I have, unfortunately, sunk to a new low. Facebook--despite the fact that I really have nothing good to say about Facebook--has, along with Quizony.com, sucked me into their web of silly questions that promise to confirm for me exactly who and what I am...something, as you know, I have been trying to figure out for years. A few days ago, it was color. I turned out to be a Yellow which means I am a bit cautious, but I can be convinced to take advantage of the right opportunities to break out of my mold. And (just to add a bit of dash and excitement to that bland analysis) I'm assured that "just when my friends think I am very predictable, I will surprise them." Surprise!!
This morning, BC, having left early for a fishing trip, meant our house was unnaturally quiet and the shades were still drawn. I looked around, then checked into Facebook. There it was, tucked quietly between a really nice photo of our grand-dog and his kitty friend and the "Best kept weight-loss secret ever," reminding me of the serpent coiled around the tree whispering to Eve. In my case asking, "What Animal are You?" Really, I mean who cares, but then, it might be interesting to know. It could be a breakthrough.
And, just like Eve, I weakened. I studied the first question: "How fit are you?" Not too bad, thank you for asking. I moved onto the next: "Which of these appeals to you most?" Holy Cow! Those choices are not designed for an older woman. "How would you prefer to travel?" You can be sure it's not by "aeroplane." And on and on and on. "What's a man's role when it comes to children?" Oh, those were great answers but, just in case someone was hacking in, I couldn't bring myself to choose the one I really wanted. Finally--drum roll--I answered #10. It was time to unveil my future. And, the answer? A Beaver. A Beaver?!? Why would they even include a Beaver in this test.
I suppose, in an effort to make a Beaver feel better about being a Beaver, Quizony describes them as Creative, Practical, Well Organized, and occasionally known to break out of their routine. I guess that should make me feel a little better because I'd always thought Beavers were simply large rodents who swam well but were mean as dirt. Apparently, I underestimated them.
Monday, April 7, 2014
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
AND I WOULD BE A...
Last week, as I was getting ready for the day and listening to NPR, I was stopped by the factoid that in today's job interview one is often asked what color of crayon one would be. "Margie, what color of crayon are you?" Fortunately, I am not in the job market because that is exactly the kind of question that brings me to my knees in a pool of sweat and indecisiveness. I hate specific questions which require quick answers, or worse--an opinion.
But, as I made the bed, I decided to play pretend and answer the question. "If I were a crayon I would be a..." I begin to think: "I'm a responsible self-starter, efficient, effective and worth much more than any employer would probably pay me. I'm a black crayon. Definitely a no nonsense, nose to the grindstone sort of person. Oh, but maybe choosing black would mean that you would think I'm locked tightly in a narrow box, unable to think outside of it. You might not realize that my solutions to various problems can be quite creative and always well thought out. So, I think I might actually be a blue crayon. Yes, blue...bright blue."
"Oh dear, I don't want you to think, though, that I'm one of those kind of creatives. You know, the crazy kind. No, no. I would be a really nice. responsible, and helpful creative. Please, let's just take a minute here. Could you possibly tell me how many crayons I have to work with? A box of 72 or only 48? Is this a new box that might have newer colors or names? Is it one of those fat crayon boxes that only has six or so primary colors? Do they still make fat crayons?"
By the time I finished making the bed, I had pretended myself right out the door of that imaginary job interview and still didn't have a clue as to what color I thought I was or wanted to be.
Suddenly, I'm back in my freshman year at St. Mary of the Plains High School. St. Mary's opened as a boarding school for out-of-town girls as well as a day school for those of us from Dodge City. The first day of class I met Pam. I have no idea now what her last name was, but Pam was a boarder from Oklahoma, spoke with a bit of an Okie accent (which I thought was exotic), and wrote all of her papers using a fountain pen filled with Peacock Blue ink. I think it was my first girl crush. Pam was pretty, solidly packed, spoke with a rather raspy voice, and was fearless when it came to the nuns. It never occurred to me at the time that Pam may have been sent to St. Mary of the Plains High School for a reason, and that she would be a relative short-timer there. I was too impressed to think beyond the moment.
