Turning Green

I wasn't born wearing the green.

I married into it.

Mr. G. is 100% Irish. My roots are mostly Germanic in nature, and we've been in this country so long, our ties are barely visible. I grew up in a suburb comprised largely of folks of eastern European descent. Pirogies and kielbasa and stuffed cabbage ruled. So St. Patrick's Day wasn't a huge deal back in my day. There was some residual interest, of course, because of the Catholic thing, but it wasn't nearly as sacred a day as it is in my current neighborhood.

For example, the schools my son attended as he came of age closed on March 17th. The bishop gave Catholics a day off from the meat thing yesterday because the green holiday fell on a Friday. The downtown streets filled with revelers. And my neighborhood hosted its annual pub crawl.

As I drove down my street last night, I noticed it was lined with parked cars. That's because the nearest main street is home to several bars, mostly Irish. We treat this night like New Year's Eve...a sort of amateur time for drinkers, an excuse to imbibe too much and behave badly. We've awoken to broken beer bottles in our driveway, cans on our tree lawn, etc. We stay home.

We celebrated in our own grand fashion at work, where Stacey took the initiative and organized a potluck. Yours truly baked hot cross buns for the first time. They looked, as my brother noted on my FB page, like I'd been hitting the rum balls when I made them. (See the photo and decide for yourself.) But they tasted pretty good, and almost all of them were devoured. Coworkers provided scrambled eggs, hash, a casserole, pancakes (hot off the griddle), some fruit and lots and lots of sweet stuff. Very yummy. We overachieved, and thus resorted to urging passersby all day to partake.

Actually, having a potluck was a great idea, a way to celebrate the forefathers and foremothers of the Irish population, many of whom came to this country to avoid starving to death in their native land. In a time when the reigning government just wanted them to go away. Sadly, too many of them did.

So, although I am not Irish, I was happy to join in the celebration. Sans alcohol. That includes rum balls.

Sláinte.

Three Amigas

Some things are just meant to be.

As we lined up in a queue at the zoo, my two sisters and I looked up at the board to see what the cost would be.

"I get a senior discount!" exclaimed Denise, whose birthday it was, and who had just reached the minimum threshold for the savings.

When you get older, you learn to savor these little triumphs. A couple of bucks is as good a reason as any to celebrate.

For the first time in a long time, we three spent the day together. The cold and blustery weather kept the crowds away and the animals inside, but we plodded along gamely. Singing Mitch Miller tunes at the top of our lungs. Waving to the zoo bus. Skipping (Denise).

There's something about hanging out with your siblings, who have known you since forever, and whom you just can't bullshit. They know your foibles, and they still (hopefully) love you, anyhow.

After toodling through the Rain Forest, the brisk outdoor air actually felt pretty good. We headed off to dinner at a place called Momocho, featuring modern Mexican cuisine. It was self-described as "innovative, hip and exciting." We went because my kid recommended it.

And it was good. Very good. And lots of fun.

At the end of the evening, we headed back to my house, Denise and Diane in the front seats, I in the back. (But I had a window seat - if you don't have siblings, you won't understand this reference. And no, I didn't get car sick, you're welcome, Denise).

I was contented but a little sad, too, wishing we'd had more of these days over the years.

I hear someone else has a birthday coming up in a few months...hint, hint!

Loving Lorelai

The first step to overcoming a problem is to accept that it exists.

I accept it. I embrace it. I don't want to let it go.

I'm hooked on...the Gilmore Girls.

Yes, I'm a latter day fan. I know it's been out there for seventeen years and never before did I have so much as a whiff of interest in it. And yet...through the miracle of Netflix, I have become addicted to the exploits of Lorelai, Rory, Luke, Suki, Lane, Michel, Emily, Richard, Paris, Kirk and all of the other characters who live in Stars Hollow.

I know it's a TV show. I know I could be doing so many other intellectually stimulating things, like watching CNN or reading a history book or inventing something that will save civilization, but I just can't seem to help myself.

I enjoy the hell out of this TV show.

