3 Ring Binder

Before bestowing the bounty of toys on Christmas Eve, that's Santa's litmus test. Have you been naughty or nice? He really doesn't give a shit if you have deep, passionate feelings about certain things, attachments that you're willing to fight for, or an outrageously tight and innate sense of justice. He just wants to know if you've been naughty or nice. When you think about it, it makes sense. He doesn't have time to check on all the little nuances that make each child a worthy and wonderful little person. But Santa is for suckers. There's no way that one old, fat dude can get all that crap to all those kids. I'm just sayin'. We, however, are not suckers. We are individuals who must deal with each other as other individuals. Naughty or nice. Or in the parlance of today's political realm, nasty or nice. A friend recently wrote on her Facebook wall that someone accused her of being not nice. Later, she said the other person thought she was

Last night I went with a friend to see the National Theatre's movie presentation of Hamlet starring Benedict Cumberbatch as the tortured Dane. I was so proud of myself for agreeing to go out on a weeknight and see a movie of a Shakespearean play that I didn't think my night could get any better. It did.  There was a bar at the theatre!  It's not that I would in any way need a bar to sit through four hours of Shakespeare. No! It's just that it was such an unexpected delight. It's almost like I hadn't been to the movies since they invented the reclining seats. But, I digress.  Not only did the theatre have a bar, but there was "real" food.  (By "real" food in this context I mean anything not made by Mars, Incorporated or deep fried.)  As it was the Ides (of November, so not really), I ordered the Caesar chicken salad wrap. After many, many minutes and missing the beginning of the Cumberbatch mini-interview, I got my food an

He stands poised, ears erect, at the edge of wide cart path, staring into the woods. A chipmunk, a squirrel, a robin, even, catching his momentary interest. But it is only momentary. Less than a minute, really. Waiting for a signal. Waiting for a louder call into the woods -- the tipping point to the chase. It doesn't come. Instead he hears, let's go dog!  and his wild revelry is broken. Thirty feet later, he does it again.

Every year one of the churches in our town holds a country fair in September. Every year we innocently go to this fair and poke around. Every year we come home with bags of books: books we've heard of, books we've had, books with recipes, books with pictures, books with hardcovers, books with paper covers, book without covers, books, books, books. Well, you get the idea. This year, in the spirit of decluttering, minimizing, and cleaning, I've decided we need to pull an accordian job at the fair. This accordian player finishes a gig, throws his accordian into his car and starts home. On the way he stops at a convenience store to get a drink but forgets to lock his door.  He comes out of the store, opens the car door and shouts, "Oh no! It's happened again!". In the backseat now sits two accordians. I wonder if they'll notice the book table getting more full each time we pass. I just hope this isn't there.

If there is a woods option, take it. There is usually hiking or walking path within 30 minutes of wherever you are. Use technology to find it.  I am the only one enamored of shadow pictures. Walking alone is restful, unless you are particularly restless. What's more exhilarating than pockets of warm and cool air as you walk? Pockets of good and bad smells. (Well exhilarating might not be the best word for the bad ones.) Proper footwear should never be discounted. It is much harder to walk on a very humid day is than it is to walk the rest of the year -- even through snow and rain. Walking with friends is great! Walking with my dog is great! Walking with my dog and my friends and their dogs does not work for me.  I have gone from timing how fast I can walk to exploring how much can soak in. I'm not sure that's a good thing. I suppose it depends on my objective, which was to walk every day for a year. No more no less. Walking everyday makes me happy.

With all of my interest in interior design, my quest to be at rest, comfortable in an aesthetically pleasing space, my fascination with dual purpose pieces and multi-functional furniture, you'd think that my house would be a perfectly designed and lovely haven.  Not. Even. Close. I've given it some thought and it's the convertibility thing, I think. Everything is in a state of flux. Those who know me know my stock phrase, "it's in transition." So it really shouldn't surprise me that each of my children have lived in my house as if they were transients. But it does. We've been lucky enough to have rooms for each of the children from a very young age (it was tough sharing with the screaming Mimi for two year, for which I apologize to the Boss). Each room was carefully designed and decorated to delight, comfort, and provide a quiet space to work, think, or read. We painted murals on the walls, including integrated chalk boards, sewed canopies, curtain

While walking, laughing, crying, dancing, and marching in the cemetery this morning, I had an epiphany. I need a selfie drone to follow me and record my attitudinal changes while walking in the cemetery. It occurred to me as I switched from a audible laugh thinking about a book club conversation I had recently with friends (which oddly, had nothing to do with the book) to a teary-eyed suppressed sob as I passed by the taken-too-soon "Always Daddy" headstone.  I breathed deeply and leveled out into a stroll under the towering pines, hopped back onto the cemetery proper, and marched up the hill like a soldier. I was alone. I wasn't wearing headphones. I enjoyed my own thoughts, And am my own best counsel. But I felt a little crazy. It was then I decided: I'm going to blog again.  Now, I know you're all saying, " Lynne! That's fabulous! We've missed you so !!!" Or maybe not, but frankly, I don't give a damn, my dear.  I blog f