I know that I began begging for a pen and Peacock Blue ink as soon as I got home that afternoon and actually wheedled my way into both items within a day or two...just in time for the nuns to announce that they would only accept papers written in the standard blue or black ink. All other colors were forbidden and would result in an "F". Those women, quite frankly, had no sense of the joy Peacock Blue ink could bring to the soul.
So--back to the original question: What color am I? I am a Yellow. Yes, yellow. I know that because I took a short test on Facebook a couple of days ago and it said I was a Yellow--although, frankly, I wouldn't have chosen any of those restaurants.
But, as I made the bed, I decided to play pretend and answer the question. "If I were a crayon I would be a..." I begin to think: "I'm a responsible self-starter, efficient, effective and worth much more than any employer would probably pay me. I'm a black crayon. Definitely a no nonsense, nose to the grindstone sort of person. Oh, but maybe choosing black would mean that you would think I'm locked tightly in a narrow box, unable to think outside of it. You might not realize that my solutions to various problems can be quite creative and always well thought out. So, I think I might actually be a blue crayon. Yes, blue...bright blue."
"Oh dear, I don't want you to think, though, that I'm one of those kind of creatives. You know, the crazy kind. No, no. I would be a really nice. responsible, and helpful creative. Please, let's just take a minute here. Could you possibly tell me how many crayons I have to work with? A box of 72 or only 48? Is this a new box that might have newer colors or names? Is it one of those fat crayon boxes that only has six or so primary colors? Do they still make fat crayons?"
By the time I finished making the bed, I had pretended myself right out the door of that imaginary job interview and still didn't have a clue as to what color I thought I was or wanted to be.
Suddenly, I'm back in my freshman year at St. Mary of the Plains High School. St. Mary's opened as a boarding school for out-of-town girls as well as a day school for those of us from Dodge City. The first day of class I met Pam. I have no idea now what her last name was, but Pam was a boarder from Oklahoma, spoke with a bit of an Okie accent (which I thought was exotic), and wrote all of her papers using a fountain pen filled with Peacock Blue ink. I think it was my first girl crush. Pam was pretty, solidly packed, spoke with a rather raspy voice, and was fearless when it came to the nuns. It never occurred to me at the time that Pam may have been sent to St. Mary of the Plains High School for a reason, and that she would be a relative short-timer there. I was too impressed to think beyond the moment.
I know that I began begging for a pen and Peacock Blue ink as soon as I got home that afternoon and actually wheedled my way into both items within a day or two...just in time for the nuns to announce that they would only accept papers written in the standard blue or black ink. All other colors were forbidden and would result in an "F". Those women, quite frankly, had no sense of the joy Peacock Blue ink could bring to the soul.
So--back to the original question: What color am I? I am a Yellow. Yes, yellow. I know that because I took a short test on Facebook a couple of days ago and it said I was a Yellow--although, frankly, I wouldn't have chosen any of those restaurants.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
GOODBYE, LOVE
I don't particularly want to write this post, but I can't not write it. My friend died very peacefully, but very suddenly on March 9th, and nothing I write or don't write will change that. My neighbor gasped on the phone that Sunday morning, "Kathy's gone", and I find I repeat that phrase daily in my heart, in my head, and out loud to similarly shocked friends. "Kathy's gone..."
Del Webb sells his homes by neighborhood. Early in 2003, his corporation began building and marketing homes in what would become the "Havasu" division. Within mere months, 170 homes were completed--landscaping included. Life within a Del Webb community leans toward egalitarianism. Mr. Webb happily mixes Classics, Cottages, Premiers and Estate models throughout his neighborhoods, and those living within mix just as cheerfully. I don't know that that is important right now, but I'm trying to say that we all moved into Havasu within two or three months of each other. Everyone was new...some to the community, others to the neighborhood. It means we bonded quickly. We became a cohesive, close-knit neighborhood and we remain so today. Kathy's death has left a gaping hole on our street.
