Mondays roll around where my weekend meals have been a slap-dash affair and I haven’t been to the grocery store.  This weekend was one of those; so Sunday at 5:00 pm I found myself hard boiling eggs for lunch.  Egg salad is not my favorite thing but it beats going hungry.  As this week looks to pan out the only night I will be home to cook will be tonight, down side is I don’t even have bread for a PB & J.  It’s getting too humid and the bread gets moldy before I have time to eat it.  I hate putting bread in the refrigerator.  Having to decide what to eat for lunch is such a pain – even on the weekends – I feel the meal should be abolished.  The majority of people in this country work through it anyway so who would miss it?

No pain, no gain. Who are they kidding?

As I mentioned before I am a competitive ballroom dancer or I ballroom dance competitively.  I never know which to say because frankly I don’t like either because I don’t consider myself a competitive person.  Competitive ballroom dancing is also called dancesport.  Therein, for me, lies the problem.   I am for all intents and purposes, a slug. I have a problem with my left knee which I learned about only after a car accident when I was in m my 20’s.  I saw my family doctor about the pain and his reply was “Well we would have found it earlier if you had even been remotely athletic in your teens.”.  Yes I remember this even twenty years on, this was also the same man who told me I was fat and he could have done with some exercise as well.  I digress.  I dutifully go to my weekly dance lessons which I video.  I will then spend a couple of hours watching the video and taking notes.  That’s the way I learn.  I intend to practice daily, I really do but except for when I’m in the shower or cooking dinner that’s all it remains an intention and you know what they say about intentions and roads.  I understand the need to practice on an intellectual level but it is so counter-intuitive to my learning style and personality.  I’d much rather sit on the couch knit and watch Dancing with the Stars.  I only watch the female pros dancing to see how they do things, doesn’t that count for something?

Anyway I like my new dance teacher.  We have only been working together for a year and have only competed once.  It isn’t out of lack of desire on my part there are basically two reasons; first, I need to do things like pay rent and eat.  (I keep my house at 65 in the winter and 77 in the summer.  I’d rather spend my money on dance lessons, if I’m cold I can always wear another layer of clothes); second from a dance standpoint my feet suck.  My teacher and I agreed I wouldn’t compete again until my feet improve.

My lessons were actually the point of this post.  As I said I like my teacher.  We get on well.  We work hard and the lessons fly by quickly.  I have learned a lot in the past year.  He doesn’t expect perfection because he says no one, himself included, is perfect.  He is, however, full of it.  I have decided that I will no longer refer to him as my teacher but as my coach.  Teachers generally bring to mind someone who is nurturing, encouraging learners to stretch and grow – think here of your favorite elementary school teacher.  Coaches are, in my mind, strong willed, determined and can be sometimes brutal in their methods.  Like teachers they want those under their tutelage to excel, however most feel losing is not an option.  How many sporting events have you seen where coaches are screaming from the sidelines.  In my chosen sport my coach is much closer – often connected to me from chest to knees which eliminates the need for screaming.  After my lesson tonight I have decided my coach is a sadist and I say that in the most loving way.

I have tried to remind him that I am nearly fifty, with a heart condition, bad knees, about 30 pounds over weight and recently prone to panic attacks.  I try not to whine in my lessons just simply ‘suck it up’ as they say.  Though I have been known to laugh hysterically and say ‘you want me to do what?” when he shows me a new part of a routine.  When I think about my dancing I don’t see why I can’t do all the things a 20 year old who it a size 2 can do.  I want to dance like that I really do, my body has a somewhat different opinion.  I know there are a lot of people my age and older who are in fabulous physical shape and who tackle health issues far greater than mine.  I am an introvert who tends to run out of steam easily.  By the end of the day I want to do nothing more than go home and hide.  I am pretty much zapped of all energy and if I have been dealing with a panic attack I’m drained.  I try to eat well but I am also a stress eater and trust me when I’m stressed – carrots are the last thing I want.  The other night my dinner consisted of roasted chicken, rice, gravy and baking powder biscuits nary a vegetable in sight.  In my defense I had been eating carrots, celery, apples and bananas and nuts during the day.  I also hate to do any other type of exercise besides dancing.  The reality is the deck is not stacked in my favor.  Now that I have made excuses, back to the matter at hand.  I drive an hour each way to get to where I have my dance lessons.  Tonight after the 45 minutes of grief  I received it took every ounce of energy I had left to get out of the car.  My legs were not in the mood to cooperate when I asked them to stand.  Once I got everything into the house and laid out the things I needed for tomorrow morning I was barely able to get up the stairs to take a shower.  While he is a sadist he at least warns me of what is to come with thoughtful questions like ‘how does your knee feel?’.  I have learned by now when he gets like that I’m in for it, my response to him was – ‘it’s fine now but I’m thinking it won’t be so great in about 20 minutes’.  He found that rather funny.  Sometimes I feel like I’m in obedience school because I hear ‘sit’ every few seconds.  Other times I feel like a misbehaving employee because I hear ‘what’s your job here?’.  Tonight I’m not sure what to liken it to because I kept hearing ‘glue your arm”.  As I wobbled down the hill to my car after my lesson I kept thinking to myself, I pay for this  – am I crazy?  I have to be a masochist to keep going back for this week after week.  I was thinking about stopping at the local ice cream stand on the way home to reward myself for surviving but I guess the lesson did one thing – I changed my mind because I was too bloody tired to stop.

