I used to feel so sorry for the people on that A&E show, Hoarders . There they were, self-imprisoned victims, overwhelmed by their obsessions with trash. Most of them knew they were sick but, because of their illness, couldn’t find the way to heal themselves. I’d sit in my mostly tidy living room and pity these folks, sure I didn’t have a problem like theirs. Well, I do and it’s appeared in a very odd place. I seem to be a kitchen clutter monkey. This all started last Thursday when the leader of my weight-loss group talked about how “stuff” fills up our kitchen pantries. Along with the staples we use on an everyday basis, people often store groceries they never use. As everyone in the meeting began nodding, I got an idea. “Hey, let’s all clean out our pantries and bring the extras to the next meeting so we can donate it to a food bank!” Everyone agreed so I had to clean out my own shelves. I wasn’t prepared for what I found! What was hiding in the pantry Found: flea collar for the dogthat passed away morethan 15 years ago! This is what came from my two-tier, under-cabinet,…
It’s been foggy as all get out this week. I don’t mean one of dark, pea-soup fogs that blacken city centers for days, but a daily, thick, white, winter mist that layers everything outdoors in microscopic droplets and obscures any object more than 30 feet away. Fogs that makes the world seem even colder than it is. We’re talking weather an English Teacher can use to lecture about creating “atmosphere.” Well, fog works in stories, doesn’t it? The very nature of the phenomena creates confusion, where good things and bad are hidden, and individuals are isolated. Writers have been using fog as set-dressing, plot-device, and symbols for longer than I care to think about. Since we’re stuck inside until the sun breaks through, why not take a look one or two stories that turned these earth-bound clouds into art? Fog and England have been associated for so long, it’s practically become a cliche. Yet, if you are talking about bright, white, fog, forget about the stories of London. The soot and sulfur-filled clouds that permeate Bleak House and every Ripper tale ever written are peculiar to the city. Instead, look toward the southern coast for one of the greatest Gothic stories…
The American South does lots of things well, but Winter ain’t one of them. While hardy New-Englanders take February like a dose of nasty-but-fortifying medicine and mountainous regions celebrate the annual return of snow bunnies to the slopes, the denizens of Dixie roll ourselves up in fleece and wonder why God sent an Ice Age our way. He didn’t, not really, but when you live in the sun belt, it’s hard to cope when the sun goes away. Our houses and wardrobes don’t accommodate perma-frost that well and neither do our moods. We like living outdoors in a world drenched in green instead of staring through the window at a universe of muddy browns and grays. It gets depressing. That’s why Wednesday was such a ray of hope. It was a Mid-Winter Hiatus. Winter doesn’t look so dreary when the sky is this blue! After two fairly solid cold snaps and an impressive amount of rain, the sun came out on Tuesday and Wednesday and put some blue back in the sky. Not that thin, watery blue sky that makes a cold day colder either, but the deep azure we’ve come to accept as a birthright. I knew it was time, not only to…
I’ve never been an athlete. I was raised in a family that sat whenever they could. Sitting was our clan’s favorite pastime, and our endurance in couch-potatery would have qualified us on the Olympic s if they could have turned it into a competitive sport. The fact that many of us were overweight was no surprise. The surprise was my sister, who ran for fun, and competed in track as a girl. Although she could sit, my sis could also move, and she was unafraid of competition. I was proud of her drive and talents, and she knew that. But neither believed I’d follow her example. The Infamous Fitbit All of which made my sister’s offer to buy me a Fitbit last May a bit of an awkward phone call. To her credit, Sis knew I was trying to lose weight, and she’s never pressed me to get active. Her suggested gift would help me lose weight. But that doesn’t mean I wanted to take it. The few times I had tried exercise before, I’d ended up with sore joints and a lousy attitude. But it’s hard to turn my sister down, especially when her thought is well-meant. So, I said yes, thinking…
There’s an ugly, dead tree at the bottom of my yard and I want it gone. One very ugly,dead tree Now, before you decide I’m some nut who wants to ruin the environment, let me admit the tree is dead. Also, I live in a place where Mother Nature needs editing more than encouragement. So, I’m not some terrible industrialist laying waste to the earth. But I am someone who lost control of my world. And I’m fighting to get it back. Our house sits at the back of 4/3s of an acre on the crest of a low-lying hill. Because we live on a slope and my husband does not love lawn care, much of our yard belongs to the wild things. Trees and brush grow at the corners of the lot where birds and small animals make their homes. As long as the foliage didn’t obscure the view or road to our house, that’s fine. But then the ugly tree came along. It came up during one of our 48-hour springs that seem to launch straight into summer. In March, it was a straight little sapling that hugged the edge of the road. By fall, it was too big…