Obviously, we're an older adult neighborhood. It's a retirement community for heaven's sake. We know a little about life. Many of us are on our second marriage. We've learned that spouses die, love dies, things fall apart. We've all experienced decades of life--good and bad. Why did we feel so insulated here? Why were we so shocked when death crept into our midst?
Because no one is ready for death. Whether it's a painfully slow decline or a sudden horrific accident. Death surprises us, and shocks us, and leaves us weak. Even at our age, we don't know how to respond, how to comfort and, especially, how to feel. We're sad, we're stunned and we're a bit afraid. We all know it could have been us.
But it wasn't. It was Kathy. Kathy, sitting in her little (perfectly sized) comfy chair, "frou-frou" coffee at her side, daily devotional in her lap. It was Kathy, who loved sparkles, created elaborate and beautiful greeting cards, knit dozens of dainty scarves, and painstakingly beaded unique, much-admired jewelry. Kathy, who sang in the choir, made pastoral visits to those who were housebound, greeted new members, and was a pillar of the churchwomens' groups.
But most of all, it was Kathy who loved Jim. Kathy, who loved her family, her friends, her church, her neighborhood. Kathy, who never failed to let us know she was there for us. No--actually, it was Kathy, who was always there for us.
While I was standing outside of her house the morning she died, various professionals inside doing what they're charged to do, my next door neighbor turned to me and said, "She was my best friend, you know." I don't think I'd thought about "best friend" vs "friend" for a long time. But Kris' comment stayed with me and yes, in many ways, Kathy was my best friend, too. The following week at church, Kathy's absence so glaringly painful for everyone there, I continued to hear similar echoes. Kathy...my friend...our friend...we miss her...so sad...friend...
Oddly enough, I've always been fascinated by epitaphs--those spoken, as well as those chiseled in stone. I've always worried a little that mine might turn out to be: "Oh, so that's who that was." But over the past week or so I've come to believe that Kathy's will be the best epitaph anyone could hope for, because in its simplicity it goes so deep and so wide and touches the soul that abides in us all: "Kathy was our friend. We will miss her always."
Good-bye, Love.
Del Webb sells his homes by neighborhood. Early in 2003, his corporation began building and marketing homes in what would become the "Havasu" division. Within mere months, 170 homes were completed--landscaping included. Life within a Del Webb community leans toward egalitarianism. Mr. Webb happily mixes Classics, Cottages, Premiers and Estate models throughout his neighborhoods, and those living within mix just as cheerfully. I don't know that that is important right now, but I'm trying to say that we all moved into Havasu within two or three months of each other. Everyone was new...some to the community, others to the neighborhood. It means we bonded quickly. We became a cohesive, close-knit neighborhood and we remain so today. Kathy's death has left a gaping hole on our street.
Obviously, we're an older adult neighborhood. It's a retirement community for heaven's sake. We know a little about life. Many of us are on our second marriage. We've learned that spouses die, love dies, things fall apart. We've all experienced decades of life--good and bad. Why did we feel so insulated here? Why were we so shocked when death crept into our midst?
Because no one is ready for death. Whether it's a painfully slow decline or a sudden horrific accident. Death surprises us, and shocks us, and leaves us weak. Even at our age, we don't know how to respond, how to comfort and, especially, how to feel. We're sad, we're stunned and we're a bit afraid. We all know it could have been us.
But it wasn't. It was Kathy. Kathy, sitting in her little (perfectly sized) comfy chair, "frou-frou" coffee at her side, daily devotional in her lap. It was Kathy, who loved sparkles, created elaborate and beautiful greeting cards, knit dozens of dainty scarves, and painstakingly beaded unique, much-admired jewelry. Kathy, who sang in the choir, made pastoral visits to those who were housebound, greeted new members, and was a pillar of the churchwomens' groups.
But most of all, it was Kathy who loved Jim. Kathy, who loved her family, her friends, her church, her neighborhood. Kathy, who never failed to let us know she was there for us. No--actually, it was Kathy, who was always there for us.