In my defense, I did not get hooked on Downton Abbey. Or Game of Thrones. Or CSI (Las Vegas, Miami, or New York). Although, of course, with reruns as easily accessible as they are, it's never too late.

I believe Mr. Ginley is hoping my little obsession will run its course soon. Without commercials, each show runs about 45 minutes. Lately, I've been watching two shows each night, mostly on my Kindle.

Yes, it's a waste of time. No, I really can't justify it.

Still, I enjoy the hell out of it.

And, honestly, with all that's going on out there in the big, bad world, a little escapism is a real blessing.

Pour me another cup of coffee, will ya, Luke?

Let's Facebook It

Four things jumped out at me from my Facebook page this week.

"Descent into Hell"

First, there was a story about how plastics, which are indestructible, are helping to destroy our planet, and what we can do to eliminate them from our daily lives.

Next, there was how the Japanese nuclear power plant that exploded in 2011 continues to wreak havoc on the Pacific Ocean.

Then we had the announcement of the discovery of seven Earth-like planets that are only 40 light years away. Let's all dance around the May Pole! We can make a toilet of the Earth, then just hop into a rocket ship and go trash a bunch of new planets. Hot diggety.

The fourth item was in my Facebook feed as a suggested site. It was for an office supply store, and the featured item was an "Eco-Bug Urinal Enzyme Tablet." It looks like a green, hockey puck-shaped piece of clay. It is sold as a one pack.

I've no idea what I did to make Facebook think that such an item would be on my shopping list, but I was intrigued. Was there something about this particular bit of paraphernalia that would tie it to my personal interests? I needed to investigate.

The Commercial Eco-Bug Urinal is a waterless system with touch-free operation. Apparently, you can slap this bad boy up on any wall anywhere, add your enzyme tablet, and away you go. Who knew?

In spite of my research, I was not able to find any link to my personal needs. It was just a random occurrence.

Much like my rant today, my Facebook page was a snapshot of our crazy world, how we are destroying it and how many of us are doing the little things we can to try and save it.

When do you suppose the rocket ship tickets will go on sale? Ironically, it will likely be the richest of the rich, those folks who have wrought the most destruction on our planet, who will be the first in line for their place in the new world.

Maybe it's time for me to pull the plug on my Facebook page.

Penny-Wise

So, here I am again, sorting through my coupon holder. Getting rid of the expired ones. Adding a few new varieties.

And it occurs to me, for like the thousandth time, that it's not the best use of my time. I mean, if I save twenty-five cents on a $15 package of toilet paper, am I really coming out ahead?

Granted, there are one or two coupons I actually use, and if I work it just right, I might save a few dollars at Target. But again, is the juice worth the squeeze, as they say?

I still have vivid memories of my mom putting her hard-earned Top Value and Eagle Stamps into books. She'd get out her spongy moistener and paste away until she had enough books put aside to buy something really great. A hassock comes to mind. Maybe a lamp. Both of which are arguably worth saving for.

At the other end of the spectrum, there are Chucky Cheese tickets which, after investing $30 in the games for your child, nets you a cup with a picture of the giant rat and his band of malevolent merry makers on it.

Everyone loves a bargain, of course, but let the buyer beware. Nothing works like it does in those "As Seen on TV" ads. E-Bay is hit or miss. I've gotten some great stuff there that I couldn't have gotten anywhere else. I've also gotten the wrong size shoes, the not-as-pictured edition of a book and a neck chain with a finish that wore off after two weeks.

But there is something cool about ordering online or through the mail and waiting for that special something to arrive. Who among us can resist the siren song of the sea monkeys? Or the most comfortable bra/slippers/bathrobe you will ever own? Or that one fabulous thing (fill in the blank) that will make you loved/beautiful/happy?

Ah, well.

As I always do, I will sort my coupons and stuff them back into the holder, which takes up an inordinate amount of space in my purse.

But I know, the next time I get to the store, I'll be singing a different tune when I pull out that $1.00 off coupon for toothpaste.

