Homeownershit Part 2

It is amazing all that I can see since the cataract surgery.  Sometimes, I wish I were still a little on the blind side.  I have tiny round holes in my ceiling extending down part of the hallway. They're too round and nicely lined up to be stucco droppings from a crumbling popcorn ceiling.

It doesn't help that I noticed them last night, or early this morning, at 2:00 am.  Yep, dragging out the ladder at 2 am. Shining the flashlight on the ceiling at 2 am.  Finally taking a sleeping pill at 3:30 am because I am too worried to sleep and can't get "Danger Will Robinson" to stop ringing in my head.

The internet is the next best thing to asking a husband what's wrong.  One can actually google "tiny round holes in a stucco ceiling" and get results.  Of course, those results make one ready to move into a hotel, but they are still results none-the-less. 

I either have wood boring beetles, wood boring carpenter ants, wood boring bedbugs, wood boring wasps, or the dreaded wood consuming termites.  Yes, as I innocently go about with my daily life, a pestilence plague is devouring my house.  Scary, huh?

I will call in an exterminator.  I will fill my house with poison in order to destroy the little shits, um, bugs. I will further deplete my bank account. 

And maybe if there is any justice in this crazy world of homeownershit, I'll have enough money left over to spend the time it takes for the treatment to work on a little beach in warm, sunny Mexico.

Yea...in my dreams.

A Purpose in Life

Today I went back to St. John's Church after a two year absence.  I went because Fr. Nick would be the guest rector, and he always gives me lots to think about. Today I left pondering joy and the purpose of life.

I have to admit, when he first used the expression my thoughts drifted to the television show The Middle and the hippy dippy Reverend Tim Tom.  If you haven't watched that show, you're missing out.  Rev. Tim Tom is a guitar playing, platitude popping youth pastor.  He challenged his congregation to find their purpose in life which put Patricia Heaton's character on the road to a nervous breakdown. Fr. Nick encouraged us to identify our purpose and to reflect upon the joy it brings.

Hmmm.  For most of my life, I could easily identify a purpose. As a kid, my purpose was to do my best in school so I could ultimately become a teacher.  As a teen, I continued to study, but I think my secret purpose in life was to make my mother miserable.  I was very successful at that.  In college my purpose was balance so I could make the Dean's List while having a good time partying with my friends.  As a teacher, my purpose was clearly defined.  I wanted to teach, inspire, and help my students.  I loved the opportunities being a teacher gave me to help others, and not just in the classroom.

And then I retired.

My purpose in life is no longer so obvious, and I find myself asking the same question as Patricia Heaton's character.  However, I am not going to throw myself in hundreds of different directions in an attempt to answer the question.  Seriously, I'm too old and tired to do that.

I do, though, hope to be still and listen, to hear in my heart a call to know how and when to help.  In many ways, my life has been enriched by helping others.  Helping brings me joy.   Fr. Nick suggested that we ask ourselves if we found joy and if we brought joy in life.  That is a question I'm not ready to answer yet.  'Cause I still got a lot of living to do!

Famous People Sightings

I love celebrity sightings.  I'm not sure what started me on this, but it goes back to my childhood.  The family was at Atlantic City on the Boardwalk when my mom got all excited.  There were Xavier Cougat and Abbe Lane stepping out of a pedi-cab and waving to their fans.  I didn't know who they were, but they sure had the crowd in a frenzy.  Later on, I discovered many autographed pictures mixed in with the family albums.  My grandfather had been a cop in Philadelphia and he moonlighted as a security guard for an inner-city black nightclub.  I remember holding a picture of Louis Armstrong calling my grandfather his good friend. Wow. I wanted some of that.

Living in King of Prussia, we were near a big mall and the Valley Forge Music Tent.  Yes, it started out as an actual tent and many famous people appeared there.  In performance, I saw Joel Grey, Frank Sinatra, Richard Chamberlain, Barbara Eden, and Robert Goulet to name a few.  (Robert Goulet actually passed gas while on stage, and his body mike made sure we all heard it.) I can also brag that I saw Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton in Private Lives in Washington DC.  The play was horrible, but Liz was delightful.  At one point, she spilled a cup full of tea.  Well, she started to laugh in a robust manner, and soon the play had been abandoned by an audience rolling in laughter with her.

