Altered States

We had guests this past weekend, and one young lady brought not only flowers, but also her traveling companion, her pet bunny, Benny. We renamed him Benedict Cumberfluff. See the featured image above? That’s exactly what he looked like.

Cuteness overload.

So while the young people ran around at the tiki bars and beaches, and lolled around on the family boat, Benny and I spent some time together indoors avoiding the heat and the crowds. Hours passed by like minutes as I observed him acclimating and then enjoying himself in my home.

In “Why Look at Animals?,” John Berger observes that the animal scrutinizes the human, and the human sees the animal, even if the animal is domesticated, across a similar, but not identical, abyss of non-comprehension. So when he is being seen by the animal, he is being seen as his surroundings are seen by him. His recognition of this is what makes the look of the animal familiar.

Now, there are scientists who have argued that the human gaze across that divide disrupts the world of the animal, harms it, even. But here’s another possibility: when two creatures, one of them human, meet each other halfway across the abyss, both enter a world of potential.

Observing an animal, really concentrating on him, is like experiencing an altered state, without drugs. Because when we spend time with animals, we are released from ego.

(Research above from Our Wild Calling by Richard Louv.)

And as I observed Benny’s antics, and watched him grow more and more comfortable in my house throughout the weekend, it occurred to me that not only did Benny release me from ego, but had straight-up Benny sense.

Benedict, it seemed, had all the answers. He taught me some things that I already knew, and some I didn’t.  

When in doubt, explore. Benny ran up and down the stairs, stood on his hind legs to see what was going on on the couch, and found fun things to hide under, in, and on top of. He was very curious, very energetic, and very cute.

Eat healthy, in small amounts, all day. Benny was forever chewing greens, carrots and hay. Being the “cool aunt,” of course I gave him one too many carrots, rendering his bunny pellets orange. Oopsies.

Enjoy the zoomies and the flops. Binkies. For bunnies, zoomies are called “binkies.” Benny cavorted, jumped in the air, and made sudden and unexpected turns and twists. He was so little and light that it was like watching dandelion fluff dance around the house. Benny was very dramatic, obviously trying to attract attention. Binkies and flops are what bunnies do when they’re happy, and it made me happy that he was happy in my house.

When you’re tired, rest. After Benny ate a piece of carrot or some lettuce, and then had some zoomies, he would hide under my lounger for a bit of a breather. We would respect his space, and he would return full-force, like an Energizer Benny.

Flaunt your cutest feature. It would be hard to pick Benny’s cutest feature, and while we loved his long ears, his pert little nose and his stubby tail, his tiny spotted caramel-colored paws were simply bunnylicious. He flaunted them, of course, and they just sat under him like little Irish potatoes.

Benny’s antics ran the gamut. He would circle our feet, which in rabbit language means “I love you.” He would rub his chin on objects, so as to leave his scent and define his territory. A few times he even put his front legs on my lap (I was usually on the ground so it was easier to play with him), leaned in close to me, and made this great bunny eye contact as his whiskers twitched. I may never recover from the sweetness of it.

Animals kill me.

And here’s wishing you a week filled with plenty of binkies and flops.

Home and Hearth

(I know the hyperlinks have not been cooperating. The issue has been resolved, so click away on any product you desire).

Flowers are falling off my crepe myrtle tree like mercury on a cold day, and I am constantly sweeping buds, seeds and petals off my patio furniture. This shedding is a sure sign that fall is right around the corner. Now, I know, you beach people don’t like to acknowledge fall this early, but we cool weather, boot-wearing, pumpkin-spice sipping, sweater-donning, Halloween-loving maniacs not only love to acknowledge it, but wish it would hurry up and get here already.

And since I have decided to stick around and teach this fall, I’ve also decided to really enjoy it and go all out with my yard for fall and Halloween. I didn’t even plant flowers this summer, time just got away from me, so I need to redeem myself.

Here are some of our favorite things at Chrysalis Collective from Plow and Hearth this coming fall:

This decorative skull for your die-hard Eagles fan.

A Stoneware crock for your Eagles fan. This crock comes in every NFL logo, and is so great to use for planting, pot pourri, even popcorn.