While I was standing outside of her house the morning she died, various professionals inside doing what they're charged to do, my next door neighbor turned to me and said, "She was my best friend, you know." I don't think I'd thought about "best friend" vs "friend" for a long time. But Kris' comment stayed with me and yes, in many ways, Kathy was my best friend, too. The following week at church, Kathy's absence so glaringly painful for everyone there, I continued to hear similar echoes. Kathy...my friend...our friend...we miss her...so sad...friend...
Oddly enough, I've always been fascinated by epitaphs--those spoken, as well as those chiseled in stone. I've always worried a little that mine might turn out to be: "Oh, so that's who that was." But over the past week or so I've come to believe that Kathy's will be the best epitaph anyone could hope for, because in its simplicity it goes so deep and so wide and touches the soul that abides in us all: "Kathy was our friend. We will miss her always."
Good-bye, Love.
Thursday, March 6, 2014
PHONE PHOBIC
I glance at the clock on my car's dashboard. It reads 18:57...I drive a cool British car...but that time means I'm nearly late. Not now! I've come too far to be late. I double check the address and, sure enough, this is it. A tired brick school building slumped on the edge of an asphalt parking lot/playground. I pull in under one of the few lights, take a deep breath, and walk toward the building. There's not a star in the sky. It's chilly with a bit of wind, and the whole scene couldn't be more daunting. But...If I don't do this now it will never get done. Do it!
I run up the steps, tug at the door, and find a long hallway as dim as that parking lot. But, slightly ahead and to my right harsh fluorescent light is pouring out from an open classroom. Do it! Go for the light! I suck in my tummy, throw back my shoulders and begin the long walk. Dear God, the room looks just like I feared. On my left, an ancient coffee-urn is sputtering and spitting. Everyone is balancing a Styrofoam cup while dragging a really disgusting folding chair into a circle toward the middle of the room. Don't run away. Do it!
I spot a few smiles and a welcoming glance here and there. I pour a little coffee laced with grounds, reach tentatively for a chair and join the circle. Everyone looks my way. "Hello," I manage. My voice quivers just a bit and I'm breathless. "My name is Margie and I'm a Phone Phobic."
WHAAA?
Yes, I'm a Phone Phobic. And, yes, I'm as confused as you are. I spent virtually all of my teen-age years with a 20 foot phone cord wrapped around myself chattering on the family phone. My father reluctantly agreed to let the telephone company install that cord so that I wasn't tied to the tiny phone niche located in our hall. With 20 feet, I could carry that phone into my bedroom, the family bathroom, my parents' bedroom and the dining room. Our phone number was 539. When dial reached Dodge City, our number changed to HUnter 3-4453. I remember feeling terribly New Yorkish when that happened.
But sometime between those glory days and now I became a Phone Phobic. I think it came on gradually. I don't remember being especially traumatized by the phone at any point in time. I dialed with impunity all during my 20s. With three daughters sharing one phone I fought hard for my phone time during my 30s. Maybe it started in my 40s? I think it worsened in my 50s, and became downright debilitating in my 60s. It hasn't helped that I live with BC. BC loves the phone. BC happily calls his daughters, his son, his brothers, his friends from early morning until well into the evening hours. He's happiest when he's holding a phone. BC "butt-calls" virtual strangers, and generally ends up with a new best friend. BC, unfortunately, is an enabler. He is more than happy to make the calls I dread. BC has fed my habit.
So, even though I haven't told my Life Coach that I'm a phone phobic...outgoing only, I'm fine with incoming...I decided I had gathered enough tools to begin working on this problem. Today, I had a difficult phone call to make and BC is fishing in Oklahoma. Obviously, I was in trouble
I began to pace from one end of the house to the other proclaiming, "I am enjoying calling my friends and visiting with them." Over and over and over. Then...I did it. I called a friend who is experiencing a difficult time. I told her how I was keeping her in my heart. I promised to offer a prayer now and then for her. I listened. She cried--just a little. She told me how grateful she was that I called. She was grateful that I called? Not nearly as grateful as I was that I called. She has no idea that I'm a Phone Phobic or how hard it was for me to tap those buttons. But I do. And I feel so grateful that I was able to help her through her day. And, I have kept her in my heart all day and I have whispered a few prayers heavenward for her. And I will continue to do that. A promise is a promise. That one won't be hard to keep.
