It’s Sunday and having consumed an eight-cup pot of coffee, I am finally going to tackle a few holiday chores after I write this post and when the risk of tachycardia has passed. I could jump right into the chores, but one thing I’ve learned is that if I have even the vaguest urge to write, I’d better do that first. Never squander the inclination to … Continue reading Christmas Crack and cards and caffeine crazy
Bleary-eyed, I scraped some of the burnt crumbs off my toast this morning, then slapped on a dab of peanut butter and, lo and behold . . . a Christmas Miracle! Is it the Virgin Mary? Jesus himself? Scraps of bread and gnarly root vegetables bearing holy images go for big bucks on eBay, and who can’t use some extra cash around the holidays? No. … Continue reading A Christmas political miracle
I want to talk about just one of the reasons why so many people (including me) are fat. As the title suggests, food has leapt way beyond its intended role of providing nourishment to performing as if it’s on your own little private Broadway stage. And let’s be clear about this: it’s not the broccoli or cabbage out there singing and dancing and stealing your … Continue reading Fun with food
Have you ever commented on a Facebook post and wish you hadn’t? I guess if you’re on Facebook at all, that had to have happened at one time or another (or another dozen times or so). Here’s what happened. There’s a Facebook page called “The 411 for Madison” and last summer a guy suggested keeping your car keys by your bed and hitting the alarm … Continue reading How to scare an intruder or get a gazillion likes on Facebook
I’ll admit it. I do have a tendency to jump on the bandwagon. I am a terrible jumper with short, fat legs, but I try to keep up. So when my buddy Ginny showed up wearing a FitBit when we worked the NCAN conference in Orlando last month, I was intrigued. And after seeing how it worked, I wanted one for myself. I ordered the … Continue reading Why my FitBit is a dick
I always take a little peek at the Yahoo news headlines when I get online. It’s my “home page,” though I’m thinking about changing that. Didn’t there used to be real news on that page? Somewhere along the line the page changed its format to contain a small percentage of valid news, a much larger percentage of celebrity and other silly shit “news,” and if … Continue reading I might be in the market for a head transplant
See? See? It worked! I wrote the most pitiful post ever yesterday and today I am – drum roll, please – writing again. Visit my “real blog,” weheartricksteves, to read my first post about the trip to Alsace with my intrepid buddy, Sue Brooks. Here’s what I finally figured out. You may say, well, DUH, Kate. What the hell?! But here it is: I am … Continue reading Oh, I’m back in the saddle agaaaaaaaaaaain!
. . . you’ll see my picture next to the description. Oh, man. I hate the beginning of this post already. So my first inclination is to delete it and maybe try writing again tomorrow. See what I mean? Think Little Engine That Could. Does anyone else find it hard to get back to LIFE after a big event? Since returning from France I’ve been catching … Continue reading If you look up the definition of “procrastination” in the dictionary . . .
My dogs sleep with me. Sometimes Mick spoons me and you haven’t lived until you’ve been spooned by a dachshund. He’s the perfect length to serve as a heating pad from my neck to my waist. Little Richard might be curled in the crook of my knees or, on occasion, I’ve awakened to find his face inches from mine on the pillow next to me, … Continue reading Sunday thoughts about sleeping dogs and getting older
Today is my birthday. Hurray! Who doesn’t like a birthday, right? Any excuse for cake is my motto. But some people just LOVE their birthdays. Some extreme birthday lovers announce on Facebook at the beginning of the month that it is their birth MONTH and they proceed to celebrate in numerous ways up to and even after the actual birth date. Sometimes they wear tiaras … Continue reading Happy birth DAY to me
Kate Mahar writes . . . 