This BOO Sassafras Switch Mat. It will be mine.

I’m getting all three of these Monster Shorties- the werewolf, the Frankenstein, and the mummy. They’re so stinking cute.

This First Colony Pineapple Fireplace Screen with doors is 50% off!

A Light-Up Hanging Ghost.

If like me you’re finally splurging for outdoor patio furniture covers, here is an assortment, and they’re all on sale.

Carry your logs to the fireplace with this carrier.

Gingersnap cookies to die for, although I am partial to Sweetzels.

Ladies, listen up: if you wear size 9 or 10, these Merrell boots are priced unbelievably low. Get ’em, they’re almost gone!

And finally, since Labor Day is approaching, here’s some Americana products you might be interested in grabbing before they’re gone:

This light-up black lab holding a flag in his mouth is so cool.

This Summer Flip-Flop Metal Wreath is to die-for, but it’s so popular that the shipping date isn’t until DECEMBER, so know that you couldn’t use it until next summer. Each wreath is handmade and hand painted by artisans in Bali; no two are exactly alike. I really want it, but I want the Shortie Monsters more, and I can’t have both.

Uncle Sam looking adorable.

Daily Valor

The movie “Uncommon Valor” sits nestled in my heart next to memories of home, and love, and family. When I hear the actors talking through the television, I feel like my own brothers, uncles and cousins have entered the room. I know their facial expressions, I understand their personalities, and I can recite the dialogue. I have also never, not once, managed to not cry at the end. If you’d like a dose of humility, patriotism, loyalty and brotherhood, rent it.

But have those tissues ready.

I’m not crying, you’re crying.

It just happened to be on this past weekend, and I was able to watch part of it with my son. There is a scene where Wilkes needs to crawl into a narrow pipe, and Blaster gives him his medallion, telling him it’ll keep him safe. While in the pipe, Wilkes gets bitten by a huge snake, but manages to wrestle it and kill it. Bleeding and terrified, Wilkes throws the snake out of the pipe. Blaster looks at it, and yells into Wilkes:

“Don’t worry, it’s not poisonous. Told you my medallion was good luck!”

That’s life, isn’t it? You’re tired and worn, terrified and unsure, maybe bloody, beaten and battered, and there’s always some fool in your life coming at you with a version of Blaster’s line:

Could have been worse.

You should count yourself lucky.

Look at the bright side of the situation.

It’s a blessing in disguise.

(Next week, next month, next year, ten years from now) you’ll look back and realize it was all for the best.

I’m that fool in your life.

We’ve all been Wilkes in that pipe, counting his lucky stars to just be alive. I recently read a story about a woman who got in a car accident. Her car was totaled, her legs were crushed, but she told the interviewer it was the best thing that could have ever happened to her.

How can that be?

Because when the x-rays came back, it showed a tumor in her spine, that was operable. If she had never gotten in the accident, the tumor would never have been detected, and might have metastasized.

Michael Singer author of The Untethered Soul is a huge proponent of the belief that no matter how bad we think our lives are, there is something to be grateful for. He once spoke to a woman who was in the depths of despair over her son. A drug addict, he had committed armed robbery, and was incarcerated. She was inconsolable.

“How can you tell me that I should be grateful that my son is locked in a jail cell? How can I find the good in that?”

Singer looked at her.

“Does he get fed?”

She looked at him.

“Yes.”

“Is he warm?”

“Yes.”

“Can he read? Exercise? Go outside?”

“Yes.”

“Is he now safe from the streets, from violence, from freezing cold, from drug dealers, from sexual perverts?”

“Yes.”

“Then you should be grateful for at least that.”

Rent “Uncommon Valor,” and enjoy it with your family. You won’t regret it. I couldn’t find the snake scene, but embedded here is Sailor (Randall “Tex” Cobb) dancing free, with joy and abandon.

Here’s wishing you joy and abandon this weekend.

Land Lines

(There are a lot of movie mentions on my blog this week. It wasn’t on purpose, but hope you enjoy)

Growing up in a world with landlines was an alternate reality.

