For all the times

For all the times my mama said, I do know what it means, but you need to look it up.

For all the times my mama said, you’re not getting an airbrush t-shirt or no, you may not have a weird haircut, or black is too growny for you,

For the million and twelve times she said run through it again and drop the “uhs” and “ums”,

For the trillions of times she said stand up straight, nobody likes a slouchy short person,

For all the times she said well, you’re old enough to be aware of the consequences of your actions; don’t be late for supper,

For all the hundreds of thousands of times she made practice tests for me until we both knew I knew it all,

For investigating before marching herself to school and taking names and kicking butts,

For never once pointing out I looked like Billy Carter,

For always saying Susan has prominent teeth rather than Susan has buck teeth,

For never asking me why if I needed money,

For bringing home my baby brother, who became my best friend,

For taking in strays, people and animals, and looking after them,

For always telling me you can do better, Susan,

For being hilariously dry.

For pushing good subject/verb agreement like it was her job,

And for that one time she said, oh, dry up, kid, it’s not even one of the important ones,

Happy mother’s day to my mama, the inimitable Miss Jan.

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Ye gods.

I have obligated myself to go to Young Harris tomorrow for dedication of the new circulation desk.

About a bajillion people I haven’t seen in thirty years will be there.

I normally wouldn’t do this sort of thing because I don’t want to hold in my stomach for that long, but I figure I might as well before I’m too old to drive at night.

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Zaxby’s, take down those ads.

I sent a note to Zaxby’s this afternoon because I cannot give them money as long as they are running the Duck Dynasty ad campaign.

A representative from Zaxby’s just called me and asked me (and I am not making this up), “What is up with this?”

As much as I did not want to repeat the vile things Phil Robertson said at a prayer breakfast, I read them to the woman on the phone.

Then I sat there and waited.

She exhaled (like in the book, I guess) and said, “well, that’s disgusting.”

I agreed that it was and said “I cannot give my money to a company that supports hate speech, and that’s not even all of it.”

I asked that the campaign be shut down immediately and that all remaining merchandise be destroyed.

I also made it a point to tell her that I patronize a particular Zaxby’s and that I love them: they are efficient and friendly and it’s always beautifully clean in there.

I am now going to make it my mission to pester them until whoever is in charge acts. I have already sent them an email, spoken with them on the phone, and reached out to them via Facebook. I will be tweeting and encouraging others to do so.

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Common Courtesy

On the Big Bang Theory, Sheldon and Leonard have The Roommate Agreement.

One of the rules is The Manners Rule, in which Sheldon states:

At least once a day, I ask how you are, even though I simply don’t care.

There’s a lot to be said for just asking, just as a matter of course, and looking interested in the answer to the question, even if the answer is longer than, “Fine, thanks. You?”

It’s free to ask, and it’s free to listen and it greases the wheels of society a little bit.

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Scary truth


This is what I think my dog thinks she looks like.
Which is to say “not unlike me.”


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Notes in the Mail

There’s a lot of debate these days about whether you have to write thank you notes, and of course you don’t have to write them. You don’t have to do anything, really, except eventually die. You don’t even have to pay taxes if you can stay under the radar well enough.

There’s also the question of condolences. What are modern people supposed to do? It’s hard to know what to say, let alone what to commit to paper, so what should you do?

What do you do? Do you still send notes in the mail, of any sort? If you get notes, do you toss them in the trash, or do you hang on to them?

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Weather or not.

We’re all talking about it but nobody’s doing anything about it.

It’s freezing cold and then it’s hotter than the hammered-down hinges of Hell.

Schools here were closed for snow last week, but it turned out they were just closed for rain.

I kept buying coffee for the  weather, just in case, but I kept drinking it, so I guess it’s just as well I didn’t get snowed in.

A special gift from Old Man Winter is the dry air, leading to the inevitable eczema flare up, which this year is on the side of my right foot. It’s flaking off in dime-sized patches and I should leave it alone, but I am not that person.

I am, however, the person who is nearly finished making a sweater and might skip around the block when it’s done.

And I am the person who has to turn off the computer at 10, because of Lent.

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