Susan's Scribblings the Blog

A writer from the Philadelphia area shares the week online.
Susan's Scribblings the Blog
  • Who the Heck is Kayewer?
    • Yule Blog 2025

      Posted at 3:11 pm by kayewer, on December 20, 2025

      The holidays of 2025 have descended upon us again. By “the holidays,” I mean Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, and New Year’s. And those are just the most commonly known ones. December 21 is Winter Solstice or Yule, the shortest day of the year. There is also Boxing Day (referring to the donation receptacle for the poor found at churches, not pugilism), and a little-known celebration on December 26 called Zarathosht Diso which commemorates the death of a prophet worshipped by the Zoroastrians for over 4000 years. Followers trek to temples or spend time in reflection and readings.

      For the second year in a row, I decided to make limoncello. Those of you who tuned in a few weeks ago know how the initial prep went on Thanksgiving. Since then my hacked-up finger has healed, and the infusion is now ready for simple syrup and distribution into jars to give to excited consumers who enjoyed my first batch.

      I still plan the usual beef for Christmas dinner and pork for New Year’s, though my beef this year will be a decent brand of hamburger as the eye roast prices are seriously over budget. A trip to “Ack-a-me” brought out the “Ack!” response upon seeing the price per pound. Albertson’s is having a bad year.

      As to other holiday traditions, I and others will tune into a Turner network at some point between Christmas Eve and late Christmas Day to watch Ralphie shoot his eye out with a Red Rider air rifle (A Christmas Story), and folks in Sweden will watch Donald Duck (or “Kalle Anka”) and the legacy Disney ensemble in a traditional holiday broadcast promptly at 3:00 PM on Christmas Eve. Also I will be bingeing a few episodes of my newest diversion on Passionflix, The Black Dagger Brotherhood. And for those rolling their eyes, there appears to be nothing about channel owner Tosca Musk’s character that screams negativity, so I’m checking out the broadcast story before reading the books and supporting the performers.

      The mall parking lots are the fullest they’ve been all year, a testament to the return of holiday shopping madness, so I have not set foot in any mall since before Thanksgiving. Also, the stomach virus has infiltrated nearby towns to our west, and so I’m trying to stay more than a lightyear away from anything or anybody from which I could pick up that gastrointestinal terror from the microscopic world of germs.

      Next week will be a recap of 2025 and a look ahead. One must have something to look forward to, and a major event is our 250th anniversary as a nation, flaws and all.

      Be safe, don’t overspend, and don’t forget to watch something holiday themed on television.

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      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged christmas, family, holiday, holidays, life
    • You Can Keep Your Nakatomi Tower

      Posted at 6:10 pm by kayewer, on December 13, 2025

      This past week I have seen a few social media references to the 1988 film Die Hard being a holiday movie most popular around Christmas. The film is set around the holidays and has thus become action aficionados’ best present to themselves on television during the year-end broadcasting festivities.

      Not to be outdone, another post appeared in my feed about something I had not realized before: that December 11 is considered “Psycho Day” in the quaint city of Phoenix, Arizona. The mayor at the time, Thelda Williams, made the date official in 2018, and people are now asking if Alfred Hitchcock’s classic thriller is also considered a holiday film.

      The city of Phoenix was the backdrop for the movie’s action, which opens with a timeline of Friday, December 11 at 2:43 PM. Phoenix was decorated for Christmas in several shots featuring actress Janet Leigh and the cast before her doomed character of Marion Crane sets off to meet a ghastly fate (no spoilers here: not every human being reading this has seen the movie).

      The film itself began principal photography on November 11, 1959, meaning the cast and crew were rolling film just before Christmas. Janet Leigh herself has said in quotes that she spent seven days filming her crucial scene in a small bathroom set. Hitchcock himself oversaw everything and kept only a limited crew on hand for the most vital roles. What a Christmas present to get out of there.

      Also, December 11 did fall on Friday during filming in 1959. I know, because I looked it up.

      So, when deep diving into such a subject, the question becomes whether it matters.

      For me, this movie serves a few distinctive purposes. I was a newborn when the filming began (I probably wasn’t out of the hospital yet, as they kept new moms there for a few days back then) and didn’t see it until over a decade after it was released in theatres in 1960. My first viewing was on 1970s evening television. I was probably too young for a PG movie with that type of content (it was rated M for mature audiences at first release). It was quite a shocker, and I consigned it to my “one and done” viewing list of classics (up there with less than a handful of films such as Saving Private Ryan). I still followed up over the years and know a lot about it, but I probably will not view it again in my lifetime.

      When a film has elements of the holidays in them, is it a holiday film? My opinion is this: if you like to watch movies with holiday references in them during the holidays, it’s fine. It may not be Christmas classic material, but even a scary movie can contain elements of the season.

      Phoenix residents capitalize on the tourism aspect of the movie’s success, because quite a few of the landmarks in the scenic parts of the movie’s establishing shots are still present in town, particularly the Westward Ho tower which appears prominently, along with a half dozen other historic buildings still standing. Not to mention Arizona’s natural beauty surrounding the city.

      In Phoenix the film first screened on August 11, 1960, at a theater which is apparently still in business as well. People nationwide allegedly fainted at screenings, and film students are regularly given Hitchcock’s classic canon to examine in detail and see what makes it hold up.

      In this case, Psycho is still relevant after 65 years. The movie has earned a position of historic significance and is preserved in the National Film Registry. It has outlived its characters, its director, and appears on cable at least once on classic networks such as TCM around Halloween time mostly, but not at Christmas. It’s no more a true holiday movie than any of the Harry Potter films are, even when Hogwarts is decked out with trees and floating candles. No matter.

      And speaking of Harry Potter/Die Hard actor Alan Rickman, I’m not sure if Mr. Rickman’s plummet off Nakatomi Tower or Maltin Balsam’s detective Arbogast’s fate on the Bates house’s staircase was more exciting or gruesome, but whichever you watch on your TV, enjoy. It’s all good during the holidays.

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      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged alfred-hitchcock, christmas, film, horror, movies, phoenix-az
    • Getting Across

      Posted at 3:40 pm by kayewer, on December 6, 2025

      Some people would say that we are dealing with generations of humans who, to put it politely, may have been released from the education system prematurely. From the content of some of the daily head-scratching news snippets and so-called entertainment we’ve seen lately, those opinions may be right.

      Case in point. As I was on my way to prepare this very post. I was a few cars back in a left turn lane and waiting for the light to change. A pedestrian stepped off the curb, wove between the vehicles stopped in traffic and continued to their destination of a bodega on the opposing corner. The white-lined crosswalk, where drivers expect to see pedestrians in motion, was steps away.

      Did this person call in sick from kindergarten for a full year and miss out on this basic life-saving rule? When one steps into the designated crosswalk, the drivers waiting to proceed are ready to acknowledge their presence, and the walker lessens the risk of an unexpected injury by a considerable margin.

      Many a time I have groaned in parking lots when people returning to their vehicles meander through the zones between the herringbones of parked conveyances, even ignoring those who must stop or slow to a crawl behind them. The drivers aren’t capable of parking between two lines or spacing themselves just shy of the barrier in front, leaving their expensive rides with butts or front bumpers protruding for a foot or more or at an impossible angle for others to navigate.

      One only needs to troll social media to find hilarious and, sometimes, headache-inducing examples of people who either never got the memo or decided it was wise to rebel against convention. For every news article I see about which my first question is, “What were they thinking,” I want to sit them down and actually find out. I want to get a handwritten story about them and why they did what they did, so I could better understand why things in this world have degenerated from respectful liberty to thoughtless anarchy. If you can write about it, the act of reading the thoughts of somebody who seems to be thoughtless may offer clues as to the true state of mind in some of these dim bulbs we are finding in life’s chandelier.

      Perhaps, in a twist of fate, this explains why handwriting and penmanship have been discontinued in education. Nothing good can come from graduating students who can’t even spell ransom notes out of cut-out letters from printed media, let alone submit a scrawled note.

      I saw a photo of a clothing article for sale which read, “never been weared,” which lead me to go off on a social media post this past week about folks who say “could of” instead of “could have.” For those of you who have read my past grumblings about grammar, you know I’m on a starvation diet on that hill. And no, I wasn’t interested in the item which had never been worn.

      We enjoy watching videos of people who have no clue at all, such as a popular restaurant humor feed on social media (okay, maybe two) in which people can’t comprehend the menu. One example is the different terms used for identifying the sizes of tomatoes. A customer didn’t want cherry tomatoes on her salad because she was allergic to cherries, blissfully unaware that the term describes the small, round appearance of what is one hundred percent just a tomato. Or the person who mistook Chilean sea bass for fish oddly served with a common meal of sauce and beans (what we call chili).

      The worst restaurant patrons must be visitors to a restaurant specializing in one culture’s food and expecting another’s to be on the menu. I knew somebody who always ordered one food no matter where we were eating, because they figured it was on every menu. The first problem was that they had a reading disability which was never diagnosed or treated. The other issue was one which seems to be a stubborn trait some people refuse to break free from, when the only foods that matter in their world are those to which they have been exposed, so everything else is something they would not like, even if it’s similar to a dish they know. An example includes the person who could not drink anything in the establishment because it wasn’t their accepted cola from between the two main competitors in our country. You know them both. Damn cola wars. They didn’t want something else to drink, either, in an eatery with several beverages and a full bar.

      Attitude and stubbornness contribute greatly to our ignorance, because the fight itself prevents even the inkling of a new idea from appearing for consideration. And so an entire populace deprives themselves of the joys of a whole wide world they could explore within reason.

      Sure our world has advice and precautions. That doesn’t mean your ability to think is restricted, but you may live longer to think harder if you just follow along.

      When I was young, you crossed the street at the crosswalk. The cars knew you were there, you knew everybody was stopped, you had the light, and everything was right with the world. The person who tries to pull an Al Pacino (think Midnight Cowboy) and dodge oncoming traffic often feels that they should be in the right no matter what they are doing, when it isn’t common sense in the first place. If you’re “walking here” instead of “there,” where you’re supposed to, it’s at your own risk, my friend.

      Some things are meant to be in your best interest, even if they feel like impositions, such as crosswalks and learning to create words with your hands, and understanding the basics of dining in a restaurant. The more we need to explain these things which should be common knowledge, the worse off we are as a universe of sentient beings.

      I’m sure more of these indiscretions will appear in the future. For now, I just hope nobody in all dark clothing decides not to cross at the crosswalk.

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      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged news, safety
    • Fingertip of the Day

      Posted at 4:32 pm by kayewer, on November 29, 2025

      I started a new Thanksgiving tradition last year just for fun. When I saw a recipe in the local paper to make limoncello, I thought it would be a perfect distraction project. Since I don’t drink alcohol but maybe once a year (and this is about that time for once), and I had none of the ingredients or tools, I was all in.

      Try new things, they say. It will be fun, they say. And at least it’s not cave exploring or snow skiing.

      Last early November, I popped into the local food market and Target to buy the things I would need for the first part of the preparation. I bought organic lemons, my container and jars, then went to the liquor store (all in the same strip mall) for vodka. The general opinion of my inner circle is that Tito’s is the drink of choice, so I got a big bottle and, on Thanksgiving Day, I set to work.

      First, the lemons needed to be peeled to incorporate the yellow outsides with the vodka for the flavor infusion. My vegetable peeler didn’t quite meet the task, though it had peeled potatoes under my mother’s skills for decades, so I ended up using a grater. Once the peels (more like grains) of lemon and booze were in a container, I got to watch them for three weeks while they mingled and produced a yellow concoction not unlike Mountain Dew(R).

      Once the infusion part was done, I needed to incorporate simple syrup to taste. My problem was that I had no taste by which to judge what I was making, never having actually consumed limoncello. When unsure, go with your gut, I always say. A few additions of sweet water and tasting later, I had a half dozen jars of liquid joy. They went over a treat.

      This year, I had a new vegetable peeler for the task, but forgot about getting organic lemons to make the prep faster. I had bought non-organic seedless lemons, and needed to wash them in hot water to remove the wax coating. It wasn’t a bad chore, and I enjoyed watching the plumes of wax drifting in the sink water’s eddies while I worked. It added a few minutes to the prep, but we were on schedule, and the turkey would be going into the oven at the appointed hour.

      When it came time to peel, my new device started out going through those lemon rinds like a knife through butter.

      Until that butter was my fingertip in the way.

      A moment of stinging pain, and suddenly my index finger was a leak in the dam, dripping happily like it was auditioning for a slasher movie. Direct pressure stung like heck and did nothing. I had to abandon the project for a bit and sit down with my arm above my head to slow the pulsing flow of my dark red DNA infused lifeforce from exiting my body like those movie patrons fleeing The Blob.

      After seriously considering a visit to urgent care for what amounted to a pinprick wound–what a way to spend Thanksgiving–the deluge subsided, and I was able to securely bandage the spot with waterproof tape and bandages and get safely back to the project, minus one vital finger.

      As I’m typing, the finger isn’t tender, nor has the skin color altered in any alarming way, but I do have one heck of a bandage job on there to help me when I had to work yesterday (no Black Friday off for me), and so far I’ve been able to do everything in spite of the inconvenience of that thick layer of first aid.

      The limoncello is percolating at room temperature in the kitchen, soon to become my second annual homemade gift of intoxicating wonder.

      And I can honestly say I put blood* into it, if not sweat and tears.

      *(Due to my annoyingly calm nature, I was able to avoid spilling bodily fluids anywhere near the food, and I aimed my flowing finger immediately at the kitchen sink.)

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      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged baking, food, recipe, recipes, travel
    • Working for Peanuts

      Posted at 9:41 pm by kayewer, on November 22, 2025

      I saw an article this week about something trivial yet interesting (as many of the peculiar and mundane subjects are in such time-wasting videos). The subject was a legacy treat called the circus peanut. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this concoction, it’s a marshmallow in the shape of a peanut, though with a flat surface, unusual colors such as orange, and a distinct banana flavor. Sometimes they’re found colored yellow or pink, but orange is the prevalent color for these treats, which have been around since the 19th century.

      The video mentioned the decline in the candy’s popularity, and it speculated that people are put off by something that does not meet pre-conceived expectations. In other words, our minds are programmed to expect something shaped like a peanut to, first of all, be the color of a peanut and, more importantly, taste like one. Instead, we get something orange tasting like a banana, which of course is yellow.

      Or is it?

      There are other colors to bananas, but the yellow varieties are what we expect to see and, therefore, the varieties tinted red, brown, or even purple or black, are not widely cultivated for sale in our produce sections.

      So, are we being lied to with an orange banana-flavored marshmallow with what appears to be a poorly thought-out moniker? No, not really. A peanut is a peanut. It’s a hard-shelled legume with the seeds (you read correctly) inside the shell, and they are (as we expect them to be) fed to circus elephants. However, some folks are allergic to peanuts, and some people have no teeth, and kids like candy, not nuts. The manufacturer of the circus peanut provided a sweet snack with a flavor many people like, in a texture pleasant to the tastebuds.

      And here is something else to be said for the circus peanut: somebody at General Mills placed a circus peanut on a cutting board and chopped it into little pieces to add to some Cheerios cereal, thus creating what we now know as Lucky Charms (TM), back in 1964. And everybody knows the best part of any cereal with marshmallows in it certainly isn’t the crunchy grains. We save the horseshoe-shaped bits for last and, even if they are a bit stale, we love them just the same.

      The article shed an unnecessarily negative light on an old snack which is still a presence in candy aisles, in the same neighborhood as those paper strips of button candy, Necco(TM) wafers and licorice whips. They’re nostalgic, quirky, and overall, not a bad little diversion from all the cultural concoctions we devour regularly that are even worse for our health.

      And yes, I’m sure elephants would eat them.

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      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged bananas, circus-peanuts, food, marshmallow
    • Cornered

      Posted at 4:28 pm by kayewer, on November 15, 2025

      I went to an event in Pittsburgh, PA today, which means that this Jersey girl drove across the entire commonwealth and back, which takes a little over nine hours round trip. Having done this excursion before, I got smart and took a hotel room overnight instead of spending an entire day driving to and from. By the time I navigated traffic in the infamous Philadelphia concrete car-choking freeway that is known as the “Sure Kill Expressway,” I was famished and tired. I did what any red-blooded average person does; I stopped at McDonald’s to pick up “linner.” That’s a word for when you get late lunch or early dinner, to the uninitiated, just like brunch is breakfast/lunch.

      The chicken wraps are a popular choice, and they still had a third spicy buffalo version available, so I bought one of each. When I got the bag home, each wrap was lovingly bundled like a baby with a sticker on the corner of the paper to prevent unravelling. The buffalo wrap was even given special treatment because it had no wrapper of its own, so the order slip was attached to it to identify it from the other two.

      This is where it got interesting. And forgive me for being such a detail-oriented persnickety person.

      The other two wraps were done the exact same way; same rolling technique, same sticker. Two cleanly executed handfuls of my not having to cook. When I unwrapped the first, however, I realized that the wrapper itself was designed to identify the two varieties of chicken wrap: Spicy or Ranch. The Spicy wrap has red labelling in the corner, and Ranch has blue, across from each other on the same paper wrapper. The trick is that the person doing the wrapping has to remember to put the hot item into the opposite corner of what it is, placing the Ranch wrap in the Spicy corner and vice versa, so that when it is rolled and closed with the sticker, the identity of the type of wrap is clearly marked on the outside.

      Both of mine were identified as Spicy. Inside one, though, was the Ranch I ordered.

      Who knew chicken wraps could have an identity crisis?

