Beam Me Down, Scotty

When I was hired, I was asked to fill out a short survey asking the usual things like did I have pets, what was my favorite food, and what my favorite saying was.

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The one thing it asked that I didn't think much about at the time was, if you could have a superpower, what would it be?

I flippantly replied it would be time travel, so I could go back and get today's winning lottery numbers. Which would, of course, mean I wouldn't have to work ever again. 

Some people picked invisibility. A coworker once commented that you should never trust anyone who chose this, because they would likely use their superpower for evil. 

Upon further reflection, I think I'd choose teleportation. I'd love to turn up in Paris in springtime or London just about anytime. Ireland has been added to my list. And parts of Italy, particularly the countryside, appeal to me. 

I mean, wouldn't it be nice to escape the dreary, snowy, finger-numbing cold and pop over to Hawaii? Hang out on the beach, read a book, soak up the rays for a weekend here and there. 

Sure, I can travel along with Rick Steves on PBS, but you only get to see places, you don't get to experience them.  I want to taste that local delicacy, sip a brew in that cozy cafe, chat with the locals, and marvel at ancient wonders in person. 

Ah, well, not likely to happen anytime soon.

I'll just have to play the lottery the old-fashioned way, hope for the best, lose, and head back to my writing desk.

And remind myself that there are only sixty-nine days until the first day of spring.

Photo attribution: Jin Zan, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Meanderings

"That's called a portmanteau," Mr. Ginley said. You know what that is, right?

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I rolled my eyes. Who's the head word nerd in this house?

"Yes, it's a combination of two words, like spoon+fork=spork."

"It always makes me think of the song, Kathmandu. It was one of the first songs I liked." 

Really? That song by Bob Seger was released in 1975, and it's one of the first songs you liked? I let that go, but I did call him out on the pronunciation. "Okay, but "portmanteau" doesn't rhyme with "Kathmandu," which ends in "due" not "oh."

Mr. Ginley's musings headed in another direction. "Kathmandu is in Nepal, did you know that? Didn't the Beatles go there?"

"The Beatles went to India," I corrected.

"That's where they saw the Yogi guy," he continued.

"Maharishi Mahesh Yogi," I clarified.

"My favorite Yogi is Berra," he went on.

"Was Yogi Bear named for him?" I said, picking up the thread.

"There was a lawsuit over it. Yogi Berra lost. Yogi Bear got to go on pilfering picnic baskets in Jellystone Park."

"Yogi Bear wasn't exactly a likable character," I mused. "He stole a lot of picnic baskets."

"Ya, but there's probably some sort of bear union rule, it was his job. It's what bears do, they get into food people leave sitting around. But he didn't win 10 World Series rings like Yogi Berra. Of course, neither did the Maharishi."

"Well, Yogi Bear probably didn't care because he has paws. He couldn't wear a ring anyhow," I countered. But I acknowledged the possibility that the Maharishi could have harbored a little jealousy over Berra's bling.

"Yogi Berra picked up three more World Series rings as a coach," Mr. continued. Just to keep the record straight. "So Maharishi and the Bear went 0 for 13."

As it turns out, nine of Berra's World Series rings were stolen and melted down. 

You don't suppose the Bear had anything to do with it?

Photo attribution: Algorhythms, CC BY-SA 4.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Ai, Ai, Ai

 "What Beatles' album is that?," puzzled Mr. Ginley. 

Actual AI rendering

He was watching a YouTube video that was flashing "nostalgic" images from bygone days. This particular one was allegedly of a girl shopping for albums in a record store in the 1970s.

"He was trying to read out the random letters (or sorta-looked-like-letters) on the album cover.

After carefully examining, the photo, I said, "Oh that's just AI's version of a record. AI can't spell."

He raged a bit and went on to the next photo. 

I knew it was likely that if one of the photos was a fake, there were probably others. The girls in these photos are often "hot," as he observed, which is a clue that they're not real. It's easy to see this is someone's fantasy of how girls looked. And sure, in real life, some of them were hot, but most were average looking. They weren't all thin, long-haired blonds. But I didn't want to burst Mr. Ginley's bubble. (Although I probably have now, oops.)

I'm close to walking away from Facebook. I've been bombarded with fake images. There are blank-eyed pets, cats positioned in improbable poses, and scenery that's clearly come out of someone's AI imaginings. 

Then there are the neighborhood groups. They can be helpful when something big is going down, but they can also be gossip mills of murky misinformation. 

In other words, you can't believe anything you see on FB unless you confirm with with a reliable source. And we all know how few reliable sources there are on the internet.

Meanwhile, I'm not seeing posts from the people whose posts I want to see. Which was the original intent of FB. 

So, while I did enjoy some of the "from my window" shots and funny pet stuff, I'm going to cut way back on many of the groups I belong to. I'll still follow my puzzle group. And I'll stay connected to my high school alumni page. Out of necessity, I'll hang onto my neighborhood group for now. But I'm going to drop out of a bunch of the others. And I'm going to be careful not to "like" anything outside of my circle.

And thus, my world will shrink, just a bit. And maybe I can retain a little of my sanity. And free up my time for more enjoyable pursuits.

Like puzzling and sewing. 

And Hallmark movies. Not quite ready to give up on this guilty pleasure yet.

Off the Clock

It's been a rough couple of weeks work-wise, and I've been writing my big fat you-know-what off.

In the interest of saving what little of my sanity remains, I'm taking the day off to attend the once-a-year holiday party with my family.

I'll be doing a special-edition Christmas letter on my next off day, which is Christmas Eve.

See youse then!

Photo attribution: Bart Everson, CC BY 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

Christmas Is for the Birds

"Did you know the 12 Days of Christmas are actually the days after Christmas?," my encyclopedic husband asked me just the other day. 