Remember pay phones? Memorizing phone numbers? Checking the answering machine? Getting a roll of film developed? Never ever having privacy? I remember stretching the house phone cord as long as I could for privacy to talk to that boy, while my brothers made kissy faces at me. The thought of it makes me laugh now.

So many things today’s generation will never experience.

Meeting in the bowling alley parking lot at 9:00 p.m. on a Saturday night, because that was the only way we could be sure to know where our whole gang was.

Having no idea what movies were playing, so you chose when you got there.

Waiting. Always waiting. Waiting to be picked up for a date, and looking out the window for the headlights. Waiting for your parents to pick you up at school, practice, the movies, because there was no way to contact them. Waiting outside the school for your friend to get out of class so you could catch a ride home.

And always getting lost, because you couldn’t read a map.

The greatest irony in life is that change is the most consistent thing we have. You can count on it.

I like watching old movies, and trying to catch anachronisms. You know, like seeing a character in “Gladiator” wearing a watch. But I gotta tell you, I was today years old when it occurred to me that while landline phones in movies have become anachronisms, they actually played a role in advancing the plot.

In old movies, if the character is stuck on the phone, he’s physically stuck, like he’s tied to a stake in the ground. In old movies, the businessman couldn’t put the client on speaker so he could look up that account or grab a drink. He couldn’t talk on Bluetooth, or walk out to speak to his secretary. A young girl couldn’t talk to her bestie while driving to the mall or walking to meet her. Two lovers actually had to talk in their homes.

I love the old movie “When a Stranger Calls,” based on the premise that the babysitter is getting prank phone calls from inside the house. The remake with Camilla Belle was interesting, because with a cell phone, now the babysitter is no longer stuck in the house, but wandering the grounds. And while it makes the movie more exciting, I still like the old version better. What could be scarier than Carol Kane’s face as she stares in horror at that landline?

Let’s do some more.

My favorite scene in the movie “Jaws” is when Chief Brody is trying to get his deputy’s attention from inside the harbormaster’s office because he can’t put the phone down, so he throws small stones at the window to get the deputy to turn and face him; when he does turn, Brody waves him violently into the office.

I thought that if “Jaws” was re-made today (don’t you dare, Hollywood!), and the characters had cell phones, the scene would be lost. There would be no frustration, no pebbles, no violent wave.

“Goodbye Girl”: Marsha Mason talking to Richard Dreyfuss on the phone, looking out the window to watch him standing in the pouring rain in a phone booth. This is when she knows he loves her and is coming back. Cinematically beautiful.

“Terms of Endearment”: Emma talking to Sam on the wall phone in her bathroom, as she stretches the phone cord and shuts the door to get a little private time. During this scene the viewer is treated to a sweet moment when her son Teddy comes in the bathroom to pee, and she tells him not to flush. “But you told me to always flush!” She whispers, “Not this time!”

“As Good as It Gets”: The seamlessly perfect Helen Hunt talking to Jack Nicholson at the end of the movie- she wants to apologize to him for her behavior, and both of them on their phones in their private bedrooms is intimate. And the plunk of that phone getting set down on its cradle is so satisfying.  

“Broadcast News”: Holly Hunt whispering to William Hurt on the phone in Albert Brooks’ kitchen, and Brooks says, “Can’t you pretend this is just a little bit awkward? You getting ready for this date?” The scene I’ve embedded is one of my favorite speeches of any movie of ALL TIME. ALL FREAKING TIME. I’ve always been a bit gaga about journalism.

“Say Anything”: Toss-up between the phone booth scene, where he utters the famous lines to his sister after Diane Court breaks up with him: “She gave me a pen. I gave her my heart, and she gave me a pen,” and the scene when he has no privacy to speak to Diane Court, so he is nervous and pacing, and using the phone as a prop.

“Falling in Love”: Meryl Streep and Robert DeNiro are so known for their complicated roles and foreign accents, that people forget this beautiful, simple, sweet movie of two married people who tried to keep from falling in love, but could not. Heart-wrenching. At the end of the movie, DeNiro’s character Frank calls Meryl’s character Molly at her home because he is going away and he wants to say goodbye to her. She has to veil the conversation from her husband, but at the end, leaves the house anyway to see Frank. I couldn’t find the exact scene but here is the final scene where they both say “Fuck it,” decide they have one freaking life, and they’re going to be with the one person who makes them happy. Meryl Streep just couldn’t get anymore beautiful than she is, and I could watch this train scene a gazillion times.