My most memorable famous people sightings are the ones that happened outside the performance venues.  When I was a teenager standing in line to purchase a book at Korvettes, I looked up to see Liberace hurrying from the music department to the escalator.  My mouth dropped.  He smiled, put his finger to his lips to whisper "shhh," waved, and scurried on his way.  I drove out west one summer.  While in St. Louis, I was "this close" to Debbie Reynolds when she walked past me to appear at a department store opening.  She was soooo tiny!  While researching the author S.E. Hinton in an Oklahoma library, I heard a musical ruckus in the courtyard.  It was Famous Amos promoting literacy.  Security guards were ready to run me over until Gregory Peck called them off when I approached him to take a picture at the Rose Bowl Parade.  Cal Ripken visited my school and I made sure to have a picture taken with him.  If you saw the original, you know I had to blow it up and cut Lois out in order to appear to be Cal's one and only new best friend.  Once in New York, I saw Bernie Koppel (Doc on The Love Boat) at a corner eatery.  His companions were very friendly, and that's all I have to say about him.  Another time in New York, I saw Conan O'Brien waiting for his car.  He is one funny looking man, very tall and very skinny with a big pumpkin head balanced on his slender shoulders.  I also regretfully remember the near misses.  One that hurts the most happened after seeing The Lion King. While I was back in the theater getting an extra program for my friend Tommy, my girlfriends were chatting it up with Henry Winkler.  Sniff, I missed him. When Bill Clinton came to Havre de Grace, only the sixth grade was allowed to go to the park to see him.  The rest of us stood on the street to wave his car into town, but he didn't roll down the window, so I didn't get to see my President.  Double sniff.

However, my most exciting sighting was the time I met Dennis Quaid.

I was in California for my cousin Randy's wedding.  They were taking pictures at some fancy hotel in Malibu when I saw Dennis Quaid walk towards the elevator.  Dennis Quaid, my not-so-secret crush since falling in love with him in the movie The Big Easy. I stood straight up, forgetting my niece was on my lap, and dropping her -hard- on the floor.  My sister was not happy with me, and took her crying daughter to the bathroom to calm her down.  And that's when Dennis appeared at the top of the steps on his way out the door.  I stopped him from leaving by blocking his path and asking him to take a picture with me.  My relatives dropped their jaws in shock when he agreed, and I handed my camera to a cousin.  I babbled. Told him I was a middle school teacher, and this was the biggest thing to ever happen to me.  He called me darlin', squeezed me so hard my eyes popped out, then kissed my hand before running up the hill to escape. Sadly, I ended up losing the roll of film with our picture.  I thought all was lost, but my sister contacted the wedding photographer and she gave me a framed 8"x10" of me and Uncle Dennis (that's what we told Reba to call him) for my birthday. I will always love that man (and my sister for getting me the picture).

So, there you have it, my star sightings.  Feel free to share yours.  Especially you Cousin Randy.  For those of you who don't know, my cousin has worked for the OWN network.  Talk about degrees of separation!  Why, I almost know Oprah!

Dimes

I once went to the Perryville library to hear the local antique dealer/ghost expert speak.  He was fascinating, and I believed every word he said.  He ended his presentation with a personal story about his father.  The number ten was an important one for his dad.  As a result, the family had a jar of dimes at home. Those dimes, symbolizing the number ten, had been collected throughout the years since his father's death.  He confidently explained the family's  belief that they were being left by his father to let them know he was still a presence in their lives.

Dimes.  I couldn't believe it.  I had to leave the room before I burst into tears.  You see, my family members leave dimes for us, too. 

My father and his sister, Aunt Jean, fanatically saved dimes.  I remember his peanut cans full of dimes. He never did tell me why they saved them, but save dimes they did.  I happened to catch a morning talk show when the guest explained that the dead communicate with the living by placing objects with meaning in front of them. Right after that I found a dime on the kitchen floor and I jokingly said, "Hi Aunt Jean!"  Afterwards I paid attention when dimes appeared.

My sister and I were preparing to leave for China to adopt her first daughter, a girl who'd be named for our two deceased and beloved aunts, Reba and Jean.  I was "mind chatting" with them and asking them to watch over us on that journey.  In the middle of my unmade bed was a dime. I have no idea how it got there.  I had not put my purse or suitcase on the bed.  There were no pockets on my nightgown.  And it had not been there when I went to bed. I felt comforted knowing that Aunt Jean would be with us on the journey. Though I felt a little silly when I told my sister, she agreed.