I suppose I'd heard that, but I didn't think much about it. I murmured something as we drove along. He took this as encouragement to continue.

"I think it's supposed to be the days between Christmas and the Epiphany." 

"Yes, that would make sense," I replied. I thought the topic was closed, but some time later, he took it up again.

 "Just what are you supposed to do with a partridge in a pear tree?," queried Mr. Ginley.

"Well, we have a little room in the backyard," says me. "I suppose we could plant the pear tree there."

"Not the tree, the partridge. Do they fly? Wouldn't the neighbors report us?," he continued.

(As it turns out, some partridges fly, but they'd rather run or walk.)

"I imagine we'd roast it for dinner." Problem solved. 

"And what are calling birds," my inquisitive spouse persisted. What's with all the the birds, anyway?" 

All good questions, I suppose. What makes a French hen special? Does it cluck "ooh la la?" Turns out, it's just a fancy egg-layer. A chicken by any other name. A turtle dove is a British pigeon, which was tasty fare in the Middle Ages. 

"Calling birds" was a poorly translated version of "colly birds" – colly meaning black. So blackbirds. Which do sing, I suppose, but they aren't canaries or anything. 

Blackbirds weren't generally dinner fare, but, like the nursery rhyme "Sing a Song of Six Pence" chronicled, they were shoved into a pie crust which was cut open at the dinner table. The live birds would create mayhem, and the guests were allegedly amused. It's all fun and games unless you're the maid, who got her nose pecked off.

But I digress. 

Geese-a-laying and swans-a-swimming are pretty straightforward. As to the practicality of these gifts, again, I'm pretty sure the neighbors would call the local constabulary on us. Geese are pooping machines, as we all know, causing a mess wherever they go. And there's no place to go a-swimming for swans, so that's one gift that would be going back.

In an odd twist, the song transitions from birds to humans, pausing only to croon "five gold(en) rings." 

Inexplicably, the order changes from version to version. In my head, I hear:

12 Lords-a-Leaping

11 Ladies Dancing

10 Pipers Piping

9 Drummers Drumming

8 Maids-a-Milking

...whilst others have given the order as: 

12 Drummers Drumming

11 Pipers Piping

10 Lords a-Leaping

9 Ladies Dancing

8 Maids a-Milking

In any case, one wonders how these gifts would be delivered. Do they arrive in a bus? Do the performers get paid scale? Do the maids bring their own cows?

Oh well. I'm unlikely to ever receive any of these gifts, anyhow. 

And for that, I count my blessings.

Photo attribution: Title page from the first known publication of "The 12 days of Christmas" in 1780

Imagine That

As I was skimming through my Facebook page this week, reviewing posts from friends and people trying to sell me stuff, I began to wonder what my Mom would have thought of social media.

Taking it a step further, if this technology had been available in her day, what sort of things would she have posted? Not that she had the time for such nonsense, given that she had six offspring and a household to manage. 

But just supposing she was able to, what would her posts have been about?

I was intrigued, so I decided to come up with some for her:

Made dinner as usual tonight. We had pork chops, mashed potatoes and green beans. Had to watch to make sure no one took more than one pork chop or one scoop of potatoes. Don't have to worry about them overdoing it on the green beans, LOL. 

Took Barbie to the grocery store with me today. She was a good helper. Pretty soon she'll be starting kindergarten. I wonder how she'll take it when the new baby comes along. I'm sure she'll love him (or her). 

OMG, Gary and his band decided to practice at our house. In the smallest bedroom. Poor Tony was gritting his teeth the whole time. They finally called it quits. I think this is going to be a one-off.

Went to Lima this past weekend, and SOMEONE left the top off the cage and one of the gerbils got out. We couldn't find him (her?) for a day or so. Then Barbie sat down on the bed and felt something moving around. The little bugger got in between the sheet and the mattress and chewed a hole in the mattress. I warned the kids not to tell their Dad. He never reads my FB page, so I think I'm safe.

Had a nice visit with Mother. Tony helped her put up the storm windows and do some work around the place. I know she drives him crazy sometimes, but thankfully, he's a good sport about it. We played the usual card games, and she had her country music shows playing in the background. Her Saturday night routine. Not a big fan of Pop Goes the Country. 

We decided to put up paneling between the kitchen and living room. Told the kids to clear out for the day. Barbie came home a little too soon and went right back out again. We all know how home improvement projects go in this house. 

Took the older kids to mass this morning. Barbie and Paul stayed home with Tony. (He gets up and goes to early mass by himself.) They love it when he plays Mitch Miller for them.

Put up the Christmas decorations today while the kids were at school. I filled the glass bowl with ribbon candy (the kind the kids won't eat unless they're desperate, yes, that's on purpose). It looks so festive in the house. Tony went and got a tree, and the kids will decorate it this weekend after he gets it in the holder and puts the lights on it. I love this time of year!

Getting Crafty

I grew up in an era when girls were trained from birth to do girly things.

Here Comes the Pitch

In junior high school, we were required to take home economics classes, which included cooking and sewing. No wood shop classes for the ladies. While my brothers learned to be handy with tools, I was being taught how to make a mean wrap-around skirt, a skill, I might add, which I've never used again.

Yes, it's good to know how to sew and bake cookies, and I've made use of these talents over the years. But I would have been a whole lot happier if I'd learned how to wield a saw as well as a sewing machine or Mixmaster. 

I generally take my homemaker skills for granted, but every now and again, I realize that I know more than I thought I knew.

Case in point...Mr. Ginley and I were strolling through our local craft store the other day, and I was constantly fielding questions like "What is this?" and "How does this work?"

But, it was a fun romp through the craft aisles, nonetheless. And these days, we get our entertainment however we can.

"Mebs"