To my coach if you ever read this – you know I love you.  Just remember I don’t spring for the Red Bulls because I want to have money to dance.

Crazy Animals

Well I finally figured out how to make this work on my iPad. Score one for the librarian. Of course free wi-fi at an outlet mall while eating a falafel pita helps too. Today seems to be crazy animal day. I have a suet feeder on the tree in my front yard which was empty the last few months of cold weather. Hey, I had the suet it was just too cold to go out to fill it so what do I do? I wait until it's warm out and the birds don't need it, makes sense to me.  I have had a few blue jays and a cardinal stop by to partake; I only filled it two days ago. I arrived home earlier than usual to find two rodent thieves, a.k.a. squirrels, were in the tree and a majority of the suet was gone.  When I got out of the car and approached the tree one of them ran away.  The second more urban commando of the two sat in the base where the two main branches met at the trunk watching me, daring me to come closer.  He was just sort of lounging there; if he could speak a language I understood would have been saying “Yeah babe, you wanna a piece of me?  Come on get closer.”  Give the fact that I had just returned from a job interview and was wearing the only thing I had that remotely resembled a suit and that this was a rodent who could potentially carry rabies I opted to keep my distance.  I was less than three feet away from him, however, and he still wouldn’t move.  Well I guess he got tired of my verbal assaults and did eventually run up the tree but still remained there.  I went into my bedroom to change my clothes and we were again eye to eye and it was his turn to issue epithets to me from a safe distance.  I gave up on this issue figuring it wasn’t worth making myself look like the crazy neighbor over 99 cent suet blocks.

While I had been bringing my things in from the car a fly got in the house.  Since I was dealing with psycho squirrel I let it be hoping the cat wouldn’t find it.  My hope was in vain however, because at one point I looked up towards the front door to see Mojo not only catch but eat the fly.  Of course at that moment I was not able to get up quickly to prevent it and again yelling at him did no good.  I am assuming that he appeared in good health for the remainder of the evening, digesting the fly did him no harm.  At least I know he’s a good hunter unlike my previous Siamese who would look at me as if the say “You want me to catch that?” they didn’t chase critters they hired minions to do it for them.

Some of Life's Truths

This one is a given but I was musing over it as I was driving home the other day:

• If you are running late be it at the grocery store or driving you will end up behind someone who is not.

The rest are more pertinent to me:

• Locking the car because your phone and purse are in there is pointless if your back window is open all the way.

Luckily I was at someone’s house and it was only a short stop.

• Always use the rest room before getting on a major highway, even for a short trip.  If not, you are guaranteed to be stuck in traffic.

This I have learned over years of having an hour commute to work each way.

• Never tell your cat you’ll be home at the normal time and then you’ll spend the evening on the couch with him – it doesn’t happen.

Yes, I talk to my cat.  Does that make me crazy?  I think not; he is a living, thinking being.  Also when I am actually talking to myself it makes me look less eccentric.  On that subject the hands free devices for cell phones are the greatest invention for mankind.  Now I can talk to myself while I’m driving and no one will know it.  It comes in handy when I’m driving home late at night trying to stay awake as caffeine is no longer an option for me.