      As I bit into my Ranch wrap which identified as Spicy, I pondered the absurdity of the issue, wishing at the same time that whoever was cranking out the chicken wraps would actually experience an epiphany and figure out how the paper was supposed to be applied. I don’t know if this is just me or just them, but either the person wasn’t trained, or they didn’t realize that this was the key to something small but important in how to identify similar items. If three people ordered different wraps, the buffalo order was easy to spot, but the others needed to be unwrapped to figure out which was which.

      Anyway, the wraps were wonderful, the fries tasty as always, and the grumbling in my tummy has subsided.

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      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged food, life, restaurants, travel
    • Next Available

      Posted at 4:32 pm by kayewer, on November 8, 2025

      People generally do not like to wait in line, yet many of our in-person experiences mandate doing just that. Banks and airports supply quaint rope mazes to make the queue orderly, and theme parks go out of their way to make the wait for an attraction tolerable by winding visitors through well-decorated scenic stand-and-shuffle routes. With the emergence of other checkout methods, we may not have eliminated the lines, but we have given ourselves a choice of what kind of line in which we wish to wait.

      Some places have cashiers and self-checkout, yet the lines at both can be just as dense. The DIY culture doesn’t make the process any faster, because even if the method of purchasing your things has been established, sometimes the procedure is changed from the last time you visited. For folks who like to set their minds on autopilot and go through the motions (click here, click there, answer yes, answer no), one little alteration in the order of checkout on the part of the programmers of these machines can mean the difference between getting change in coins and rounding up by contributing to a charity (or worse, missing your chance to use your cash back bonus).

      I recently visited a department store which I had not been to for several months. I needed to restock on some things (as in clothing in which to be seen in public), and when I stepped inside I found that an entire section of one department had been removed and replaced with a checkout zone the size of the men’s toiletry section. In one corner was the entrance to the customer line or queue, and along its outer wall opposite the cashiers, whose backs were facing it, was a newfangled self-checkout section of three kiosks. By each station was a stack of handled paper bags (no plastic bags in my state), a touchscreen terminal, and a slot for inserting clothes hangers.

      The queue was already at the entrance of the “cattle chute,” so I decided to take my chances with handling the new self checkout experience myself. Nobody around me was brave enough to make the attempt, so I also burdened myself with setting a good example.

      The process started off simply enough; discard a hanger, scan the barcode, place the item in the bagging area. Which was actually the counter. However, when it came time to pay, no instructions appeared. It took me a minute or so to realize that I had to touch the screen for the department store’s credit card or somebody else’s card (no cash) before the POS terminal would bother to read my card and take my future income away. Imagine that: a terminal that doesn’t register a swipe. At least I know I wasn’t double charged, though if I had, there did not appear to be somebody watching over the terminals to help if there was a problem. This is not only self-checkout, but fix it yourself or go back to college math class.

      I walked away with a bagful of supplies and a receipt. As I continued to shop, I noticed that not every place in the store had gone this new route, but some familiar checkout desks were conspicuously missing, replaced by the three cashier and three kiosk garden of retail delights near the exit.

      After leaving the store, I felt a mixture of nostalgia for the old days and a sense of relief that I didn’t have a meltdown while buying my own things. I don’t even know if all the stores in the chain have the new technology, but as I left the kiosk I did notice that another shopper bravely stepped up to give it a try.

      She had stood in the middle of the bustle, without even getting in a line. Imagine that.

      This may be the start of something better, though introducing it just before the holiday crunch may be premature, I will probably return for more shopping.

      And I’ll know what I’m doing. Spending the same money without the “have a nice day” unless I want to wait in line for it.

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      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged self-checkout, shopping, writing
    • Mo-Vember

      Posted at 3:17 pm by kayewer, on November 1, 2025

      There are only 61 days left in the year, now that we’re on the first day of November. These are the crazy times when the day after Halloween begins a frenzy of food, shopping, travel and other insanity until we start a new year. This is the month for more of everything. More food, more frivolity, until somebody’s waistline or energy timer says “no mo.”

      Writers–of which I hope to be counted as one–may have started off the day at midnight holding an unofficial version of the event once called NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), which as an entity went dark earlier this year. The staff were forced to shut the whole operation down, and it suffered an unexpected death at the hands of a variety of evildoers, including criminals trolling the official website for potential underage victims, causing a scandal. Also, they were done in by a business model system lacking in a complete and helpful path of guidance to help the uninitiated navigate the process while protecting the brand from disaster. If you check out YouTube, you will see a video explaining much of what happened to NaNoWriMo; a cautionary tale and warning to others excited about the prospect of becoming a highly visited presence on the Web. Learn to crawl and everything-proof your surroundings before you walk.

      But back to getting November off to a rousing start. Writers are coming up with creative alternative ways to make the month count for something. Heck, I’m doing that myself right now by writing this post. I may not get to 1600 words, but this is a month I am hoping to make more progress on my quartet of novels, of which I am in the draft phase of book two and have some foundations up for books three and four. I have a critique group which is putting up with reading my drafts, because I am writing dark fiction. My critiquers don’t normally read it. Some specialties fare better when read by folks who share enthusiasm for the genre, but they gamely offer the feedback they can, and I love them for it.

      My other projects for the month of November include shifting the household around and putting things back where they belong. After a year of decluttering and maintenance which was overdue, I have rooms filled with stuff from other rooms. Once I shift it all around, I will have my space back, and some old spaces will have their original purpose back.

      Finally, I plan to pick up my crochet hook this month. I ordered an advent calendar filled with crochet delights for 24 days, and I have supplies of yarn enough to open a shop, but instead I will craft some wonderful things just in time for the holidays and year-end.

      My fridge has some ingredients for tomorrow’s Sunday dinner, and my turkey for Thanksgiving is already occupying a space in the freezer. I’ll just need the mashed potatoes and dessert. Holiday shopping is finished (go ahead and hate me). That gives me some room for taking a deep breath and preparing for whatever comes next. The next word, the next project, or the next trip up flights of steps for restoring order to a home filled with chaotic mismatched items.

      If it isn’t writing month, it’s shifting month. And it’s only 30 days long.

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      Posted in Commentary | 0 Comments | Tagged Books, creative-writing, NaNoWriMo, november, writing
    • Dead In Plain Sight

      Posted at 8:31 pm by kayewer, on October 25, 2025

      There is nothing more disturbing than learning that somebody has died, and nobody noticed. The stories are out there, such as the woman who lived alone and frequently traveled, but apparently died of natural causes in her car in the garage and nobody found her for six years. Her bills were automatically paid from her bank account, and kind neighbors kept her lawn mown. When her account ran dry and notices went unanswered, the bank foreclosed on the house and sent somebody to repair a leaky roof before announcing its sale, which was when the discovery was made of her mummified remains.

      In Croatia, a woman named Hedviga Golik died alone in her home. The difference? She wasn’t found for 42 years.

      A nurse in her 40s from Zagreb, who lived in a quiet apartment, Hedviga made a cup of tea one day in 1966, sat down in her chair and passed away. Her bills were paid by the building architect, who had set up a perpetual fund which continued after he had died. Lights stayed on in the apartment, but nobody questioned it and some people assumed she may have moved out.

      The building underwent renovation in 2008, and that was when the work crew made an authorized break-in to the unit and found a gruesome living space frozen in time. Everything was preserved from that fateful day in 1966, including Hedviga, whose body had dried in the climate-controlled space.

      I discovered that occasionally missing persons are found in submerged vehicles years after they disappeared. Logic dictates that we should patrol nearby waterways or cliffs to see if somebody met with disaster, and not to wait until a bizarre event leads to something that should have been discovered in the beginning. For example, a person using Google Maps saw a satellite image of a vehicle under water in a lake, leading to closure for a family missing a loved one. We now have drones which can do it instantly.

      It’s one thing to live in a population in which everybody minds their own business, but another when we ignore what should be our business. Lives are lost in isolation and misery because we don’t pay attention to a child being mistreated, a woman being domestically terrorized, or even a dog or cat being left out in the cold to starve or suffer under nature’s elements. Times like this should compel us to leave MYOB to where it belongs–in other situations–and step up to make people know that they are not confined to the shadows.

      I have walked the empty halls of senior housing apartments with nobody to be seen, residents or visitors. My feed brings up stories of dive crews showing a license plate taken off a vehicle under water to waiting family on the shore. Articles about people whose lives ended after years of horror at the hands of another make me cry. When stories of such poor souls come to my social media feed, I feel for these people. The missing and ignored matter, as we all do.

      Nobody should have an obituary reading that they died alone and not one person cared. Even the most despicable, notorious prisoners serving life sentences receive public notice of their death. We cry when we read that a child has been lost to violence. We can rebalance these incidents with more attention to what is around us, and put an end to those mysterious apartments where the lights never go out for 42 years.

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    • That’s Salad a Salad

      Posted at 3:05 pm by kayewer, on October 18, 2025

      Food shopping for one can be complicated. Heck, shopping for certain numbers of diners can be complicated. A family of five can have two hotdogs apiece, but does a single person want to have one hotdog a day? Or two hotdogs a day and one spare? And what about those rolls?

      Occasionally I purchase single serve heat and eat meals for myself, prepared by the store, and they work a treat. The advantages include portion control and a balanced serving of everything you need nutritionally. The downside is the cost, which can often be more than either frozen dinners or what you would pay buying larger quantities of all the fresh ingredients and breaking them down into daily meals.

      For example, a multi-pack of chicken breasts can cost a few dollars a day when you sort them into one per freezer bag and break them out when you need them. Even if you have an entire can or more than the serving size of frozen vegetables, you’re still ahead money-wise and are eating healthier by having seconds on the veggies rather than the protein.

      So for around $11-$13 each, I can have a nutritious dinner instead of drive-thru fat and sodium.

      This past weekend I found a new selection of salads at my local grocer for $9.99 each. They were presented right next to those prepared dinners I usually purchase, and so I bought one of each and tried them over three days, just to see what effect eating more Mediterranean would do for me.

      The results were promising.

      I discovered some new taste sensations, including kimchi, which I mentioned last week in my Korean lunch post. One of the salads included the zingy cabbage, harissa, farro and couscous. Another had thin-sliced beef, and the third included salmon. The dressings were tasty, the proteins flavorful, and the greens fresh and crunchy. What remained was to see the aftereffects, if any, and whether I would still feel hungry after going so light on my meals.

      The first positive thing I noticed was sleep. I went through more stages of sleep and even had dreams, which have eluded me lately. I was able to go back to sleep more easily, too. There were no digestive issues, and I wasn’t craving a bag of chips, nor did I supplement the dinner with dessert.

      This is something worth investing some time in, and I think I will spend a few weeks exploring this idea to see where it leads me. I may lose weight or gain energy. Maybe not, but trying something new opens doors and allows the spirit to get out of the mundane state of apathy. That’s something we could all use.

      This week I plan to get a few more salads and mix them in with my regular and prepared dishes. The cost per meal may go up slightly, but the advantages to my overall wellbeing may be worth it.

      Don’t tell my friends at the drive-thru.

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    • Korean Chow

      Posted at 3:22 pm by kayewer, on October 11, 2025

      Sometimes my social media feed presents interesting content which I didn’t ask for. Recently I began getting videos of what Korean office workers eat for lunch.

      I haven’t had a lunch in a workplace cafeteria since March 2020 when our building shut down and we began working from home. Our cafeteria was accommodating and offered great choices, and I have the late middle aged girth to prove it. Our staff would conduct barbeques outside the cafeteria for special occasions and grill chicken, burgers and hotdogs, while inside we would have actual dinner fare for lunch. This probably stemmed from the amount of time most people would be stuck in traffic going home in the evenings, to prevent them having dinner at 8:00 at night.

      Apparently Korean office staff are fed by their company at no or little expense to the employees. That’s a plus. The lunch privilege is often part of hiring contracts and something they are proud of, especially when costs are making it harder to meet such expenses.

      The videos I have seen show somebody picking up a multi-compartment tray of nearly a dozen indented shapes and approaching a rice cooker filled with the day’s selection, often multi-grain or even purple rice which one self serves with a paddle resting nearby in a bowl of water. Next often comes kimchi (fermented cabbage and/or radish) or a variant. Next would come bulgogi, which is marinated meat thin-sliced and cooked on the grill or stir-fried. Vegetables are plentiful and may include a variety of leaves, shoots or salad greens; in fact, I have yet to see a clip without a healthy green salad accompanied by a ladle of pastel dressing of some kind.

      Proteins can be squid rings, fish cakes, chicken or even pork. They all looked beautifully presented and came in fork-sized servings, though the only tools the person in the video used were a long-handled metal spoon and chopsticks. Everything is apparently washed, and with the exception of drinks, there is little to no paper waste.

      One food item that piqued my curiosity was acorn jelly or dotorimuk, which is as you would expect from a savory gelatin; acorn starch is dissolved in water, with salt added, solidified and served in blocks with an optional dipping sauce. It’s supposed to have a simple, nutty flavor.

      Another popular selection is stew or jjigae (gee-gay), cold soups, and spicy broths with the option to add ramen style noodles and heat over an individual hot plate. The tray filled up with what we might consider an extended flight of samplers but actually serve as a way to eat a little of everything and receive the nutritional values of each without going overboard.

      The beverages were often small (think five ounce sized) and consisted of teas infused with peach or another fruit. No ice. Not a lot to eat or drink, but apparently just enough for lunch.

      The obesity rate in South Korea is at a third of the population, especially for men and older adults, which seems odd considering the healthy fare I saw in the videos. There was nothing I would not be willing to try were I to find myself in a Seoul office building at lunchtime. Even an anchovy dish looked worthwhile.

      The selection of lunch line videos has been inviting, especially when the OP has submitted so many of them that I won’t see a duplicate for some time. And when I am not drooling over kimchi, I can watch a rug cleaner, a sheep shearer, or a cow farrier relieving a bovine of nails in their hooves. Or watch more Universal visitors get insulted by Megatron.

      What do they think of me in that social media algorithm mindset? I may never know. But keep feeding me.

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    • Redux

      Posted at 8:17 pm by kayewer, on October 4, 2025

      Life is truly a realm of transitions. From the moment of birth, we begin evolving and growing, and as we become sentient, we also make choices and decisions and change them constantly. Occasionally we cling desperately to some ideals and concepts at considerable cost to our sense of self. The changes we make alter the course of our lives from one time to another.

      In my decades of life, I have found a unique niche in writing which has been both a joy and torture. When an elementary teacher first took an interest in my assignment preparation technique, and later when I was sent to an advance creative writing workshop at the high school, the faculty treated me as if I were a burden by having any type of talent. It became clear that I was expected to not succeed, possibly in favor of other students with more desirable, but unspoken, traits.

      It’s wonderful for the ego to have those who are supposed to be shaping your character break it down by shoving metaphorical bamboo shards under your emotional fingernails.

      Occasionally my writing has brought positive responses and rewards, but on others I have lost privileges and my feelings of worth. At present I have had some tests of resolve which I cannot ignore. My current project is a series of novels which are being critiqued, and it’s been a harrowing journey. While I sort out the particulars of my project and try to keep the rest of my personal life in order, my blog may be shorter or more sporadic, though I will strive toward the former to keep my promise of consistency for you, my devoted readers.

      All of the publicity in our world says that a life should be well-lived, and the key is to not leave anybody out of that opportunity, and I include myself in that concept. For all the negativity, isolation, bullying, ignorance and cruelty I have experienced, the balance of positivity, companionship, kindness, knowledge, and empathy have put too much stress on the wrong side of the scale. My health has suffered, and I have felt banned from an essential part of what makes our country great: the pursuit of happiness.

      The process of reinvention can be difficult, but trial and error must eventually lead to success, and that is what I will be striving for in the weeks to come. I hope you will continue to follow my journey with me.

      After all, the year isn’t over yet; it’s only week 40 of 52. Anything is possible in twelve weeks.

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    • And Nobody Died

      Posted at 3:12 pm by kayewer, on September 27, 2025

      The city of Camden, New Jersey, just reported that they experienced their first summer free of homicides in fifty years, and overall crime is at a 55-year low. That is something to be proud of.

      My parents lived in Camden for a short time during their early married years, and my mother grew up there in a time when everybody knew everybody else, and you would just as soon see a child bringing home a pack of cigarettes (and exact change) from the corner store as a grownup bringing an open pitcher of beer home to have with dinner.

      Camden is recognized nationwide for its reputation as a center of blight, poverty and crime. The city is situated across the Delaware River from Philadelphia, PA. Residents of New Jersey in other parts of the county can easily distinguish the difference in location by the major highway running between Camden and the rest of the suburbs; on one side are quaint homes, and on the other are abandoned or security gated businesses. The main street running through the heart of Camden becomes more depressing the further West one travels its length. The cemetery where poet Walt Whitman is buried is next to a hospital and abandoned convent, then the journey’s scenery morphs into row homes of varying degrees of repair and rubbish, where the neighborhood has become home to a mixture of the low-to-moderate income and the malcontent attempting to survive.

      Originally Camden was similar to neighborhoods in New York, serving as a melting pot of immigrants and thriving middle-class candidates starting to take root in the opportunities offered by shipbuilding, RCA Victor, and Campbell Soup, which built its headquarters there. Originally a Quaker community, residents in the early 20th century traveled between other parts of New Jersey and Philadelphia with thriving job markets. The decline of industrialization caused people to move away, and new populations moved in with no means of livelihood, leading to an increase in urban decay and crime.

