Getting right with myself

Ice cream is one of the things I really love. And soft rain. And movies. But what I really really love is Likes. WordPress Likes, to be specific. If I publish a post that doesn’t get many likes, I’m down in the dumps. If I publish a post that gets lots of likes, I’m on top of the world. I live for them. Hmmm…that sounds like an addiction. I guess it is. Yikes, I’m addicted to Likes.

Obviously I have some inner work to do on this issue. I’m depending on others to create my happiness. I’m basing my self-esteem on conditions outside of myself. I see that now, and I’m starting to realize that the person who really has to like my posts is ME. If I’m happy with them, if I know they’re quality posts and they’re my very best work, that should satisfy me.

I’m getting there. I repeat to myself throughout the day, “I am whole within myself. I don’t need outside approval.”

I just have to be right with myself. When I get to that point I’ll be on top of the world. Blogging has brought many issues to my awareness and dealing with them has prodded me into personal, even spiritual, growth.

Thanks for sharing my blogging journey with me.

P.S. I’m hoping you will Like this post. Come on, all you have to do is click on a little itty bitty button. Please? Pretty please?

 

The downside of blogging


I love blogging, but I wish there was a more pleasant-sounding word for it. Blog rhymes with bog, smog, slog, sog and other unappetizing things. It also rhymes with fog, which is lovely, but the unsavory words that rhyme with blog far outnumber the beautiful.

Take bog, a swamp-like morass, a place where you might encounter an alligator or a huge poisonous snake or the Creature From the Black Lagoon. Or you can get bogged down, in paperwork or odious chores. And how about smog, the scourge of modern civilization, hanging over the land in ugly yellow-brown tones and ruining lungs. And there’s clog, as in to cause to be backed up: a clogged toilet, yuk. People slog, as in plodding or struggling, perhaps to get across a bog. Which gets us to sogged. You would probably get sogged crossing a bog. And there might be a hog in the bog. You never know. Hogs are worthy animals, don’t get me wrong, but they’re not terribly attractive. 

Oops, I almost forgot flog. I’ll leave you to decide whether to spin the punishment or pleasure connotation of that word. Some people enjoy being flogged, but it’s not my cup of tea.

We have to take the good with the bad. I enjoy blogging immensely so I’ll just put up with the way it sounds. I’ll simply keep on slogging through my blog, enjoying every minute, and reminding myself that it also rhymes with dog, one of my most beloved things in life, and with eggnog, a joy of the holidays.

CHEERS!


“Blog” is derived from “weblog,” coined in 1997. It developed into the first digital diary allowing readers to add comments to others’ blogs.

Poor Man’s Keurig

A small coffee-lover’s miracle recently happened in my life. I love Keurig coffee but their single-cup coffee brewers are too expensive for me. So are most other single-cup makers. I’m at financial critical mass in my retirement. I seriously need to cut down on my spending and am following an airtight budget. The single-cup brewers are also large, and we have a small kitchen with limited counter space. Lastly, most brewers come only in black.

After a lot of shopping around,  I just sighed and figured I’d have to plod through my life without one…drinking boring old ground stuff…the same flavor for months until the container is finally empty.  

I got hooked on Keurig at my church, of all places, which has a big selection of pod flavors and a Keurig brewer in the kitchen. I thought about buying one and reducing my tithe accordingly. After all, the church got me hooked. But the better part of my conscience prevailed.

Enter Procter-Silex, with a single-cup coffee maker for $25.00!! I just couldn’t stop searching, and one day voila! There it was. It’s small and it does the job. I feel almost guilty, finding a single-cup brewer that cheap. Like I’ve outsmarted the gods. And another miracle is that it comes in white, on Target.com. It’s perfect in my kitchen.

My mornings are joyous. Now I go into the kitchen wondering, “What will it be today? Dunkin’ Donuts Dunkin Dark? Green Mountain Southern Pecan? Eight O’Clock Original?” The choices are infinite. And I usually drink only one a day so it doesn’t break the bank. I’m enjoying single-cup coffee just like rich people with big kitchens. And loving it. 

Running Away from Home

I love my husband but I need to get away from him now and then. I do short getaways, like staying in Monterey with a friend or two for a couple days of eating, shopping, and walking on the beach, followed by more eating and shopping. Or I’ll go overnight with friends to experience the fog and the culture in San Francisco. There’s a wealth of things to do close to our home in Silicon Valley.

The getaways are good for me and our marriage. We appreciate each other more when I get back. The passion gets fanned a bit, the flame reignites. It’s a kind of marriage makeover.

I’m always the one who has to run away from home. Frank is exceptionally stable. He worked for the city for 30 years, and bought the house we live in nearly 40 years ago, 20 years before we even met. His 1970 Camaro is older than his house. And he’s a diehard homebody. He never travels except when we go together. He’s stable to a fault.

Once in a while I muse about what it would be like if Frank took a trip and I stayed home. Home alone! Wow, what would it feel like? The whole house would be my oyster. The first thing that comes to mind is the excitement of having control of the remote. That’s been a lifelong—or marriage-long—dream of mine. I could change channels, turn the volume up or down, turn the TV off and back on at will. I’d be drunk with the feeling of power it would give me.

I could have my girlfriends over for wine and Chinese takeout. And more wine. We’d laugh loudly and watch chick flicks and tell off-color jokes. Maybe even get really wild and watch Forty Shades of Grey. Or is it Fifty? I haven’t seen it. And ice cream for dessert, Ben & Jerry’s Half Baked. Yum, gooey cookie dough chunks. I’d get a lot so when the girls leave I can finish whatever’s left. Ice cream is a no-no when Frank’s home. He’s a healthy eater and watches my weight for me.

I could indulge openly in my secret addiction and buy a bunch of lottery scratch cards. Then I’d scratch them off right out in the open, at the kitchen table. I can’t do that either when Frank’s home. He disapproves of gambling almost more than ice cream.

I have a long list of more home-alone pleasures. My at-home getaway sounds great, but I don’t think it’s going to happen. Frank’s not showing any signs of restlessness or wanderlust. He’s happy just driving to a movie or to senior drop-in doubles at the city tennis courts. So I’ll just keep my sense of adventure and my suitcase at the ready. It’s for a good cause.   

Equal Opportunity Tooth Fairy

Why can’t the Tooth Fairy come for seniors? Why does she just come for kids? Older people lose teeth too.

The other day I got to wondering, is it really true she won’t come for us golden-agers? Maybe she would, if we put our fallen teeth under our pillows like we used to. But I know she wouldn’t come. And I know why. It’s because I AM the Tooth Fairy. Or I was, when my daughter was small.

Thirty years ago, when Michele was five and I was forty, she lost a tooth and when I tucked her in bed that night she told me she didn’t believe in the Tooth Fairy anymore. She said it was just another grownup lie.

But I snuck extra change under her pillow that night, three times the usual amount. In the morning she came tearing like wild horses into my bedroom screaming, “Mommy! Mommy! Look what the Tooth Fairy brought!!” I’d sure like to have faith like that again. The faith of a child. I’ve become cynical, not just about the Tooth Fairy but about everything from chances for world peace to the odds that the 49ers will ever win the Super Bowl again.

Millions of us seniors were reliable, generous Tooth Fairies when our kids were small and I wish our children would give back and be our Tooth Fairies. But I don’t think my daughter would go for that. She doesn’t have kids so she’s not on Tooth Fairy duty already, but she has a very busy life.

My husband, Frank, could do it. I’ve had three teeth pulled since I turned 60 and I’ve kept them all. I’m going to put them under my pillow one at a time and drop him very obvious hints about it. 

I take cash, credit and Amazon gift cards.