• Trying to be funny in an e-mail or text always ends up backfiring – the icons included for text or e-mail don’t always go through.

Process

As I mentioned yesterday the intent behind this is not to journal but to post random thoughts as they occur to me.  I also need to make myself more familiar with Web 2.0 technology.  Information comes in many different forms these days and as I am re-branding myself as an information professional I need to be current on all means of obtaining such information.  On a side note I like the term better than librarian – there are so many stereotypes attached to that.  Yes I have never been married and yes I live with a cat and wear glasses but I am not that stereotype.  I am grateful to the upcoming generation of library professionals who also fight to dispel the stereotypes.  Proof in point just type in librarians into You Tube and you will find some truly hysterical videos – even to the non-Dewey or LC initiated.  Anyway, I digress at bit from my point.

Most bloggers would cringe to learn that I write these posts out in long hand before committing them to cyberspace – with a brief stop in Word to do a spelling and grammar check.  Obviously I’m not adverse to technology.  I’m just cheap.  I would rather spend my money on dance lessons than on more Internet access.  In an effort to simplify my life and save money I eliminated my home Internet access.  This was an agonizing decision requiring a dose of anti-anxiety meds when I took my modem back to my ISP last month.  However I was rarely on the Internet at home because I am around technology all day.  Being the card carrying introvert that I am, I can’t take too much stimulation and need quiet time with a book and the cat at home.  I have also come to appreciate the advantages of mobile technology but the reality is a smartphone was designed for the Gen X and Gen Y out there.  If you are a Babyboomer with bifocals those puppies with their 3 inch screens are murder.  They are just too small to read very well so I decided to spring for a tablet.  The alternative was to get a smartphone and tether my Internet access to my computer.  That however required buying a new computer as I am currently working off a 10 year old Dell – it runs beautifully but lacks any wireless capability.  According to the tech people at my local Staples it is perfectly healthy but too old to upgrade the memory or add wireless capability.  Also I am working off a 10 year old motherboard and hard drive so it would be pointless.  Oh how those children at Staples scoffed at me when I told them I was virus free with no virus protection or firewall.  How I smirked when in voices filled with awe they confirmed my suspicions.  I politely explained that I was a highly skilled information professional and knew how to practice safe Internet searching.  Ok yes I did get a virus once but thanks to someone who is more of a geek than I it was easily eradicated.

So with the knowledge that I was going to have to buy a new computer simply to upgrade to a smartphone and still have Internet at home I started to look at my options.  One morning I opened my e-mail to find a bit of propaganda about a soon to be released upgrade of a current tablet. Since I honestly didn’t understand fully how a tablet worked I decided to watch parts of the 2 hour long presentation.  Sad to say I was hooked.  Much to my surprise, I was able to purchase one the day after their much touted release.  The gentleman at the Verizon store after hearing of its intended use said I would be fine with a 16GB.  But I told him to super size it and I went with the 32GB.  I remember laughing at the customer service person from Dell ten years ago when she told me my computer would have a 30GB hard drive.  I responded ‘what am I ever going to need that much space for?’.  Ahem, I now have an external hard drive because I needed the space. That taught me to never say never.  So I went home the proud owner of a bright shiny new state of the art tablet.  A few weeks later I walked my modem back to its owner.  I am officially a month into this experiment of frugality.  I have found some limitations to the plan but nothing that can’t be worked around and I still have a lot to learn about life with a tablet.

This leads me back to the long hand writing.  One of the things I have yet to figure out is how to make Blogspot work with my tablet since Blogspot is a Google product and therefore a Hatfield to the operating system on my tablet’s McCoy (or Capulet and Montague – take your pick).  So I sit in my jammies in bed at night writing out my thoughts with pen and paper to be transferred to cyberspace when I have access to a computer.  Once I learn how to make Blogspot happy with my tablet I will forgo the pen and paper for the tablet.  As I wrote that I realized the irony in that statement.  When man first began to commit words to some level of permanency they wrote on stone tablets, thousands of years and leaps in technology later we are back to writing with tablets. Upside is they don’t weigh quite as much.

Blogging 101 from my perspective.

