Nonsense Archives - Page 7 of 18

Can Cyndi Lauper be my spirit animal?

September 4, 2016 2 Comments

Some thoughts on being almost fifty and aging in general | Manic Mumbling I had a boss once whose most embarrassing moment happened while she was standing in the security line at the airport after she handed her ID and boarding pass to the security guard. It was worse, she said, than what happened to the woman ahead of her who’d packed a bunch of sex toys into her carry-on and was then pulled out of line for a random, and very public, bag search.

The guard holding my boss’ credentials noted she’d just celebrated her birthday, and then did some quick math.

“Holy cow, you’re FIFTY?”

She’d wanted to sink into the floor, her worst fear being someone calling her out for her age. Or maybe it was actually being fifty, I’m not sure. I never asked for clarification.

Nonsense

The most likely reason I haven’t answered your email

August 22, 2016 1 Comment

Manic Mumbling | The most likely reason I haven't answered your email. You could be opportunity knocking, or just someone asking for another favor Last week I received an invitation from Ashley in Alabama. It was less of an invitation, really, than a summons. Ashley’s PR firm is starting a blog targeting women “of a certain age,” featuring content that will focus on what they’ve decided are some of our favorite F-words: family, friendship, faith, fashion, friendship, fitness, finances and funny.

Ashley’s firm would like original, carefully edited copy, 500 – 800 words, please, accompanied by original photos and/or graphics. They reserve the right to do a little additional editing.

I know what you’re thinking. Ashley left out a few F-words. Like the Fortunes they aren’t paying for all that original content. Then there’s the Foolishness of my using my Free Time to come up with an entire blog dedicated to all kinds of F words like Flatulence, Fandango, and … and whatever else I might think of that starts with F.

Anyway, I didn’t answer Ashley’s email. At least not right away.

Fitness, Nonsense

The half marathon taper and how I’m probably doing it wrong

July 8, 2016 7 Comments

Midlife Sentence | The Half Marathon Taper

Tomorrow, I’ll be running a half marathon, which means today is the last day of that period we call the taper.

If you’re not familiar with the taper, it’s the result of a whole bunch of running science that says it’s good to reduce your miles and intensity a few days before a big event. The length of taper can be as much as three weeks for a full marathon, two weeks for a half, and so on.

I’ve been running 6 to 8 half marathons annually for the past four years or so. Having an event on the calendar keeps me on a regular schedule. Otherwise, I really might just stop all together. BUT, if I’m doing what science says I should, I’m tapering about two weeks before every half marathon, which on my schedule, gives me a solid 14 to 16 weeks every year of taking it easy.

Yay science.

Nonsense, Travel

Turns out you CAN go home again, but they’ll probably make you sing

July 3, 2016 No Comments

“You know, JaNean used to play Delta Dawn on the piano. She was good. You could harmonize with her.” It was more a statement than a request from JaNean’s cute, bespectacled mom.

All I heard was Delta Dawn. I did what any rational person would do and belted out a refrain.

Del-ta-a Dawn, what’s that flower you have on
could it be a faded rose from DAYS GONE BYYY?

I took a long drink. Singing is thirsty work.

“That’s right,” JaNean’s mom patted me on the shoulder. She wrote on a slip of paper and she walked away. Realizing she was turning in a karaoke request, I looked at JaNean for help.

“Those are the only words I know.”

JaNean shrugged.

Nonsense

Twelve simple steps to the perfect thank you note

May 16, 2016 6 Comments

We returned from a trip recently to a stack of newspapers on the counter and a pile of mail, on top of which were three hand-addressed note cards for me.

It felt like Christmas.

Oh, the art and tradition of the hand-written note, sent by parcel post with a bona fide, first class stamp. Proof positive each and every one of us is more than just a random collection of cells that managed to drag itself from the muck and become capable of inventing such wonders as two-ply toilet paper with little flowers stamped on it.

There is nothing quite like putting together the perfect note, one which you know your friends will open with glee, and pause to appreciate you as a highly civilized person, regardless of the type of toilet paper you stock.

I happen to have a stack of thank yous of my own to write. But the thrill I experienced coming home to a few addressed to me inspired a procrastinative pause to compile a few, simple steps to crafting the perfect one.

Step 1: Stock up on pretty note cards to have on hand when the need arises. They can be simple, unprinted cards, or expensive monogramed things that scream so much business, the mere act of opening your note will likely obligate the recipient to lunch at the club.

