I have learned, much to my chagrin, that I'm sometimes empty. And in the world of blogging, that's apparently not a good thing. Not, that is, according to the prolific bloggers who manage to blog every. single. day. And so they do their best to make me feel inadequate, unworthy, and incapable by calling attention to the fact that I'm not always here.
First, I'm not always here because I have other things to do. Things that take priority over blogging. Like what, you ask? Like seeing one of my many health care practitioners. Like going for blood work. Like CT scans and colonoscopies. Going to the drug store to pick up prescriptions and refills of same. Now to all you folks who think not blogging every. single. day. makes me ineligible to have a computer, much less a blog, I hope you feel very, very small for judging me in the face of my health issues.
Second, I also have grandchildren who require, nay, love, Grandma's attention. Since said grands don't live with me, I have to get in my car and drive to where they live so that takes me away from my blog on occasion. And the kids don't judge me for not blogging every. single. day.
Third, and finally, the judgemental bloggers who rave on about those among us who fail miserably at the blogging game, the ones who post every. single. day., are more often than not lacking in ideas for a meaningful post and simply put out reams of drivel, pointless and banal blatherings that neither inform or interest, simply to be able to feel superior to the rest of us.
's okay. In the Archives of Life, when the blogs are lined up, The Critic will write, "She was busy beating The Big C." That, mon ami, trumps yours every. single. day.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Monday, January 11, 2010
HoHum, I'm Going to Bed
In the category of "Who Cares?", NBC is moving Leno back to late night TV. I'm sure this makes a whole lot of people very happy, not to mention NBC affiliates who were unhappy with the primetime Leno show as lead-in to their 11 PM news. Me? I don't care. As for Conan O'Brien (Conan, who?) I don't care even less, or more, or whatever.
What kind of talent does it take to sit behind a desk, ask a pseudo-celebrity a question, not listen to the answer while silently formulating a response/retort/non-sequitur, being not even mildly amusing in the process?
I haven't watched the Tonight Show since Jack Paar left in '62. Well, not completely accurate. I watched one episode of Johnny Carson when my son phoned me from California that he was at the taping and I should watch. I did, but my son was cut before airing. I never forgave Carson for making me miss an hour and a half of good sleep. Before that, I watched Steve Allen, a true Renaissance man, as he hosted the show during my teen years, back in '53ish. He had a wonderful cast of characters and gave them a spot to perform in true variety-show fashion, without interjecting his own personality into their spot(s).
Jack Paar. What can one say about this man that isn't noteworthy? He had a knack for making you come back tomorrow, just to see what he'd got into overnight. He'd make you laugh. He'd make himself cry. He could be serious without being dry. He interviewed Fidel Castro, and engendered controversy. He went to Berlin when The Wall went up, and engendered controversy. He quit the show on-air in a fit of pique over a joke of his being cut. And with the thanks of a grateful insomniac nation, he returned several weeks later without missing a beat.
Opening line on the night of his return? "As I was saying..." Ya gotta laugh.
Jack surrounded himself with a stable of zanies the like of which has not been seen since. Peggy Cass, Dody Goodman, Cliff Arquette in his Charley Weaver persona, raconteur Alexander King, Jonathon Winters, Phyllis Diller, Genevieve, comic/author Jack Douglas, Oscar Levant. People who knew the value of intelligent conversation.
His writers included Dick Cavett, George Carlin and Garry Marshall. People who made it worth sacrificing REM sleep. And every night, he said hello to Mrs. Miller. An elderly fan who arrived every night early enough to be one of the first in line for entry to the auditorium. When it was brought to Jack's attention that she was there every night, he made sure she was never turned away, and by default, she also became one of his "regulars". A lonely soul who had her fifteen minutes, if only because Jack said,"hello".
I suppose the pretenders who followed Paar led up to the generation that thinks texting is civilized discourse. Because after all, why listen to someone else talk when u can b talking urself?
What kind of talent does it take to sit behind a desk, ask a pseudo-celebrity a question, not listen to the answer while silently formulating a response/retort/non-sequitur, being not even mildly amusing in the process?