For some time I have toyed with the idea of writing a blog but I couldn’t see how anything I had to say would be remotely interesting to anyone.   Having seen and read Julie and Julia as well as reading Jen Lancaster’s books I thought perhaps I  could do this.  I don’t exactly want to open myself up to public ridicule so I chose to play it safe and only make this seen by my Facebook friends.  At some level it is much less painful to be ridiculed by people you know than by perfect strangers.  That is probably somewhat twisted logic but I would hope that those who have ‘friended’ me on Facebook would truly be a bit kinder than those who don’t know me.  Although I’m sure since I am using Google’s blog tools it could become searchable to much of humanity.  The thing that delayed the onset was coming up with a name.  I wanted it to sound interesting and reflect the things about which I would be writing.

There is an old adage for authors which states ‘write what you know’.  I had thought at first I would entitle this Confessions of a Spinster Librarian while this is accurate it wouldn’t work for a number of reasons:

1.      It sounds like a bad porn movie.

2.      It makes me sound dateless and desperate.  I’ve come to accept being nearly 50 and still single – but that is for another post.

3.      While yes, I am currently a librarian I am trying to re-brand myself so Confessions of an Information Professional was a bit too wordy though less pornographic sounding in nature.

As I mention in my first post when asked about what I wished to write I had replied life and stuff.  The stuff, if I adhere to the writer’s adage, about which I know or claim to know, is the following: knitting, ballroom dance, cooking, work and seeking of same, being an introvert, my cat and just about life in general.  Admittedly for most of the things on this list I have friends, colleagues or acquaintances that are much more skilled than I.  Please know this is only my point of view.  As many of you know I have a somewhat snarky attitude toward many things – I have actually had other words used but I’m trying to keep this G rated or PG at the very least.  I also don’t want any of my family members who might read this thinking I have a mouth like a – insert euphemism of your own choosing.  My friends know otherwise.  Speaking of my friends they should not fear. This is not a journal of any type.  I am not going to write anything personal in nature unless it directly applies to me.  If I mention any of my friends there will be nothing negative and they will be referred to in only general terms.  I value my friendships and would do nothing to jeopardize those.  I am going to endeavor to keep things very general and stay away from controversial subjects.  This is not going to be a forum for me to rant and rave about life but an effort to look at things in a more humorous light and perhaps help me get over the panic attacks that have recently been plaguing me.  If any of my friends think I have crossed a line send me an e-mail and I will pull the posting.  As to the general public - if they don't like what I have to say then let them write their own blog.

Introduction

I think the best way to begin this is to explain the title of the blog.  As with many things one must have a starting point.  While I have already decided on the subjects for upcoming posts I had to give this a name.  I turned to an old friend who by passion if not by vocation is a wordsmith.  Her first question was about what I would be blogging.  I sort of shrugged though she could not see it because this conversation, as with most that we have, was being done via e-mail.   I responded that I didn't know just stuff and life.  Since she's very familiar with the stuff in my life she and her significant other brainstormed over lunch and sent me a list of options.

I chose this title for several reasons.  In December I adopted the 6th in a line of Siamese spanning nearly 25 years.  He is my 4th rescue; was found by a vet on the streets, cared for and sent to Siamese Rescue.  The person who took him to Siamese Rescue called him Morning Joe after her favorite blend of coffee.  She told me she had taken to calling him Mojo for short.  I felt it fit his roguish appearance as he has an ear that was injured in some way while he was on the streets.  He came into my life at a difficult point so I thought it was fitting that I had 'found my mojo' so to speak.  The mambo part comes from the fact that I am an amateur ballroom dancer.  I compete in both American smooth and American rhythm.  While mambo is not my favorite of the 5 rhythm dances, it is one in which I compete.  It may be an overused concept but I do feel that dance is a metaphor for life.  Some days you get up and everything is in step, you glide smoothly and gracefully through life.  Other days feel as if you were somehow given two left feet.  The only way you are going to make it through is to keep practicing and if you are lucky be guided through the steps by someone more experienced than yourself.

As to why the blog, many of the reasons I will probably discuss in these posts.  The short answer is there are transitions I am facing; a job/profession change and a major birthday rapidly approaching are two.  I realize this is an onerous task I am undertaking as I am an introvert and somewhat private person.  I can't see this being an everyday thing but it is something which I will do on a regular basis.  My 'mission statement', to paraphrase Food Network personality and guru of food science Alton Brown, is for another post.