“Breakfast Club”: The whole movie. Because if there had been cell phones, there would have been no conversation, except for comparing videos and memes.

Ten Scrolls

I was not delivered into this world into defeat,

nor does failure course through my veins.

I am not a sheep waiting to be

prodded by my shepherd.

I am a lion

and I refuse to talk, to walk, to sleep

with the sheep.

The slaughterhouse of failure

is not my destiny

-Og Mandino

What do you say to your kid leaving for college? Good question.

If you’re sending your son or daughter off to college for the first time in a few weeks, you may feel fine. And your kid feels fine. You go shopping with him for a mini-fridge, and the price is fine. You move her into her dorm room, put up her twinkle lights, and they look fine. You take him out to lunch before you leave, and your salad is fine, and his chicken fingers are fine. And maybe your child already knows his roommate, and they get along fine. Maybe she doesn’t know anyone on campus yet, but she seems fine.

And it might be fine. But at some point, maybe you’ll be standing in your kitchen, or driving to work, or settling in at night for bed, and it won’t feel fine. Because it feels wrong. Unnatural. You can’t stop thinking about your kid, alone and unsupervised, and your brain goes into overdrive.

Is she lonely? Hungry? Nervous? What if he can’t find his way around? What if he oversleeps? What if he’s depressed but afraid to tell me? What if she’s overwhelmed? Scared shitless? What if he gets the flu and has no one to bring him juice and soup and comic books? What if she can’t get the WIFI going?

What if, what if, what if…

This happened to me, three times. The third time was the easiest of the three. The last kid is always the easiest, because they’re so darn independent. This was how my conversation went with my youngest when we were done moving his stuff into his dorm room and making his bed.

Me: Well…I guess that’s it.

Tommy: Yep.

Me: Do you want help with anything else?

Tommy: No, I think I’m good.

Me: Do you want me to hang up your clothes?

Tommy: No, Mom, it’s ok.

Me: Do you want to go get lunch?

Tommy: I just ate on the way here, remember?

Me: Oh yeah. But what will you do for dinner?

Tommy: I’ll figure it out.

Me: Ok. There’s a dining hall across the way…

Tommy: Mom.

Me: Ok, ok. Well, I guess I’ll go. Who will you eat with?

Tommy: Mom.

Me: Don’t forget that you can use your ID to work the washers and dryers.

Tommy: Mom, I know.

Me: And remember to leave your door open, so that when the other kids move in later they’ll pop their heads in to say hi. That’s how you make friends.

Tommy: MOM.

Me: I know, ok, ok. Well, I guess I’ll be going….(I sit down on his bed)

Tommy: Mom. Go. It’s going to be fine.

Me: Of course it is. Don’t forget to ask your RA about the WIFI…

Tommy: MOM!!

Me: Ok, I’m going now! Good luck (Hug).

Tommy: Thanks. And don’t worry, everything is fine.

Me: Of course it is.

And it will be fine. In a few weeks, it will no longer seem unnatural or wrong that they’re gone. Your kid will come through it like a trooper, and will figure everything out. And he’ll make friends, more friends than you can imagine.

Until then, if you want to send your child off with something other than a lecture, bed risers and cash, give him a copy of this book. I re-read this book once a year, and every human being on Earth should get a copy of it when he’s born. Enough with Oh, the Places You’ll Go. Give your kid a copy of Og Mandino’s The Greatest Salesman in the World, and let him take advantage of the sage advice contained in 100 pages:

Guide me in my venture, for this day I go out into the world alone, and without your hand I might wander from the path which leads to success and happiness.

Guide me so that I may acquire ability equal to my opportunities.

Teach me how to hunt with words and prosper with love.

Help me to remain humble through obstacles and failures, yet not hide from my eyes the prize that will come with victory.

Confront me with fears that will temper my spirit, yet endow me with courage to laugh at my misgivings.

