Author: Stephanie Haines

The IU Men’s Basketball team has been on the rocks for quite a while now. It seems they just can’t get their act together. Gone are the glory days when IU ruled the court, relegated to back in the day when the Big Ten actually had ten teams.

But do not despair, you fans of the hardwood. I have a cunning plan to bring IU back into its rightful place as the ruler of all things that are related to March Madness.

Yes, certainly the team needs a new coach. But let’s face it, we’ve had a lot of different leaders in recent years. I imagine it’s getting expensive, what with scouting, recruiting, and hiring the different coaches—not to mention paying them off when it’s decided they aren’t worth keeping.

As we put feelers out there, I think we need to look outside the box a little bit. I don’t pretend to be familiar with the search process, but I’d guess a committee looks at such things as coaching experience, a degree in sports management, maybe even previous experience as a professional player.

Sure, all that looks good on paper. But what about personal qualities? We need someone who will keep the team in line who will not tolerate any kind of insubordination. The coach needs to see the value in academics, and require that the team are as serious about their university studies as they are about sports.

The new coach must be intimately familiar with the game, and know how it is supposed to be played. This can only be achieved after a countless number of hours of watching basketball. Ideally, someone who understands and respects the tradition and legacy of IU Basketball, who attended IU themselves.

When all of these considerations are taken together, then there is only one clear candidate who is best positioned to step in and turn the team around. So I offer up to you, the Hero of IU Basketball:

My mom.

She has been watching this team for 75 years. That’s about the same number of years as the combined ages of the starting team. You’re just not going to get someone younger who has logged that many hours watching basketball. 

(Dear Netflix: If you were to make a deal with the Big Ten network and stream past IU games, you will see a huge jump in your viewership, just from my mom alone. You’re welcome.)

Mom has also experienced all the coaches through the years, and can tell you what each of them did wrong. She has such exacting standards that she has been known to turn off a game in disgust—even when they are winning—because, in her words, “They’re just not playing good ball.”

Mom has been so disheartened in recent years that she has started watching That Other Team From Indiana. Yet, she is still loyal to her team, and holds on to the hope that the rightful owner of the title of the G.O.A.T of college basketball will one day reign again. 

Sure, it’s not super practical for her to be zipping down to Bloomington on a regular basis. But with technology and Zoom and whatnot, it could work—that’s just a matter of working out logistical details. Not to keep throwing salt on a wound, but if I were IU, I’d be willing to try just about anything at this point.

I do expect a modest 10% finder’s fee for my part in brokering this deal. That should cover a lot of Mother Bear’s pizza as I chauffeur Mom back and forth to Assembly Hall.

I was at an event in which someone had dirt clods on their shoes that left piles of crud all over the floor. As I was wheeling out the vacuum, I saw a parent of one of the kids in the group and made a comment about the array of dried mud.

I said something to the effect of how could anyone be so oblivious to the fact that they were leaving a trail all over the room? (I also assured her that I knew it wasn’t her boys who had left the mess.) Her response? “I would love it if my kids played outside enough to have dirt on their shoes.”

Wow. What is a problem for one person is an aspiration for another. And really, how much of an issue was it for me? It took me a few minutes to sweep the floor. But from her standpoint, it was indicative of a larger lifestyle change that she would like to see in her kids. It is also interesting that I completely missed this wider view, considering how much I advocate for everyone to be outside and active as much as possible.

It’s amazing how one comment can change your perspective on a particular issue, especially when you’re dealing with children. Sometimes kids can say things that are really deep, even if they don’t fully understand what they’ve said. Consider this exchange:

I was talking to a group of preschoolers, and asked if they were ready for fun. I said something to the effect of “Who doesn’t like fun?!” and one particularly insightful student replied, “Bullies.”

He’s absolutely right—bullies don’t have any fun, and they certainly don’t want you to have any fun either, which is why they feel compelled to rain on everyone’s parade all the time. While it is certainly unfortunate that someone so young was well acquainted with the characteristics of bullies, at least he was able to recognize and articulate how bullies act.

Conversely, sometimes the young ones can express observations about you that you may or may not want to hear. Example: One girl asked me, with a tone of disdain, “Why are you wearing that dress?” I chuckled and replied that my Mom asks me that all the time, as she hates this dress. 

The point here is that doing any kind of improv or stand up comedy will serve you well in dealing with youngsters. You will develop the ability to just take whatever they throw at you and roll with it. Getting heckled at an open mic night is remarkably similar to working with preschoolers with their off-the-wall questions. Transferable skills are always an asset, as is the ability to not take yourself too seriously.

Also—here’s another NOW (Nugget Of Wisdom): Say you find yourself at a science night, and you are struggling to put together a prize wheel that only requires three bolts and screws for the entire assembly. If you can’t figure out how to engineer this, then you probably shouldn’t be staffing a table at a science night.

Children have an intellectual curiosity about how things work, and they often lose patience with adults who don’t seem to have that same desire to figure stuff out. Additionally, they frequently want to know why certain rules or conditions exist. Sometimes they are doing the rest of us a favor, as we need those people who are willing to ask difficult questions.

As adults, we might think we are responsible for teaching children. That’s certainly true, but it’s equally important to remember that we also need to learn from them.

Tired of doing the same old things year after year around the holidays? Feel like you have an endless list of events that you have to attend annually but not sure why you’re still doing them? Then how about we update some holiday traditions to make them more relevant to our modern lifestyles!

For example, the song “Baby It’s Cold Outside” has come under fire recently as perpetuating outdated gender roles. How about we change it to “Baby It’s Cold INSIDE”? This could reflect our desire to be energy conscious by turning down the heat. Also, it could bring out the nostalgia for any Gen X-ers out there who remember the Blizzard of ‘78.

Rather than suffering through yet another manifestation of the holiday staple “A Christmas Carol”, couldn’t we just watch reruns of the Carol Burnett Show? I know which one I’d find more enjoyable. But—if I ever find myself involved in a production of “A Christmas Carol”, I will insist that rather than Jacob Marley’s head appearing on the door it will be Bob Marley instead, complete with reggae music.

Kissing under the mistletoe? Do I look like I want more opportunities to pick up germs? We need a post-COVID version of this. Maybe reviving an old-fashined custom, such as a bow, to be returned with a graceful curtsy?

As for food and drink, we can eliminate eggnog—didn’t we just get through an entire season celebrating a sickly sweet and highly caloric drink? Also real nutcrackers are out, due to the number of people with nut allergies. 

And let’s just openly admit that nobody likes fruitcake and everyone saves them until next Christmas and just regifts them to other people. As the great Erma Bombeck pointed out, there are actually only about a half dozen fruitcakes in existence that have been circling the globe for decades.

Who wants twelve partridges in a pear tree? I propose a subscription to one of those fancy gourmet fruit boxes that get delivered straight to your door. And in place of a (presumably live) partridge, I know I’d rather have a dozen plush versions of The Pigeon, the beloved children’s picture book character.

Annoyed by those pesky carolers who show up and force you to stand at your front door enduring a painful rendition of “Jingle Bells” with a fake smile plastered on your face while you’re letting cold air in and wishing you could get back to whatever you’re bingeing on Netfilx? Let me know and I’ll organize a flash mob to assemble on your property with glow sticks to do “The Wobble” on your front lawn.

Since most people don’t have fireplaces anymore, the tradition of a Yule Log has gone by the wayside. Sure, you might have a fire pit but December isn’t the time most people want to be sitting outside. I will suggest the alternative of a Yule Dog—adopt a furry forever friend from the local animal shelter!

Lastly, I will admit I am a fan of making resolutions for the new year. But I also see how that can be a lot of pressure which might not set us up for success. I’d like to point out that there are many different kinds of calendars out there—Julian, Hebrew, several lunar ones—all of which reckon the new year at various times. 

Basically, the beginning of the year is right around the corner in someone’s world. If you want to make positive changes in your life, why wait until our January 1st? Every day can be an opportunity to do something good. And you might even start some new traditions.

The Dog Days of Summer occur between the beginning of July through about the second week of August. It’s the height of summer—the weather is hot and humid, mosquitos are out in full force, and it’s often too hot to walk Yogi, my parents’ adorable Goldendoodle, unless it’s early morning or late evening. 

Because he gets overheated so easily, you’d think he’d be more of a water dog. But he refuses to swim, and he’s only willing to get wet up to his legs, which then makes him look like he’s got these skinny little stick legs supporting his fluffy sheep body. Interestingly, he loves to go to the groomer; I’m guessing it has to do with how much attention he gets.

Anyway, there I was, out on one sultry evening, equipped with my dog walking bag. This is a fanny pack that I have dedicated to all the accouterements Yogi might need while we are out on one of our jaunts. I have a small water bottle, collapsible bowl, treats, and of course bags (specifically, those blue ones that the newspaper comes in that everyone saves for me because you can never have too many).

I have often said that I come up with my best creative ideas, or solutions to problems (real life dilemmas, or made up ones like the puzzles in the newspaper) when I’m out walking. On this particular evening I generated this gem that I will now share with you: 

The Dog Poop Blues

Woke up this morning

Strapped that pack around my waist

Rushed out the door

Didn’t even use my toothpaste

Chorus:

Yeah, I got the Dog Poop Blues

(The Dog Poop Blues)

Woo, I got the Dog Poop Blues

(The Dog Poop Blues)

You wonder why I’m barefoot

‘Cuz I ain’t got time to get no shoes

I got the Dog Poop Blues

(The Dog Poop Blues)

Walkin’ down the driveway

And going up the street

Seems to take a lifetime

We talk to everyone we meet

Repeat Chorus

He’s pulling on the harness

Snatching trash that’s been thrown away

Afraid he’ll yank my arm off

If I don’t let him have his way

Repeat Chorus

He’s slowin’ down and sniffin’

Squattin’ in the yard

I got my blue bag ready

But—oooo—that smell makes it so hard

Repeat Chorus

I’m tired of the bug bites

That cover my legs and arms

But Yogi’s fur protects him

Like a hundred magic charms

Repeat Chorus

He’s really pantin’ and a-droolin’

Just plopped down under a tree

Doesn’t want to budge

And won’t even make room for me

Repeat Chorus

I forgot to bring any kleenex

My nose is starting to run

I need to use the restroom

I’m no longer having fun

Repeat Chorus

I’m out of treats and water

I guess we’ll call it a day

We’ll try again tomorrow

Guess there’s nothing left to say

—’Cept—

I got the Dog Poop Blues…

(Repeat Chorus)

Enjoy a great rest of the summer, stay cool out there, and may you always have lots of treats.

As you probably have surmised by now, I’m a huge fan of recycling. That means all those bottles and boxes, cans and cups. But it also includes donations of clothing, furniture, and household items to thrift stores or charitable organizations.

But what do you do with stuff that you can’t really donate? What are your options when you can’t bring yourself to throw things away because recycling, reusing, and repurposing are part of your core identity? It’s a particular conundrum when minimalism is also part of your lifestyle, and you have a compulsion to get rid of stuff.

Specifically, I’m talking about socks. Let’s face it, nobody wants your used socks—even if they’re in good condition. There are coat drives and prom dress redistribution events, but any place that solicits for socks always stipulates that they need to be new, preferably in original packaging.

I suppose right about now some of you might wonder why I have this particular problem that doesn’t seem to plague most people. (This question could be asked about many aspects of my life but let’s just stick with footwear for the moment.) I think there is a combination of contributing factors. 

One is that fun socks make a great inexpensive present, especially for someone you might not know well, such as a gift exchange situation. Therefore, the likelihood of me receiving socks is greater than that of some kind of food that might spoil, or clothing item that might not fit.

Another reason is my penchant for going barefoot or wearing sandals as much as possible. This means that my socks just don’t wear out at the same rate as most people. Even athletic socks don’t see that much action as I can only run about a couple of miles at a time, and infrequently.

I also must have some really high quality socks because I have owned some pairs for years, even decades in a case or two. It’s possible they have lasted that long in part because I didn’t wear them very often, but then that lends credence to my argument that I have a lot of socks if I only wear some of them a few times a year.

When I have socks that are getting a bit worn, I’ve found they work well for cleaning. You put them on your hand like a mitten and it makes dusting or scrubbing much easier. This is also a good use for single socks whose mates have gone on to the great beyond, the Dryer of No Return.

The thing is, I apparently don’t clean enough to use up all the socks that are designated for the cleaning pile. Sticking a tennis ball in the toe makes a great dog toy, but this only works with socks that are at least mid-ankle. Same thing with making sock puppets—it doesn’t work with footies. And how many sock puppets does a person need?

Other clothing items have more versatility for craft projects. Tights can be used to tie up your tomato plants. You can make old jeans into backpacks or tote bags. T-shirts can become fun and colorful patchwork items. Even neckties can be pieced together into a unique flared skirt.

I often view myself as a creative person but I admit I’m at the end of my rope trying to find ways to breathe new life into my old socks. I keep thinking I should be able to come up with a project that is clever yet useful. I’d love to do something really wacky and outside the box but I’m afraid I’ll end up getting cold feet.

You’ve probably been invited to a holiday sing-along before.  Maybe it’s while everyone is still gathered after a big meal, belting out family favorites.  It might involve bundling up and roaming the streets, caroling for the neighbors.  But I was invited to a Messiah sing.  Yes, you heard that right—performing parts of Handel’s choral masterpiece in someone’s living room.

The party was in Speedway, an area of Indianapolis unfamiliar to me.  I kept having navigational difficulties that necessitated much turning around and backtracking.  I was getting frustrated and considered giving up and going home.  But I frequently avoid events that I consider to have a high level of hassle.  I didn’t want to keep repeating that pattern as it often means I miss out on something unique.

Additionally, I went to this party knowing only the hosts, and one friend who would be arriving later.  It was a bit awkward at first so I lurked near the cheese and crackers.  I was disappointed that there weren’t any dogs for me to play with until I got my bearings with the humans.  (I later found out there were some visiting rabbits so at one point I snuck out to have a moment with the buns.)

After a period of eating and socializing, the hostess announced it was time for the singers to gather in the piano room.  Many of those participating had some form of vocal training; it was obvious by how they knew how to read music and the fact that they intuited when to join in without someone directing them.  A pianist and a flutist were the accompanists.  

Here’s the scene: a bunch of people crammed together in this area while people are conversing in the next room.  Kids were running up and down the stairs.  A few of the singers were goofing around, making faces at each other.  Someone was sipping wine.  Another person stepped out and came back with a reloaded plate of food.  It wasn’t perfect, or even a true performance.

Yet it became something more than just a singing party.  There is something powerful about the human voice raised in a chorus.  It is magic to witness the unity of different ranges of vocalists all working together, complementing and contrasting one another.  After all, humans have been crooning as long as they have been speaking—voice is the oldest instrument.

The best known movement of Handel’s Messiah is the “Hallelujah Chorus.”  Everyone knows this story that when it was first performed for King George II (the father of “Mad” King George III of American Revolutionary War fame), he was so moved that he stood up.  Of course everyone had to follow the king’s lead.  To this day, it is still customary to stand up when this piece is played.

Here I am at this party when this legendary work of genius is performed.  As space was limited in the room, I squeezed myself into a corner by the piano.  This meant I was facing the singers, almost as if I was the only one in the audience.  I had a front row seat, but of course I was standing.  One obvious reason was lack of space for seating.  

But the main impetus for standing is—King George story aside—who could possibly sit during music like this?  That’s when I realized that sometimes the best seat in the house isn’t a seat.  I provided the performers with an appreciative audience, and so I was included in the process of creating art.  I was happy to have the opportunity to take a stand for good music.

If Halloween lends itself to a spooky jazz show, then Christmas pairs admirably with the blues.  There are so many great holiday songs rendered in blues version.  Some of them address how many can feel bummed out during this time of year, whether from a sense of loneliness or a lack of daylight.  But I just enjoy music, especially when performed live, and jumped at the opportunity to join a friend for a blues night.

The place didn’t have a website but I found their Facebook page so I was able to check out their menu ahead of time.  This was fortunate; apparently they only have about a handful of printed menus.  This is not because they are a high-tech place that has QR codes on the tables.  Presumably the reason is due to so many regulars that everybody already knows what they have.

I also discovered that the place is cash only.  I was glad to know, since I rarely have a cache of cash.  I found this interesting in an age when many places are going completely cashless.  But it was consistent with what I would expect from a dive bar with a blues band.  However, the bathroom was a pleasant surprise—much cleaner than I expected.

I opted for pizza, getting a 14” so as to ensure I’d have enough.  I ended up taking half home, which doesn’t usually happen.  This place definitely gets my vote for value-oriented eating.  They also grill steaks, serve breakfast all day, and offer monster breaded tenderloins.  They also provide plate dinners like manhattans, which seem to be hard to find nowadays.

We arrived shortly before the music started so I got to meet my friend’s friends.  We had a small gift exchange.  Note to self—if someone says $3 is the item price limit, don’t believe it.  It’s all lies!  You better spend at least $8 if you don’t want to look like a complete cheapskate.  Not to mention that I don’t usually buy Christmas-y type things, which seem to be what is expected with these events.  

The first band was enjoyable, playing covers of popular blues songs from classic rock artists.  It was loud enough you had to kind of yell at each other, but not so much that I needed to break out the earplugs in my pocket.  After we finished eating, we got up to dance in a very small area right in front of the band.  Nobody seemed to care so it must have been normal there.

As the next group prepared to take the stage, I noticed a man in all black, including his hat.  His outfit was accented with many rhinestones, but as he brought his instrument up front I saw that his shoes were completely covered in sequins.  We nicknamed him Mr. Sparkles.  Once he started playing I realized that when you are as good as he is, you can wear anything you want.

We danced again, but this time I was mesmerized by watching the musicians.  I enjoy seeing the technical expertise in playing instruments, but I was even more fascinated by the interaction of the band members.  They would play off one another, with one soloing while another backed them up—all while communicating without words, in some kind of musician code.

Through the course of the evening, I noticed some people with drink koozies that said, “I’d rather be here than across the street.”  I pointed it out to my friend, and asked if that referred to a rival bar close by.  She looked at me with a grave expression and replied: “It’s a cemetery.”

Once you start writing articles like these then you kind of get locked in to having to do interesting stuff all the time.  That’s not the worst thing that can happen to a person, but sometimes I do feel the pressure of recruiting partners in crime and trying to schedule everything in.

I had tickets to the fall light display at Newfields.  I invited my friend who shared my Mardi Gras adventure (with associated vehicle mishap) so I shouldn’t have been surprised by an evening of inclement weather.  I heard her muttering something about having to get dragged to an outdoor event in the rain because I needed material for my blog.  

I couldn’t be upset because she’s not wrong.  I guess that’s the chance you take when you buy tickets in advance.  After that was the Irvington Halloween festival, with a record 85,000 people in attendance.  I was amazed by the cleverness of so many of the costumes, as well as the dedication it took to put them together.

The next day was a trip to the Jazz Kitchen for the Spooky Nights show.  A week later it was back to the art museum for the  immersive art experience known as the LUME, which Mom thoroughly enjoyed.  Then another jazz show, this time with a friend whose superpower is color-coordinated outfits.  (Contrast with me who was wearing all black and still didn’t match.)

The point here is that the busy time of year used to be “The Holidays,” in which you had to pack in a bunch of annual activities.  Now we have added required seasonal events to create “Pumpkin Spice” season.  Prior to that, there are months of outdoor festivals I must attend.  Before which are festivities for St. Patrick’s Day.  Pretty much the only time of year I don’t have anything going on is around Valentine’s Day.  Make of that what you will.

But all this running around for several weeks meant I missed the leaves turning.  Some trees changed so quickly that within a few days they were bare, after which even the pretty colors on the ground were mulched or hauled away.  If I didn’t pack my schedule as full as I pack a lunch bag, I could have spent more time outside during my favorite season.

I am pleased that I did stop and watch some spectacular sunsets.  I also noticed the moon that looked like it was full for three days straight.  I forced myself to get up early enough for the lunar eclipse—talk about an autumn light show!

Speaking of light, here is where I insert my public service announcement about how bad Daylight Saving Time is for our bodies and minds.  We finally “fall back” into what should be the normal time but that hour difference is such an abrupt change that when it gets dark at 5:15 pm it feels like we’re living in a Charles Dickens novel.

Anyway, sometimes boredom can be a good thing.  When having fun ends up being yet more entries on your to do list then something is out of kilter.  Eliminating much of the frantic activity in your life can give you insights into what’s important.  Sometimes you get rid of a time commitment only to realize you don’t miss it at all.

Conversely, a bit of breathing room in your schedule can bring clarity to what is lacking.  You’ll have time to notice what needs to be added.  When you’re constantly rushing around, you don’t get an opportunity to reflect.  Maybe we should carve out a “Thinking Season” in our lives.

I enjoy outdoor music festivals, especially ones that are small enough to be able to see the performers.  It’s great when they take place in the fall, as that’s when Indiana weather is at its best.  Being able to sit on the lawn is great as it gives you space to get comfortable and relax.  But the most important thing is that you have room to dance.

The Sunday of Indy Jazz Fest was a beautiful sunny day with a bit of a breeze.  There were several performances through the afternoon and into the evening.  The first group were high school students, and I was glad to see young people carrying on the jazz tradition.  The second group was heavy with steel drums, which wasn’t quite to my taste.

I could compare and contrast this with the Rocky Ripple festival I went to a few weeks before.  One of the acts was a punk band of teenagers.  The lead singer didn’t look any older than 14.  The music was a bit too frantic for me to truly enjoy it, but I did appreciate their earnestness.  The festival also had a drum circle with a distinct hippie vibe.  This music was repetitive but I could tell the members were having a good time.

Back to jazz.  By mid-afternoon, the group I came to see took the stage:  Rebirth Brass Band.  This parade band from New Orleans plays traditional jazz, which is my favorite.  I was up dancing for the entire hour they performed.  I was disappointed that nobody else in the audience seemed to be as excited as I was.  How could anyone sit down during this music?

Later on a woman approached me and said that she could tell that I’d been feeling the groove for the entire afternoon.  I made a sheepish comment about being really into this band.  She summed up with the advice “You do you.”  I interpret this as an affectionate way of saying that you’re kind of a weirdo, but I approve, and you should continue on.

After all the dancing, I decided it was time to check out the food trucks and their unique offerings.  I was drawn to the one serving Jamaican food, found an entree that sounded appealing, and grabbed the container when it was ready.  I think it is a testament that the food is good when you are halfway through devouring it before you realize you got someone else’s order.

I’d love to report that the last act of the evening was an outstanding event headliner.  I listened intently to the music and really tried to appreciate it.  But I started to get really annoyed.  I felt this is the type of jazz that gives the rest of it a bad name.  Specifically, this is why I have a difficult time getting people to go with me to jazz shows.

It was weird, atonal space jazz.  Trying to pay attention to all the cacophony was a lot of work.  It reminded me of the joke from the movie This Is Spinal Tap, about a fictional heavy metal band.  After one of the band members left, the other two were trying to reinvent themselves.  Their show was a complete flop.  The title?  “Jazz Odyssey”.

I tried to last until the end but finally couldn’t tolerate any more.  I still had a drive home so I thought it prudent to make my way to the exit.  That’s when I found out that port-a-potties tend to be really dark at night, adding another layer of challenge to my evening.  On the upside, I finally got through an outdoor festival without accumulating any bug bites.

The annual Penrod Art Fair is not for the faint of heart.  It contains an entire encampment of art booths with a myriad of techniques, formats, and media.  Four separate stages include a full schedule of performances ranging from classical and choral ensembles, jazz and rock bands, and youth dance groups as well as professional dancers.

This is not a casual undertaking.  Preparation for attendance begins weeks in advance.  First, you have to make sure you’re on the email list so that you know when early bird tickets go on sale.  This is important because you need to save as much money as possible so you will have it to spend at the festival.  

Choosing the right person to go with is of utmost importance.  You must find someone who won’t whine about all the walking or complain about the weather.  It needs to be a person you enjoy being around for an entire day, who knows how to pack for an all-day event.  Ideally, it should be someone who is at least vaguely interested in art.

Drive together to eliminate hassles with parking and shuttle buses.  Don’t get separated unless you want to spend 15 minutes texting to find each other.  Look up the performance schedule so you won’t miss something you want to see.  Be sure to check out all the food options before committing to a generic sandwich because you weren’t aware something unique was just around the bend.

And so I recruited my artsy friend as the prime candidate.  She’s always up for adventures, and loves to go places.  We developed a systematic strategy of how we would cover each section.  But it’s still good to be flexible—when I heard the brass jazz parade band playing, I insisted we chase them down so we could follow them through the grounds.

We went through the Lilly House, enjoying the glimpse into the lifestyle of a bygone era.  When we needed a break from walking, we stopped to enjoy the music, encountering a cappella spirituals, disco songs, and covers of pop tunes.  We marveled at the vast array of beautiful pieces of art.  We tried some unusual food offerings.

We agreed that the opportunities for people watching were well worth the price of admission.  Penrod is billed as “Indiana’s Nicest Day”, and it was clear how it earned that moniker.  We also agreed by mid-afternoon that while we might still have had some physical energy, we didn’t have any mental space left to take in additional sensory stimulation.

Apparently this phenomenon has a name: museum fatigue.  Even if not experienced in a museum, it is applicable to any number of other situations.  There was another festival that day that sounded like fun, and was very close to where we parked for Penrod.  But we just couldn’t do it.  Having a good time can be a lot of work.  

I should point out that the person describing all this (me) is generally pretty extraverted.  I can’t imagine what it was like for my more reserved friend.  It’s a good thing I was driving because the off ramp for Mt. Comfort was closed, necessitating my drive to Greenfield to get off the interstate only to drive west again to drop my friend off at her home in New Palestine.

The best memories are created from a combination of experiences, such as what we encountered at Penrod through art, music, and food.  Add to that a dash of good weather and you have the makings of a great recipe.  But don’t forget the most important ingredient—a good friend willing to share it all with you.

I read an article recently about how goats will save the world.  Actually, it was more about saving the planet on an ecological level.  And maybe it didn’t say that goats would be wholly responsible for this.  But still, the main thrust of the article was that goats are pretty awesome, and their usefulness is often underrated.  I support that sentiment, therefore I had to share my view.

For one, they are tireless mowing monsters.  They don’t need fossil fuels to operate, so that’s one level of environmental friendliness.  They can get to the hard to reach places such as steep hillsides, so they are more practical than machines.  They don’t need a human to steer them, so you can let them loose to go do their thing while you stay out of the heat.

And that’s just about maintenance on large fields.  How about goat milk and cheese?  You can enjoy these by-products of the critters who are eating your weeds.  Apparently many people who can’t tolerate cheese from cows can handle it from goats.  And you can always make goat milk lotion and soap which is good for the skin.

Goats are the ultimate garbage disposals as they will eat anything, so you don’t have to buy special feed.  (Yogi also eats everything, so we have often said he is part goat.  But he doesn’t seem to have the iron digestive system granted to real ruminants.)  It’s no coincidence that the acronym for “Greatest Of All Time” is G.O.A.T.

If you still need more convincing about the amazingness of goats, here are a few more ideas about how to monetize these critters.  Goat yoga has become increasingly popular; convert your garage into a studio and offer classes.  You could post videos of frolicking goats on various social media platforms.  Or allow people to hire your goats’ services.

I haven’t always been this gung ho about goats.  When I was a toddler, we took a family trip to Busch Gardens.  I was too young for all the walking so Mom decided to put me in a stroller.  There wasn’t a charge for this (so you know this story takes place a long time ago), but she had to give them her driver’s license as security.

Then we went to the petting zoo.  It included goats, and given their curious nature, one of them approached my stroller.  And decided to eat the identification tag.  Not being familiar with how goats operate, I guess I thought it was going to eat me, so I was shrieking at the top of my voice.  Meanwhile, Mom wondered if she would be able to get her license back since the tag was now gone.

Years ago I was tipped off to the “Childhood Goat Trauma” website, which offers support to those who as youngsters have suffered run-ins with goats.  It is a parody site that is so well presented that at first it seems like a real organization.  A cute cartoon goat introduces the home page.  But when you hover the mouse over the picture, the eyes turn red and it sprouts fangs.  

That’s when I clued in to the fact that it’s a joke.  Still, I think it could explain a lot.  I suppose it would be making them scapegoats for my shortcomings.  That reminds me:  I’ve heard of a video game called Escape Goat.  There’s also one called Ready Set Goat.  Maybe if I were to play some of these it would make me happy goat lucky.  Or I could just rent a ruminant and play with real goats.

I’m so glad to have a nice trail here in town.  I like seeing everyone enjoying it in various ways.  It is my preferred venue for running because I don’t have to deal with motorized traffic, stoplights, or exhaust.  Also there are no cracks in the sidewalk—I have a grudge against them after tripping and falling while running and subsequently breaking my arm in 2020.

People assume I must be really serious about running.  But it has only been recently that I’ve been dedicated to running several times a week.  I decided I needed to devote more time to it when I was looking at the running books at the library and realized that I’ve read a good portion of them.  When you’re reading about running more than actually doing it, there’s a problem.

To call myself a runner is probably an insult to people who train, compete, or have an actual plan.  I haven’t done any hardcore sports either; the closest I’ve gotten is X-treme Chinese Buffet:  General Tso’s Takedown.  But I figure if people can run ultra marathons in Death Valley, then I should be able to handle three miles during an Indiana summer.

Let’s be clear about one thing:  I don’t run like a girl.  That’s because I run like a middle-aged woman.  Additionally, I’m often battling my sunglasses sliding down my nose, making it even harder to breathe.  On the up side, that also means there isn’t any room for bugs to fly up there, which is a side effect of being in nature.

I’ve read that the best way to make sure you have good running technique is to have someone take a video of you while you are running.  That way you can check to make sure your posture is good, your arms aren’t flailing around, and you’re not jabbing your heels into the ground.  But why would I want someone recording evidence of me all sweaty, gasping for breath?  And who wants that job of watching me run?

There’s some trail etiquette you need to know.  If you’re a cyclist passing a walker or runner, it’s helpful to yell ahead “Passing on your left.”  That way you don’t run the risk of them accidentally drifting into your path if they don’t know you’re there.  It also helps keep them from getting too startled when you do pass them.

A lot of dogs populate the trail, which is yet another great reason to go there frequently.  I love to meet new pups, but I always ask their humans first if it’s ok.  If they hesitate at all then I just thank them and move on.  Dogs are like people, and not all of them want to stop and talk to strangers.

It makes me happy to see different types of people on the trail—all ages, sizes, and physical abilities.  The trail is for everybody!  It’s inspiring to see so many people investing in healthy habits.  It encourages me to do more.  After all, I have to admit that if I ran my legs as much as I run my mouth, I’d be in great shape.

That reminds me of a time recently when I was admiring a classic car.  I asked the owner about the year, and it was two years older than my age.  I chuckled that it was in better condition than I am.  A bystander quipped, “That’s because the parts are cheaper.”  So take care of yourself, and focus on preventative maintenance.  It’s a whole lot more affordable than replacing things.

Yogi doesn’t like to be separated from Mom.  So when she was working on a project in the basement, I opened the door and led him down there so he could supervise what she was doing.  He enjoyed doing his reconnaissance and securing the perimeter, which basically means sniffing around a new space.

But when the time came to get him back upstairs,  he didn’t want to go.  I made the mistake of trying to urge him up the stairs but after so many attempts he dug his heels in and flat out wouldn’t move.  (Kind of like when you type your password wrong too many times and can’t move forward with what you’re doing.)

I put his harness on him, as Yogi is aware that this usually signals good things, like a walk or a ride in the car.  His misgivings continued.  Mom was sitting on a step pulling on the leash, waving one of the good treats.  I was leaning on him from behind.  He wouldn’t budge.

Generally, it’s probably good to have a dog that is a bit bottom heavy.  That means it’s unlikely he will be able to jump up on furniture.  But this stairs thing was proving to be the downside to this trait.  To add some levity to this situation, I started singing that famous James Brown song, but with new lyrics:  “Get Up (Get Up Pup).”

I realized that the only way to get the dog upstairs was through physical, rather than psychological means.  I reached down and picked up a back paw to place it on the next step.  I tried to hold it in place with my knee, but the time I got the other paw up, the first leg was back down on the original step.

After a few attempts with this, I’d had enough of these shenanigans, so I wrapped my arms around his middle and picked up his entire hind quarters on the next step, performing a whole body block to keep his feet on the steps.  The front paws were easier to lift, but the back end required heavy lifting.

So it went, all the way up the stairs:  He let me move his front half but every time the caboose needed to leave the station I had to hoist him up.  I was starting to remember all those articles I’ve read about why you need to make sure your workouts include some strength training.

I’m not sure what goes through that dog’s head.  Some things I can grasp—like the time when Dad took Yogi for a walk and forgot to take off the collar for the invisible fence and he got zapped (Yogi, not Dad).  After that, Yogi was leery of the driveway.  In order to take him for a walk, Dad had to put Yogi in the car and shuttle him down to the street.

I had to work with Yogi for about a week, taking his collar off and deliberately showing it to him.  I coaxed him with goodies through the side yard to break the bad association with the driveway.  I continually praised him with all the enthusiasm I could muster.  It sounded like I was talking to a preschooler.

You can learn a lot from dogs—especially how much we are like them.  When we are pushed to do something, we tend to resist.  We need someone to come along to help us, and show there’s nothing to be afraid of.  When they stand with us we can incrementally conquer our fears.  And treats sure don’t hurt either.

A few years ago I decided to get one of those mushroom logs.  You soak it in water and spritz it every day until the mushrooms sprout and you can harvest them.  I figure this is an adult version of those science-y projects you did as a kid, like growing sea monkeys or one of those crystal rock gardens.  I guess I just like oddball hobbies.  

That, and I’m a mycology enthusiast, which is a fancy way of saying that I’m really into mushrooms.  They are a great source of vitamins and protein.  I recently had “crab” cakes made out of lion’s mane mushrooms that blew me away.  I’ve heard of mushroom “coffee” for people who want to reduce caffeine intake.  Most importantly, they’re the best pizza topping.

But I see that mushrooms get a bad rap.  I read a children’s book called The Mutant Mushroom Takeover that was a bit disturbing.  And that’s coming from someone who’s a fan of fungus.  Actually mushrooms have a lot in common with aliens.  They’re weird looking.  You either love them or hate them.  You need the help of an expert to find them in the wild.

Back to the Fan of Fungus project.  The log yielded one large, furry shiitake toadstool.  My Mom refused to eat it; I guess she didn’t trust my expertise.  Funny how we are wary of food we’ve grown ourselves, yet we’ll buy something from the grocery that they got from who-knows-where, wrapped in toxic plastic.

In her defense, she grew up near an abundance of places to hunt morel mushrooms, and had them frequently in her youth.  She says she doesn’t have any idea where to look around here.  Also, it’s been so long since she has hunted morels that she wouldn’t feel confident in her ability to pick the correct ones.

(The other connection my Mom has to mushrooms is the fountain in the front yard.  In the winter, she covers it with a blue tarp, which makes it look like a giant toadstool.  She adds lights to turn it into a festive holiday fungus.  The official start of spring is the unveiling of the mushroom, which is appropriately scheduled around April Fool’s Day.)

So I went back to the website where I found the shiitake log to go for round 2.  They didn’t have any of those glow in the dark mushrooms, which is just as well since they’re poisonous anyway.  They did have a variety kit which included blue oyster mushrooms, which was pretty cool, considering there’s a band and/or cult named after them.  

But being the curious skeptic, I had to get out my Googler.  I discovered that the band name was produced when the musicians were all hanging out, and there was a bottle of Cully Stout Beer nearby.  Someone suggested coming up with an anagram from that name, and Blue Oyster Cult won the day.

I ended up getting a morel kit for Mom.  I thought she might be more likely to eat something she was familiar with.  This kit was not a log for indoors, but a package to be mixed in with mulch and spread outside.  Mom picked a spot for the mixture, but mentioned that the instructions stated that it usually takes a year or two before anything is produced.

Yogi, their adorable Goldendoodle, is a nosy dog who gets into everything.  He has a special affinity for eating mulch.  Inexplicably, he won’t go near the spot designated for the morel mushroom spawn.  There’s fungus among us.  Just because you don’t see anything, that doesn’t mean it’s not there.

As you’ve probably gathered from previous articles, I’m not one to chase after the latest technology.  However, I can be convinced to upgrade to a new wave of gadgets if I can see how I can save time, money, or effort.  And so, in 2009, I purchased a 4th generation iPod nano in my favorite color of orange.

I started the ongoing process of initiation to the mysteries of iTunes.  I digitized all my CDs and learned how to download music.  I figured out how to edit the length of songs to cut out long intros.  I made up my own names for genres of music.  I messed around with creating playlists to act as the soundtrack to my life.  

The learning curve was enabled by the fact that I had a Macbook at the time.  But once it started to go belly up, my usual cheapskate nature kicked in and I opted for an off-brand budget PC laptop.  I was able to get all my music transferred to my new device and I was ready to fire up the music (circa 2018).

But somehow I now had multiple copies of some songs.  The edits I had made to songs no longer applied.  All my creative music genre names were replaced with default settings.  It seemed like a high price to pay for saving money on my new computer.  But I persevered and after chipping away at the issue for months, I finally had everything organized, categorized, and accounted for.

Remember the part about me buying a cheap computer?  Last summer (2021) it started running as slowly as the drain in my bathroom sink.  According to a tech guru of my acquaintance, I needed to back up my files and have the laptop purified from all uncleanliness (I’m paraphrasing, but that’s the gist).

So I know the drill.  Music saved to external drive, then transferred back—and once again surveyed the wreckage of my music collection with all the disorganization, misclassification, and general chaos.  I worked on it here and there but without the vim and vigor of the first time around.  

I just didn’t seem to have the heart to go through each song with laser precision and decide which of two dozen different categories it belonged in.  Especially considering that so many songs and artists could hold claim to different genres.  I had an inkling that I was spending more time on sorting my music than I was listening to it.

Have you ever had one of those moments when you realize that you’re one with the universe?  Me either, but I did have the revelation that none of these categories matter.  It’s all my music that I’ve specifically chosen because I want to listen to it.  So why not just throw it all together and embrace randomness?  

Enter iPod roulette.  I could say “digital mixtape” or “musical salad” but this makes my life sound more exciting than it is.  (I need to say this concept doesn’t always work.  I remember once hearing about someone who had a chili luncheon at work.  Everyone was asked to bring their own chili speciality.  Then they dumped all the different kinds together in one pot for an utterly disgusting stew.)

My point is that it’s freeing to have this flash of insight.  You’ve spent all this time redoing a task over years that you didn’t need to do in the first place.  It’s like thinking about life instead of living it.  And worrying about categorizing everything instead of appreciating uniqueness.  So let the music play as it will, and head out into the world.

When I write these articles, I try to serve up my experiences with a side dish of humor.  I generally stay away from editorials, controversy, and opinion pieces.  Be forewarned that this topic may ruffle some feathers.  My provocative question for the week:  Why does Easter have the worst candy of all holidays?

Granted, there are some holidays that don’t seem to have any special candies associated with them.  St. Patrick’s Day doesn’t generate an uptick in candy sales, from what I can see.  The only treat that comes to mind are the mint-flavored shamrock shakes from McDonalds.

Independence Day desserts allow you to get creative—anything goes, as long as it’s red, white, and blue.  You’d think apple pie would be required here, seeing as it’s one of those quintessential American things.  But since apples don’t show up until months later, it would be kind of weird to bring this to a midsummer gathering.

One holiday that’s all about candy—Valentine’s Day—brings out the good quality stuff.  That’s when you see the fancy dark chocolates, white chocolates, and hand-crafted confections.  And even better than candy?  It’s the one day of the year you can get a heart-shaped pizza!

But Easter has specific candy—lots of different kinds.  And they’re all bad.  I get it; you need hard candies like jelly beans or skittles to put into plastic eggs for the kids.  You can’t use chocolate because it will melt while sitting in the sun waiting for the egg hunt to begin.  

But even the stuff that’s too big to fit into the eggs isn’t any good either.  Like Peeps.  They are marshmallows, which is basically a viscous form of sugar, that are then topped with crispy sugar.  And food dye.  Peeps are useful for clever art projects though.  (Go on, do a search for this.)

If you do get chocolate for Easter, it’s in the shape of a bunny, which does not stimulate my appetite.  Then in order to get the chocolate payoff you have to risk breaking a tooth on a rock solid rabbit.  While you are trying to gnaw off a chunk, you end up drooling all over the chocolate carcass.  I guess the upside is that no one is going to want to steal your candy.

Then there’s a newcomer to Easter baskets everywhere:  Bunnycorn.  If you’re not familiar with this one, it’s the worst confection (candy corn) from a holiday that normally has pretty good candy (Halloween) that’s then given a makeover in the form of pretty colors, and then has a cute name slapped on it.  

The Grand Champion of Worst Easter Candy goes to Cadbury Creme Eggs.  Even an outer shell of milk chocolate can’t redeem them.  When you bite into one your mouth is assaulted with a runny goo that’s supposed to look like the innards of an egg.  I don’t find raw eggs appealing, so why would I want to eat something gross that mimics some other gross thing? 

Clearly, the best solution to this dilemma is to take matters into your own hands.  Throughout my childhood, my mom would attempt a bunny cake.  She would bake a couple of different round cakes, then cut and cobble them together, using white frosting as the adhesive mortar.  

It would then be served on a bed of coconut, dyed green to resemble grass.  It was pretty good, if you could get past the disappointment of a non-chocolate cake.  But no matter how she would tweak it every year, it always resembled a Volkswagen Beetle.  At least I had no problem chowing down on an edible automobile.

St. Patrick’s Day celebrations have become more popular in recent times.  The day hadn’t really been on my radar until a couple of years ago when I heard about the annual parade in downtown Indianapolis.  I decided that would be a fun event, and I would try to go.  However, that happened to be 2020, so you know how all that went.

Fast forward to this year.  As luck would have it, the weather forecast predicted a beautiful day for outdoor holiday celebrations.  I assembled my different articles of green clothing and headed for the parade.  I was impressed that so many people had turned out on a weekday morning for the event.

However, I noticed that the various shades of green I was wearing, that seemed to go together in the dim light at home, completely clashed in the bright sunlight.  One great thing about parades is that spectators are more focused on floats, performers, and candy than mismatched bystanders.

The parade had marching bands, elementary schools, and police on motorcycles putting on quite a show.  There were local businesses, fire trucks, and a pipe and drum band.  I saw many dogs, both in the parade as well as on the sidelines, and admired how some of the canines were able to put up with various leprechaun-type outfits.

I headed to the music tent after the parade, which was packed with other people who had the same idea.  By the time I made my way back to the food area, the pizza truck had sold out.  Not being familiar with restaurants nearby, and mindful that the parking meter would expire soon, I thought it was time to move on.

It was such a nice day, and still early, so I decided to stop by a place I had heard about recently.  Within the past week I first heard of this restaurant from a coworker.  Then there was an article in the newspaper highlighting their St. Patrick’s Day celebration.  And on the way to the parade I happened to drive by it.  I took this trio of references as a nudge that I needed to check it out.

This was clearly the place to be on March 17th.  The outdoor tent was bustling, and I didn’t even try to get inside the packed restaurant and instead ordered from the outside grill.  There was a sequence of bands playing Irish music, both folk and modern.

I was pleasantly surprised to see so many older folks there; clearly, this has been a tradition for them over the years.  Some groups had t-shirts with their (mostly Irish) last names printed on them, sort of like a family reunion.  I guess that’s to be expected when you’re at an establishment that is boasting it’s 89th St. Patrick’s Day celebration.

As the afternoon progressed, it became ever more loud and crowded, especially as the after work group started to pour in.  I moved to the sunny courtyard area for a (relative) amount of space and fresh air.  A few people commented on my committed green outfit, and I had to keep explaining that it appeared to match when I was at home.

I decided I had sufficiently celebrated the holiday, and thought it prudent to leave before any real shenanigans started.  I was hot, tired, and looking forward to using a real restroom.  After I got home, I realized I wasn’t completely green anymore—this was the first time I’d ever started a tan on St. Patrick’s Day.

The saying goes that March comes in like a lion and out like a lamb.  This usually refers to the weather, which this year was more lamb-like.  But for me the implications were a bit different, and the lion aspect proved to be the case for my day.

The first of the month happened to be Mardi Gras and I was excited about going to see a New Orleans-style brass band to celebrate the holiday.  A friend who I hadn’t seen in a while was coming up from Bloomington and we were going to meet up before the show.

My car had been in the shop getting new tires, and I was glad it was finished in time for me to get ready and leave on time.  I got concerned when the low tire pressure light came on during my drive on the interstate.  But it was when I was on a regular surface road that I had to face the truth—I somehow already had a flat tire.

The only option from roadside assistance was to tow the car, which would mean missing the show—obviously an unacceptable arrangement.  So my friend drove all the way over to my side of town to pick me up.  After examining the sad state of the tire, we decided the best plan was to call for a tow when we left the show.

I related the story to my friend that I had just gotten new tires that afternoon.  I mentioned I heard a strange sound, but figured that’s just what new tires sounded like.  She said, “New tires don’t SOUND like anything.”  (Her dry tone of voice was that of:  “How’s that Master’s degree working out for you, Smart Girl?!”)

I am pleased to say that after all that, we were able to arrive at the venue just as the band was starting—we didn’t miss a single note of music.  They say that often when you are met with adversity then it makes you appreciate the good all that much more (not to mention generating the best source of stories).  I can say those were the best tasting crab cakes I’ve ever had.

The band consisted of about a dozen brass instruments, except for the drummer; they played joyous music that had people up dancing.  Beads decorated the tables, as well as masks—the fun kind with feathers and sequins, not the boring cloth ones we’ve been wearing for two years.

Space was limited so partway through some newcomers were seated at our table.  It was a challenge to talk over the music but they seemed like nice people.  After the show, my friend and I were able to finally catch up on each other’s lives while waiting for the tow truck.  It took a while but it was a nice night in a quiet parking lot, and was actually more conducive to conversation than the restaurant.  

The truck driver was polite and efficient.  He towed my car back to the shop, and on the way amused me with his rousing endorsement of Red Bull.  He also earned a good rating from me in the survey I got from the company the next day—I always enjoy being able to give positive feedback.

Mom came to collect me from the car repair place, and for her trouble I gave her my piece of king cake, the pastry that is traditionally served in New Orleans during Mardi Gras celebrations.  All’s well that ends well.  But the whole experience did make me wonder what was in store for me on St. Patrick’s Day.

What’s the first thing you think of when you hear the word “minimalism?”  Probably hippies living in a van, people with drab austere homes, or someone who has taken a vow of poverty.

But what if I said that the concept isn’t about punishment  or denying yourself, but rather about making room for the good things in life?  Viewed this way, it’s an opportunity for you to decide what you want and then focus on that, discovering what works best for you—not everyone else.

This reminds me of a friend of mine in college.  He was a computer science major who only wore black.  Not only were all of his clothes black, but every other piece of fabric, whether towels, bathmats, or dishcloths.  Sure, part of it was that he was into the goth scene, but his main argument was that he never had to sort laundry or try to match his clothes. 

I read a story once about a woman who had a barn on her property; it might have originally belonged to another family member.  But the gist was that every Saturday was spent going through the stuff in the barn.  Sorting items into discard, reuse, selling, giving away—all her free time was spent in this outbuilding.

Then it caught fire and burned down.  Of course there were insurance issues to deal with and arranging for the debris to be hauled away, but she admitted that her very first thought on hearing the news of the fire was that of relief.  Finally she would be able to do something with her life that didn’t involve hanging out in that barn.

In a case like this, sometimes an unexpected occurrence can have positive consequences by imposing on  you a better situation than you were able to achieve on your own.  But you don’t have to wait for dramatic events to force your hand.  You can declutter your mind by making predecisions.  This could take the form of having oatmeal for breakfast on weekdays so as to streamline the morning rush.

It can be freeing to not have to constantly figure out what you are going to wear or eat, or when you are going to perform household tasks.  Then you can give your full attention to what you are currently doing, rather than have the hamster wheel of your mind turning around with everything else you could be doing.

There is an art term called negative space.  I can’t say I exactly understand it, but I think it allows you to focus more completely on what is there by taking away everything else.  In an emotional sense, you can dial in on what is important by eliminating time wasters that distract you without adding value to your life.

I like a saying that I read a while back, that instead of using one hand to carry two things, use two hands to carry one thing.  This is wise in different ways.  It can mean to be careful with physical items so that you don’t end up dropping them.  But I think it also works on a deeper level, not to be in such a rush to complete a task that you lose focus of what you are doing and why you are doing it.

Again, you have to figure out the best path for you, which means first clarifying your priorities, values, and goals.  But I will present the sage advice that the best things in life aren’t things.  

Anyone who says nothing exciting happens in Indiana has obviously forgotten about the weather.  Like a typical Midwesterner, Mother Nature was considerate about the changes and gave us plenty of warning of the upcoming Big Snow.  And let’s not forget that day in the 50s on the eve of the storm to help us prepare.

Most people were probably getting bread, milk, and eggs, and stockpiling toilet paper before the weather got bad.  Me?  I checked out library books, ordered Chinese carryout, and went for a run.  I would think it goes without saying that I’m always in a state of stockpiling toilet paper.

What does an active person do for exercise when stuck inside for several days?  I had to get creative.  I figured just walking around the house would be pretty boring but I found I could multitask by reading while pacing around.  I was able to accomplish something while preventing myself from becoming too sedentary.

Apparently this tendency of mine to get a two-for-one deal out of my personal time management regime goes by a fancy name:  Habit Stacking.  (I still prefer the old-school terms of “being hyper” or “ants in your pants” but I’m not sure those phrases are quite as conducive to selling self-help books.)

The concept behind habit stacking is that you do two things at the same time that require different parts of your body and/or brain.  So you listen to a TED talk and fold laundry, or enjoy music while painting.  It often involves getting yourself to add some positive behavior when you’re doing something that is already a habit—like balancing on one leg while brushing your teeth.

After all that reading and pacing around, I wanted to change it up and watch TV.  But, I really should commit to a few exercises with handweights.  Or stretching.  It got so bad that at one point I was listening to a documentary at the same time as working on a crochet project, all while jogging in place.  

After a few days of this I couldn’t wait to go back to work so I could get some rest.  I think that’s when I realized that I can do a lot of nothing, but very efficiently.  Or to phrase it another way:  I might be on the road to nowhere but I’m making good time.

So by Sunday I didn’t care about the temperature or conditions, I knew I had to get out.  Yogi is always excited for a walk, especially since he had been cooped up too.  It was fun to watch him try to run across drifts and he could sometimes go fast enough to keep from sinking in.  Being twice his weight, I was not so lucky, 

It was such a welcome change of scenery.  The snow made the neighborhood a landscape of sparkling beauty, and I felt my brain able to relax.  I thought about making a snowman but I knew Yogi wouldn’t be much help, seeing as how he lacks opposable thumbs.  But it made me smile to watch him snowplow with his nose, looking for familiar scents as he made his rounds.

And I realized we can learn a lot from dogs.  Maybe not the part about sniffing each other’s butts, but how to be happy with the event at hand without adding a bunch of complications.  You can learn to be excited about a simple walk, relish being with your people, and find joy even in inclement weather.  And then coming home, getting warm, and just relaxing can be part of the fun too.

Why is hair such a big deal?  We put so much emphasis on how much  you have and where, what color it is, the texture and style—it’s enough to make me want to pull mine out sometimes.

My hair journey is pretty simple.  When I was a kid I was required to have short hair until I was old enough to take care of it myself.  Then the 80s happened so much of my free time was taken up with styling mousse, blow dryers, curling irons, and hairspray.  I joke that I used up my lifetime allotment of time to spend on my hair during high school which is why I’ve had low maintenance styles ever since.

But in recent years I’ve had just hair, not an actual hairstyle.  I’d love to blame it on the pandemic but the truth is that I had gotten lazy long before that.  My mom, in her career as a freelance advisor, suggested I do something with it.  I don’t want to set the dangerous precedent of admitting she was right but it did look pretty bad.

I started searching around and found a place where I could get an appointment quickly, before I lost my nerve.  I’m not crazy about someone fussing over me, especially since it had been so long since I’d been to a salon—not to mention the COVID situation.  

But it was in the middle of December so the numbers weren’t too bad; in fact, it was just in time for the first day of winter so I could start the season anew.  The place I chose happened to be near where Yogi goes for his grooming so I thought that was a good sign.  Maybe it could become one-stop shopping for the whole family.

I thought I should come prepared, so I brought printouts of styles that I was interested in.  The stylist eliminated a few of them right off the bat, citing the fact that those would require daily styling.  I guess she took one look at me and just knew this wasn’t going to happen.  There’s something to be said for being able to read your customer.

Afterwards I couldn’t decide which was more fascinating, how much better I looked, or how disgusted I was by all the dead split ends on the floor that used to be hanging from my head.  Within the week I further broke from my usual routine by (1) spending money, and (2) by purchasing hair care products.

I think my stylist would be proud of me for the number of times I’ve put forth the effort to make my hair presentable.  I realize it was a bit of a gamble for her to turn me loose with her business card, knowing what I looked like before.  Still, I’m not used to having bangs so when I’m at home I keep them out of my eyes with a frontal pigtail that causes me to resemble Cindy Lou-Who.

I admit my admiration for those who take it up to the next level.  A friend showed up to an event, stating that since she was an old woman, she was going to embrace it with blue hair.  No, not the stereotypical white with bluish tint.  This woman’s hair is the color of Windex.

I enjoy cutting cartoons out of the newspaper to send to people, since everybody loves some real mail.  I saw this one about the 1960s Broadway musical Hair, which happens to be my favorite.  The joke was that there would be a revival of the production, featuring the original cast.  It’s called Bald.

Now that everyone is probably sick of Christmas music, I will share my list of top ten contemporary Christmas songs.  I define “contemporary” as written in the mid-20th century or later.  (Therefore, it is with much regret that I can’t include Vince Guaraldi’s “O Christmas Tree,” as it is a traditional German song.)

10. Do They Know It’s Christmas? (Band Aid):  Although this song sounds dated, it makes the list because it reminds me of my youth, when I can actually remember who all these artists were who participated in this song. 

9. Cool Yule (Brian Setzer Orchestra):  You need this one on hand in case any spontaneous swing  dancing breaks out during your holiday gatherings. 

8. Snoopy’s Christmas (The Royal Guardsman):  You can’t have Christmas without thinking of the Peanuts gang.  Plus I have two siblings who would disown me if I didn’t include this one.  This is the tale of Snoopy fighting the Red Baron, and their meeting at Christmas.

7. Zat You, Santa Claus? (Louis Armstrong and The Commanders):  As a fan of jazz, I can’t ignore one of the greats.  This also gives me the opportunity to mention an additional treat, which is Armstrong narrating “A Visit From St. Nicholas.”

6. You’re A Mean One, Mr. Grinch (Thurl Ravenscroft):  Where else can you get insults like “You’re a three-decker sauerkraut and toadstool sandwich with arsenic sauce!”  This is a fun song about his badness, but my enduring fondness for the Grinch is due to the fact that he becomes good in the end.  There’s hope for all of us.

5. Christmas in Hollis (Run-D.M.C.):  Kickin’ it with some old-school hip-hop might not scream Christmas spirit to you but give it a try anyway.  If nothing else you should watch the video on YouTube and revel in all the 1980s glory of the birth of rap.

4. Merry Christmas Baby (B.B. King):  Anytime you have a top ten list of music, you need to have B.B. King on there somewhere.  It’s ok to put some funk into your holidays and get down with the blues. 

 3. Christmas Wrapping (The Waitresses):  This song is about a woman who keeps trying to meet up with this guy but has a series of missed connections at each holiday throughout the year.  She just can’t seem to get her act together.  So obviously this song really speaks to me.

2. Happy Xmas/War is Over (John & Yoko/Plastic Ono Band):  For years this has been my favorite.  For some reason the melancholy feel of the song really appeals to me.  It mirrors how I often approach this time of year, with reflection over the past months.  But I think it has slipped its rank because I now hear covers which lack the ethos of the original.  I suppose it’s not fair to blame John and Yoko for subsequent covers that I don’t like, but I also don’t want to end this list on a bummer.

1. It Must Have Been Ol’ Santa Claus (Harry Connick Jr.):  Connick is a New Orleans native and this song delivers the traditional brass band jazz sound.  Having worked retail during the holidays for several years, I would get so tired of hearing the same tunes ad nauseum that I didn’t even like in the first place.  But this song made up for all that.  Whenever I heard it come on, I’d try to slip into the back so I could hear it better.  And maybe even do a little dance when no one was looking.  May you do the same this holiday season.

I’m not someone who is into all the latest technological gadgets.  I don’t like the endless consumerism of constantly having to update my personal technology.  I often feel that my older (or some would say, outdated) gadgets do what I need them to do.  If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.  Don’t get new stuff until you need to, not just because you want to chase the next shiny object.

Because of this attitude, I was accused of being a Luddite.  If you’re not familiar with this word, it refers to followers of Ned Ludd, who was an English textile worker in the early 1800s.  He and his bands destroyed machinery that they felt was taking away their jobs as weavers.  It has come to mean anyone who shuns the progress of technology.

I countered that I am not against technology, but I feel that it should work for us and make our lives easier, not more harried and complex, as often seems to be the case.  We should control it, not the other way around, as has become so prevalent in our society.

My iPhone is old enough that it has the flat, wide charger of many years ago.  The bottom button fell off so it’s held on with masking tape.  There are apps I can’t download because the software isn’t current enough.  To me, this is a good thing because it means I won’t be wasting my time playing around on my phone.  

I have an iPhone that is even older than this that I use exclusively as an alarm clock.  That way I don’t have to keep my phone near my bed, and therefore be tempted to look at it when I’m trying to go to sleep.  (This tip is mentioned in every article about combating insomnia.)  I still use my iPod nano from 2009.

All this is a prelude to a highly amusing event.  Because my phone was so out of date, I got sent a new one:  an iPhone X.  I have to admit, I let it sit in the box for six weeks because I just couldn’t deal with the frustration of setting up a new device.  I finally got a message that they were deactivating my old phone, thus forcing my hand.

In its defense, it really wasn’t that much of a hassle to set up.  And I was impressed that it still had a charge after sitting for six weeks (not being used, but still).  I was a bit proud of myself for figuring out how to get my contacts transferred to the new phone.  I couldn’t just transfer them directly because—you guessed it—my previous phone was so old that it couldn’t communicate with the new one.

Now that I was using the phone regularly, it finally needed to be charged. I took the charging cord out of the box only to find that it doesn’t fit into a USB wall adapter like every other device I’ve owned for the past dozen years. After conversations with coworkers I learned that this new form of technological sorcery is known as a USB-C port. 

This meant that I would need to enter a store—in December, no less—and buy something, which is painful for me under the best circumstances. I found a $10 adapter and moved on with my life. That is, until another coworker insisted that I needed not only a case but a screen protector.  

It sounds like it has the potential to become an expensive free phone.  I know, it’s peanuts compared to how much this phone would cost if I’d purchased it.  I guess the moral of the story is to hang on to your outdated technology as long as possible, and maybe Santa Claus will send you a free mandatory upgrade.

Sometimes an event happens that shakes you up out of your regular routine.  You are forced to do something differently, often something that you wouldn’t have tried on your own.  And yet it ends up being beneficial.  Then this becomes your new habit and you wonder why you were ever stuck doing things the old way.

This happened to me many years ago at my apartment in Bloomington.  My microwave stopped working, and after being without it for a few days I realized I didn’t need one.  I was glad to not have to buy something new as well as gain some counter space.  I heated stuff up on the stovetop like we did back in the 70s.

So when I say that being the victim of fraud on my debit card ended up being a good thing, I hope you’ll stay with me on this and allow me to explain.  (I should jump to the end for a moment and explain that I worked with the fraud department for my debit card and the charges—which were less than $20—were taken off.)

It started when I got a fraud alert.  I checked my account online and noticed unfamiliar charges.  I started the dispute process, which included canceling my debit card and ordering a new one.  Until the new card came, I had to go old school and use cash.  

This took some preparation on my part because I had to go to the financial institution in person and withdraw cash.  This means I had to plan around their business hours, as I couldn’t very well use an ATM—remember, I no longer had a debit card.

At this point in the story, you might be wondering why I haven’t been using cash all along.  For one thing, if you have enough of it to last for several different transactions with different denominations of bills, then the wad of bills gets bulky really quickly.

And what do I do with coins?  If I don’t have my purse then I could at least slide dollar bills into my sock, but have you ever walked around on nickels and dimes?  Not much fun.  Plus you can clean a card when it gets nasty.  And some places don’t even take cash any more.  Also, I had my debit card memorized so I could purchase things online more easily.

So then I had to anticipate purchases before they happened.  Like, actually planning ahead for my spending—the kind of thing I feel like I talk about more than I actually do.  I had to decide if something was worth it to go through the hassle of getting money before even starting the process of buying something.  I was adding up expenses on the front end rather than after the fact.

I learned that I spend more money than I thought I did.  I’d go to an event with an amount of cash, thinking I couldn’t possibly spend that much—yet it wasn’t enough.  I wonder how much I would have gone out the door if I’d had a card to swipe?  I also gained time that I might have spent cruising around the internet—I didn’t have a way to buy stuff online, so why bother looking?

Sure, some tasks took more time, like putting gas in my car.  I’d have to go inside and maybe wait in line before I could even start the pump.  On the other hand, I now know that when I’m down to a quarter of a tank then $20 will get it almost full (I have a very small car).  I seemed to be more aware of how much items cost, and everything seemed more expensive when I would have to peel off bills to pay for it.

I see now why those financial gurus are so adamant about using all cash, all the time.  Or the other trick I’ve heard suggested is to freeze your credit card in a bowl of water so that when you want to make a purchase you have to thaw it out first, which gives you time to think about the wisdom and necessity of the purchase.

It would be great if I could wrap up this story by avowing that I have stuck with paper money and haven’t made any impulse, unnecessary, or overpriced purchases since this incident.  But once I got that new card I went back to the old method of payment.  This new card even has that cool tap-to-pay mechanism!

Besides, it’s nice to be able to purchase something at the cashless campus of the art museum.  I’m thinking of when I had to chat up people in line and ask them to buy me something while I handed them cash.  It’s probably not the best way to make a good impression on potential new friends.

But I can learn from my experience and give a bit more thought before spending.  I also acknowledge the practicality of having a backup plan, which means having a small stash of emergency money just in case something like this happens again in the future.  I guess I should store it in a sock so it will feel right at home.

I like to make up silly rhymes for various situations in which I find myself.  When I’m walking Yogi and he’s sniffing around, I chant: “I / need you / to do / the poo.”  I don’t know that it actually motivates him to do his business but it sure makes me giggle.

But lately my refrain has been:  “Mouse, mouse / in the house / we got a mouse/ in the house.”  I first noticed that something was amiss when I was alone early one morning and heard some rustling.  I get creeped out pretty easily but managed to convince myself that it was a normal house noise, or something outside.

When Mom asked me about a suspicious substance in a drawer, I had to confirm that it had indeed been left by a mouse.  I’ve housed various rodents in the past, both intentionally (hamsters) and uninvited (mice) so I am quite familiar with the evidence they leave behind.

I also have some experience with what does not work.  I love the idea of a humane trap, but this catch and release method almost guarantees that you are recycling the same mouse.  I think once you start this process then word spreads within the rodent community that one can get a free meal plus a ride home.

Of course the risk to the mouse is that when the statute of limitations runs out, the household may get fed up with the Groundhog Day-like game, and set out snap traps.  But these are not infallible.  Mom asserted that she doesn’t mind getting outsmarted by the dog but she draws the line with a mouse.

I tried to make her feel better by pointing out that if one is to learn anything from cartoons it’s that cats are smarter than dogs, mice are smarter than cats, and bunnies are the smartest of all.  By this reasoning, she should really feel worse for getting outsmarted by dogs.  That didn’t help the situation.

More mousie calling cards were found in the pantry, including a granola bar that had been nibbled on, in addition to a completely empty wrapper.  Mom determined that using some of the partially chewed bar would be good bait, since the mouse had shown an obvious preference.  

But later not only was the trap intact but a new granola bar had been removed from the shelf and dragged into the middle of the kitchen floor.  The mouse wasn’t just satisfied with the treat, but had to make a statement for all to see.  I said it was like the mouse was giving her the finger.  (Or maybe recording it for friends on TikTok.)

