Dirty grocery carts. People who say “Let’s do lunch,” but don’t. Dropped phone calls. When I wrote a list of pet peeves a couple of months ago, I thought I had it out of my system. I was wrong. Here’s a brand new list of middle-aged, mid-week grouchies! Join me and get your grump on! Read more
We moved to Berkeley, CA six years ago and I’m still getting used to it. There is much to love, but also much that is downright bezerkly. It must be a sign of age that world-traveler me is taking so long to get accustomed to this city, but that said in the interest of your enlightenment and amusement, I’m ready to talk turkey about quirky Berkeley! Here goes. Read more
Last week I wrote about turning 65 and signing up for Social Security. Now I was want to tell you what happened next. It isn’t pretty. I quickly descended from “social insecurity” into an advanced state of Social Security Madness.
When I signed up for Social Security benefits this Spring, I also selected Medicare Part B. I didn’t need health insurance; Handsome Hubby and I already have good, inexpensive lifetime coverage. But I thought Medicare is inexpensive and a little extra insurance couldn’t hurt. I was wrong. It’s hurting plenty. Read more
Each morning I swear I won’t. Yet every morning, I begin a new round of my personal Mission Impossible. My impossible mission? Get control of my house AND my life.
Each morning I swear I won’t. Yet, first thing each day I make the bed and fluff up the “just for show” pillows. I maniacally wipe down the counters, speed-spritz the fridge to eliminate fingerprints and Windex with a fury the glass dining room table.
My mother was pro-mink. She believed fur symbolized luxury, style, wealth and to the manor born. Not me. I was decidedly anti-fur. I grew up in a cloth coat, pea- jacket, egalitarian world.
My mother was a native New Yorker, so fur was practical too, good for keeping the cold out. I, on the other hand, grew up in sunny Las Vegas. So I avoided the cold and the culture of fur for a long time.
The Fur Flies
But in my late 20s, I was D.C.-bound for an exciting new job. I was also in possession of a small insurance settlement from a leg injury. For my mother, the stars were aligned. She saw fur in my future and pounced. Read more
Mid-Week Grouchies, Part 2
Summertime and the Living is Whiny!
Dirty grocery carts. People who say “Let’s do lunch,” but don’t. Dropped phone calls. When I wrote a list of pet peeves a couple of months ago, I thought I had it out of my system. I was wrong. Here’s a brand new list of middle-aged, mid-week grouchies! Join me and get your grump on! Read more
Talking Turkey about Quirky Berkeley
My New Home Sweet Home
We moved to Berkeley, CA six years ago and I’m still getting used to it. There is much to love, but also much that is downright bezerkly. It must be a sign of age that world-traveler me is taking so long to get accustomed to this city, but that said in the interest of your enlightenment and amusement, I’m ready to talk turkey about quirky Berkeley! Here goes. Read more
Social Security Madness
Into the Jaws of the Bureaucratic Beast!
Last week I wrote about turning 65 and signing up for Social Security. Now I was want to tell you what happened next. It isn’t pretty. I quickly descended from “social insecurity” into an advanced state of Social Security Madness.
When I signed up for Social Security benefits this Spring, I also selected Medicare Part B. I didn’t need health insurance; Handsome Hubby and I already have good, inexpensive lifetime coverage. But I thought Medicare is inexpensive and a little extra insurance couldn’t hurt. I was wrong. It’s hurting plenty. Read more
Social Insecurity
65-Years-Old. Say It Ain't So!
Three months past my 65th birthday and the start of Social Security, and I’m midriff-deep in social insecurity. It’s my own fault.
First, I planned the whole 65th birthday “celebration” all wrong. Instead of accepting Handsome Hubby’s offer of a birthday party, Read more
My Mission Impossible? Control
Don't Gen. Al Haig and I wish
Each morning I swear I won’t. Yet every morning, I begin a new round of my personal Mission Impossible. My impossible mission? Get control of my house AND my life.
Each morning I swear I won’t. Yet, first thing each day I make the bed and fluff up the “just for show” pillows. I maniacally wipe down the counters, speed-spritz the fridge to eliminate fingerprints and Windex with a fury the glass dining room table.
Each mid-morning, I swear Read more
My Mother and Mink
Her Pelts. My Punishment.
My mother was pro-mink. She believed fur symbolized luxury, style, wealth and to the manor born. Not me. I was decidedly anti-fur. I grew up in a cloth coat, pea- jacket, egalitarian world.
My mother was a native New Yorker, so fur was practical too, good for keeping the cold out. I, on the other hand, grew up in sunny Las Vegas. So I avoided the cold and the culture of fur for a long time.
The Fur Flies
But in my late 20s, I was D.C.-bound for an exciting new job. I was also in possession of a small insurance settlement from a leg injury. For my mother, the stars were aligned. She saw fur in my future and pounced. Read more