I haven't watched the Tonight Show since Jack Paar left in '62. Well, not completely accurate. I watched one episode of Johnny Carson when my son phoned me from California that he was at the taping and I should watch. I did, but my son was cut before airing. I never forgave Carson for making me miss an hour and a half of good sleep. Before that, I watched Steve Allen, a true Renaissance man, as he hosted the show during my teen years, back in '53ish. He had a wonderful cast of characters and gave them a spot to perform in true variety-show fashion, without interjecting his own personality into their spot(s).
Jack Paar. What can one say about this man that isn't noteworthy? He had a knack for making you come back tomorrow, just to see what he'd got into overnight. He'd make you laugh. He'd make himself cry. He could be serious without being dry. He interviewed Fidel Castro, and engendered controversy. He went to Berlin when The Wall went up, and engendered controversy. He quit the show on-air in a fit of pique over a joke of his being cut. And with the thanks of a grateful insomniac nation, he returned several weeks later without missing a beat.
Opening line on the night of his return? "As I was saying..." Ya gotta laugh.
Jack surrounded himself with a stable of zanies the like of which has not been seen since. Peggy Cass, Dody Goodman, Cliff Arquette in his Charley Weaver persona, raconteur Alexander King, Jonathon Winters, Phyllis Diller, Genevieve, comic/author Jack Douglas, Oscar Levant. People who knew the value of intelligent conversation.
His writers included Dick Cavett, George Carlin and Garry Marshall. People who made it worth sacrificing REM sleep. And every night, he said hello to Mrs. Miller. An elderly fan who arrived every night early enough to be one of the first in line for entry to the auditorium. When it was brought to Jack's attention that she was there every night, he made sure she was never turned away, and by default, she also became one of his "regulars". A lonely soul who had her fifteen minutes, if only because Jack said,"hello".
I suppose the pretenders who followed Paar led up to the generation that thinks texting is civilized discourse. Because after all, why listen to someone else talk when u can b talking urself?
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Things That Warm Your Cockles...
We've been in this extended cold spell, along with most of North America, for far too long. The thermostat clicks every 10 to 12 minutes, signaling the kicking-on of the furnace, which signals the whirling-dervishing of the gas meter, and I'm going to need a good stiff drink before I open the next gas bill. But this is, after all, northeastern Pennsylvania in January. Can't ask for a heat wave.
Want a temporary warm-up? A cup of cocoa with melted mini-marshmallows floating on the top. Real cocoa, not the powder in a packet kind.
Or cinnamon toast made the way my great-aunt Pru used to make it. Toast the bread, spread liberally with butter and sprinkle with cinnamon-sugar, and a few minutes in the warm oven, (there's an additional warm-up). Slice it in three slender strips and savor. Once again, however briefly, I'm a six-year-old with a cold, and Auntie, childless herself, knew how to comfort her nieces and nephews.
How about this for a warm-up? Chicken noodle soup - not that stuff in the red and white can - but the real thing, simmering on the stove, while a pan of brownies bakes in the oven.
Don't you love the way the windows get all steamy and the drippage runs down the pane when you go on that Geeze-it's-freezin' cooking spree? Sure, you do. Go on that cooking spree, I mean. I can't be the only one.
Maybe you like the way it feels to put on a sweatshirt straight out of the dryer. Or socks.
If you have a fireplace, (I don't), you could toast your tootsies while you snuggle up with the Times' Sunday crossword. Wrapped in a cozy afghan. And maybe nodding off for 20 minutes or so.
Me? I got the warm-up of all time last night. Looked after my two youngest grandchildren for a couple of hours. We played a game, and we had ice cream with chocolate sauce and sprinkles. And then a bubble bath, which is their very favorite thing. As I was putting on my shoes to leave, the eight-year-old hugged me and said, "We're really lucky girls, Grandma. Know why? Because we have you for a Grandma."
If that doesn't warm the cockles of your heart right through February, maybe you better get started on that chicken soup.
Want a temporary warm-up? A cup of cocoa with melted mini-marshmallows floating on the top. Real cocoa, not the powder in a packet kind.