Nonsense

I’m with the groupies

March 25, 2016 6 Comments

treefort It used to be that Spring break was just a healthy opportunity to exercise my ability to ignore what sounded like a passel of wild pigs mowing through my kitchen every five minutes, and people pawing at me with complaints about boredom, while coming to grips with the fact that we’re staring down the barrel of summer and a full three months of this nonsense just around the bend.

But NO MORE. Spring break is now also the kickoff of a good, solid reason to be jolly. Treefort Music Fest. For the next few days, something like 400 bands will be performing in about a dozen venues downtown.

For every one of the past five years of this event, we’ve taken time off, stocked the freezer with frozen foods, and I’ve organized what I’m going to wear around comfortable shoes. With apologies to my lovingly ignored progeny, Treefort is the single best thing to happen to Spring break.

Nonsense

Meditation, monkeys, and how I’ll stave off certain disaster

March 5, 2016 4 Comments

FullSizeRender (17) We bought a painting of a monkey at a benefit auction a couple of months ago. The artist painted it in honor of the Chinese New Year.

I know next to nothing about Chinese astrology, but the painting ended up being one of those things I HAD TO HAVE, because that’s generally the way I approach charity. We took it home with some ballet tickets and a certificate for a month’s worth of guitar lessons.

I was procrastinating recently and looked up “Year of the Monkey,” – procrastination being generally the way I approach life – which is how I found out I was actually born in a monkey year, and that monkey years are supposed to be mostly disastrous for us monkeys.

This discovery lead to the following conversation with Mike:

Me: Hey, did you know it’s the year of the monkey, and I was born in a monkey year?

Mike: Hmmm.

Me: That means 2016 is supposed to be a disaster for me, mostly, especially in health and my love life. …. And I’m supposed to be cautious about traffic.

Mike: What do you care about the Chinese Zodiac? You’re German. And Irish.

Me: It also says I’m to expect significant financial gain in 2016.

Mike: … Well, maybe you’re a little Chinese.

Just so we’re clear, I’m married to someone who’s okay with my being a disaster in love and health as long as I bring home the bacon.

Nonsense

Next Stop: The New Preadolescence

February 12, 2016 3 Comments

girl

Sunday was unseasonably warm. We’d been out of town and came home to a stack of newspapers on the driveway and holiday swag still hanging from the porch lights looking decidedly less holiday than they should in the early spring sun.

“Want to go for a bike ride?” Colin said.

We had bags to unpack. I didn’t know what we’d fix for dinner or when I’d shop for groceries. We had work and school and the week ahead to prepare for. We needed to take the Christmas decorations down before the neighbors chased us out of town with pitchforks.

Of course I wanted to go for a bike ride.

I said something to Colin about changing from his shorts and short-sleeved t-shirt into something warmer and he looked at me like I was drunk, so I dropped the subject. So what if the kid wouldn’t be able to feel his arms after 10 minutes? It was still early February, but he’s young. He’d bounce back.

Fitness, Nonsense

My sophisticated, super secret, pre-run procrastination ritual, revealed

February 5, 2016 2 Comments

run4luv Among people who run, there are a few regular topics of conversation.

Like “so, what’s your next event?”

This isn’t usually meant to be a loaded question. But depending on the timing, it can certainly inspire a panicked mental comparison of the mileage runs you’ve yet to do with the weeks left before your next event.

Remember? That event you registered for months ago when the combination of an early bird rate and the time remaining to build back up to running 13 miles in one afternoon in the middle of winter made this whole idea sound a lot more reasonable?

My next event is in days. And yes, there’s a Valentines theme. It’d be cuter if Mike and I were running together, like last year. And when I say “together,” I mean in same event, starting at roughly the same time, with one of us (Mike) finishing first and left to hang out out afterward, shivering in sweaty clothes, waiting for the other (me) to finish.

Last year, in honor of the theme, and just to see what kind of face I’d make, Mike suggested running the whole thing holding hands.

I punched him in the sternum.

Nonsense

Come to think of it, I’m probably more of a pie person

January 22, 2016 6 Comments

This weekend I reached the threshold of my domestic goddessism, and it looked like inside of a Bundt pan.

First, in case you’re new here, a disclaimer: I am the self-proclaimed queen of uncrafty and I rarely bake, so the space we’re talking about is pretty tight already. Claustrophobic. But I set a mean table and we entertain frequently enough that my family knows the lead-in to these situations. Which looks a little like this:

(For the record, Mike could only watch the first 30 seconds of this video before muttering something about PTSD and leaving).

“I want this place looking like Disney on Ice in one minute.” Chris Fleming, you’re my hero.

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