Give me sufficient days to reach my goals, yet help me to live this day as though it be my last.

Guide me in my words yet silence me from gossip.

Discipline me in the habit of trying and trying again.

Bathe me in good habits that the bad ones might drown, yet grant me compassion for weaknesses in others

And let me become all you planned for me when I was born.

And remember. They WILL be fine.

Good With Money

image of woman in home

(These seven bullets originally appeared on BusinessInsider.com, before showing up on travelandleisure.com).

So there are apparently seven things people who are good with money never buy. Since I am always trying to improve my mindset and relationship with money and investing, I read the article to see how my financial literacy (or lack thereof) fared.

Maybe you are a woman reading this right now, and you are in charge of your household finances. Bravo! But you are in the minority. Statistics say that most women take care of the domestic end of the household, while their husbands handle the financial end.

This was my situation. If it’s not yours, then it’s not yours, so don’t get those panties wadded. Of course I know men help raise children, and know where the vacuum is. Of course I know that women can use a checkbook and often appear on the cover of Forbes. Sheesh. My point simply is that in most American households, men handle the finances.

(Remember the ol’ days, when you could say or write something without worrying that some nimrod who doesn’t know how to read or reason would get offended? Let’s bring back Archie Bunker and George Jefferson. They were the collective reason why an entire generation (read, ME) is in(un?)offendable).

Here are the seven things that people “good with money” supposedly don’t buy. Some I agree with, some I don’t.

People good with money don’t buy brand new cars. Disagree. We all know the statistics: a new car loses 10% of its value in the first month, and 20% of its value in the first year. But what does that mean, and who cares? Everything eventually loses value. The only things that don’t lose value over time are love, brandy and precious metals. And FYI, I know plenty of people who are good with money who buy a new car. Then they proceed to take good care of it, and keep it for a long time. The point is to KEEP it, right?

People good with money don’t lease new cars over and over. Agree. This one hit personally, since my Audi is leased, so let me defend myself by saying that I got the thumbs-up on the leasing of my car from my father, the most conservative and financially-frugal tightwad on the face of the earth. It’s why he and my late Hub got along so well. If my father said leasing was a good idea, then daggonit, it was. My father leased many cars through his lifetime, never had a bad experience, and has educated me deeply on the advantages of leasing. But even I know that leasing a new car over and over is financially irresponsible.

People good with money don’t buy houses they can’t afford. Agree. I saw an ad on the local Patch that advertised a house for TWELVE MILLION DOLLARS. I laughed out loud. Who in their right mind would pay 12 million dollars for a house, even if it was affordable? I don’t get the preoccupation with big fancy houses, but that’s just me. I’d personally use the twelve mill to buy a bunch of small condos in all of my favorite cities.

People good with money don’t buy things on credit they can’t afford. Agree and disagree. I don’t buy anything (if I can help it) unless in the back of my mind I know I have the money for it. I use my credit cards strategically- to get travel miles and points towards hotels and rental cars. It’s time-consuming, but parlaying credit card points and miles is a great way to offset the cost of travel and purchases. But sometimes using a credit card for a big purchase is necessary for career or education, something that will eventually return the investment.

People good with money don’t buy luxury goods from brand-name designers. Agree and disagree. This is a toughie, because the definition of “brand name designers” depends on who you are or where you live. One woman might feel couture in a dress from Marshalls, another in Club Monaco, while another in Chanel. One man might feel dressed up in a clean t-shirt and jeans, and another wears a shirt and tie to church. My kind of guy. Either way, to each his own.

In one of my favorite movies Crazy Stupid Love, Steve Carrell plays an awkward forty-something man whose wife wants a divorce.  As he’s getting used to life as newly single, he meets the dashing, smooth-talking character played by Ryan Gosling who takes Carrell under his wing.  In one particularly funny scene, Carrell shows up for a style “lesson” wearing khakis and running shoes. Gosling, dressed sharply, looks him over with disgust.

“Are you Steve Jobs?” asked Gosling.

“Uh, no,” said Carrell.

“Are you the CEO of Apple?” asked Gosling.

“No, I’m not,” said Carrell.