There's more.

One night I went to bed and didn't remember that I'd left a candle burning in the kitchen.  I could smell smoke, but since the bedroom window was open, I assumed it was a neighbor outside grabbing a cigarette.  The next morning I woke to see that the candle had burned through the plastic base, the glass table, and landed on a wool rug where it had mysteriously snuffed itself out. My legs gave out on me as I realized how close I'd come to burning down my house.  During hall duty, I told the miraculous story to my corner teacher buddies. One was glad that my guardian angel had been watching over me.  But Sandi, who'd heard my dime stories told me to look down.  There at my foot was a dime.  "Well, we know who put the fire out," Sandi said.

There's more.

My father was in the hospital (again) and it did not look good.  I was so upset and sick with worry.  As I  walked downstairs to do laundry, I was talking (in my head) to his sister, my Aunt Jean  and asking her to watch over us and be there if the worst happened to Dad. When I came up the stairs, there was a dime in the middle of the middle step. It was not there  when I went downstairs.  There was nobody else in the house. 

And more.

Years later when Mom was in the hospital, we thought it would be her last night on Earth.  I wanted to stay in her ICU room that night, but the nursing staff was forcing me to leave.  I told them to call the police to remove me as I was not going to leave my mother to die alone. They were annoyed, but allowed me to stay in the lounge down the hall. I was up and down most of the night looking in on her.  I was exhausted and wallowing in self-pity when I called my sister around midnight.  At the end of our conversation, I got up from the chair to return the phone to the end table.  I looked down at the chair, and there was a dime. It hadn't been there before, and I'd been up and down a lot.

Since then, there have been many dime sightings.  My nieces know the stories.  Reba often finds dimes.  Once on a beach in Disney World when she dug up a dime in the sand, she was excited that Bubbe and PopPop were watching over our vacation.  The first Christmas after Mom's death yielded a dime on the living room coffee table.  Helen and I had played Santa the night before, and I had personally cleaned off and emptied that coffee table. Nothing.  There was nothing on it when we went to bed.  I dreaded cleaning out my desk after I quit my part-time job.  I was strengthened by the dime I found on the steps that day.

I wish I'd done what the ghost expert did, save the dimes and record the stories. There are so many dime episodes, and I'm beginning to forget some of them, which is a shame. But, I remember enough and I know there will be more.  Life goes on.

Les Miserables, a review

After finishing a Kohl's run today, I realized that Les Miz was showing at a nearby theater in fifteen minutes.  I was less than ten minutes away, so I made a split second decision to go.  Yes, it's wonderful being retired! Three hours later I am a puddle and need to talk about this marvelous film.  Stop reading now if you are one of those internet kooks who looks at very clearly titled articles and then complains about spoilers.

OK? Still with me? I am a purist and I love my Broadway musicals done big and done right.  I don't trust movie versions because the grandness seems to shrink on film (Rock of Ages or Momma Mia anyone?) so I was a little afraid of being disappointed.  Nothing to fear with Miz.

I've said it before and I will say it again, Ann Hathaway is the perfect woman. In my opinion (and this blog is my opinion), she is more perfect than Princess Di.  Her Fantine was heartbreakingly good.  She's fragile, she's strong.  She's beautiful, she ugly cries.  She will need a new shelf at her house for all the awards she'll garner for this role.  Heck, I'd like to take her a bouquet of flowers myself. There are only a few degrees of separation between us; my sister works with someone who either is her aunt or knows her aunt.  I mean, heck, she's from PA.  I am too!  We may have once crossed paths.  Enough.  I'm creeping myself out.

I've read a lot of criticism concerning Russell Crowe's Javert.  Most critics were unhappy with his singing voice.  I guess I've seen enough community theater to think he sounded good, darn good.  One critique I read said that he wasn't right for the role because Javert is pure evil, and Crowe's character wasn't.  I never thought Javert was supposed to be "pure evil." And Jan Valjean himself shared my opinion as he forgave Javert, saved his life, and basically told him how he understood that he was only doing his job.  Javert's a complicated character.  He's mean.  You see that in him immediately at the film's beginning when he supervises the slaves as they pull the ship into dock, as he sneers at Valjean's suffering when bringing in the flag (and the mast it rode in on).   But he had a tender side.  Who didn't wipe a tear when he placed his medal on Gavroche's shirt?  He was a man of strong principles and integrity in carrying out the duties of his job. He was inflexible. And in the way of solitary strong characters, when he could no longer live with his failure to complete his job, he jumped into rushing water.  I didn't cover my eyes as he committed suicide, but I wish I had covered my ears.  You don't hear the thunk of a body hitting a concrete wall on a stage.