      The state university, Rutgers, grew its Camden campus into a huge compound much different from when I spent a few years attending evening classes. They now have dorms and athletic fields. The Benjamin Franklin Bridge’s lights illuminate a thriving college community, and some of the torn shells of abandoned homes were razed. A high security prison nearby which operated from 1985 until 2009, was also closed down, flattened and given over to open space and a small children’s playground.

      The county formed a police force, and some new businesses (particularly a massive expanded hospital complex near the waterfront) have brought renewal to the area, and crime has gone down by seventy percent or more in some instances. Only seven homicides have been reported in Camden in 2025, and with three months of the year to go, the figures appear to be promising.

      The poverty rate of over 28% still makes Camden a poor city compared to the 12.4% national poverty average. However, loft apartment living, an aquarium, and new business ventures are appearing regularly, bringing a promising future to the city.

      Just a piece of good news when there has been so much of the other type lately. It’s always comforting to see life come back when it lacks for too long. Here’s to completing 2025 on a positive note.

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    • Cut To The Chase Already

      Posted at 3:24 pm by kayewer, on September 20, 2025

      When I first began posting on this blog, I wanted to be sure I didn’t make my entries feel like interminable cliffhangers. So much on social media prompts viewers to “click for more,” and I don’t want to be one of “those” people who strings readers along without a reasonably timely payoff.

      Here, therefore, are some of the things you may have been lured into by social media like Pennywise trying to grab a child from under the sewer grate, without any suffering involved. Also included are some quick pieces of (what I hope is) sage advice. Nothing wordy. Just the advice parts.

      Pink Himalayan sea salt mixed with lemon juice and water is not a dietary kick starter, and definitely not a substitute for injectables or proper diet and exercise. What it may do is provide hydration similar to Gatorade(R) or other such beverages. Don’t waste your time, and ask your doctor or a dietician.

      There is a diet personality named Dr. Gundry who pooh-poohs the idea of eating oatmeal for breakfast because of lectins, which supposedly affect your gut health. Oats are for horses, he says. Many experts tout oatmeal, particularly the steel cut variety, as having great heart benefits and the ability to control diabetes and cholesterol because of another substance called beta-glucan. If you have digestive issues, ask your healthcare provider for personalized advice on what to have for breakfast, rather than watching a soapbox-standing barker on social media. I have eaten three-minute steel cut oatmeal daily for years, and my lab numbers are just fine.

      The best way to deal with procrastination is to not put off the entire project, but to start on a piece of the project you can handle, and work your way up from there. I managed to declutter with this method.

      Before becoming entrenched in a new series on a streaming service for which you would have to pay, check on social media for people who have already watched it and listen to their opinions. You may decide, as I did, not to get started on a show because it obviously was not what I had hoped it would be.

      I received negative feedback from somebody, and it really hit me hard. I recently found that somebody else had a similar experience with the same person. So it wasn’t just me, and I wish I had asked about it sooner. Not only am I re-committed to what I was going to give up on, but my being ticked off is fueling my rebound. That’s not a bad thing.

      If you need a restraining order, you need to get that person away from you with more than just a piece of paper. Somebody that desperate to cling to you is dangerous. Not convinced? Look up some of the people who are no longer with us because the restrained person simply did in the restrainer. Don’t be another one of them.

      Just because somebody posts an opinion doesn’t mean it’s gospel. Who is the person? What else do they support or detest? Do research before you click the like button.

      If a person provides an opinion you don’t agree with, remember all the opinions they gave that you did agree with, and measure against what you like and don’t like. You may simply chalk it up to being human. Humans are flawed, after all.

      Always look at the sender’s email address, especially when it’s delivered as spam. If the email doesn’t resemble an actual business or entity, it’s probably a scam. If they offer something with a series of steps that seems odd, it’s probably a scam.

      We in the US are subjected to more dangerous food additives than in Europe (including the UK), because we don’t ban as many of these chemicals. Their products may be less brightly colored, but they are certainly healthier. That says something for stores that carry imported versions of products, and they may be worth trying. They are expensive, however.

      When you step outside your front door, the world’s rules govern you. When you are inside your home, your rules govern all who enter. Just remember that they also have the option to not stay.

      I hope some of these snippets will benefit you, because I took considerable time to gather and present them in the simplest way possible to save you time, effort and possibly health problems. You are welcome to submit your own or let me know if any of the advice here has benefitted you.

      Excuse me while I prepare my oatmeal.

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    • Stress Test

      Posted at 3:18 pm by kayewer, on September 13, 2025

      There is a substance called cortisol in our bodies, frequently known as a “fight or flight” hormone we feel when stress is high. Our adrenal glands pump this hormone out in large quantities when we are scared or overstimulated, and if we deal with this type of elevated mood for too long, it can cause health problems. Common issues include abdominal weight gain, poor sleep, irritability, and even a condition known as Cushing’s Syndrome in which the face also gets fat and round, and one gains a hump on the back.

      That doesn’t explain Quasimodo being a hunchback, but he sure experienced a lot of stress as the town victim, subject to their abuse and derision.

      The diet, food and drug industries have been providing lots of verbiage about how to handle cortisol. The diet industry wants us to lower our numbers by eating a certain way, the food industry wants us to eat their products, and the drug industry wants us to regulate everything with their medications.

      I recently journeyed down a rabbit hole filled with factoids and falsities about cortisol. Well-sculpted bodybuilders touted capsaicin pills, while drug salesmen discussed the benefits of ashwagandha in a capsule, and the diet gurus rambled on and on about their health programs to shred pounds.

      At one point I discovered that food companies had once bought out the most popular diet conglomerates. This means that Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig and Slim Fast were overseen by somebody who sells food that might not be good for us. Imagine that. By the way, Slim Fast is now owned by an overseas nutrition company, Weight Watchers shifted away from Nestle’s ownership and is struggling after a bankruptcy filing, and Jenny Craig succumbed in 2023.

      The difficult part of losing weight is not simply eating less or changing our diets, exercising more, injecting or using a chemical in a pill. It’s a combination of factors such as what foods we eat, what is in them, and what our lives are like when we are not seated at a table or counter at a meal.

      The stresses in our lives cannot be denied as contributors to our levels of cortisol and the obesity problem we have in our country. Other countries don’t seem to have the same issues, and their daily lives are much less stressful. Their foods are also much “cleaner,” with many countries banning a huge percentage of the ingredients we still consume in the US daily. I reported before on additives to crops which have been given the green light by regulatory agents here while being shunned elsewhere. Several of the factors in combination can cause problems. The only way to remove the problem is to remove the causes, and that seems impossible in today’s emotional climate.

      With the number of people having moved out of the country and repatriated to other places, it would be interesting to follow up with any obese or high cortisol patients and see how their stress and body masses have changed in five years.

      I’ll bet none of them will look like Quasimodo.

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    • How Does September Know?

      Posted at 3:12 pm by kayewer, on September 6, 2025

      The month of September started on Monday, and suddenly our lives have switched gears into autumn mode as if an activation button had been pressed. Sure we had Labor Day, and I had my hamburgers, but come Tuesday the entire national mindset turned toward football season, the start of school, and pumpkin spice. It’s amazing how the timing is so perfect, and life itself has fallen into place as well.

      School started for my neighborhood on Thursday, so parents only got a fraction of their lives back. Normally school would begin on Tuesday. Sure it’s a jolt back to reality, but it enabled the families to return to routines forgotten in the summer.

      Football season also started on Thursday. The previous season champion Eagles won their first game. Most of the pro season hasn’t gotten started yet, and college football is just ramping up.

      The trees, however, are starting to drop leaves, and a cool tang has entered the air that was not there since April. We experienced the side effects of a major hurricane, and thunderstorms are beginning to appear. The moon is preparing to show off its luster and hide behind eclipses. Corn stalks, pumpkins and chrysanthemums are filling the supermarket store fronts and the hardware store nurseries.

      The pumpkin spice craze began a bit early in August, but fans are enjoying the variety of products laced with the tongue-tickling concoction. I indulged in a pumpkin muffin recently, enjoying its warm feeling on my tastebuds. I swapped my cold summer cereal for hot oatmeal, yet the days and nights still require air conditioning.

      It’s a strange transition, yet it seems to be right on schedule. As we move from sandals to shoes and tank tops to longer sleeves, the calendar has been our perfect timekeeper, as evidenced by the timely change of the weather and our ability to adapt so quickly.

      I guess it’s time for the hot cocoa, too. Excuse me while I check my pantry.

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    • Bone Tired

      Posted at 12:32 pm by kayewer, on August 31, 2025

      I had an unexpected experience yesterday which took up my entire Saturday. My only meal turned out to be breakfast, and I didn’t go to bed until midnight. My body is not achy in the aftermath, but I did some physical labor which was more intense than usual, and the senior bones and muscles responded with the physical equivalent of “What the heck is going on here?”

      I was tasked with clearing out my attic in anticipation of some home improvements. This meant that I would be discarding the pasts of the entire family at once; an accumulated history of every life that was important, including my own.

      The idea that “it might become useful someday,” or “you may lose weight and fit into that outfit again” came from the early Boomer mindset, and the “I bought it and I’m holding onto it” part came from my later-era Boomer attitude. When I realized how much stuff was piled up and sitting untouched for a long time, I realized the job was bigger than me.

      What does one do in a situation like that? Call in the pros.

      I made a consultation appointment with the local clutter experts, expecting them to appear later in the week. Instead, the manager decided to send his two best pros out to my home that very afternoon. All the better, I figured, because I couldn’t adopt a hoarder attitude that would prevent most of the sentimental stuff from leaving the premises.

      This is still an issue with the last of the possessive Boomer era; that everything you own has a purpose when it enters your life and may find an afterlife if it comes back into fashion.

      It never occurs.

      When the pros came with their truck and began pulling out boxes of stuff, I realized that my decision was the right one. The boxes held things that were long past usefulness, including my childhood toys and board games which were missing a piece when they became boarders for us hoarders. They all received their eviction notices. My “keep” pile is small, and my “I’ll check with somebody” pile equally insignificant.

      I asked to look at things as they came out, so I could review what was there and find anything that needed retrieval, and there was practically none. A few photos and old papers needing review, a load of old craft supplies, and a few collectibles (including my beloved comics) stayed behind, but in the end my attic filled up two trucks full and a part of a third.

      The pros had also not eaten anything, so we spent our Saturday starving and hauling stuff. We may have lost pounds in sweat.

      The expense was worth every penny, because my home is now in the state it was in–at least attic-wise–when my parents first saw it back in the 1960s. The only object in the attic was a trunk from the previous owner, a widow who had passed recently, and the next of kin put the home on the market immediately (so much so, in fact, that it had not been staged; a pair of shoes awaited its owners at the empty bedside).

      So part of my holiday weekend resulted in upheaval, expense and exhaustion, but I’m content. I’m ready to prepare my home for the next big project. The better it looks, the more free I feel of that Boomer mindset. Hanging onto the past can be a bit overrated.

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    • Porch-side Predicament

      Posted at 3:33 pm by kayewer, on August 23, 2025

      The logo is an extension of a handwritten signature and often is as recognizable as a human face. Back in 1366, the beer manufacturer Stella Artois first created a logo to identify their product, and you can still see that reference on the herald appearing on their labels today.

      A variety of products and services depend on the public’s identification with their logos. Countless products–many with a century or more of existence–are associated with their creator rather than with what the actual product may be (think of adhesive bandages and soda, and Band-Aid(R) or Coke(R) may come to mind first), and the logo is immediately recognized even without its name.

      Societal changes in taste and perception have caused some products to alter their names or logos. Recently the seasoning Mrs. Dash removed the marriage moniker from its products in 2020, so they are now simply known as Dash*. Rice is no longer packaged with the happy face of Uncle Ben; he is simply called the “originator” of the concept and has no visual depiction. Aunt Jemima has also vanished in favor of the product creator’s name, Pearl Milling Company.

      This past week, the restaurant chain Cracker Barrel(R) redesigned its logo. Originally the trademark depicted a pinto bean with the name in its center; a flourish in the “K” lined the inside of the bean. Beside it, a graphic of a working-class gentleman clad in overalls, seated next to a barrel with his arm perched atop it. A type of barrel was used in early times to store and transport crackers, which is the origin of the chain’s name. The innocuous character is said to be the brainchild of founder Dan Evins, who wanted the logo to depict a welcome front porch atmosphere similar to old-fashioned gathering places such as family restaurants, where gossip flowed freely with the portions of gravy on your hot meal. He placed his locations, starting in 1963, on highways as rest stops when food might not otherwise be easy to come by, and he included country stores selling basic wares (along with souvenirs, toys and candy and fuel for a time). The porches are standard at all locations, along with rocking chairs. Inside, diners would find a fireplace in winter months. This is about as cozy as a logo could describe with just a man seated by a barrel. It was welcoming.

      The new logo is simple, sporting just the name and no pinto bean shape, barrel, or that friendly fellow.

      The outcry was instant, with stock value for the company dropping 100 million dollars. Seems nobody welcomes plain logos. Or is it that this switch is being perceived as a form of white cancel culture (if one can cancel Uncle Ben, they can cancel Mr. Cracker Barrel in turn)? Whatever the reason, the “modernization” of logos does not make a product or service any newer, nor does it bring in new patrons. In fact, some social media posts indicate they will not set foot in the restaurant again until the old logo is brought back.

      This may be an experiment gone wrong, as the shift in who eats out changes with the departure of Boomers and older Generation X, who are now in their dawning senior years. The upcoming population doesn’t seem impressed by chain dining and the predictability of menus and atmosphere, so an old-fashioned country family restaurant may not suit them.

      Not that Millennials haven’t heard of overalls or front porches. Just that they don’t seem to use them. Whatever may happen, this trend may continue or stop depending on long-term results of patronage. I have not been to a Cracker Barrel in some time, so perhaps it’s an opportunity to have myself a mighty helping of gravy next to a warm fireplace.

      *(Dash is trademarked for its seasonings, but the word itself is not as it is a general term applied to various other products.)

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    • My Public Service Announcement

      Posted at 3:03 pm by kayewer, on August 16, 2025

      The day after Labor Day will be here before you know it. It’s the most chaotic day in the calendar before the rest of the holidays appear, but you can control the chaos if you think and plan ahead.

      Back to School fashions are already in the stores and online. If you or your kids are consistently clueless about what will be in style when school starts, try limiting your initial purchases to some basics. That way you always have simple back-ups and money left to buy what they really need to wear to be cool this school year.

      There is nothing more frustrating than to find that the car that sat in your driveway while you were away for two weeks in downtown sunny vacation resort won’t start on the day after Labor Day when you need it. The number of available service facilities will not suddenly increase to accommodate all of the stranded motorists who will suddenly need help, so to avoid a lengthy wait for whomever you will use for roadside assistance, go over a checklist with your sleepy car now. Is the battery three years old or older? When was your last scheduled maintenance? How old are the tires? Did somebody help themselves to your catalytic converter while you were away? Good things to know now before something goes wrong. And if you find yourself cat converter-less, I feel for you. The world really needs one that’s not worth stealing.

      Buy and freeze your cookout foods now, and thaw them in time for your event. Save the rolls and bread for the late week before Labor Day, not the weekend of, when you may find them sold out. Ketchup doesn’t need refrigeration. Neither do most mustards if kept in cool conditions to prevent deterioration. Believe it or not, butter can be kept in a closed container in your kitchen so it’s always soft for spreading.

      The first week back from summer can be stressful, but don’t keep your stress relief items within the reach of the wrong people. Secure your prescription medications (including gummies and other “greenery” from the dispensary), and keep alcohol away from children. If you enjoy firing ranges or hunting, take care with your gear and make sure what you fire and what is fired are separate (as in chambers are empty and the box to refill is elsewhere).

      As an older woman, I have learned that September can be anything from cold and dry to hot and wet, so I break out a transitional wardrobe the last week of August, which includes a cardigan, longer sleeved shirts and comfortable non-sandal shoes.

      For those going back to work, before getting back into your routine, try one or two of your grocer’s prepared meals for one or two as backups in your fridge. They tend to cost upwards of ten dollars a person, but they can be popped into the microwave for 2-3 minutes and save you from the drudgery of preparing from scratch when your first days back have you physically spent. And it beats resigning yourself to peanut butter sandwiches.

      Hope these tips and tools will be helpful as we prepare to bid farewell to the summer of 2025.

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    • Appreciation For the Pen

      Posted at 3:04 pm by kayewer, on August 9, 2025

      We humans spend more time with keyboards than with handwriting implements. Our society has forgone what was once considered a measure of one’s character for what requires little effort. Keyboards can be used by anybody who can hunt and peck at the buttons (those little horizontal raised lines at the bottom of the F and J keys even clue in a user as to where “home row” is for those who have taken typing, itself nearly a dead art). If you could peck, you could produce.

      I took semesters of typing in high school on what was then state of the art equipment: the IBM Selectric typewriter, a metal behemoth perfectly designed for the classroom. It was too heavy to move, and the only loose part was the interchangeable type font ball, which was a miracle of evolution. One could type in Arial or Times New Roman with just a click of an inset black lever and a snap to remove one font and install the other. Our hands flew across the keyboard at the speed of sixty words per minute (that was an A with no errors). A few years later, I tested at ninety words per minute. What a joy.

      My handwriting was a neglected part of my education, but when I sat myself down one afternoon and devised my own unique penmanship method, I was happy to write anything out by hand, but it’s an art going out of favor with the dying Boomer generation, of which I have the distinction of being on the latter end of its run. Writing checks is disappearing, card shops are struggling, and newspapers may soon be replaced by digital only editions. Back in my work commuting days, you could enjoy watching fellow riders filling out crosswords and puzzles in pencil. Or ink. With a pen. Today’s online games are “play as long as you can until you lose,” though I still enjoy Sudoku, Connections and Wordle online.

