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"

Lost and Found on Thanksgiving

With just the two of us on Thanksgiving, things are pretty laid back. 

This holiday, like most others, is about the food. 

We don't follow any sort of traditions here. Turkey is a non-starter. And we just didn't feel like ham this year. So after discussing the options with Mr. Ginley, we landed on beef stew.

So, first thing this morning, I trotted downstairs and got things started. Which is to say, I threw the beef, water, and some seasonings in the crock pot. The potatoes, carrots, and mushrooms will join the party a little later.

Then I moved on to the cranberry sauce, and checked that off my list. On to the pumpkin pie. But first, my second cup of coffee. While I sipped, I began going through my recipe file to find my mom's recipe. It's not radical or anything, but I like the combination of spices she uses, as opposed to what the recipe on the back of the can calls for.

Out came my recipe file. No pumpkin pie recipe.

Maybe it's in the old file? Nope.

Defeated, I picked up the can of pumpkin and looked at the ingredients list. Not optimal, but I'd have to make do. 

I looked up and implored my Mom. I know she can hear me, I feel it in my heart. 

"Mama, what in heaven's name did I do with the pumpkin pie recipe?"

There was no immediate reply, but something prompted me to look on top of the microwave. Which made absolutely no sense, because I hadn't made a pumpkin pie in over a year. Why would the recipe be there? Why wouldn't I have put it away months ago.

Well, guess what? There it was. 

I stood there in the stillness of of the kitchen, silent but for the ticking of the old electric clock that hangs over the archway to the nook. I looked up and gave a nod to Mom. A tear was forming in the corner of my eye. 

"Thanks," I said. "But you couldn't have told me half an hour ago before I tore my recipe file apart looking for this?"

Fortunately, she gets me. I could feel her roll her eyes.

Love you, Mama. So thankful for my wonderful parents and the memories of Thanksgivings past.

Hope y'all have a great day, too!

And Those Whose Names Were Never Called

There have been a few articles lately about older women feeling invisible. 

Janis Ian. Photo attribution below

Funny, that. Because I totally relate to the notion, but I also recall feeling that way in my adolescence. 

I was a non-person in high school. Quiet, painfully shy, I lived in the shadows, did my schoolwork, and went home. I played music and burned candles and wondered if life would ever get better. Until my senior year of high school, I had almost no social life to speak of. If it weren't for my friend, Linda, I would have had no one at all. Even in my senior year, the people who befriended me were older, out of high school. I never went to proms or social functions. 

Not that I had a real pining to, mind you. I've always been okay on my own. And being invisible is a sort of super power, really. I find I'm always surprising the people who underestimate me. That's kind of a kick. 

I don't dwell a lot on my terrible teens, but every now and again I'm reminded by a book or a song or by Facebook, which is heavily into nostalgia sites. 

One day Janis Ian popped up on my FB page with a suggestion to follow her. That took me back to the song At Seventeen, which Ian composed (lyrics and music) and released in 1975. It's about an unpopular high school age girl who laments her status as a nobody. I immediately glommed onto this tune, totally relating. I thought I was the only one it resonated with, but it became a number 1 hit and in the ensuing years has been proclaimed an anthem for many, including those in the LGBTQ community. 

These days, I look back on my teen years with bemusement. I was quite the drama queen, really. These days, I feel invisible but in a less soul-crushing way than I did in my teens. My kid is grown and leading his best life with his beautiful life partner. My career, such as it is, is limping toward the finish line. And I accept the fact that I'm not going to set the world on fire anytime soon. 

It's pretty freeing, actually. And I realize I wouldn't want the beauty queen's life anyhow. I imagine her aging, packing on the pounds, and getting crepe-y arms just like me.

Maybe it's time for Janis Ian to write a sequel to her song.

It could be called "At 70."

Photo attribution: Eddie, CC BY-SA 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons