Welcome to My Blog
Re-recollections, rude awakenings, and rabid rants that are safe to share… here.
1954 If you went to Catholic school, you probably remember the Holy Childhood Society annual fundraising campaign.
I was disappointed in the Grand Canyon. I expected something grander. Something larger. Something more amazing.
Superheroes took over my psyche and value system long before common sense and Gloria Steinem suggested females could be heroes too.
If my children accused me of assassinating JFK, I wouldn’t deny it. In fact, my initial response would probably be to call a criminal defense attorney.
Lately I’ve been asking myself why so few of our leaders speak up in the face of obvious injustice or corruption.
Some who know me think I’m an atheist. The truth is I didn’t stop believing in God, I just stopped believing in the God I grew up with. You know, the one with a Y chromosome and a vast, eternal plan.
Searching for the perfect edible gift, I landed on the See’s Candies website and came up with an inadvertent but fortuitous insight — Men are like a box of chocolates.
This hypothetical question has been asked for decades to illustrate the importance of carefully thinking about one’s actions, regardless of what others are doing.
There is broad research indicating that individuals, over time, adopt traits and behaviors linked to their names, that people often make assumptions about others based on their names, and that a person’s name can significantly influence how we perceive them.
I was on my way to visit my friend Colleen and drove past the exit to her house. Not just one exit, not just two. I drove all the way to the other side of town.
Next time I fall in love, I’m going to love like a man. I’m going to barge through the door like I belong there. I’m going to believe I deserve it. I might even take it for granted.
I was well into my thirties the first time I expressed a preference. I think it was, “Ranch, please.”
Someone has to be. Why not you? Probabilistic reasoning suggests that if you are in a room with one other person, there’s a 50% chance you will be the smarter one — but only until someone else shows up.
When I asked ChatGPT this question, its/his/her/their answer was, “While humanity has had moments that nearly everyone later recognized as horrifying, there has never been — and likely never will be — a single event that horrifies all equally.
On our way home from a somewhat contentious book club meeting, my good friend Colleen accused me of avoiding confrontation. I told her I didn’t want to talk about it.
1950 As a child of five, the finest literature available to me was The Little Golden Books. My favorite characters were Chip ‘n Dale – the chipmunks, not the dancers.
1954 I stare into the gaping maw of the pool, sporting a bright pink, ruffle-skirted, never-been-wet bathing suit and matching cap — a perfectly feigned model of 9-year-old composure, dignity and self-confidence. Everywhere but in my head.
“The Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist is a central dogma of the Catholic faith: when the priest consecrates bread and wine during the Mass, they are transformed into the literal body and blood, soul and divinity of Jesus Christ.” ~ Catholic Answers
1961 While Catholic school was never a rich breeding ground for independent thinking, I do remember one occasion when I briefly toyed with the idea. It was during Freshman Civics class.
1957 Family, friends and teachers have always told me I ask great questions. It’s true.
“I can believe anything, provided it’s incredible.” ~ Oscar Wilde For the first 32 years of my life, doubt was rarely my initial or even secondary reaction to the incredible, and neither maturity nor experience did much to heighten my suspicion of the absurd.
I did. I did. It’s just that the thoughts were years apart. I tended to save my second thoughts for later, when reality slapped me upside the head with its boot.
Every time I finish a diet, I’m certain that I’ve finally learned my lesson, and will never again allow my body to expand beyond the seams in my latex pants. After my first divorce, I was determined never to feel ashamed to ask for, and actually expect, help and respect.
When my lover Ray informed me that he needed to find a younger woman, we were both 72.
Maybe not great. I might not recommend it as a substitute for retirement on a cruise ship, but the older I get, the more it looks like a pretty practical, affordable form of long-term care.