      People are in such a hurry today that they can’t take a few minutes to actually craft something with their hands and some requisite patience. Before our offices shut down, live interviews were still the norm, and I’ll never forget the first time we encountered an applicant who had never developed a handwritten signature for himself. Imagine that: in the olden days the illiterate would at least mark an “X” on a document, but this person never gave his own name a unique look with a pen.

      My maternal great-grandfather, according to my mother’s story, had an elaborate autograph; he would begin his first name, swirl the ink to the end of his last name and back again to fill in the rest. It likely resembled how our founding fathers signed our first national documents. Quill pens are out of style, of course, but those beautiful letters flourished with elaborate dips and trails are an art today’s youth cannot understand or appreciate.

      Why do I bring this up?

      Today in the mail, among the demands for charitable donations and meaningless junk, I received a small envelope with my name and address handwritten on the front. I had received similar ones for events in which I had no interest, but I opened it to find, to my delight, that it was an actual thank you note.

      Now, this friend who sent the note, and I, see each other every week. We have a regular date during which we eat food we shouldn’t and enjoy each other’s company while watching movies or programs and sharing conversation. She took the time to write out a note because I had attended her surprise milestone birthday party a few weeks ago. I brought a gift I knew she would like, and it was a fun afternoon. She could have just thanked me on that day and been done with it, but we’re both late Boomers, so she kept the tradition alive by actually sending a card to thank me.

      She not only thanked me for the gift, but for being her friend. In her handwriting that she developed for herself in her growth as a person.

      That is what is dying when we don’t do things that require handwriting; not just the act itself, but the human qualities that go with it. Saying please and thank you, and making it tangible. In ink. And it cost a stamp.

      Try doing that in Times New Roman.

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    • Fulfilling Month

      Posted at 3:32 pm by kayewer, on August 2, 2025

      Of all the months in the year, August seems to be the one with the most mixed messages to offer in the course of its 31 days. There are no official federal holidays in August in the US, which means no possible three-day weekends or breaks in the workweek. It’s the last month in the period measuring two thirds through the calendar year. It’s named for the emperor Augustus, who conquered Egypt during this time period, formerly known as Sextilis (the sixth month in the Roman calendar, until Julius Caesar invented the Julian calendar and mixed things up in 46 BC); the new name was bestowed in 8 BC.

      Schools begin preparations for the year, with colleges intaking freshmen and others starting early for the upcoming elementary and high school students. This means that some vacations end before Labor Day. However, no vacation is complete without celebratory foods, and August has quite a list of them, including Family Meals Month. Dippin’ Dots are an interesting item on the monthly roster, which includes catfish, goat cheese, peaches, panini and sandwiches. And yes, the two are recognized separately, even though one is a form of the other.

      Remember, I said it’s a mixed message month. And the food keeps coming.

      Today, the first Saturday in August, is Mead Day, when folks should consider brews of all kinds. Tomorrow, the first Sunday, is Friendship Day. This means you should be careful not to be hung over and grumpy after overindulging on Mead Day. If, by some misfortune, you do something while grumpy from too much libation, it’s also International Forgiveness Day, which gives you the chance to nab the person you’ve wronged on the way out of Sunday services. If it doesn’t work out, find a new friend, perhaps.

      The first Tuesday in the US is National Night Out, when people are supposed to spend some time post-sundown sitting outside and being visible to one’s neighbors. Unfortunately homebuilding has not included front porches in new construction, unless you’re in the South where it’s expected or even somewhat understood to be mandatory. Don’t forget bug spray.

      Then, if you missed out on Mead Day, the first Friday is an excuse to make up for it, on International Beer Day. Just be careful not to freak out if you see somebody in greasepaint and a colorful costume, because the first seven days in August include the observance of International Clown Week. Seems appropriate more than a mixed message, though, considering the behaviors of some folks when they’ve had a sip too much recently.

      August 13 and 14 celebrate filet mignon and Creamsicles, respectively. August 15 celebrates Lemon Meringue Pie Day, followed by days devoted to rum (16) and vanilla custard (17), potatoes (19), peaches (which get their own day and month) along with pecan tortes for some reason, on the same day (22). If you want to live a 600 lb. life, follow up with these lauded foods on their respective August dates: waffles (24), banana splits and whiskey sours (25), bananas by themselves along with a day for the baked custard pots de creme (27), cherry turnovers (28),chop suey (29), and trail mix (31).

      Save room for a sip of water afterward.

      August may be the best month to undertake a new habit (or break an old one), start or finish a project you’ve neglected all year, or simply prepare for the last four months to come barreling toward us before you know it. That’s what August really is; the clubhouse turn in the year’s race. Try to make the most of it.

      And have a banana split.

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    • Call It a Disease

      Posted at 9:22 pm by kayewer, on July 26, 2025

      I don’t know how many people have noticed this, but in the past few decades, we have learned the names of countless medical conditions by virtue of online, broadcast and print media. As a little girl growing up in the last half of the 20th Century, I wasn’t bombarded with terms such as tardive dyskinesia, peyronie’s disease, ADHD, wet macular degeneration, thyroid eye disease or rheumatoid arthritis. Advertisements on commercials use pleasant scenes of folks supposedly cured or persons with such ailments whose symptoms are under control, all the while bringing up the side effects and warnings that come with treatment (often headache, diarrhea or abdominal pain). Some even set their ads to happy musical tunes, such as a popular clip about “lowering my A1C” with a diabetic medication.

      One of the biggest causes of common conditions among Americans today is obesity. An estimated 41.9% of adults are considered in an unhealthy overweight condition, according to a Forbes Health article with data gathered by the CDC. Being overweight places stress on the body and leads to other conditions such as bone and joint problems, diabetes, kidney and heart disease, and a shortened lifespan.

      However, obesity has not been classified as an actual disease. It is treated instead as a human frailty which brings on unwanted results, similar to drinking or using tobacco. However, people must eat, and it seems that the foods we are consuming in the US are more processed than ever before, likely because the more unreal ingredients there are in the foods, the more profits can be made for those endowed with golden parachute incentives.

      In the past I’ve brought up the discovery of chlormequat, a chemical introduced into wheat and oat plants to make the sheafs stand up taller for the machinery to cut it better; American cereal companies are allowed to import grains from other places where the chemical is used, though it’s banned in food products here. It has been found to have potential side effects because it interacts with human cells, and rats have experienced health issues when tested.

      Sugar, both natural and artificial, seems to be our common enemy, yet it is being sneaked into our food because it makes things taste better. Supposedly. The truth is that sugar can act as a “feel good” dopamine trigger and encourage overindulging in what is not good for us. That last bag of chips you opened and finished in an hour is one such example, and the ketchup and salad dressing you generously heaped onto your salad plate are two more. Check the ingredient panel, and don’t be surprised to find sugar there. The rule is: the closer to the beginning of the ingredient list sugar appears, the more of it there is in the serving.

      But back to obesity being called a disease. Our forefathers and ancestors were not all perfectly sized, either. Ben Franklin has been portrayed as somewhat broad in the body, and ancient figures such as Bacchus have been cartooned as rotund overeaters. Older woman have often been prone to becoming more pillowy in the middle as they age, but the problem has been trickling down to much younger persons, and from all types of backgrounds.

      The argument that obesity does not warrant aggressive treatment with medications or surgery unless other conditions such as diabetes are present, is cheating patients out of a chance to regain their best physical selves. The sympathetic side of the argument indicates that often obese people are not at fault for their condition, but have become subject to their ancestry, genetics, environment, and a medical community that doesn’t seem equipped to care much about the problem. Follow any severely obese person in the media, and you may see somebody who orders a lot of takeout or prefers chips over carrots, but there is also the financial side of things. Some people are not within ten miles of a simple supermarket with affordable produce and healthier choices; their closest food source may be at best a takeout joint or bodega, and at worst the nearest quick mart.

      Vegetables are too often consigned to landfills instead of being made available to people who could cook and serve them at the dinner table. We waste an estimated 60 million tons of food each year, according to the FDA, about 325 pounds of unused food per person.

      There is a cause and solution to the problem of obesity. Starting by classifying it as a disease may start treatments for people who need help, but pinpointing the cause of the surge in fat in America is another one our medical community may be loath to explore. It’s better to sing about the treatments than to not need a songwriter in the first place.

      Excuse me while I have my tea. Black, no sugar.

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    • An Affair to Forget

      Posted at 8:31 pm by kayewer, on July 19, 2025

      Excuse my jumping on a temporarily popular bandwagon, but a meme which has appeared within the past few days has much to be unpacked beyond the obvious. That’s part of what I do here.

      The incident in question involves a corporate CEO and another employee in a high-ranking position, namely Andy Byron, the head of a tech company called Astronomer, and the company’s Human Resources officer named Kristin Cabot. During a concert by the band Coldplay in Massachusetts, the couple were picked up by camera crews looking to share the audience’s experiences on the Gillette Stadium’s huge (22,000 square feet) jumbotron screen. It’s their job to find happy pairs enjoying what the stadium is offering, whether it’s a New England Patriots game or Chris Martin singing up a storm in live performance.

      It appears that Byron has been married for an estimated decade (exact figures were sketchy at this time) to Megan Kerrigan Byron, who has since taken her married name off her social media tag and left Instagram. Not a good sign. As for Ms. Cabot, married to Andrew of Privateer Rum (a distillery founded some 200-years ago), she and her spouse of about two years are rumored to have bought a house five months ago.

      The depth of the pair’s relationship is still speculative, but one can only guess at how long these supposedly dedicated spouses were picking up spare change romantic feels with their respective sidepieces (excuse the terminology). This didn’t just happen overnight.

      The fact that these two planned the concert outing, lied to their spouses about where they would be, went there and publicly showed affection indicates they did not feel there would be consequences. At least not until a camera technician trained their equipment on them in a clutch under the assumption that they were a typical pair of Coldplay fans.

      The results were a disaster. Fortunately it doesn’t appear that the concert was a multi-person event. The Astronomer company has said that no other employees were around the pair when the footage appeared, though a woman to their right seemed equally embarrassed to have been caught on camera. Perhaps she called out sick that afternoon from wherever she worked. The company placed Byron on leave while an investigation began (Cabot’s status was not revealed).

      In a work environment in which corporate compliance, along with the requirements that come with it, stress professionalism and decorum in all work and interpersonal relationships, this may well be a terminal knell for Byron at the very least, and Cabot may well follow. Of what value would enforcement of accountability be if both parties were not held to task for what they did?

      The most recent piece of news is that Byron has resigned his position.

      The camera zoomed in on the pair in a comfortable, forward-facing embrace, with Byron cuddling Cabot until they recognized themselves and broke contact. He ducked out of sight as she turned her reddening face away, and the third person to their right put a hand in front of her temple as if to block out what she suddenly realized was an awkward moment. Chris Martin ad-libbed, “Either they’re having an affair, or they’re just very shy.” Sounds like the former, Chris.

      What happened afterward may set a record to surpass the “wardrobe malfunction” moment for Justin Timberlake and Janet Jackson in terms of visually altered spoof clips featuring every possible odd couple in pop culture being caught embracing the wrong partner. One compared the clip to a scary moment in the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Even one of pro baseball’s mascots, the Philly Phanatic, got in on the trend with a green furry, blond-wigged partner for laughs.

      What the past 72 hours have done, however, is much more than simply offering up an example of humans making horrible mistakes in public. Two marriages will suffer, as will the in-laws and other friends and relatives on both sides. The companies’ staff members will need to handle the fallout from a poor example set by people who are supposed to set a quality example.

      It is never wise to think that a private affair stays that way in public. It was a devastating lesson for two people who should have known better, and a cautionary tale for those who might be considering such an adventure.

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      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged ceo, coldplay, jumbotron, news, reviews
    • Scraping By

      Posted at 3:04 pm by kayewer, on July 12, 2025

      I have been pulling up some old carpeting in a bedroom, and it’s the slowest and most painful task I have ever undertaken. It wouldn’t be such a tough process if the flooring had received more attention in the past, but sometimes a situation makes it impossible to do, and this was the case here. My parents laid the carpet themselves from a large remnant, a long time ago. The carpet itself is a no-pile teal colorway with rubber backing.

      Well, at least in the beginning it had rubber backing. Time disintegrated it into a combination of brittle mats and dust, all of which I will need to pick up. Some of it is stuck to the hardwood floor and needs scraping. This means that the old lady needs to go on hands and knees and deal with the flooring, foot by foot. Along with a sturdy pair of carpet shears, my dustpan and brush, a trash bag and sheer force of will, I have made progress, but age and the summer heat are battling me.

      Also, my parents’ and my old clothes found their way into this room over the years, and now I need to work my way around piles of things which should have been discarded ten diets ago.

      My social media feed is filled with self-help posts posing questions such as “how are clutter and trauma related?” I can tell you; when your family dynamic changes, such as when somebody passes or moves away, all of the things don’t always follow them. Some of the old clothes will fit me now, but I’ve moved on to other garments. This will mean bagging them up and arranging for pick-up to free the space I need to continue handling the carpet. The next phase will involve moving the entire bed to get the carpeting underneath. More scraping and cleaning.

      In the process of bagging the old clothes, the memories of their time decorating my body will come to mind. The years I wore gowns like prairie folk, and those I wore pajamas looking like Katherine Hepburn. The move from polyester to denim, nylon to cotton, bright to muted colors, and size large to. . . .well, you get the picture. And so the trauma continues.

      Decluttering and changing a living space can be a cleansing ritual, but modern décor gurus seem to want us to aim for a minimalist surrounding, with little on the flat surfaces and walls devoid of much identity. I already broke some unwritten rule by buying a tufted headboard for the new queen bed in the room. I like the look and, if I were to be graded, would gladly take the zero. It is neutral in color and offers something soft to sit up in bed upon. What more could one want in a bedroom?

      So my plan for the next phase of cleaning is to place old summer clothes in one bag, and old winter clothes in the other, and make a phone call for a charity to pick up the bags and remove them forever. Somebody should enjoy the items, as the clothes succumbed to outsizing or boredom after years of use, rather than actual wear and tear.

      Which brings to mind another kind of trauma; being told in social media that most donated clothes wind up in a landfill. That’s a guilt trip nobody wants to burden themselves with. I do, however, also have a back-up plan involving a set of bags in which I can donate clothes which are guaranteed to be repurposed instead of going to a cloth mountain in some forsaken back corner of the world, and in return I will earn points for shopping online.

      I promise to not shop for more clothes with those points. I have enough to wear for now, and it’s time to say goodbye to the past.

      After I scrape one more foot of that carpet backing away.

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    • Fly That Flag

      Posted at 3:16 pm by kayewer, on July 5, 2025

      The subject of patriotism has been a bit unpredictable lately in this country. One only needs to check out the news articles about retail boycotts, cancel culture, or even the latest new concept originating from the nation’s capital to see that life as an American is confusing at the best of times.

      I had to give serious thought to what I was doing when considering putting the flag up outside my home. It’s just the standard stars and stripes rendition, though I do have an altered red white and blue version containing supportive messaging which I have not displayed since election day.

      The neighborhood I grew up in is not the type to experience negative expressions of opinion–thank goodness–but we already have a block culture which is subtle yet irascible when violated. One example is trash collection, for which the ritual is begun the evening before with the traditional receptacle parade to the curb. The first person to begin the task is met with subconscious annoyance, because others on the block feel compelled to immediately stop whatever they are doing to set their trash out as well. Anybody who holds their waste without putting it to the curb within a designated time frame is considered, well, trashy. Whether the evening plans to be cold, hot or drenching from rainy acts of God, that trash must be on display overnight or else.

      Naturally, the reverse occurs once the collections are completed, which is unpredictable since we get a trash truck, a recycling truck and possibly a yard waste collection. Whichever comes first, the cans are either placed respectfully back on the curb or unceremoniously slid within close proximity to the property, possibly landing on their sides in the driveways. These, of course, need to be cleared from the front as soon as humanly possible, because those who leave their cans out are also trashy. It’s an unwritten law, and it’s understood.

      It’s also an unwritten law that one should adhere to the current collective feelings of the rest of the block, which is what comes to flag displaying. Those who are away for the holiday are exempt, but the rest of us must judiciously decide what to display while respecting the rest of the residents. We don’t even have an HOA; it’s an unwritten law and understood.

      I decided to put my flag out, because I feel that my country is the sum of the good and bad in it, not just a matter of political climate or financial conditions. The block seemed to mirror my sentiments in the past, so I didn’t have reason to doubt it was a good decision.

      However, I had one issue blocking my successful displaying of the flag. A while ago I had the siding replaced on the house, and with it came new fascia and decorative finishing touches. The installers apparently did not have a lot of experience with flag pole mounts, because they put mine back upside down. This was the time, I figured, to right that wrong. So with trusty screwdriver in hand, I went out and struggled with four rusty Phillips head screws to remove them and the bracket (which itself shows its age with chipping paint, but that’s for me to handle some other time).

      The screws were dreadfully discolored, so I ventured to my late father’s tool haven–untouched for ages since he passed away–and miraculously found four replacement screws with standard screw heads on the first try. It was as if Dad were guiding my hands from beyond. In minutes, with some elbow grease, a different screwdriver and determination, I remounted the bracket in the correct position, and on the Fourth I proudly displayed my flag from the moment I got up until sundown.

      That’s actually a written law, so it’s definitely understood.