Monday, March 3, 2014
EXPLORE, DREAM, AND DISCOVER
This familiar quote is attributed to Mark Twain, and a version of it is propped on my little 104 year-old writing desk:
TWENTY YEARS FROM NOW
YOU WILL BE MORE DISAPPOINTED
BY THE THINGS
THAT YOU DIDN'T DO
THAN BY THE ONES YOU DID DO.
EXPLORE.
DREAM.
DISCOVER.
I had been dreaming about starting a blog for months. Or, more honestly, for years. But each time I made a wild stab at it, I backed myself off. What if I couldn't do it? (Blogging oftentimes stretches my technological skills in a painful way.) What if I could do it, but nobody read it? (Well, guess what? I've learned I can survive that.) What if (the worst here) my friends and acquaintances laughed at me, or just smirked in a superior way, or just thought I was really stupid. It was definitely time to play it safe and step back from the dream.
But Mark Twain's arrival, following a shopping trip at Target, close on the heels of my 66th birthday combined to create one of those sea changes that seems to leave in its wake either the best of all worlds or the worst. I took the plunge. My very first post--which turned out to be not one entry, but two, because I didn't understand how to place two pictures in the same post--arrived on September 25, 2010. I've continued stabbing at it (on an irregular basis) ever since, and 9.9 times out of 10, I am filled with great joy when I push the "publish" button. This is where I live. Well, for a few hours a week anyway. They're always happy hours (sometimes I crack myself up), but not necessarily easy hours. I hope they are hours well spent.
Recently (70 is approaching this year), I've really begun to realize that if I don't do it now, I'm not going to have the chance to ever do it--whatever "it" turns out to be. There will be a point when my energy will flag, my eyes will dim, and the cognitive skills I'm trying so hard to hold onto will go to hell. It's now or never.
To that end, I have begun working with a Life Coach. Yes, really. And, I think, this will be the best thing I've ever done for myself. Even BC was approving...and hopeful, poor soul. I was nervous as a witch before my first visit with Jay, but he made it so easy the hour flew by. I took copious notes and religiously followed my list of suggested exercises. Actually, the exercises weren't suggested. We decided together as to what I would work on and I am accountable for that. I'm really much more disciplined when I'm accountable. I hope that doesn't sound onerous because it's not. I promise. It's all good, definitely eye-opening, and up to me. I like that. There is a certain feeling of wonder and--even though I'm a bit afraid to think it--power in creating a great life.
At the same time, I'm taking classes that are helping me figure out this whole blogging business. While I love blogging, I definitely need to do it better. There is a way and I'm busy with that. Remember a few paragraphs up when I mentioned that I was afraid my friends might look at me askance if they knew I spent an inordinate amount of time in front of my computer composing little thoughts and stories? Well, I approached that problem by not telling them. Simple, huh? Of course, the whole point of blogging is to have readers, preferably an increasing number of readers, plus lots of followers, and commenters, etc... I kind of skipped that part in this whole process. So, now I'm practicing saying: "Hi, I'm Margie and I'm a blogger." "I blog for..." I'm working on that last part and I have notes galore. It will come.
You know, it's not all bad to be closing in on 70 and still excited to see what each day brings. It's just now 5:00 p.m., and I think I'll go toast to that thought.
Monday, February 3, 2014
SUPER BOWL REDUX
You're right. I really had no intention of watching the Super Bowl game last night. I'm not a football fan, especially of the Pros, and just find the whole game to be a little mean-spirited. Don't kid yourself, they're there to hurt each other...most often, in a quiet, subtle sort of way.