“Then you have no business wearing New Balance running shoes,” said Gosling as he took the shoes and threw them over a railing.

Steve Jobs was notorious for wearing sneakers, jeans and black turtlenecks. But let me tell you that before Steve Jobs became Steve Jobs, he dressed to impress. Here’s a well-known story: During his 12-year absence from Apple from 1985 to 1997 Steve Jobs started NeXT.  One day he was heading to the bank to ask for a loan and his partner showed up to Steve’s house in blue jeans.  Steve told him to put on a suit (or borrow one of his). “Why?” his partner asked. Steve Jobs looked at him levelly and said, “Because we’re going to the bank today.”

At a leadership conference a few years back the speaker, a military hero, said that leadership starts from the minute you walk into the door.  Your “subordinates” (your team, employees, partners) are sizing you up based on your body language and how you look.  “Always dress a little better than everybody else,” he said. Amen. If I had only $100.00 left to my name, and I had to decide between a week’s worth of groceries or a new outfit for say, an interview or an important career outing, I’d take the clothes. Dressing well is my mantra, a deeply-help personal belief, and the subject of my TED talk in 2022.

People good with money don’t load up on material goods. Agree. Period. I have what I want, I love what I have, and I want for nothing. It is said that people good with money are supposedly capable of “actively unplugging from consumerism.” I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I unplug from consumerism, because I do like to shop. But I don’t fill my house or my closet or my life with piles of cheap shit, including men.

And lastly:

People good with money don’t plan lavish weddings. Disagree. When I got engaged, my father sat me and my late Hub down and told us we could have “the wedding,” or the money. We both chose the wedding. People still remember our wedding. It was fantastic, and the right choice for us at the time. I’d still choose the wedding, but maybe a smaller one. Both of my beautiful nieces chose small-scale weddings- one on the beach, where everyone was barefoot. And one in Princeton, at a sophisticated small venue. Not because of money, but because it was a personal choice. So if a girl has always dreamed of a big fancy fairy-tale wedding, and Daddy is willing to pay for it, it doesn’t mean they’re financially foolhardy.

Just spoiled. As all beautiful young brides should be.

Living Messengers

Throughout college and for many years afterward, I would often pay a visit to see my college roommate in Narberth. She’d take me to the swanky bars, and we’d spend some time with her parents.

I enjoyed being around her parents. I am and have always been an old soul, and I have never found spending time with older people a “necessary evil,” a burden or an inconvenience. Their lack of pretension, their experiences and their eccentricities have always resonated with me deeply.

Joanne and I recently met up in Philadelphia for lunch, and she suggested we take the short drive to her childhood home so that I could take one last look around. With her father (Jesse) passed and her mother (Barb) living near her sister in Florida, the house had been sold, and Joanne had taken on the Herculean task of clearing it out for the new owners. I jumped at the chance to walk through this house that had meant so much to me as a young college student.

As Joanne said, “my father saved everything.” Indeed. As we toured the house, room to room, from basement to attic, I could see she was not exaggerating. Boxes of books, receipts, papers, trinkets, and memorabilia glutted out of each room.

Jesse was a Renaissance Man, and resembled a more-distinguished version of Stan Laurel. He loved words, and music, and research, and pretty much anything that had to do with education and intellectualism. He had a dry wit, like trying to laugh through a mouthful of sawdust. It’s hard to say now, looking back, but I’m pretty sure I had a crush on him. I probably had a crush on every single one of my friends’ fathers, you know how I love older men.

Barb was Jesse’s Laurel to his Laurel. Soul mates, they resembled each other, “completed” each other. I can’t think of one without the other. I remember waking up in the morning, plodding down those (even now) creaky stairs, and hearing their soft dove voices in the kitchen. I loved standing in the kitchen while they made breakfast, and just soaking up their sawdust comedy routine. Joanne would make eggs and roll her eyes at the jokes she had heard a zillion times, lovingly correcting them when they would say something embarrassing.

But Jesse and Barb were never really embarrassing.

Jesse had hundreds of books, and Joanne had set aside a box for me. Books that she thought he would want me to have, on subjects we had in common. Word books, poetry books, empty journals for ruminations. The book I am most honored to have is a thin steno professional reporter’s notebook he had labeled “New Words.”