      My next task will be to replace the old one with a more sturdy version less likely to succumb to the elements. That will mean unscrewing the bracket again (possibly) to take with me to the hardware store. I have confidence, though, that I can handle this task. And take out trash on schedule.

      Meanwhile, in nearby Philadelphia, the trash pickup is postponed due to a strike, so dumpsters are overflowing with bags of refuse everywhere you turn. On Philly’s most tourism-related holiday. In summer. That is something to cause everybody to react with disdain.

      Perhaps they should keep the trash at home for now. Everybody would understand.

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    • What Price Pleasure

      Posted at 3:26 pm by kayewer, on June 28, 2025

      Before I begin, I must warn you that this content is for adults and may cause extreme negative emotions, as well as some trigger reactions. Reader discretion is advised.

      Women these days often lament the issues associated with being single and unable to find a partner who can be a true human companion. Married women or those supposedly in a committed relationship also offer up commentary about how their significant others misbehave. We, as women, are having a tough time in this age of what we call enlightenment.

      In my lifetime, I have seen men degenerate from treating us like we deserve equality and respect to acting as if we’re despicable lower life forms. I could go on to write a full-blown rant about how the relationship dynamic has changed in a few decades, but I want to focus on one thing: the “O” word.

      That peak of pleasure sought after by any living creature with a hint of hormonal activity in their bodies is, in my opinion, undervalued as a commodity. Male creatures with antlers (such as rutting moose in mating season) have died entangled while jousting over who gets the females. Male praying mantises will seek out a female and lose their head for that opportunity. Really, she will bite his head off and remain conjoined with the corpse afterward, and the males don’t care; instinct overcomes all common sense.

      Of course, we are humankind and should know better.

      I could go the easy route and say that one second of bliss for us humans can set you back over a third of a million dollars; the average cost to raise a child to age 18 is about $375,000 (US), so if sperm are anywhere in the vicinity of their pre-programmed target ovum, that’s the expense you’re talking about for the next two decades. The quest for sexual pleasure has brought down kingdoms, divided nations, and ruined countless lives. All for a few seconds of existential nirvana.

      This past week I was subjected to a social media post from somebody I greatly admire for being a decent man; his name is Robbie Harvey. He has a wife whom he stood by and gave loving support during a cancer battle. He talks about human decency and values, and isn’t afraid to call his fellow men out for being anything from simple jerks to totally inhumane monsters. When a recent article he posted came into my feed, I was just as shocked as he was to watch it (link is at the end of this post).

      I will give you my best slightly enhanced TLDR (too long didn’t read) version.

      A woman delivered a baby by Caesarian section. This is the surgical birth of a baby through the abdominal wall, meaning a doctor cuts through the belly’s many layers and opens the womb to free the infant inside instead of being forced through the birth canal. This is major surgery. Women are expected to recover over many weeks while their abdomen heals. There are still baby activities (feeding, changing) needing to be done while handling breast milk, post-partum depression and all that comes with it, and post surgery comes with the specific warning of no intimacy for the duration of recovery time.

      This woman’s husband wasn’t having it. He “had needs.” She felt compelled by him to disobey the doctor’s orders, and she gave in to her spouse’s demands for sex. She ended up returning to the hospital and having additional emergency surgery, and she want into cardiac arrest during the procedure to repair her ripped-up surgical scars, which were likely pounded open by her husband’s quest for that one second of release.

      So the “big O” can also nearly cost human life, and one can only guess how much that husband cared.

      What have men in these times done to deserve us? What have we done to deserve treatment like this? The man had needs? What about the woman’s needs? I had several viscerally unprintable thoughts about how to nail the point home with that Neanderthal of a husband.

      I don’t blame Robbie Harvey for posting the story, because it brings to light some of the terrible mindsets men have these days. He has done compilations of awful things men have said to women about their looks, or after miscarriage, and brought attention to the cringe-worthy fringe men of our society who don’t seem to have a clue about how to be human. The videos are thought-provoking and worth attention. However, this one haunted me all week. What kind of person is so desperate for that one moment of what amounts to a sexual sneeze, that he would put the life of his child’s mother at risk?

      What we don’t know is whether she has left him. For all the difficulties of single parenthood, I would hope that would be the better choice for her than dealing with that buffoon.

      Yes, it makes me glad I’m single.

      https://www.facebook.com/therobbieharvey/videos/1453233082523841

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    • Thank You For Holding

      Posted at 3:12 pm by kayewer, on June 21, 2025

      There’s a lot of preparation involved in going on vacation. When you travel far from home, you are actually uprooting your life in one place and temporarily setting it up in another place. Your home patiently waits for you while the power sits unused, your water stagnates in the pipes, the devices begin gathering dust on your counters, and the landscaping prays for rain.

      Meanwhile, you are transporting an array of stuff from one place to another so you will be able to live comfortably in a new location for a few days. Some of the stuff is essential, such as your toiletries, clothing, bedding and little Billy’s favorite stuffed animal. Others are short-term items such as bug repellant, suntan supplies, adaptive footwear and games for the kids unrelated to charging a device.

      Hopefully your vacation requires car travel, because heaven knows the luggage fees in airports these days prohibit most of the stuff you would easily pack in the car. As it is, stuffing your vehicle for a vacation trip is what playing Tetris has trained you for. You can cram a week’s worth of stuff into the minimal hatch space in a small SUV and have room to add Billy’s second favorite stuffed animal.

      Then there is the process of putting regular life on hold. In the olden days (about two decades ago), you would put vacation holds on newspaper deliveries and mail. Today the news is offered online, so your main concern is postal deliveries and online packages.

      I had stopped ordering things for delivery in May for my June vacation, hoping I would get everything before I left. It didn’t work. One package took over four weeks to process and deliver (right after I had departed and held the mail), and the second was delayed and ultimately lost in customs partly due to the tariff-related holds, so I received an email before my vacation ended, asking if I wanted a replacement order. Yes, please. At least I will be home to receive it. In July sometime.

      Bills, unfortunately, don’t wait for anybody, so while you’re away on vacation, payments become due while you’re buying souvenirs and eating dinner out. The bill next month is always a groaner. The food bill from eating out on a credit card goes up incrementally to how much vacation weight you gain.

      Weather can also be unpredictable. You could experience a cataclysm at home while your vacation destination is sunny and mild. On the other hand, you could pick a vacation week in which storms occur every day for the whole week. That happened to us once. Yes, we left early and got a refund.

      The decision to go away on vacation doesn’t mean that life is on hold. It’s still the same, just in unfamiliar surroundings. You may vacation in a dry town or one without a 24-hour pharmacy. The kids still want fast food, and vacationers who are used to their own cuisine at home may find a lack of places to shop for familiar edibles. However, you will be exposed to a new kind of local cuisine all around you.

      You’ll encounter “resort pricing” and unfamiliar sales taxes. What passes as “soda” in your town may be “pop” in another. You may have difficulty finding cable channels, or the banks may have unfamiliar origins. To the locals, it’s a part of life, and you’re just passing through it.

      Fortunately for me, I did not vacation far from home, so there was little cultural shock. I did my best to not be a disreputable tourist, shopped local, paid my share of tips and taxes, and left with all my physical and emotional baggage neatly packed in the back of my vehicle.

      And no, I didn’t pack a favorite stuffed animal.

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    • The Real Iron Maiden

      Posted at 4:31 pm by kayewer, on June 14, 2025

      Vaccines have done much to eradicate deadly and crippling diseases from our planet. Whether you are for or against the concept of helping your body recognize and ward off attacking biological threats, it is impossible to deny the living examples of what life was like before immunizations.

      Polio has been considered an eradicated threat thanks to the thriving number of vaccinated people who will never know the disease, but for a time it was the terror of the medical world. Hospitals were filled with people suffering paralysis from polio. Some were rendered unable to breathe on their own and were placed in an assisted breathing device called an iron lung, which is a type of cylindrical full-body pressure system. A person using an iron lung is confined to it, often for life, with only their heads visible as they lie inside the negative pressure device which stimulates inhaling and exhaling in cases of full body paralysis.

      Until recently, three people were still using iron lungs. A man named Paul Alexander was able to live a fulfilling life even as he was mostly confined to one room inside his device. He received a bachelor’s degree and became a lawyer with a “work from home” practice. He was six years old when overtaken by polio, and at nearly 72 years of confinement was considered the longest surviving person using an iron lung. He passed away in March 2024 at the age of 78.

      A woman named Mona Randolph needed the device after contracting polio at age 20 but was able to emerge from it for a while, only to need it again when post-recovery symptoms overtook her years later. She also used CPAP, which is a common method of treating sleep apnea. She died in 2019 at age 82.

      The last known surviving iron lung user is Martha Lillard, who may have contracted polio when exposed at her own birthday party at an amusement park, where she was around throngs of people who may have had the disease and been asymptomatic. She tried alternative products but chose to remain in the device for life, feeling it keeps her healthy. She has beagles and spends time painting and watching classic movies. Now in her 70s, she said in an interview that replacing parts on the device is her biggest concern (insurance does not cover it).

      Once during a blizzard, her power went out and the back-up generator failed. She was unable to reach emergency services for some time until the cell towers produced a signal. Her determination not to give into panic saved her. She remains an example of how far we have come from days when getting sick was more often than not a death sentence. When she leaves this world, a chapter from medical history will be closed, but let’s hope we have learned something from it.

      Afghanistan and Pakistan are the remaining places in which polio is still considered a threat, after Nigeria experienced its last case in 2016. Today most of us have likely not been shown what polio did to victims in the last century and beyond, but rendering the virus extinct will permanently mark the death of the iron lung as well.

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    • In An Instant

      Posted at 3:20 pm by kayewer, on June 7, 2025

      Have you ever had an experience in which you gave an honest answer and it backfired on you? I had that happen this past week. I had to make a change in something which had been running normally for a long time. Once I started the ball rolling on making the change, it turned out that, because I gave honest answers to make the adjustments, I had suddenly gone from having a long-term thing with no problems to having a load of problems which will cost me time and inconvenience.

      Telling the truth shouldn’t suck, and learning the truth about people, and how that truth shapes who we are, shouldn’t either, but it happens more often than not.

      One of my first experiences with this instant 180 effect was watching a movie about a young couple in love; she brought him home to meet the family, which consisted of her mother and monsignor uncle. The evening progressed smoothly and warmly with jovial conversation, until the uncle steered the talk towards church matters to find out more about the religious views of the young man at the dinner table. The fellow, accustomed to being honest, admits politely that he is an atheist who does not believe in God, and the merriment shuts down like a light being turned off. The man leaves in defeat and the young lady left in tears.

      Another famous example is the popular epic film The Ten Commandments, in which Charlton Heston as Moses gives a small speech about what has changed after it is confirmed that his heritage is Hebrew and not Egyptian. He notes that he as a person is no different than before (the same hands as before), and yet who he is suddenly turned his fate much darker.

      One of our most successful modern authors, J.K. Rowling, was (and remains) the biggest worldwide phenomenon, selling books which spun off into movies and theme park attractions and all sorts of promotional joy for millions of followers. Once she gave her opinions on transgender rights, however, her fan base diminished.

      One of the most noted composers, Richard Wagner, wrote beautiful and still well-known compositions such as the Ring cycle and Parsifal. His legacy is less one of outright rejection due to cancel culture, however, and closer to that of what we might strive for in the future: noting the bad and the good in human nature. Wagner was openly not a fan of Jewish people, yet opera patrons can appreciate the fact that he wrote exquisite music. In fact, conductor James Levine thumbed his nose at the composer by commanding his baton, proud to be a Jew, in front of the Metropolitan Opera orchestra through countless Wagner performances. Of course, Levine himself became another infamous cancel culture icon due to a professional scandal, and lost his status at Lincoln Center as a result.

      Since the month of June is one to celebrate pride in who one is, we should strive to be honest about our foibles as well as our successes, and not need to apologize for many of the things for which scores of overly zealous righteous folks reject entire subcultures, minorities or populations. Trying to sort out who to like or dislike should not be relegated to such frivolous things. One might as well divide people into who puts on both socks before both shoes, or who hangs their toilet paper over or under. All of it means essentially nothing in our planetary picture. LGBTQ people pay taxes, go to Starbucks, get tattoos and choose their pizza toppings the same way as everybody else. The most “vanilla” person on the planet may possess one flaw that you might not agree with, and they might find an unpopular flaw in you. Does that truth divide us, or bring us to a better understanding of the subtotals that make up who we are.

      I will need to endure the inconveniences to get back to the way things were. But I don’t regret telling the truth. What has been done is over, and it’s time to move forward. That’s how life is.

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      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged Books, honesty, life, music, opera, pride-month
    • For Dear Life

      Posted at 3:17 pm by kayewer, on May 31, 2025

      I have a microwave I bought in May 2000, so it’s just five years old now. Before that, I never owned one. There just wasn’t room in the kitchen for it, and my family was still clinging to the old religion of “pan or oven” cooking for everything. As the family whittled down with the passage of time, I downsized a few things in the kitchen myself, and finally caved and bought my first microwave, a Hamilton Beach. Middle of the road power at 1200 watts, white with simple buttons. Nothing fancy.

      Once I began using my new microwave, I didn’t realize how helpful it could be. Over the past half decade I have used it nearly every day, starting with heating up oatmeal for breakfast and ending with either preparing steamed vegetables or a fresh entrée.

      Funny thing is, I’ve never done popcorn in my microwave. Imagine that.

      Anyway, the thing began to act up lately, and though the average lifespan of a microwave is supposed to be about ten years, I figured that maybe I had used it to the end of its lifespan. The carousel would make noises when rotating, food didn’t heat evenly, and moisture dripped every time I opened the door. Considering its cost and age, I decided the time had come, so I bought a replacement. It’s similar in wattage and price, and I was able to use credit card points to purchase it. Karma was affirming that I was making the right decision.

      The boxes used to hold appliances are ridiculously oversized and padded with foam cages surrounding the item as if one were transporting a museum piece. Overall the thing weighed some 30-40 pounds, but I got the thing into a cart by myself, then into the car trunk and home. I had a workout to last a fortnight.

      The box is still in the kitchen waiting to be opened, because the old Betsy apparently took one look at what I had done and began pleading for its life by performing better. It’s struggling, though, and in my heart I know it’s time to swap it out and start using the new one.

      I already have all the things I need to keep the new appliance in good shape. My favorite item is Angry Mama, which is a kitschy measuring device for steaming out your oven’s interior with water and vinegar. The gizmo is a three-piece depiction of a house frau with hands on hips and a look of borderline rage on her plastic face. It’s simple to use; pour vinegar and stop at the horizontal fill line on her back, then add water to the second fill line. Replace her flippy wig which serves as the cap, and then let it spin inside for a few minutes, during which time she blows her stack like a Karen and sends hot steam onto the walls to loosen grime so it can be wiped away easily.

      I don’t have actual grime in my microwave. The biggest mess I have is when fish explodes.

      Yes, I microwave salmon about once a week, and it’s a moist fish which can experience mini-explosions while cooking. If I put a cover on the fish, the explosion shoots out the sides. No matter what I try, the fish wins every time, so I have Angry Mama at the ready when it does.

      For a brief time I had an omelet cooker, but it didn’t produce the results I wanted. My only other special gadget for the microwave is the aforementioned plate cover which can’t contain salmon explosions and is apparently the wrong size for my normal sized plate, because it slips off. So much for convenience.

      However, this is a small problem in life, and I intend to start the new month by bringing in the new and removing the old. So in the (slightly altered) words of Horace Slughorn of Harry Potter fame, it’s time to move on. Farewell, old Hamilton Beach 1200-watt microwave, king of the kitchen appliances. Your exterior will rust, but your memory lingers on, and your human will find solace in the loss she has sustained.

      Maybe I’ll get a bag of popcorn to usher in the new appliance. Imagine that.

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    • Plugging In

      Posted at 3:14 pm by kayewer, on May 24, 2025

      Did you know that the electrical outlet was invented 121 years ago? A man named Harvey Hubbell II came up with a way to connect electrical appliances back in 1904. The three-pronged outlet for added safety was a requirement in homes by 1974.

      Now we have USB ports. Any tiny device you may order online or off the rack at the home goods store since they became popular around 1996 probably has a USB connection.

      Just today I needed to charge three different devices using a USB-C port. Each device comes with a warning to only use the charging equipment that comes with it, but I don’t believe there is a person alive who doesn’t use their phone charger for their latest recreational gadget.

      There also isn’t a person alive who hasn’t left the charger at home.

      The advancement of technology over the decades has left many people with junk drawers filled with old electrical cords and funny-looking plugs that don’t seem to match anything. But we never throw them away, because as soon as we do, the device they came with pops up someplace else, and ends up being unusable without something to give it juice.

      The challenge with a USB port is making sure you have prong A in the right direction to place in slot B. It’s shaped like an oval, or it may resemble a flipped pancake with the top tapering toward the bottom. The plug often has horizontal lines on it to help identify which end should be up (particularly helpful for the elderly or vision impaired), though some have the marks on both sides. There is no better way to start your day on a downward slope than to misjudge your USB plug before you’ve had your morning coffee.

      Once you plug in a device, you may see a series of lights letting you know how close to ready your gadget is to use. The origin of this design may be based on the “Christmas Tree” array at the starting line in drag racing, with the growing number of lit dots signaling you are nearly at a full charge. The minute that last light comes on, you’re at the ready to go with your coffee (which, hopefully, has not grown cold).

      The hardest part, as Tom Petty put it, is the waiting, in this case for the device to charge. Sometimes it takes an hour or longer. We willingly conduct our home lives around watching the status of our gizmos as they draw energy from our outlets or power strips.