But, BC was excited about the Broncos and the whole razzle-dazzle of SUPER BOWL SUNDAY, so he grabbed a couple of frosty beers, poured some wine for me, warmed up the left-over artichoke dip and I was trapped. Damn!
GAME XLVIII, QUARTER I: I'm relatively ignorant about this game, but right away I can tell that the Denver boys seem a bit nervous while the Seattle guys are running, jumping, pushing, throwing, and having a really great time. I check the stats and the team with the best defense has 8 points, and the team with the best offense has 0.
REPORT ON COMMERCIALS: Bear in mind, I'm an older woman and some things go right by me, but I didn't think the first quarter commercials were particularly notable. I was too slow to get much from the Bud hidden camera, limo, party and etc. I think I'll just stick to wine. It's obvious Ford bet the farm on two ads for the Ford Fusion Hybrid, one cleverly low-key and the second over the top. Neither one, unfortunately for Ford, will send me rushing to the nearest dealership, although I do think the Escape is very cute. Bank of America included a tie-in with an AIDS fund-raiser which is certainly a worthy cause but, frankly, I thought it a bit disingenuous considering their record during the financial crisis and the fact that they absolutely ruined the most favorite bank in which I ever worked.
QUARTER II: I think this was my favorite quarter. I'm on my second glass of wine and time is rolling by pretty quickly, primarily, so BC tells me, because the boys are running with the ball rather than throwing it. There was some problem in catching the ball or in which team might end up catching the ball. It's OK with me...let's keep this moving. Team with best defense: 22; Team with best offense: 0.
REPORT ON COMMERCIALS: For me, the quality of commercials improved dramatically over those in Round 1. I particularly loved: "Every time a Volkswagon hits 100,000 miles, a German engineer gets his wings." I am a huge Volkswagon Beetle fan (although those German designers are about to ruin it's huggability with their evolving design work) dating from the days when I owned a 1968 bright red Volkswagon bug and a VW owner was lucky if she didn't have to replace an engine every 20,000 miles.
HALF-TIME: In all honesty, I had never heard of Bruno Mars, and for a few minutes I thought he was Jersey Boys redux. (Note: it's a redux kind of report) He was fun and I enjoyed him. The Red Hot Chili Peppers? Haven't ever really been a fan, but it was an OK half-time diversion.
QUARTER III: The artichoke dip, vegies and ranch dip are gone and we're down to apples. I'm on glass #2 1/2 of Yellow Tail Cabernet and my excitement level is dipping. Denver kicks off to the Seahawks and Mr. Percy catches the ball and in an absolute blur of pumping legs returns it for an 87 yard touchdown! Wow. I'm a Seahawk! Peyton Manning is aging right before our eyes, and I nearly feel sorry for him. Eli looks like he wants to come down out of that press box and help him. Tough all around. Team with best defense: 36; Team with best offense: 8.
REPORT ON COMMERCIALS: This time it's Audi for pure fun, with their obscene little dog and his big head. Especially when he grabbed Sarah McLaughlin's guitar between his teeth and ripped it out of her hands. The reason is a whole other story, but it was cathartic. On the serious side, Chrysler did a wonderful job even though I think their cars need better designers; and, the Bud ad honoring serviceman Chuck Nadd...although I have a real problem sending our young men across the world to fight endless wars...touched my heart. We've sent them. These guys deserve our care and concern. Good for Bud.
QUARTER IV: I'm still working on my second and a half glass of wine but BC has moved on to bourbon. Actually I don't have a clue what happened during this quarter, but I know it wasn't as cold as they expected, there was a rather enticing ad for Jaguar and Denver never did catch up. I was primarily concerned that this game would not end before "Downton Abbey" began on Channel 8. Yes, I record the goings on of the Crawleys, but I'd much rather see it firsthand than watch after the fact. Hurry up guys. And, aaaah...They're finished. I immediately apologized to BC and switched the channel to PBS just as the Yellow Lab's tush began strolling (in that Yellow Lab sort of way) toward Downton Abbey. A perfect evening...