It sits near me now, filled with his handwriting, and contains words that even now, as an English professor and writer, I am not familiar with. Words like “taw,” and “rota,” and “demulcent.” His rigid, stoic printing style is familiar, and his presence jumps off each page. I send Joanne a picture of a page every now and then, when I decide to use a word in my writing. She loves seeing his handwriting too.

Words are thoughts, and an invincible power which will objectify themselves in the form they are given. To wit:

Words become mental places that will live forever; or they may become shacks which the first breeze may carry away. They may delight the eye as well as the ear; they may contain all knowledge; in them we find the history of the past as well as the hope of the future; they are living messengers from which every human and superhuman activity is born.

School Daze

small chalkboard

It’s been a helluva week. Fifteen-hour work days for me, how about you? I’m ready to kick back, have some drinks, see some family and do a whole lotta nuthin’ this weekend.

Let me start by saying this: Who knows what school shopping is going to look like in a few weeks? But what we do know is that big box stores are already issuing mask regulations, and the rest will be sure to follow.

Now, this is not a political blog, nor am I a member of the CDC. However, as someone who got vaccinated in MAY so that I could travel and live and work unencumbered, no one, I repeat, NO ONE, is going to tell me to put a mask back on my face when I’m shopping.

You wanna yell at me and call me names? Bring it on. I will say no more about the situation, but if I have to get Jeff Bezos richer by shopping on Amazon so as to avoid strapping on a face diaper at Target, so be it.

I’ve said my peace.

I don’t have school-aged children anymore, but I’m still a teacher, and I still love the whole idea of school supplies. Here are some of the cutest around:

For Stay-at-Home Mom: Kim Crawford Cans. Grab a friend and some of these pretty wine cans and have a picnic on the beach without the kids.

For Working Mom: Is your back hurting from sitting at your desk or working on the computer? Mine was, so I got this adjustable stand for myself so as to work standing up at my kitchen counter. Game changer, and reasonably priced.

For All Moms: The Ruched Sleeveless Tank Bodycon Dress. This dress on Amazon comes in forty colors, looks great on, and is only $30. I have it in black, blue and forest green, and I’m eyeing up the red. I wear it to run errands, go to brunch with girlfriends, travel, and even to attend church. I absolutely love love love this dress. Size up, it’s not as giving as it looks.

For Dad: To Do 3 x 5 Vertical Note Cards from Levenger. Dad does a lot for the household, and works hard. And now that fall is starting, he may even be volunteering at the kids’ schools or coaching their rec soccer teams. Help him stay organized. These are super sharp, and he can just leave them in his car, or in his briefcase.

For Date Night: Take some time for yourselves. Call that high school student who likes your kids, and use this link to plan a great date night.

For Elementary School Tikes: Sooez File Folders. So stinking cute, and in pretty primary colors with irresistible smiley faces sure to crack your kid up. But hopefully not while in class! And how about this fuzzy llama pencil storage case? Cuteness!

For Junior High: Junior-high is all about the cool backpack, you know that, right? Don’t gulp at the price- backpacks go through a lot during the school year, so get a sturdy one for your kid. My sons all loved Herschel backpacks. I’ll just give you the link, but let me warn you: the cool ones go quick, so get your student the one he or she likes NOW.

For High School: Fun pens in crazy colors will keep things lively. How about these?

For College Student: What he really wants and needs is money, we know that. But also get your college student bed risers. They’re indispensable.

For Richer

picture of us money

My husband used to sing “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” all through the house in August. The boys knew he meant that it was almost time to go back to school, and they would grumble and moan and sulk, but not really. I know there are kids who don’t like school, but those kids were never my kids. All my boys liked going back to school.

Tomorrow look forward to a nice Back to School shopping list. Yes, I know it’s early, but not all of my readers live on the East coast. Some of my readers are from the South, some are from the West Coast, some even in Canada, Iceland and Alaska. Some of the items will be from Amazon, fam, so if you detest getting Jeff Bezos any richer than he already is, stay with the product suggestions from the smaller companies.  