      In fact, if you have bought a power strip lately, you’ll notice fewer electrical outlets and more USBs. It seems we charge more things than we leave to the regular unending flow of electricity.

      I have one device which still functions on one out of four lights, and I am required to press the power button and check for lights before I use it. There is a sense that all is right with the world when you see that you can still function because your device has one light left on it.

      Our old fogey two- or three-pronged outlets never provided this much amusement. You simply gave a little shove, introducing the prongs to the slots, and that’s all there was to it.

      Today our USB collection includes a few different versions of regular or micro-sized connections, and these are expected to whittle down to fewer recognized versions over the coming years. At least until the next idea comes along.

      Of course, there are electrical charging stations for vehicles now, which would make Mr. Hubbell spin in his grave. On all four charging lights. The dominant edition of this type of plug belongs to Tesla, with other makers looking to use their model. They look more like the old outlets.

      Have we come full circle? No. Just creating new ways for prong A to meet slot B.

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    • Traditions on Tombstones

      Posted at 3:18 pm by kayewer, on May 17, 2025

      With the rapidly aging Boomer generation (pre-1964) and the rise in Generation X and Millennials (a combined population of those born between 1965 and 1996), it seems as if everything that has been built is being discarded in favor of a variety of replacements or none at all.

      I have seen the demise of record stores and phone booths, and media reports say that landline phones and checkbooks will die with me and my fellow Boomers. Stores which have served the nation for a century have closed down; among those I recall are John Wanamaker’s, Strawbridge & Clothier & Clover (the precursor to Target), Woolworth’s, Caldor and A&P.

      My neighborhood has had a local mom-and-pop bakery for 86 years called McMillan’s. Situated in the middle of a main street and busy intersection corner block, with a tight parking lot designed for a handful of cars, six days a week the dedicated members of a fourth generation family prepared the most wonderful treats for grateful patrons.

      The highlight? A cream doughnut bursting on three sides with the most delectable filling and covered with a holiday-like frosting of powdered sugar. The first bite was guaranteed to be a wonderful mess, and one kept a napkin at hand in anticipation of the experience.

      Their cookies, cakes and cinnamon buns were all beautifully gracing the display cases, and disappeared into wax paper bags and boxes to go home to hungry families, with a gold emblem on top identifying it as coming from someplace memorable. At the holidays, they prepared boxes of cookies and bags of springerle. Lines would wait out the front door for pick-ups of cupcakes from old recipes and pies that looked like they came from Grandma’s oven.

      This morning, the lines were around the corner onto the residential block as the staff churned out products to anxious visitors, but for a different reason; the bakery is closing for good tomorrow. The matriarch of the family, Evelyn, who founded the bakery with her husband George, had stipulated that she did not want the name passed to any outsiders, and it was decided by the current owner Arlene (who is the daughter) that the end had finally come.

      A variety of factors probably contributed to the demise of such a popular place, including costs and changing staff dynamics. It isn’t easy to be a baker, with hours similar to the medical profession and unpredictable outcomes in terms of profit instead of lives affected.

      A bakery or two are nearby, and even with a Krispy Kreme close by, McMillan’s donuts withstood any challenge to their greatness. Where now to buy a chocolate bismark, let alone a cream donut, is beyond me. I hope to get to McMillan’s before their doors close forever and get my hands on one more donut and maybe a chocolate cupcake. Lines for the last day of business should begin forming around six in the morning, and they may run out within hours.

      Naturally the idea of replacing old things with new ones is exciting, but when old things die, the memories are bittersweet compared to the sweetness of cream or the zing of lemon glaze. I fear the death of bakeries as a whole is not unthinkable. And that hurts. When Shakespeare said that when people die, good things go with them, no more truthful words were ever said. When Mr. Spock (albeit a fictional television character) said that it is easier to destroy than to create, that declaration took second place.

      I will miss the assurance that my favorite bakery was just minutes away whenever I wanted them; like the movie that was released the year McMillan’s opened, it’s a tradition “gone with the wind.”

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      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged baking, food, mcmillans-bakery
    • Sammy’s Story

      Posted at 3:17 pm by kayewer, on May 10, 2025

      I want to tell you this week about Sammy, a ten-year-old budding astronomer, fishing enthusiast and outdoorsman. As is the case with any child, Sammy went through a mouthful of primary teeth which were quite a sight. He also used glasses.

      The family, including Sammy’s parents and siblings, moved to Indiana from Florida, and Sammy was not warmly welcomed by his fellow students. An article in People alleges that Sammy attempted to bring his teachers’ attention to the bullying he experienced, and was promptly disciplined for being “disruptive.”

      Beatings were ignored. Girls told Sammy he should hang himself. He did. While his family went out to buy ingredients for pancakes for breakfast, rather than face another morning of terror at the hands of people–both kids and adults–who hated him, Sammy left this world. His brother found him when they returned home.

      At his funeral, one of the girls who prompted Sammy to use this very exit option, snapped a photo of his open casket and was seen laughing at the image on her cell phone later. It’s unclear what became of this bully or her photo.

      Who do we hold responsible for these actions? Among people ages 10 to 24, death by their own hands is the leading cause outside of any diseases, according to the American Academy of Pediatrics.

      We grownups frequently wonder how prejudice and hatred continue in our country, and the answer is right here in American classrooms. If the teachers and faculty do nothing, why should children follow any protocol when it comes to acceptance, empathy and compassion?

      I could also tell you the story of Adriana, who died/was proxy killed by the Central Regional School District in New Jersey, or another student named Olivia. Every state has at least one name to atone for. All of these first names have one thing in common: bullying permitted by adults.

      There is a movement to make bullying legislation into law and name it after Sammy. It cannot bring back the countless children who cut their lives short to avoid a school environment where beatings are allowed and trying to point them out is punished, but it can make adults answer for their ignorance.

      Here is Change.org’s link to their petition to make bullying seen and heard so it can be stopped: https://www.change.org/p/tell-congress-to-enact-anti-bullying-legislation-in-honor-of-10-year-old-sammy-teusch/psf/share?source_location=default_membership

      Here is an article link as well: https://people.com/parents-10-year-old-boy-killed-himself-bullied-file-wrongful-death-lawsuit-against-school-district-8763274

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      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged bullying, bullying legislation, bullying suicides, Sammy Teusch
    • Completely Mental

      Posted at 3:18 pm by kayewer, on May 3, 2025

      May is Mental Health Awareness Month. The event has been ongoing since 1949 and was originally started by Mental Health America to promote recognition, compassion, and resources for everybody. This not only helps those with issues affecting their mental health, but provides information for people who may not understand what it entails. Awareness removes some of the stigma surrounding it, leading to a more harmonious world in which everybody can find balance in their lives. President Harry S. Truman signed the National Mental Health Act into law in 1946.

      The official color for Mental Health Awareness is green, symbolizing fresh starts, like the greenery growing all around us during the month of May. Whether you wear a shirt or ribbon, participate in local events or donate to MHA, there are many ways to contribute to bringing mental health into the light and helping learn more about improving the lives of millions who suffer from conditions such as depression, substance abuse or thoughts of injury to themselves.

      The latest rankings by MHA (based on 2022 research) find that Connecticut and New Jersey rank the two lowest in the prevalence of mental illness. Colorado and Oregon are at the bottom of the list, showing the most incidents of adults and youth suffering from issues affecting their mental health. Among adults, those states with the highest rankings, and ten others, were found to have better access to healthcare than the bottom ranking states (including the states in the bottom two, plus Montana and Wyoming).

      Mental health has some roots in biological or hereditary history, but can come from a variety of causes, some of which we still don’t know enough about. Research shows an estimated one in five people may experience mental health issues in a given year. Depression is listed as the leading cause of disability in people ages 15-44. Mental health is one aspect of physical health: when your mind is not what it should be, your body can suffer for it. Often stigma prevents individuals from seeking treatment, even though medications and therapy are as helpful as your nightly statin or NSAID. Fear of being labeled (or mislabeled) prevents too many people from looking for the answers they need to heal.

      The past five years have been tumultuous for everybody, and there is nothing wrong about being stressed by the bombardment of negativity all around us. This is the month to focus on what mental health entails and what we can do to improve our own well-being.

      Here’s hoping you will show your support, compassion, and the knowledge that this post has given you. Excuse me while I break out my green tee shirt.

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      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged anxiety, depression, health, mental-health, mental-health-america, mental-health-awareness-month, mental-illness
    • Transformative

      Posted at 3:58 pm by kayewer, on April 26, 2025

      I have received plenty of self-help posts in my social media feed. One of the most prevalent is the affirmation that some mornings it’s okay to just do nothing. Life can be depressing, especially these days with all the negativity and mental abuse we endure in our new reality.

      Social media and video outlets occasionally provide some comic relief. I recently found something that has gotten me through the past two weeks that I’m willing to share with you.

      I watched as privileged early-admission guests posted content regarding the upcoming opening of a multi-themed extension inside Universal Studios in Orlando, but an ongoing attraction is part of the Transformers franchise. There is an exciting ride with 3D effects, but outside the thrills and chills of the fight between the Autobots and Decepticons is a “meet and greet” with the three key figures: Optimus Prime and Bumblebee (the “good guys”) and the evil Megatron.

      As is the way with most online activity, the minute I began taking a look into the new immersive worlds at the park (including a Universal Monsters theme, Harry Potter, the isle of Berk from How to Train Your Dragon and Nintendo), I began receiving clips of visitors encountering the “bad guy” of the trio, Megatron. Apparently he has been placed into a situation where he must interact with us humans. He uses this inconvenience to his world domination plans to roast those who dare step into the “recruit zone,” which is a photo-ready area with footprint guides for two people and seems to double as a boundary line for Megatron.

      Brave folks approach and enjoy (or suffer) a brief discussion with the master Decepticon, and attendants assist with cell phone photos. Megatron hopes to recruit new soldiers in the war against Optimus Prime, but often he endures a medley of typical human visitors and responds with anything from boredom to commentary barbs and opinions of those willing to take it for a souvenir on their cell phone. One intrepid influencer was given a dressing down by Megatron, who noted that it’s an activity best left to 14-year-old girls, adding she should make some “real memories.”

      Megatron even has a “thud” which comes into play, serving as the mechanical equivalent of a snare drum and cymbal zinger for some of his more spot-on putdowns. The fans waiting in line love it. He can be amicable for young kids and the neurodiverse, but dress-alike families and men in dad gear should be ready to get blasted verbally. Also, if you approach with Optimus or Bumblebee gear on, or you salute him like a willing acolyte and say “All hail, lord Megatron,” you will not be disappointed in how you are treated.

      The key to the experience is a combination of the operator among the visitors and the person responsible for taking in each visitor’s situation and appearance and then providing the vocal responses, which are hilarious and keenly observant.

      So yes I have been given quite a few of these encounters along with tours of everyplace in Universal Orlando I could imagine. Having been to the Hollywood location, I look forward to a time when I can fly down to the warm wonderland that is Florida and exchange some banter with the Transformers trio, including Megatron. If I must.

      *Because I like sharing collections, I am including a video link which you can enjoy (and watch for a local Philly reference for good measure): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lkJK3c25JOA&t=108s

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    • Hooked on a Feeling

      Posted at 3:16 pm by kayewer, on April 19, 2025

      I recently resumed crocheting after a pause of several years. My first true project was a handbag I did using a pattern in one of my mother’s magazines (probably Woman’s Day). It was lined with felt and got dirty quite fast because I was a child in the late 60s, but it was my proud achievement.

      Other projects came along, such as an Easter bunny in white yarn (bleach bottle plastic kept the ears perky), a hat made from a wonderful yarn dyed to look like denim (still have it), and a few side items I attempted to knit. Later efforts included baby blankets which were, to put it lightly, a bit raw in execution but useable.

      A granny square afghan I crocheted for my mother is still at home. It was a late 1990s project I took on to make something to match the upholstery on the couch, and required buying yarn colors from memory. I would do up to two squares a day while riding to and from work on the train, and an occasional third if my lunch permitted. She was thrilled to open the package at Christmas.

      I then took on making half-day throws and managed to make countless ones for coworkers and friends. Then my family dynamic changed, and I didn’t have time for crafting. The “big return home” in 2000 didn’t nudge me to resume either, but now it’s five years later, and an event spurred me to pick up the hooks again.

      I have bins of yarns I had bought during sales from craft stores which went out of business, the latest of which is Joann Fabrics, where I bought some great quantities of yarn for what I anticipate will be a retirement filled with rows of patterns and special effects lovingly hooked with joy by my anxious hands.

      A friend of mine had her own home for some time, which had been a life-long goal for her, so I made her a throw while I was on my biggest creation kick back in the 2000s. When she moved out of the home and into a small apartment, many of her household goods went into storage bins. It turned out that, during a culling of the hoard, the throw accidentally got sent out with other charity bins for pickup. At least I know somebody else will likely be using what I made, but it left my friend without one, and she was rather embarrassed by the incident.

      She went out and did what anybody in such a situation would do. She hit up an estate sale and bought some yarn for a replacement throw. The bag contained several balls of an Italian merino in a purple colorway (a mix of several go-together colors in one), along with some solids which may have come from Michael’s, and a large skein of Red Heart. Only problem was, the main yarn was discontinued years ago, so finding enough for the project was nearly impossible if not extremely expensive. After-market buys on such rare yarns can be pricey. A listing in Etsy or eBay would have gotten me six more balls of the main colorway, along with four of another color I didn’t need, for about $80.

      So I did what anybody in such a situation would do. I got advice from a local yarn shop. They pointed me in the direction of similar types of yarn in complementary colors. I came home with freshly-balled yarn from their establishment, to add to my already yarn shop sized collection.

      Will I get an afghan or throw out of these? I’m not sure. I do know that I have plenty of colors on hand and could easily use any of them for a similar effect. I’ll need to strategize on this one. It’s venturing into a whole new territory of crocheting for me.

      I just hope these old hands can withstand the paces I will be putting them through to crank out these new projects. Wish me luck.

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    • Rated Extraneous

      Posted at 1:54 pm by kayewer, on April 13, 2025

      I just read an article about the movie ratings assigned by the motion picture industry, from the perspective of the ratings’ relevancy in today’s entertainment world.

      The original rating system was introduced in 1968 as a way to inform parents of the suitability of a movie’s contents for young children. Before that, Hollywood was under the watchful eye of the “Hays Code,” which was designed as a type of “Ten Commandments” of forbidden depictions in moviemaking. Among them were nudity (adults and children), swearing/cussing, mixed race relationships, white slavery, sexual hygiene and childbirth, racism and drugs. Oh, and the clergy couldn’t be spoken ill of, either.

      The Motion Picture Association or MPA, (which included “of America” until 2019), created the rating system we now know to make it easier to choose movies for families or adults. The challenges which reshaped the system–one of the most noted being the addition of PG-13 after the release of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom due to some borderline violence touching the PG line in the sand–have tweaked the original four classifications. We now have five ratings (G, PG, PG-13, R and NC-17) and a variety of descriptive text to include mild, fantasy or extreme violence, language, drugs and alcohol and sexual content as means of parental guidance as to what their children may experience during the movie.

      The article points out that, unfortunately, many young people feel that the ratings system is a plot by adults to deprive them of what they conceptualize as a “better” form of entertainment. Young people will purchase a ticket for a PG-13 film, then sneak into the R-rated movie. I know from firsthand experience–not in a theatre, but watching a film on TV not suitable for me at a particular age–that this practice can be mentally damaging. In a rush to grow up, theatres are accidentally releasing rule-breaking teens sporting mental scratches and dents out into the world with a perspective they may not have been ready for, because there isn’t a system in place to make sure they “got what they paid for.”

      This came to light recently when the Terrifier franchise (known for extreme violence) released another movie this past winter and the packed houses were not always filled with age-appropriate paying customers.

      The best solution may be to keep a certain classification of movies on one side of a multiplex, so that youngsters headed in that direction would be immediately obvious. Another may be to set up a ticket scanner at the door to each auditorium which the attendee must swipe in addition to their original admission in the lobby. The door would then open for them to enter the auditorium.

      The classification system is still relevant. Children still need some protections in place to shield them from things they may not be mature enough to witness. This is a job all grown-ups take on when we come of age. It is a responsibility to the future generations and mankind in general to allow children to grow at the pace set for them by natural order, and introduce new concepts when they are ready to receive them. Our society has become so lax and liberal, that youngsters do not seem to be blocked from anything that may harm them; true crime documentary channels are not for four-year-olds. Forget that it’s cable or steaming, and remember that you control the remote.

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      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged Books, film, mental-health, movies, mpa-ratings, parenting
    • A Few Random Thoughts

      Posted at 4:34 pm by kayewer, on April 5, 2025

      After an intense rainstorm, a rainbow flag showed up in my landscaping one morning. I took it to the back yard and placed it in my garden, and a squirrel promptly broke it in half. Does this mean squirrels hate flags or LGBTQ+ people? A few other flags were spotted at other homes, including an Irish flag pinned to a bush. Whoever did this has not come forward.

      At birth and for the rest of our lives, we are given a name which identifies us. The most common way to express names here in the US is with five unique fields: the salutation field (Mr., Mrs., Dr.), the first name field (Jane, John), the middle initial field, the last name field (Jones) and the title field (MD, Jr., Sr., III). You would be amazed to find how many people don’t know how to use those fields effectively when filling out a form. I have seen first and middle names together, titles stuck onto the end of last names; once I found a name in which the person apparently tabbed or backspaced and gave themselves one letter for a last name. People also put in extra spaces after each entry, which becomes part of their name. Take a moment to look at how the information is laid out before starting the process. You can save yourself a lot of trouble.