But, BC was excited about the Broncos and the whole razzle-dazzle of SUPER BOWL SUNDAY, so he grabbed a couple of frosty beers, poured some wine for me, warmed up the left-over artichoke dip and I was trapped. Damn!
GAME XLVIII, QUARTER I: I'm relatively ignorant about this game, but right away I can tell that the Denver boys seem a bit nervous while the Seattle guys are running, jumping, pushing, throwing, and having a really great time. I check the stats and the team with the best defense has 8 points, and the team with the best offense has 0.
REPORT ON COMMERCIALS: Bear in mind, I'm an older woman and some things go right by me, but I didn't think the first quarter commercials were particularly notable. I was too slow to get much from the Bud hidden camera, limo, party and etc. I think I'll just stick to wine. It's obvious Ford bet the farm on two ads for the Ford Fusion Hybrid, one cleverly low-key and the second over the top. Neither one, unfortunately for Ford, will send me rushing to the nearest dealership, although I do think the Escape is very cute. Bank of America included a tie-in with an AIDS fund-raiser which is certainly a worthy cause but, frankly, I thought it a bit disingenuous considering their record during the financial crisis and the fact that they absolutely ruined the most favorite bank in which I ever worked.
QUARTER II: I think this was my favorite quarter. I'm on my second glass of wine and time is rolling by pretty quickly, primarily, so BC tells me, because the boys are running with the ball rather than throwing it. There was some problem in catching the ball or in which team might end up catching the ball. It's OK with me...let's keep this moving. Team with best defense: 22; Team with best offense: 0.
REPORT ON COMMERCIALS: For me, the quality of commercials improved dramatically over those in Round 1. I particularly loved: "Every time a Volkswagon hits 100,000 miles, a German engineer gets his wings." I am a huge Volkswagon Beetle fan (although those German designers are about to ruin it's huggability with their evolving design work) dating from the days when I owned a 1968 bright red Volkswagon bug and a VW owner was lucky if she didn't have to replace an engine every 20,000 miles.
HALF-TIME: In all honesty, I had never heard of Bruno Mars, and for a few minutes I thought he was Jersey Boys redux. (Note: it's a redux kind of report) He was fun and I enjoyed him. The Red Hot Chili Peppers? Haven't ever really been a fan, but it was an OK half-time diversion.
QUARTER III: The artichoke dip, vegies and ranch dip are gone and we're down to apples. I'm on glass #2 1/2 of Yellow Tail Cabernet and my excitement level is dipping. Denver kicks off to the Seahawks and Mr. Percy catches the ball and in an absolute blur of pumping legs returns it for an 87 yard touchdown! Wow. I'm a Seahawk! Peyton Manning is aging right before our eyes, and I nearly feel sorry for him. Eli looks like he wants to come down out of that press box and help him. Tough all around. Team with best defense: 36; Team with best offense: 8.
REPORT ON COMMERCIALS: This time it's Audi for pure fun, with their obscene little dog and his big head. Especially when he grabbed Sarah McLaughlin's guitar between his teeth and ripped it out of her hands. The reason is a whole other story, but it was cathartic. On the serious side, Chrysler did a wonderful job even though I think their cars need better designers; and, the Bud ad honoring serviceman Chuck Nadd...although I have a real problem sending our young men across the world to fight endless wars...touched my heart. We've sent them. These guys deserve our care and concern. Good for Bud.
QUARTER IV: I'm still working on my second and a half glass of wine but BC has moved on to bourbon. Actually I don't have a clue what happened during this quarter, but I know it wasn't as cold as they expected, there was a rather enticing ad for Jaguar and Denver never did catch up. I was primarily concerned that this game would not end before "Downton Abbey" began on Channel 8. Yes, I record the goings on of the Crawleys, but I'd much rather see it firsthand than watch after the fact. Hurry up guys. And, aaaah...They're finished. I immediately apologized to BC and switched the channel to PBS just as the Yellow Lab's tush began strolling (in that Yellow Lab sort of way) toward Downton Abbey. A perfect evening...
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