I’ll tell you tomorrow why I don’t mind getting Jeff Bezos richer than he already is. Until then, here are five more people who I love seeing get richer:

Sara Blakely: I will buy Spanx until the day that I die. If I’m dressed professionally, whether it’s to teach or present or attend a meeting, I have Spanx on under my clothes. Period. Even when I was more svelte than I am now, I wore them to teach. Spanx have been with me through two pregnancies, three children, career changes, travel, interviews, and menopause. Sara’s products pull me together, smooth everything out, and give me oodles of confidence.

Scott and Missy Tannen of Boll and Branch: If you’ve never laid down in their sheets or snuggled under their duvet covers, you’re missing out. They can charge me whatever they want, and I’ll pay it. Getting good sleep is one of my top priorities.

Sheila Johnson, owner of BET and CEO of Salamander Resorts: I stayed at the Salamander recently to visit my college roommate who works there, and it was one of the most luxurious resorts I have ever stayed in. I kid you not. I’ve been to many beautiful places all over the world, and let me tell you, if you want to be pampered? Holy Moly, treat yourself to a stay at the Salamander. It’s pricey, but maybe for a special occasion? I’ll give Sheila my money any day, what an amazing woman.

Joy Mangano: You know, Joy. Joy, she of the Huggable Hangers? I mean, what would we do without those huggable hangers? Now every brand tries to pass off their own huggable hangers, but I make sure to get the ones with her name on them. She was a trailblazer.

The celebrity who makes my perfume: Uh uh uh. Nope. Not gonna tell ya. I’m super weird about exposing certain things, but I’ll tell you what, readers: once I get enough email subscribers, I’ll tell you what perfume I wear.

Until then, mum’s the word.

No Thunk Zone

beautiful girl doing laundry

(Please click on my Facebook icon and like my page, or whatever. Same for IG. My website manager asked me to relay this message. It seems that people still like and use and respect Facebook. I alone think it sucks. Nevertheless, please like or follow, or some shit. I do not have Twitter, and probably never will, and Youtube is in the works. Thanks, love you!)

Ten minutes into a drying cycle the other day, I heard this abrasive metal-tinged clank. You know how that is. Your mind instantly comes to attention.

Lipstick? Did I leave a lipstick in a pocket?

Car keys?

Quarters? Change?

Lighter?

Divot repair tool?

Straight razor?

(That last one was to see if you’re awake).

So of course I stopped the drying cycle immediately and took out the offending object responsible for the noise. Thank goodness I use dryer balls.

(If you believe that one, you don’t know me very well. Of course I didn’t stop the drying cycle and investigate. And of course I don’t use dryer balls. Just the phrase makes me think of ten dirty jokes. This is ME we’re talking about).

First I ignored it. Then I blew it off. Then I promptly forgot about it, until I returned home from a meeting and heard an ominous Thunk Thunk Thunk coming from the laundry room.

The thunk was unseemly. The load was on gentle wash, and was filled with my delicate undergarments, nightgowns and buttery-soft workout leggings. There should have been no thunk. None.

When I opened the dryer door I saw that the thunk I had been hearing was the dryer vent, loose and unattached. I had left a wire dry-cleaning hanger in my hamper to get recycled downstairs, but I had forgotten to remove it, and it had somehow gotten tossed into the wash load. That was the metallic clink I had initially ignored.

Once the washing machine had disintegrated the paper cover and foam over the hanger, the dryer went to work on the metal. It melted it, and then small pieces of metal became embedded in the dryer vent, eventually prying the dryer vent out of its enclosure. The dryer vent then tossed around with the laundry, for hours, making that dull thunk.

And as our dryer vent has one sharp corner, that corner grabbed then snagged then twisted into oblivion three or four of my garments, and turned them over and over and over until it was one big gnarly twisted skein of horror.

It took me ten minutes to disentangle the Skein of Horror. My favorite nightgown, one workout tank and two pair of underwear suffered untimely deaths at the hands of my ignorance and one sharp-cornered dryer vent.

(Wait, why is it called a pair of underwear? A pair means two. Is it because panties have two leg holes? I’ll have to investigate this).

Anyway, ignore thunks at your own peril.