Helena Bonham Carter is well-known for her eccentric characters; I think  her tavern owner's wife will go down as one of her best.  Her timing was perfect as she wheedled around, behind, between and on top of her victims to steal their belongings.  I loved her look, her mood swings, her.  I used to "hate" Sacha Baron Cohen.  Ugh to his dictator gag that interrupted the Oscars a while back.  Double ugh to him rolling around in all his ugly nakedness in his first big film. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.  But this part was made for him!  Maybe he will take himself seriously after the success of this movie and stop with the stupid publicity hound stunts. 

Hugh Jackman. Sigh.  Where do I begin?  How about not even recognizing him in all his filth and stench (yes, I swear I could smell him) at the beginning of the movie?  What an amazing transformation!  I never understood all the fuss about him, and now I'm ready to join his fan club.  But back to the show.... I've always been annoyed with Valjean's valiant efforts to save Marius for Cosette.  I mean, how could those two possibly be soul mates, all they saw of each other was through a garden gate?  But I found myself rooting for him as Valjean dragged  Marius through the sewers of Paris.  My heart sank when he reached the light at the end of the tunnel and Javert was waiting for him. You'll have to see the movie to find out what happens next; I'm not about to give it all away.

The rest of the cast was spectacular, from the crusty infected prostitutes to the beautiful young men waving their red flags and futilely shooting their pistols.  Where has Aaron Tviet been this last decade of my life?  I wanted to scream to Valjean to save that handsome square-jawed man; I know Cosette would have liked him a lot better.  Samantha Banks won the role of Eponine over Taylor Swift, thank goodness.  Eponine must have street smarts, and I can't see pretty pouty Taylor doing street thug.  I also can't imagine the tavern owner and wife producing a Taylor Swift. I was not blown away by Amanda Seyfried as the grown-up Cosette.  And that's all I have to say about that.

I was lucky to be able to sit out of view of the audience when I grabbed a seat near a corner in the lower handicapped area. (Hey, no one else wanted the seat, so no lectures.)  I quietly sang along with the songs I so love, waved my flag, and cried as much as I wanted.  At the end of the film, I joined the rest of the audience in a round of applause.

If you haven't seen it yet, you simply must make the time to go. I actually think, for the first time ever in my life, I prefer the movie to the stage.  I give it four stars and two thumbs up. 

Chinese Auctions (not very PC, I know)

I went to a church party today and played the pollyanna game.   Some call it a Chinese auction.  But whatever you call it, the premise remains the same.  Everybody brings a wrapped mystery gift to the party, secretly places it on a table, and then prepares for the after meal fracas to land the best of the gifts. You pick a number that tells when you get to select your gift; the bigger the number the better.  I'm usually in the top five, but out of twenty-five, that's not a real winner.  Sound familiar now?

Usually there is a price set for the gifts.  $10 is what I'm used to.  But, people rarely follow the guidelines.  If you're unlucky you'll get stuck with someone's regifted junk.  If there is an expensive gift, you might get caught up in the hoopla of trading and stealing and retrading the same pricey gift.  Until the church ladies passed a rule limiting the number of steals, the pricey gift could make the rounds of the party...again and again and again.  One particular teapot caused a party to go two hours overtime.  I was praying someone would drop the damn thing during one of the trades. 

If you want to witness some church lady bad behavior, participate in one of these gift exchanges.  One woman and her family would actively conspire with each other to steal and resteal those pollyannas which were deemed to be the most valuable.  You could watch them gathered together at the corner of a table whispering and planning their strategies.  Once on my turn, just to be a bad girl, I walked over to the smug little group and stole back a valuable gift.  I thought one lady would blow her top and send her wig flying across the room.  However, they were experts who outplayed me and got it back.  Then, they folded their arms in front of them, hid their gifts, and glared daggers at anyone who dared to cross them again.  Nobody did.