      In that same vein, addresses are broken down as street, unit number (apartment, condo), then city, state and Zip code (with +4). Amazingly, though Zip +4 has been around since 1983, many folks don’t know what theirs is. Placing it on your personal information with any place sending you mail can make the difference between whether your delivery is sorted correctly or not. The +4 can pinpoint your location to the side of the block you are on, or the floor of your highrise apartment building. It’s easy to look up on the USPS website as well, and worth memorizing.

      While on the road the other day, I saw a tricked-out vehicle which gave me a bit of anxiety. It was a Honda with the upper portion of its tires obscured by bodywork, and the tires themselves were nearly three times the width needed. They were mounted at outward angles somehow, so that only the inner edges of each tire contacted the road. It was a relief to see it turn off the highway. Who wants to share the streets with a vehicle so potentially dangerous? How is that street legal? They must change it to pass inspection.

      Speaking of vehicle inspections, our state motor vehicle registrations no longer come on perforated documents. They must be cut to size with scissors. Does it seem too much to ask for a pop-out card?

      I had put off a task for a while and finally got around to it; synchronizing my phone to the car. Probably the easiest feat on a screen I’ve had the privilege of doing. Now if I can get my Microsoft Office to work as cooperatively as the car’s onscreen instructions. (Follow-up: when I got in my car after posting this, my screen provided an error message that my sync didn’t work, so I take back what I just posted.)

      The local mall just decided to restrict underage visitors from being on the premises without parental supervision, due to some teen fighting recently within the public areas. At least somebody is stressing that children should not be left unattended.

      My newspaper arrived encased in a plastic bag during the rain, yet it was soaking wet inside because the bag had holes in it. Reminded me of a popular meme about people in a swimming pool huddled under an umbrella while a storm passed through. That’s right: they were in the water, wet, and they held a brolly over their heads while in the pool. Defeated the purpose, right? But then so was putting a dry paper in a hole-ridden bag.

      So that was my week of brain-muddling confusion. Maybe next week will be better.

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    • Cause and Effect

      Posted at 8:59 pm by kayewer, on March 29, 2025

      When my primary care doctor recommended I see a foot specialist, I felt no urge to protest. I hadn’t had any major issues with my feet for a long time, so I was likely overdue for a check-up. The appointment was set, I went and met my new best friend who would help my feet carry me into my golden years in good health.

      She examined my tootsies and prescribed a cream to help with dry skin, and I immediately began using it. Over the time I’ve been applying it, my feet have never looked better, and for that I’m grateful.

      However, any time you use something to get rid of one problem, other problems can take their place.

      Anybody who watches prescription drug commercials here in the US and New Zealand (the only two places in the world where they are allowed to air on public TV networks) knows that the most common side effects of most prescriptions are headache, diarrhea, and abdominal pain. Other side effects we often hear about are pain at the site where a medicated injection is given, tiredness, or even thoughts of taking oneself out of the picture permanently (usually grouped under “thoughts or actions,” as if one who is past the ready and aim stage and are ready to “fire” whatever end means they plan to employ are going to interrupt it to think “Gee, it might be that new medication”).

      My side effect is that my feet are so devoid of the protection from that dry skin, that today I managed to kill my heels. My better shoes, used for trips to the theatre and more mature activities which call for leaving the sneakers at home, betrayed me by not only leaving color residue on my nylons, but chafing both heels to the point of blisters. I needed to walk around like that this afternoon, then come home and apply the giant-sized adhesive bandages to my poor aching peds. It will be days before they are healed.

      My heels are healing.

      Which leaves me with an interesting quandary. Do I enjoy soft feet, or do I allow for the protection of calluses? How will my new doctor take the news, I wonder. I certainly don’t want to give up nice shoes, but considering years of the awkward growth of my wide feet (which makes shoes expensive), damage from pointe ballet in my youth and weight gain in old age which can put a burden on those important transport body parts, maybe I need to compromise.

      Fortunately I got enough walking done that I won’t be at a deficit on my weekly step count, but boy are my feet sore. No marathons in my future.

      Oh, and as part of my day’s routine, I picked up two new pairs of shoes.

      And the circle in the life of my feet comes around once again.

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    • Swedish Duck

      Posted at 3:52 pm by kayewer, on March 22, 2025

      Sometimes the best and most enjoyable stories are also the most strange. I recently came across an article about Sweden and their obsession with Donald Duck. The Disney rendition of a sputtering aquatic bird and comic counterpart–wearing no trousers, either–is more popular than Mickey Mouse in that country.

      Maybe it’s because Swedes prefer ducks in pleasant little ponds in any of their thirty national parks, than a mouse in any location. Eek!

      Donald is referred to as Kalle Anka (kallay ahn-kah) in Swedish, Kalle means “free man” or simply “man,” and Anka is the word for duck. So Donald Duck is a man/duck by virtue of his anthropomorphic persona and qualities. Not to be confused with Paul Anka, who sang hits like “Put Your Head on My Shoulder” and “Diana.”

      I wonder if anybody ever called Paul Anka, Paul Duck? If they did, they should’ve ducked to avoid having an object launched at their head. If said object hits the mark, put your head on my shoulder.

      But I’m getting silly. Not sillier, though, than what those wonderful folks over in Scandinavia do every Christmas Eve. At approximately three o’clock, a good half (or more) of Sweden sits in front of their big screen televisions and watches a 1958 Disney special, “From All of Us to All of You,” which we know as a Christmas compilation show hosted by Jiminy Cricket. It contains a popular Donald Duck segment entitled “Clown of the Jungle,” in which our hapless hero is driven bonkers by the antics of an Aracuan (air-a-kwan) bird while on expedition.

      Swedes apparently take this annual tradition seriously for, as one person aptly put it, “you can’t do anything else, because Sweden is closed.” Families will sit quietly and watch the program, occasionally lip-synching favorite lines and laughing, but it’s an event calling for one hundred percent attention to the screen by the entire family. No meals are prepared. Don’t bother calling friends or relatives. Everybody is watching Kalle Anka.

      This sacrosanct special is so entrenched in tradition that the viewers will not tolerate alterations or shortcuts. The show’s longest host, Arne Weise, was required by his viewing public to appear live for the program. He was forbidden to try taping the show to spend Christmas Eve with his family. He tried it. No way, Ar-nay, the viewers said. He had three divorces to show for his troubles. Also, when one time the segment on “Ferdinand” the matador-phobic bull was pulled and replaced with “The Ugly Duckling,” the outcry prevailed and the bull returned to the program at once.

      The new generation of Swedes may allow this tradition to die out, as they do not seem as attached to what could be interpreted as hokey old-school animation. The fact that Swedes first began obtaining televisions in 1959 when the program first aired on their only television network (they gained a second channel in 1969), is part of the charm of this tradition. Now that the country has a page full of networks and choices, there are plenty of other shows to watch. The programming staff are continuing to see a good turnout every December 24 and will continue to air what is affectionately called Kalle Anka for short, until they are told otherwise.

      Now, if I could write in Swedish, I would tell those folks about our annual tradition of watching a movie called A Christmas Story at least once during the holiday (if not continuously) on our Turner broadcast networks. No ducks, mice or bulls, but there are the Bumpuses’ hound dogs. We sit and lip-synch favorite lines and laugh, just like the people in Sweden. It is a small world, indeed.

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      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged christmas traditions, disney, disney specials, donald duck, kalle anka
    • Dingbats and Wombats

      Posted at 3:27 pm by kayewer, on March 15, 2025

      Some people take on a variety of responsibility, or a lack of it, when they decide to become “influencers.” There are countless people boasting that title on social media, and not all of them are anywhere near as popular as our celebrities or politicians.

      For those not in the loop, an influencer is somebody who posts content on public forums in an effort to draw a particular audience and/or steer those viewers toward a particular trend or behavior, or follow them as they exhibit those same ideals. The influencer stands in front of their cell phone in Selfie mode and uses the world around them as their stage or soapbox through which they tout their agenda.

      Recently an influencer named Sam (possibly short for Samantha) Jones filmed an interaction she initiated between a mother wombat with its young and herself. She picked up the infant joey and ran with it, exclaiming, “I caught a baby wombat!” The distressed mother, naturally, gave chase, and Sam’s camera person (we’re unsure if she merited the extra person or it’s a friend or relative) is heard saying, “. . . .the mother (is) chasing after her.” Sam then returned across the road and released the joey to reunite with the mother.

      She has since issued a statement saying that she was actually rescuing the joey and mother from the road to avoid being hit by passing cars, none of which is corroborated in the way she was acting in the video. No words or actions from her captured on camera indicated she was on any type of rescue mission other than that of her popularity numbers. She quickly left Australia after overwhelming backlash and negative publicity from people around the world.

      It sounds like she was more of an influencer for bad than good.

      Her misbehavior has added another checkmark in the negative column in the eyes of the world, as the reputation of Americans in general has been in decline. Our snootiness and entitlement agenda, as well as our lack of common courtesy, is making our appearance in many countries akin to an invasion of locusts.

      Our freedoms, so flippantly taken for granted, are often well beyond what other countries tolerate, which is why tourists from America are so easily recognized in the wilds of travelers’ meccas everywhere. We don’t understand courtesy, dress codes, pedestrian rules, restaurant etiquette, or even how to treat employees at service facilities like actual human beings. We choose instead to be blissfully ignorant and pay no attention to what is happening around us when we are in a different place. We don’t know how to read a room, let alone how to appreciate another country’s scenery.

      Also, other countries have residents. People have daily jobs to go to. Children go to school. And yes, animals are in their natural habitat, and you are a visitor. If you respect the space you are in, don’t interfere with daily activities, leave the wildlife alone and put your trash where it belongs, you can take a major step in being appreciated by the locals. This matters, from the people sharing the corner waiting for the light to change to the hotel staff and public servants at the buildings and transit hubs. Be courteous.

      We don’t try other languages, either. Many countries have a go at English, but would they hold their own in our country? Probably not, but they will make the effort. We should do the same when we go elsewhere. Find out what words are taboo in the place you’ll visit, and make sure that if you use those, be conscious of that flaw and try not to embarrass yourself. Learn some basics such as “Thank You” in your host country’s language.

      Another way to make yourself out as a fool is to disrespect monuments and memorials. Some tourist destinations are somber places, so don’t treat it as a photo op for a selfie of you making faces where people sacrificed their lives. Show respect. And I can’t stress enough; take your trash to the proper place.

      Be quiet when people around you are quiet. Public transit may have quiet cars on trains, or talking loudly may be frowned upon on busses. Keep your music to yourself as well.

      As you use your device to record things around you, have common sense. Avoid situations which may be dangerous or draw negative attention. Most of us are just normal people with cell phones. Don’t be a bad influence. Or a worse influencer.

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      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged australia, fiction, tourists
    • (Re)Union Dues?

      Posted at 3:40 pm by kayewer, on March 8, 2025

      I have never been to any of my high school reunions, and in my opinion it may be a tradition best left to end its time and go peacefully into the annals of nostalgia. Especially with social media and live chat options, there is no need for folks of any age to travel unnecessarily for an event requiring stays in hotels of uncertain quality (if not camping out in your old bedroom at your parents’ place). Also, do you want to spend days eating at joints which sprang up well after your favorite hangouts in town went belly up? And what about the expense of carting your personal human circle along with you (especially if they did not attend your alma mater and won’t know a soul).

      The five-year reunion, overall, seems to be an opportunity to brag about graduating college, or marrying the love of your life and/or delivering the two kids you said you would in the yearbook. At ten and twenty years, most people have set up their lives and mingle with a tightly controlled group of friends, and they may attend just to sit around and grab a drink or two while reminiscing about old flames, older scandals, the ignorance of youth and the disaster that is approaching three or four decades of existence.

      At the thirty, forty and fifty year marks, people are starting to experience the added pains of age, loss and empty nests. Yes, we go through with it, and yes we all share talking about it. Why pay airfare and hotel fees to do that when you can get together in Zoom for pennies on the already-strained dollar?

      And then there are reunions from Hell like the one a writer referred to as “Really Invisible in Minnesota” experienced in Dear Abby’s March 6, 2025 column. She attended her fiftieth with her husband, both of whom went to the same school. They share this tradition every time, and at every reunion she has the same problem: everybody in her graduating class acts cordially to the husband, but they treat her like a leper. “I’ll be the first to admit I’m nothing to look at,” Really Invisible felt compelled to add, and we soon find out why: her classmates would glare and walk away whenever she attempted to be sociable. She even overheard one approach another group and say, “The dog tried to talk to me.”

      The husband is also, according to her letter, a real humdinger of a supportive spouse, one for whom social media women’s advocate Robbie Harvey would have a few choice words. When she confronted him about her mistreatment and wanted to know why he even married her, he gaslit her, saying, “It’s all in your head.”

      These are all supposedly mature adults in their 60s! What on God’s green Earth is wrong with them?

      I have been too hardened by this sort of thing to outwardly cry, but inside of me, while reading this, my heart broke for this unfortunate lady. She said nothing of whether her marriage is loving or even affirming of her self-worth, but the evidence says otherwise. Why would everybody be (and over fifty years, have been) so vicious to this individual?

      What is the husband gaining from being married to her? Why do the classmates feel it’s acceptable to continue to call a human being a “dog” because of what is obviously a combination of genetic outliers beyond her control? And what sort of horrific conspiracy is going on that nobody feels compelled to say one kind word about this poor woman?

      Really Invisible will remain anonymous, as will her tormentors, all of whom I feel should be utterly ashamed of their behavior, lack of basic human kindness and hypocritical demeanor (Abby agreed). I would enjoy getting answers from the perpetrators as to why their treatment of Really Invisible is warranted (it would make a great research story), and I would like to hear from the husband on why he doesn’t tend to the emotional and spiritual needs of the wife he chose to marry, and why he need not hold up to his responsibility to her. Unfortunately that sort of thing doesn’t happen in real life very often.

      So I will close with this to those reunion dolts and that pathetic excuse of a spouse. As we go through our later years, we often find ourselves in turmoil and experiencing pain and suffering through events happening around us that directly affect our lives. Occasionally we ask ourselves, “What have I done to deserve this?” The answer is right here in this column. What you do with that knowledge is up to you.

      Really Invisible is owed a huge apology by every one of you. She has a good soul. Yours needs fixing.

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    • Opinion Page

      Posted at 5:55 pm by kayewer, on March 1, 2025

      Wouldn’t it be a strange world if the only opinion that mattered was your own? It may seem perfect to you, because you would no longer become upset by a different point of view.

      Imagine, though, how difficult it would be to find one person who was exactly like you in every idea, concept, and span of knowledge. It’s impossible to do, because every human being has a different story and, therefore, different opinions on everything.

      Often we want to destroy or alter opinions which are not our own. From the earliest days of man, when people dared to call the world round and germs visible only with enlarging technology an important part of our lives, to today’s polarizing protests and fearmongering about defining what we are, believe, say, or do, there has always been room for two opposing ideas. It took a lot of growing and compromising to get there, however.

      In her school days, my mother, a National Honor Society member, presented a report with a brown and turquoise book cover. She received points off. Nobody uses brown and turquoise together, the teacher said. The rule must have been written in stone somewhere.

      I, too, have been blasted for having opinions all my life, and so has everybody else. Sometimes, however, the things we’re criticized for have little overall effect and can be rather silly. When I was a kid, for example, one of my favorite breakfast leftovers was hamburger and gravy on a soft slice of white bread; when I presented that idea for a theme on what we ate in the morning, my teacher acted as if I had said strychnine. Just because she never had dinner leftovers for breakfast, nobody else could have them, either. So said she, so it was, at least back then, written in stone. I got points off.

      Remember that beer commercial in which the two sides argued, “Tastes great,” and “Less filling?” Until they came out with an ad that clarified it had both attributes, it was a pop culture argument with no true winner, and that can be frustrating. Perhaps there are no “winners,” but simply “compromises.”

      Nobody has the exact same opinion on everything, which is what gives us individuality of character. Often our differences are meaningless, such as people from South Jersey calling a certain spicy meat product Taylor’s Pork Roll, while in North Jersey it’s called Taylor Ham (true story). A hoagie is a sub in some places. Soda is pop or tonic. These are small things which do not have an effect on daily life. Both camps live harmoniously.

      When we delve into politics or social issues, however, the arguments become chaotic or even violent when opinions differ. When it comes to human life in particular, sometimes people are in favor of everybody suffering collectively. They don’t offer good reasons or even compassion or financial help: everybody simply must get in the pool of misery and keep quiet about it.

      Politics is a slippery course to wade through, because those in favor of one party often act as if those on the other side are all evildoers deserving of annihilation. Remember, the only people who belong are those who are exactly the same as you.

      So today I was hoisted up for a shaming session because my opinion wasn’t the same as a celebrity’s. Shame on me. At least the argument was not over pork roll or ham. Also, I didn’t say the person was wrong; just that my experience was different. We can all get along and still not agree.

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    • The Old Book Story

      Posted at 1:22 pm by kayewer, on February 23, 2025

      (Originally Published May 12, 2019)

      The Argosy Book Store in New York City is an established piece of the city’s history, dating back to 1925. I decided to take the plunge and visit the store for the first time while I was in the city yesterday. I had both Argosy and the Strand (which opened elsewhere in the city two years later) on my city trip bucket list, so with time to kill before my date with a cushy opera seat at Lincoln Center, I weighed my choices. Somebody had been very helpful in getting me the info for the Strand, but since it was some twenty blocks in the opposite direction from my destination, I knew my feet would not take the abuse, and taxis unlikely at that time of day. I walked instead to the Argosy, hoping to enjoy some slow time with some old books.