Until I realize it expired three days ago.

So Glad We Met

This week the Metropolitan Museum of Art announced that they have put 375,000 images online for use by the public.

Van Gogh's "Road in Etten"

These images have been deemed copyright-free, and may be used for either personal or commercial purposes. Here's where one can get started:

http://www.metmuseum.org/about-the-met/policies-and-documents/image-resources

I decided to toodle through the website and take a gander.

The collection hosts a wide array of art, including (but certainly not limited to) illuminati from the 12th century, works from major artists like Monet and Van Gogh and ancient Egyptian jewelry. Some of the works are on display in the museum, but many are not accessible to the public. 

The database is searchable by artist and theme. I tried "cats" and got 27,851 results. And 9,925 for "jewelry." Alas, a search for "gnomes" brought up just three -- and only one of them was legitimate. (Their search results seem a little wonky.)

18th Century Porcelain

I'm looking forward to taking an hour or two and exploring their catalogue. At first blush, it is by no means a comprehensive collection of any one artist or media, but rather, an eclectic assortment whose only common thread is the ability to live in the public domain.

See? The internet can be a wonderful place.

Of Boulders and Birds and Kumbaya

"It has been quite a week," said I to myself on Wednesday morning.

Monday we awoke to seven something inches of snow, binding us to the homestead. The following day, there was more of the white stuff, just enough to mess up the roads, not enough to keep us home.

Then I got to Wednesday. I peered cautiously out my window. Cool, no more snow. Relief. Just to be sure, I did a little Reiki, calling on the higher powers to protect us during the day. Feeling better, I headed out into the world to start my workday.

I got in the car, turned it on, looked up and groaned. It's my fault, really, for complaining that a snow plow had not done any serious work on our street all week. There, in my apron, were ice boulders. There was no way Ella (yes, I named my car) or Little Blue (yes, I named my son's car) were going to make it over that hurdle.

Time for Girl Power! I could do this, yes I could.

I turned off the car and went back into the house to get the shovel. Coming down the back steps for the second time, my feet flew out from under me, and I went down the stairs on my back.

At this point, I looked heavenward and said, "Really? This is how you help me?"

Gingerly, I got up, did an inventory of the parts of my body that sustained the blows, and decided no real harm had been done. Off to the apron to shovel boulders.

A few moments into the procedure, a gentleman who lives across and down the street from us (whom I'd never met) came over and asked if I needed a hand. And proceeded to do half the work for me. We shoveled in silence, and I thanked him profusely. He was not a big talker, but he was a huge help, and I was very grateful.

I looked heavenward again. "Okay," said I. "I get it. Thanks."

After I put the shovel back in the house and headed down the steps for the third time, I looked over to the tree behind our house and saw a large bird sitting there. Intrigued, I first navigated the stairs safely, then walked over and looked up. I had a difficult time photographing him because it was very cloudy and grey that morning, but I think it might have been a falcon. We don't live far from the MetroParks, so that's probably where he lives when he's not hanging out in our backyard.

I had a moment with the bird of prey, who ignored me and continued pecking at the tree branch.

I'm not sure if he was some kind of omen or just a happy diversion that morning, but I thought it was cool having him around.*

And it did get me to thinking. A lot of people have questioned the existence of a higher power, given all that has been happening lately.

Maybe, like a good parent, the powers that be are saying, "You made this mess, now you clean it up."

Ah, there's the rub. What can one person do to make a difference?

I voted responsibly, signed petitions, did the march and made contributions to organizations that I believed could help. Still, the madness continues.

What else is a person supposed to do?

Maybe help a neighbor shovel her apron.

I don't know what my neighbor's political affiliations are. All I know is he was there when I needed him.

And maybe that's all any of us can do -- be there and lend a hand to each other as needed.

No, I'm not going to break out in a chorus of Kumbaya.

Although it will probably be playing in my head all day. And now yours, too.

You're welcome.



*Mr. Ginley, of course, believes it's some sort of Super Bowl prediction.