It's an unspoken rule that when a kid is playing and gets a gift they like, you leave the kid alone!  Not old church ladies.  I'll never forget one little gal who was delighted with her snowman, and totally gobsmacked when some woman (who didn't even go to our church!) took it from her.  She ended up picking something totally crappy, and looked around the room with tears in her eyes.  Eventually, someone rescued the snowman for her, but gee whiz, how could a grownup be so mean?  And at a church function, no less.

I always bring good gifts because I am a talented bargain shopper.  And, I have good taste.  I admit that one of my goals at these parties is to bring the gift that everybody fights over.  And, I am proud to say, I've been very successful at achieving that goal.  But holy cow, I have ended up with some horrible pollyannas.  One that stands out was the box of candy.  I wasn't dieting then (or maybe I was) and I salivated while looking forward to chowing down on some chocolate creams as I watched movies that night.  What a disappointment when I opened the box, and there was what I think is referred to as a "bloom" on the candy.  You know, the white stuff that isn't bad for you but means the candy is probably old.  Like a year old. Ugh!!! 

But the candy wasn't the worst gift I ended up with, believe it or not.  One year my final gift for our Secret Santa activity was a hand held can/bottle opener, the kind that punctures a triangle into a can.  I'm sure there are some of you reading this who don't even know what that is.  It is a good thing I have been both an actress and a teacher in my life, because I put on a smile and gave a thank you that made somebody think I'd been looking for one of those things all my life.  Bad as that was, the absolutely worst gift I picked was a brown plastic door decoration, complete with plastic acorns, shabby brown plastic evergreens, and a thick coating of dust.  When my friends stopped hiding their heads to cover their laughter, they stared expectantly at me and wondered how I'd thank my way out of that one.  It was tough, but since I'd recently moved into my house, I gushed about needing just such a decoration to put on my front door.  I scanned the room to see which old lady was smiling at my appreciation speech, but I never did find out who screwed me over.  Needless to say, no one stole it from me.

Today's gift was a shimmery cranberry colored scarf.  I love it. The little girl who captured the necklace I brought was happy too.  The idea of these things is to have fun.  And, today we did.

The Biggest Loser

I had a screaming-at-the-TV night yesterday.  I haven't had one of those hissy fits since the election.  What, do you ask, provoked me so deeply to think the television people could hear me?  It was The Biggest Loser, and in particular, the trainer named Jillian.

What a bully.

I was appalled at the way she treated the contestants she was training.  She screamed in their faces, called them quitters, repeatedly ordered them to get out of "her" gym, and verbally belittled them in a way I found disgusting.  Her helpful comments were anything but; she was prancin' and dancin' in her umbrage.  What a theatrical play for camera time!  Her bullying broke one young woman, and rather than "waste" Jillian's time, she quit.  Another man was on the treadmill.  He was pale and wobbling, obviously about to faint.  She stood there screaming at him for giving up.  Since when is it good training to work a person to death?  Literally, not figuratively.  The medical team intervened and had a very difficult time bringing the guy back to consciousness.  Jillian's response was to sneer for the camera.

During a discussion on a chatboard, I mentioned my feelings about Jillian's behavior.  I was attacked by a number of people who thought she was great, telling it like it was, yadda yadda yadda.  Huh?  Am I really that far off base with my opinion?  Is decimating a person an effective way to get them to learn, to change their behavior? 

Years ago I performed in community theater.  I've had a few big roles, and two in particular were unforgettable experiences for vastly different reasons.  I played Penny in You Can't Take It With You for the Phoenix Festival Theater. I don't know where they got that director, but he was the meanest, most miserable man I'd ever worked with.  I didn't get notes; I got poison pen letters.  Every day I'd leave rehearsal and head to the local watering hole, where the bartender had my beer ready for me because I was too defeated to do anything but throw my head on the counter and sob.  Finally, the director gave up on me.  I guess I was wasting his time.  On my own to figure out the part, I got there.  The reviewer didn't particularly like the show, but he liked me.  At the final cast party, the director tried to sweet talk me and apologize for his ugliness, all the while claiming my success was a result of his tough love.  BS (and I don't mean Barbara Snyder).  I wasn't having any of it.