      The place is designed much like a delightful old shoppe, smelling wonderfully of ancient paper in the muted light. On the shelves were old and more modern bound books of all sorts. Seeing Shakespeare occupying several shelves, I stopped to take a look and wondered about the cost of some future presents for my bookworm friends.

      Meanwhile, a drama was unfolding at a nearby desk, where a worker was contacting a shipper (a major one whose name I will not mention here) to find out why a promised on-time delivery did not happen. A customer had requested a special book for a Saturday occasion, and it never arrived, she learned, because in spite of instructions to the contrary, they waited to get a signature for the delivery. The worker informed the shipper that it was the store reputation which was suffering for their error, and I nodded to myself that this was a merchant who thrived on doing things the right way. She was quite infuriated by the problem, but kept her composure on the phone, another mark of professionalism.

      However, my shopping trip was now less important amid the chaos in the store. Nobody asked if I wanted assistance, and I figured that my timing was just wrong. I left with nothing, but will return.

      Meanwhile, the Strand is having an identity crisis because of a possible designation as a city landmark, which the owners might not want. They claim to have “18 miles of books.” and is an icon of the Washington Square area, while Argosy is just a brisk walk away from Central Park.

      And in Long Island, Amazon is coming, may the book gods help us all.

      There is a big difference between old books in an Indiana Jones-style warehouse, and an actual store one can walk into and breathe in the life between those aged pages. Commerce isn’t what it used to be, but bookstores like the Argosy and the Strand should stand forever.

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    • The Horrible Cleansing

      Posted at 1:21 pm by kayewer, on February 23, 2025

      (Originally Published August 05, 2018)

      Many people dread rain, particularly storms of the kind we have been experiencing recently. Rivers crest well past their usual flood stage, storm drains are taxed, and we often find water outside their appointed containment zones. However, the natural world seems to have an idea of what to do when things get out of hand, and the elements of fire and water often purge and cleanse in ways we may never understand.

      This doesn’t mean that I support massive flooding or wildfires, nor the casualties they cause, but we must also realize that we don’t belong everywhere that a house rises, just because somebody builds it there. People have lived in toxic waste areas and at the feet of potential volcanoes and floods for ages, though, and we’re not likely to build our lives upward, but simply continue to spread outward. With that spread comes the chance of disaster. We have seen it happen in the East, and right now Hawai’i is being reshaped by the fiery lava from a volcano.

      In the aftermath of fire often comes rebirth as the first fir trees sprout from the ashes. It is as if nature pushes for a fast recovery. Water, on the other hand, does not consume but simply piles its carried waste along until it lands someplace and has to be dealt with. A museum has on display the findings collected from the Johnstown Flood of 1889, showing how the devastation took over 2,200 lives and destroyed the town. If one were asked which is worse–fire or flood–many would be hard-pressed to choose.

      At the end of rain, though, does come a cleansing; a washing away of all the filth that we have created on the ground. I feel safer walking on sidewalks after a rain, because I like to think that whatever spit people planted on the pavements is gone for a short while, but really it is a chance to see a clean space. Something we don’t see very much anymore.

      Some places still embrace sweeping the sidewalks early in the morning, in case nature doesn’t do it for them. If it didn’t see so ludicrous or hopeless, I would walk around with a broom and do it myself. At least until we all stop making such a mess between storms.

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    • School Wisdom

      Posted at 1:20 pm by kayewer, on February 23, 2025

      (Originally Published September 03, 2017)

      Take it from somebody who has been there: if you get to school and wind up getting bullied, it’s not about you, but them. I lived through some powerful antagonism when I was in school, and my future came out okay.

      School is not really about who you are now, but what you need to build now to be better later. The truth is that you are all learning together, and you rise or fall differently all the time. Some days you sail through everything, but the next day nothing is right, and you may wind up walking through those doors and finding everybody else seems to be up while you’re down. It’s okay. It happens that way. Just heave a sigh and make it through one day, and the next day will change. It always does.

      The bullies always make it seem as if they are in the know and you are not. How do they know anything? Did they take a smart pill? Are they on a fast track to rushing through life without knowing what they’re doing? You’re all on the same track, but while some folks know some things about a lot of things, others know a lot about one or two things. That’s all okay: that’s what makes us individuals.

      Somebody may pick on you and say you’re ugly. The truth is, they’re probably feeling kind of ugly, and that is scary for everybody your age. You’re all changing so fast, it’s hard to look great every day, but your folks still make you go to school. So you woke up on the right side of the bed that morning, and they didn’t, or vice versa. They have the issues, not you.

      They may hate your clothes, or your accessories, because theirs are “better,” but that’s their opinion. Clothes get outgrown, break zippers or get stains that don’t come out, whether they cost $10.99 or $1,099.00. The difference is that you can replace the $10.99 ones easier, and the folks who spend $1,099.00 are simply broker faster.

      When a bully picks on something about you, have you ever noticed that they look a little nervous or scared? That’s because they’re having issues, and they’re taking it out on you. They don’t know you, or why you are yourself and not like them. They wonder if what you are is okay, just like they wonder if what they are is okay. Insecurity is part of anger, and it’s powerful. You really have nothing to do with their problems. They never come out and offer you a way to get their better clothes or accessories or beauty secrets to lend you a hand up to where they are in their lofty superiority, do they? So it’s not about that at all. They will get where they need to be, and it won’t be because they had to walk over you to get there, but because they applied themselves, just as you will.

      It’s been a long time since I got out of school, and some of the people who were bound to come out this way or that are nowhere to be found today. They’re not on magazine covers, that’s for sure. That’s because it’s all just about building yourself when you’re in school. When it’s over, you’ll be moving on to better things. Don’t pay the bullies any mind. We all get where we are destined to go, in much the same way. Your parents will tell you about the school bullies, the nerds, the unpopular ones, the beauties and the wallflowers they knew. This has gone on for ages. The bad ones get theirs, and the good ones still reach their goals.

      You won’t be this version of you forever. Look at the goal; that’s nothing to be afraid of.

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    • Blustomers

      Posted at 1:17 pm by kayewer, on February 23, 2025

      (Originally Posted May 19, 2019)

      What makes a good customer? Good manners. What makes good customer service associates? Same thing.

      We seem to have forgotten that over the past few years. Being on the giving end, I see many bad customers, and I hope nobody ever perceives me as being bad at my job just because I give news a customer doesn’t like, but some folks try anybody’s patience without even saying anything.

      My customer contact is small, but in my office are several dozen people taking phone calls, and a few miles away I know that a branch office gets many visitors every day. If you’ve worked in customer service for a while, you know you’re bound to deal with people who get the day started by being annoying. The worst? First call of the day. It sets the tone for the next eight hours, and the coffee hasn’t kicked in yet (for the customer or the associate).

      It used to be the bad customer was once a week if that often. Now it can be two to three times a day. Sometimes it’s by the same person all three times, especially on the phone. When you work in a phone contact center, it’s not hard to pinpoint who is dealing with a difficult person. The conversation usually becomes a shouting match, and it’s the phone associate who gets their ears pounded.

      In public contact jobs, it’s important to be civil and service minded, but we call come to work in different frames of mind, and if you find somebody behind the counter who is having a hard time giving a good first impression, yelling won’t help.

      If I could give a future customer with a complaint one bit of advice, I’d say take a step back before you storm in. Start your experience with a polite greeting, then say you have an issue and be prepared to state your case calmly and with facts only.

      The two most annoying words ever uttered by a customer might well be, “you people.” It’s in emails and uttered a few times a day by fuming folks who would serve their blood pressure better by pausing a minute before launching the big guns (namely their vocal chords) at somebody. I would like to remove them from usage. Imagine having a bone to pick, and you start out by making the person who can tip the scales of customer satisfaction in your favor start to doubt if the encounter will end without somebody exploding first. There is no conspiracy brotherhood in customer service aimed at making your experience bad, and besides, we are all people.

      A person recently read off a phone rep for calling her ma’am because she said that was similar to using the dreaded “N word.” The person fielding the call was black. So much for starting off that experience right, your ladyship. Plus, I never heard of that reference anywhere (if somebody has, please clue me in where it started). Anyway, this particular person had a religious title revealed only after this exchange. That was on them.

      Sometimes a bad customer simply talks over the person trying to help, as if filibuster alone will solve everything. Simply listening to your customer associate will impart plenty of knowledge and a sense of what may have gone wrong, if you give them a chance to get it out.

      One time I got an email from a customer which started out saying our website sucked because they could not log in. The problem was not the site: the customer had simply never opened an account to log into. No, I didn’t tell them that it was they who sucked, because it was a simple issue with a simple answer.

      We have all been guilty lately of mouthing off prematurely and not respecting ourselves or others’ sense of decorum. A customer service call should be a civil statement of a problem or question, followed by a resolution. If you get an unsatisfactory answer, you can escalate your complaint, but don’t give yourself (or us) a stroke. We’re all stressed out, it’s true. The news is full of chaos and bluster. However, the purpose of business is to provide and satisfy a need, receiving funds to continue the business and pay those who run it. If something goes wrong, don’t be a thorn in somebody’s side. Step back before you speak, and save the soapboxes for the politicians.

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      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged business, customer service, life, marketing, technology
    • A Large Problem

      Posted at 9:04 pm by kayewer, on February 22, 2025

      The obesity problem is real, and trying to look your best when your body proportions are off the chart is challenging as well as depressing. I have several favorite clothing brands, and even they are not always consistent with sizes and availability. My research shows why.

      The major grey area in clothing sizes starts after the typical Small, Medium, and Large. Some clothing manufacturers size only up to what is known as Extra-Large, or XL. Others offer Plus sizes starting with 1X. So, what is the difference between XL and 1X?

      Men’s clothing may come in XL, while womens may be labeled 1X, but generally 1X accommodates a 38-40″ waist for women. Men’s size XL may indicate a smaller 35-36″ waist. The magic number is 36 for men.

      This may explain why clothing sales exhaust supplies of 1X before XL. I have frequently scoured clearance racks for Plus sizes and found only XL or 2X and 3X available more readily than 1X. One is snug, the other roomier.

      Clothing from Torrid, a great choice in larger sizes, start at about size 12 and then include unique labels of 0, 1, 2 and 3 for Plus sizes. They offer jeans which cover a three-size range: they sell out quickly.

      In a world where low numbers can be part of social status (remember there is a size zero out there for those skinny enough to be considered no size at all–just kidding), saying you’re a size zero when you’re Plus-sized is exciting. Frankly, I can’t imagine anybody asking a person to reveal their clothing size, or even the brand label on their clothing. We are not, after all, a number or a business entity emblazoned on a piece of merchandise; we are human beings, each with a unique history and a unique body. We want to feel good when we dress in the morning, and whatever works should be of good quality and fit well. Checking the differences in each is the best answer, whether it’s in a sizing guide or the fitting room.

      If the size fits, wear it. Proudly.

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      Posted in Uncategorized | 0 Comments | Tagged fashion, lifestyle, sewing, size-1x, size-xl, style, travel
    • A Big Fat Lie

      Posted at 3:01 pm by kayewer, on February 15, 2025

      One of the inherent problems with the World Wide Web and social media is that–especially in America–free speech can allow anybody to post anything, and they may sound like an expert simply by doing so. Sometimes these folks simply cater to what some people want to believe to fulfil those persons’ need of other supportive individuals. It’s the “I feel that”/”Me, too” connection which helps us feel that we are right about certain ideas in our lives. Those agreements are not always in our best interests.

      In a previous post, I wrote about a chemical called chlormequat, which is a plant growth regulating chemical. Its main purpose in the food industry is to encourage grain stems, such as for oats, to stand up for machinery to cut them down more efficiently. For those of us who eat cereals and grains, this substance may appear in our urine, and could contribute to reproductive issues. Its use in the US for grains is prohibited, but the Quaker Oats and General Mills companies seem to be importing grain from other countries that may use it in their fields.

      Why am I bringing this up? Many of us have cereals, seeds or grains for breakfast, or incorporate them into our diets in other ways. I had salmon with quinoa the other day, for example. There are those who would like us to not include these items in our meals, like a heavily advertised Dr. Steven Gundry, who pops into video and social media feeds touting dietary advice.

      Sometimes these ads are interesting to listen to, because they are assembled with care and feature costly videos and lectures about how we’re doing things wrong. But I caught a piece of information earlier today which made me take a step back.

      Dr. Gundry stated that the only thing oats are good for is fattening horses. I don’t know about you, but horse obesity has never, ever, been a topic of discussion in the ages and decades in which we have fed oats to horses. They get fed hay, fruits and vegetables and, yes, oats and grains. The oats are designed to provide fast energy for working animals who may need to draw vehicles. The high fiber content encourages good digestion because they chew the oats, which also wears their teeth down (a necessary activity because their teeth continue to grow throughout their lives). The oats provide protein, fiber, and b-vitamins. For humans, we get a high percent of our daily fiber, and no added sugar, not to mention pure oats are considered fine for people with gluten intolerance, because its source, avenin, is only related to wheat gluten.

      So at least in terms of a particular turn of phrase, Dr. Gundry may be blowing smoke. His history shows him to be a heart physician, but he has gone into authoring books and promoting merchandise to people hoping for a dietary restrictive fix for their health problems. His big enemy is lectin, which he says is bad for people.

      I still feel that everything in moderation is a good approach. I also believe that the artificial ingredients pumped into our food chain over the past three decades are mainly to blame for our obesity problem. How many people were obese drinking regular soda with sugar, compared to how many are overweight drinking today’s formulas? How many people got fat from snacks forty years ago, compared to those same snacks today? Look at the ingredient labels, and you’ll see additives which boggle the brain, and may well be what is packing on the pounds.

      Meanwhile, our bakeries need to raise prices to use purer ingredients in their products, and we reject them because the other stuff is cheaper. It seems as if killing ourselves inexpensively is more tempting. As for Dr. Gundry, perhaps he should provide more proof of those horses needing somebody like Dr. Nowzaridan of “My 600-lb. Life” to put them on a diet.

      Don’t believe everything on social media. Fact check with proven sources. I even invite you to fact check me. I’m human, after all, and I’m not touting any particular agenda, except to take a step back when you hear something that sounds, um, sound on the surface but just may be slightly mistaken.

      Fat horses. What next?

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    • Better to Have

      Posted at 3:17 pm by kayewer, on February 8, 2025

      Some holidays are more difficult for people to navigate than others. Valentine’s Day is a particularly polarizing event simply for its implications and social cues by which we all judge our current life.

      When I was commuting to work by train, I would see men on Valentine’s Day boarding the car with balloons bouncing off each other and roses crinkling in their cellophane encasements. Some of the men carrying these tokens of affection seemed proud, while others appeared to be embarrassed. Still, some lucky person waiting at the end of the line would be receiving these gifts.

      Some other items were easier to carry, such as a big box of confections, or would be more easily concealed, such as a piece of jewelry or a small box with what could be anything hidden inside, such as a little naughty negligee. Whatever the gift, it was going home to somebody to whom someone has bestowed their love.

      The rest of us just carry on.

      What is more heartbreaking than to be somebody with nobody who loves them? The kid in school your children collectively bully decorates a box with paper hearts and drawings, and on February 14 finds the box empty (or the altruistic child who was taught well by their parents submits a token entry). The teenager sits at home while others engage in boundary-testing behaviors with others their age. As for the adults–the once-married-now-divorced or those who shrugged off the burdens of useless relationships with abusers or those displaying other red flags–the best they can do is sigh with relief and look forward to a possible future and a second try at a relationship. The person who has never been loved is in a world of singular pain nobody else can fully understand.

      The world outside the door of the unloved is like a graveyard populated by houses filled with people who tolerate your existence but don’t question why you live as you do. You barely see them all week. Your phone doesn’t ring. The only people knocking on your door are solicitors or religious pamphlet carriers. Retailers put on their politest face, and “That will be $25.98” may be the best thing they hear for days at a time.

      Social media is salt in emotional wounds, as endless posts of “my new child/grandchild” or “our trip to this romantic getaway” remind them of what they will never experience. Nostalgic pages remind them of events they never went to: anybody’s wedding, prom, class trips.

      They look in the mirror and see what nine months of construction in the womb provided, yet it seems to be insufficient for anybody else to acknowledge or appreciate. The days, months and years continue, and the spirit is stripped of any hope or encouragement. These are the people who die alone, surrounded by nobody. There is no obituary, because whatever they accomplished doesn’t matter to a soul.

      And this is okay. It must be, because it happens daily. We feel we have the right to be silent in ignorance of what that can do to somebody. We never stop to think that the old man who may not smell pleasant may have sacrificed buying a bar of soap so their electricity would stay on in the winter, or the woman with a speech problem survived oral cancer and is happy to be able to talk at all. We judge and reject without care, when that is exactly what some human beings need: care. Sometimes just asking, “How are you” and “What do you need today” can be eye-opening.

      But no, leave those people wondering why nobody loves them. That’s the humane thing to do, especially on Valentine’s Day. Silence in this case is not golden, but poison, and we decide to whom we give that poison through cancel culture and social rejection, which is probably the single worst thing that one can (or should) do. When the world needs love the most, don’t turn your back and say it’s somebody else’s problem, because in the end, we are all “somebody else.”

      Survive Valentine’s Day, everybody.

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