Or cinnamon toast made the way my great-aunt Pru used to make it. Toast the bread, spread liberally with butter and sprinkle with cinnamon-sugar, and a few minutes in the warm oven, (there's an additional warm-up). Slice it in three slender strips and savor. Once again, however briefly, I'm a six-year-old with a cold, and Auntie, childless herself, knew how to comfort her nieces and nephews.
How about this for a warm-up? Chicken noodle soup - not that stuff in the red and white can - but the real thing, simmering on the stove, while a pan of brownies bakes in the oven.
Don't you love the way the windows get all steamy and the drippage runs down the pane when you go on that Geeze-it's-freezin' cooking spree? Sure, you do. Go on that cooking spree, I mean. I can't be the only one.
Maybe you like the way it feels to put on a sweatshirt straight out of the dryer. Or socks.
If you have a fireplace, (I don't), you could toast your tootsies while you snuggle up with the Times' Sunday crossword. Wrapped in a cozy afghan. And maybe nodding off for 20 minutes or so.
Me? I got the warm-up of all time last night. Looked after my two youngest grandchildren for a couple of hours. We played a game, and we had ice cream with chocolate sauce and sprinkles. And then a bubble bath, which is their very favorite thing. As I was putting on my shoes to leave, the eight-year-old hugged me and said, "We're really lucky girls, Grandma. Know why? Because we have you for a Grandma."
If that doesn't warm the cockles of your heart right through February, maybe you better get started on that chicken soup.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
A New Day
Christmas has come and gone, New Year's Eve and Day - come and gone. And I'm still here. Amazing. Last year this time, nobody was optimistic about that.
Last year this time, I was lying in the hospital with blood flowing into my arm. Remember I told you how cold the incoming blood is and how your arm gets really cold and then you need blankets? Yeah, that. This is the anniversary I celebrate today.
A night in the ER best forgotten, but burned into the brain...BP, temp, the usual questions, blood drawn, IV inserted, a digital exam, two bottles of contrast to drink, n/g tube insertion (and thankfully removed!), a CT scan. I'm sure I forgot something. Actually, I forgot a lot of things.
My son, who was with me the whole time, told me some of the incidents that transpired but that I don't remember. I've tried, believe me, until my head hurts, but nothing he told me returns. I'm sure it's because I don't want to remember anything else about that night. Anyway, there was enough horror to come that I do remember.
For the next two weeks, I was treated to ekg's, blood work, 19 IV insertions, (because they kept blowing out due to poor veins), colonoscopy, cancer diagnosis, surgery, echocardiogram, clear liquid diet for almost the entire time, six roommate changes, and an infection in my incision which required re-opening and irrigating and packing. I'm sure I forgot something.
So, celebrate, while it may not seem to be the appropriate description, is what I'm doing today. Because I'm not in the ER, or the general population, or in the OR. Celebrating because I'm home without roommate(s), and eating whatever the hell I want, which does not include Jell-o.
Last year this time, I was lying in the hospital with blood flowing into my arm. Remember I told you how cold the incoming blood is and how your arm gets really cold and then you need blankets? Yeah, that. This is the anniversary I celebrate today.
A night in the ER best forgotten, but burned into the brain...BP, temp, the usual questions, blood drawn, IV inserted, a digital exam, two bottles of contrast to drink, n/g tube insertion (and thankfully removed!), a CT scan. I'm sure I forgot something. Actually, I forgot a lot of things.
My son, who was with me the whole time, told me some of the incidents that transpired but that I don't remember. I've tried, believe me, until my head hurts, but nothing he told me returns. I'm sure it's because I don't want to remember anything else about that night. Anyway, there was enough horror to come that I do remember.
For the next two weeks, I was treated to ekg's, blood work, 19 IV insertions, (because they kept blowing out due to poor veins), colonoscopy, cancer diagnosis, surgery, echocardiogram, clear liquid diet for almost the entire time, six roommate changes, and an infection in my incision which required re-opening and irrigating and packing. I'm sure I forgot something.
So, celebrate, while it may not seem to be the appropriate description, is what I'm doing today. Because I'm not in the ER, or the general population, or in the OR. Celebrating because I'm home without roommate(s), and eating whatever the hell I want, which does not include Jell-o.
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