Then came Ouiser for the Milburn Stone Theater's production of Steel Magnolias.  And Al Herlinger.  I've had many good directors, and I appreciate all they've taught me.  But Al was the best I have ever worked with.  He was every bit as demanding as the other director was, but he worked with kindness and patience.  His Magnolias was an excellent show.  The reviews were good.  The audience gave standing ovations.  The cast and crew had fun making every performance its best.  And I didn't have to make a rich man out of the local bartender.

Teach by humiliation or teach with kindness?  I know which one I find to be most effective.  I wish I'd had this knowledge my first few years of teaching when I thought that yelling above the noise of my classroom actually inspired attention, respect, and learning......

Was Jillian's yelling effective and productive coaching?  Opinions aside, let's look at the results.  Her team LOST the weigh-in to two other teams.  And that was despite being awarded a five pound  advantage!  Coaches strive to keep their players active to the end because once their team has been completely eliminated, they are out of a job. Jillian lost two team members in one show, the gal who quit and the guy who had the lowest percentage of weight loss.   In my eyes, the person wasting her time on this show proved to be Jillian herself, the real biggest loser.

I may have to stop watching the show if humiliating and bullying the fat people into losing weight is the prevelent strategy engaged in by the trainers.  I see enough of that behavior in real life.  Who needs it for entertainment?

Positive Vibes

We've made it another year.  It's January 4, 2013.  How many times have you written 2012?  I used to have a terrible time with the year when I taught and needed to write the date on the board every day.  I used to have to scribble out and initial every check I wrote for a month.  Those are no longer problems for me.  I no longer teach and I can't remember the last check I wrote.  How's that for a positive twist on what used to be a negative?

And that's what this blog is about today. Finding some positive in the midst of the gloom.  Yes, gloom.  There is great sadness in the universal world and in my personal sphere, too.  So, I am going to focus on the positive for the twenty-thirty minutes it takes me to write this. 

I saw a great idea on Facebook that I plan to do.  One takes a jar and fills it throughout the year with notes about the great things that happen.  Then, on New Year's Eve, one takes the papers out of the jar and reviews just how good a year 2013 really was.  So far, my jar is small and empty.  BUT, I know that the papers will come.  Until then, I can hunt for a bigger jar. 

I gained five pounds over the holiday season, setting me back on my weight loss goal and frustrating me concerning the trouble I have with inhaling sweets.  However, I have since lost two and I am back on the wagon  to losing the rest and more.  I am feeling hopeful about weight loss.  I have a good program to follow and I have the patience to know that it is going to take freakin' forever to get where I want to be.  It'll be slow because I know I will occasionally jump into the cookie, pie, and cake abyss.  And I will enjoy every illicit bite, sorta.

I love me some Facebook as you probably know.  It allowed me to reconnect with elementary school friends.  We hadn't seen each other in forty-five years when we met for lunch a couple years ago.  Every time I think about that meeting I smile.  I really love these women, and I can't believe how much we enjoy each other and how special our renewed friendship has become.  One has to marvel that whatever it was that made us friends as kids still exists all these years later.  Joyce, Joan, Patty, and Wendi - I'll see you this weekend!

On another note about Facebook, it is wonderful to know that I can hit an X and poof! posts from people who are still bitter about the results of the last presidential election are gone. LOL As Glinda the Good Witch said, You have no power here! Begone, before somebody drops a house on you, too!   I love my FB friends, but enough is enough.

Isn't it great to quote The Wizard of Oz in relation to your own life?  I think so, but then I have long loved this story.  It makes me fondly remember Nancy, my college roommate.  She loved this story, and she made me love it too.  She passed away this day four years ago.  She's up there smiling at my Oz reference and wondering if I'll be able to fit in a few more before this blog is finished.

I hope your 2013 is a happy year.  Fill a jar with your good experiences.  I'll bet it grounds you and helps you to refocus.  Life is often unfair and very disappointing.  But, there must be something good to it, or we wouldn't fight so hard to stay here. No matter how bad it gets, how sad we get, how scared we get, most of us fight to not give up and to find some good in this crazy life, no matter what.

Wizard of Oz: You are talking to a man who has laughed in the face of death, sneered at doom and chuckled at catastrophe. I was petrified.

LOL @ the Wizard.  I get it. Sometimes life is scary and bottomless sad.  But this human will endeavor to laugh, sneer, and chuckle throughout the year. As best I can.