We knew we couldn’t rely on Yogi, considering he can’t manage to shoo the rabbits away from the yard, especially since he usually doesn’t notice them in the first place.  Also, we had to make sure to keep the cabinet doors closed so as to keep Yogi away from the peanut butter laden traps, knowing his proclivity for this nut-laden goo.

I suggested that we should rent a cat.  I asked people who own kitties if their felines were interested in doing any independent consulting.  It seems that cats who catch mice are rare.  Apparently this skill is obsolete and untaught to the younger generation, sort of like cursive writing to human kids.

Then, just as suddenly, the mouse seemed to vanish.  It could be like trick-or-treaters who get whatever they can at one house before quickly moving on to the next one with assembly line efficiency.  Maybe, unlike most gamblers, it hit the big jackpot and got out while retaining the bounty.  

Or perhaps it overdosed on all those treats and went up to live in that Great Pantry in the Sky.  

Summer vacations have gotten shorter for school children in recent years, and I felt the effect of it this year.  My presence was requested almost nightly by some young neighbors.  Not just for my company, I might add, but my LED hula hoops make me popular on summer evenings.

These light up toys work best when it’s dark.  If you’re familiar with the science behind seasons then you’ll realize that it gets pretty late before this happens in the summer.  But staying out late—while getting attacked by mosquitos—is the price you pay for being the coolest (honorary) sixth grader in the neighborhood.

Here’s a random summer factoid I’ve picked up over the years:  Blue popsicles seem to be the most popular.  No idea why.  Novelty?  Most people’s favorite color?  Personally I don’t want to eat anything that’s the color of Windex.  And I’m also more of a chocolate type.

Summer also means the State Fair, with accompanying traditions.  One is apparently forgetting just how big that place is.  And hot, which makes you feel slimy, which then attracts all the dust that’s getting kicked around.  But it’s part and parcel of fair rites, along with immense crowds which get squished together when everyone has to clear a path for the shuttle.

It’s always fun to strike up conversations with strangers.  For instance, Courtey from Ft. Wayne had driven down to see the Beach Boys.  We started chatting when a quick rain shower came through and we were both sheltering under a patio umbrella.  I was able to give her directions to the stage and share some of my knowledge about food booths.

Speaking of which, I sampled various kinds of chicken—chicken-on-a-stick, chicken biscuits, chicken and waffles (with sricha sauce!)—all fabulous.  I was disappointed in the turkey BBQ donut sandwich (too sweet) and the pork BBQ atop mac and cheese.  (I thought I was more open minded when it comes to mac and cheese but I admit that I’m a traditionalist.)

At one point I saw a sign advertising sushi, which horrified me.  We’re in a landlocked state!  It’s 90 degrees and the food booths are out in the open!  It’s food poisioning waiting to happen!  Then I realized that since I wasn’t wearing my regular glasses, I had misread the sign.  It correctly, and more sensibly, read “slushie”.

A few frustrations were inevitable.  I was having trouble finding restrooms when I happened across an Abe Lincoln impersonator.  Since Abe was pretty smart, I thought about asking him where they were.  I developed an attitude every time I would see “lemonade” shake up advertised.  I assumed these people must not be real Hoosiers because everybody knows it’s a “LEMON” shake up.  

I also had to accost random people with bags of kettle corn to ask where they got it.  This was the one thing my parents wanted me to bring back so I was determined not to disappoint them.  But I somehow managed to miss the booths selling it.  I was getting blistered feet from retracing my steps, as well as irritable, thinking, “Really?!  I’m at the Indiana State Fair and I can’t find CORN?”

Often Labor Day is seen as the unofficial end of summer.  (The official end is the Atumnal Equinox, going back to that science of the seasons thing.)  I wanted to mark the occasion so I walked with Yogi to the free concert in Riley Park in which the Brandwine Wind played American patriotic songs.

I appreciated that everyone stood for Taps; I made sure Yogi did too.  But later I could tell he was hot and ready to go.  Then I started to get itchy from the grass, and my nose was running.  A few raindrops started falling and I thought we would have to leave.  But I really wanted to hold out until the end.

The concert ended, as I had hoped it would, with Stars and Stripes Forever.  And as the band started this song, the clouds parted for the sun to shine right on the musicians.  

It was stunning; it made me stop and fully appreciate the moment.  What a wonderful and awe-inspiring moment to wrap up the season of another lovely Hoosier summer.

I’d like to introduce myself.  My name is Yogi, and I am the adorable (if I may say so myself) Goldendoodle who lives with the Haines family.  I’m given to understand that there are several stories out there about my antics so I thought it was time for a story from my perspective.

Here’s the insider information:  I’m the one who gets everything going, keeping everyone on schedule, and ensuring all the essential household tasks get completed.  They can’t seem to get their acts together on their own.  How did these people get anything done before I came to live with them?  

Let’s start with a typical day.  I have to bark to let them know it’s time to get up.  From there Mom knows to fix my breakfast so we get that taken care of.  (I’d be happy to do it myself but it’s a bit of a challenge without opposable thumbs.)  Then I have to supervise Mom doing her stretching exercises to make sure she does them.

I wait for Dad to get up and make sure he goes out to get the newspaper.  Then he gives me part of a banana.  They’re ok, but I act really excited because I know that way he’ll make sure to buy and eat bananas if he thinks I’m the one who really likes them.  I know they’re good for him so I like to keep this habit going.

After that, it’s time to prepare to take a walk.  It takes them a while to put on layers to go outside, not to mention gathering up treats and bags.  But I keep on them because they need to get out in the fresh air and exercise.  I wonder if they’d even take walks if I wasn’t the one herding them out the door.

I choose the route because apparently neither Mom nor Dad realizes where all the good smells are.  I get going at a good clip because I must make sure they get their heart rates up so they achieve some aerobic exercise beyond just a casual stroll.  They grumble about this, but I know it’s for their own good.

Of course when I see trash on the ground I want to pick it up; litter is so unattractive.  I have to eat it because where else am I going to put it?  It’s not like I have pockets.  Plus these people are big on recycling and that’s what happens when it travels through my system and comes out the other end.

Once we get home from the walk, I rest and rehydrate before working on my strength training.  This involves standing up on my hind legs to get my forelegs on the kitchen counters.  Since Mom and Dad frequently leave food up there, I figured that was their way of rewarding me for my efforts.  But somehow they don’t seem pleased.  Talk about mixed messages.

It also amazes me that I have to bark to remind them when it’s time for my dinner.  They have clocks everywhere yet don’t know what time it is?  Whatever they are looking at on those screens must be pretty good to make them unaware of the time.  I think they’d stare at those things all afternoon if it weren’t for my intervention.

When dinner time rolls around, I’m on duty again.  I must be vigilant in case they drop something.  It’s easier to pick it up right then instead of waiting for it to accumulate into a big mess that I have to deal with later.  They make jokes about me being a vacuum cleaner, but who else is going to clean it up?

Cleanup after the meal means I have dishwasher duty.  I have to lick the dishes as they are put in because they are not completely rinsed off and still contain bits of edible food.  I guess I’m the only one who recognizes that I’m doing my part to cut down on food waste.  But do I get thanked for this?  No, I do not.  

Then they gather together for the evening ritual of staring at another screen, a bigger one that they both watch together.  Once that thing is on they don’t move or interact with each other.  I paw at Mom until she gets down on the floor and plays with me.  I know she burns more calories that way, plus it helps with flexibility.

Still, I have to bark periodically so that they finally take their eyes off that thing and get up.  It’s under the guise of having to take me outside, but I figure I’ll do whatever it takes to encourage their mobility.  You’d think they know about all the research that shows you’re supposed to move around and stretch every hour.

My last bark of the evening indicates it’s time for bed.  If I don’t do this then they lose track of time and stay up too late.  Then the morning is a struggle to get them up on time, plus they are tired and cranky the next day.  I go to bed first to set the example and they usually follow soon after.  But if they don’t then I vocalize that it’s time to settle down for the night.

All this is exhausting so it’s no wonder I need to take multiple naps per day.  It’s a lot of work running a household and managing people who can’t seem to get organized on their own.  I honestly don’t know what they would do without me.  At least they’re smart; that makes them easier to train.

I love light displays this time of year.  It’s such a festive approach to the long nights and often gloomy days.  I especially appreciate seeing them on my way to work when it’s still dark in the morning; it gives me a positive way to start the day.

This trend usually starts in October as we’re gearing up for Halloween.  Then once Daylight Saving Time ends then there is even more time in the evening to see what creative ideas people come up with.  Every week there are more displays on homes and businesses as we get closer to Christmas.  Finally, there are those stalwart folks who then transform the holiday lights into decorations for Valentine’s Day.

I think we inherently realize our need for light during a dark period.  I mean this in a literal sense, as we are aware of the possibility of seasonal depression (also known as the winter blues).  But it can also be taken metaphorically, as there is a universal human need to seek out art, beauty, and joy.

It also speaks to our ability to appreciate what we already have during times of deprivation.  We may not be able to do what we’d like right now or engage in the sort of activities we are used to this time of year but we can savor the small sparks of brightness.  Taking a walk to view neighborhood lights, reading a good book with a cup of tea while listening to music, or reaching out to family and friends on a Zoom call.

And so I am thankful for those who design and execute these decorations.  I admire the tenacity to share a message of producing good from a less than ideal situation.  It’s like building a snow sculpture after a blizzard, or making art out of a bunch of found junk—it’s that timeless idea of taking the lemons you are given and transforming them into lemonade.

And that, my friends, sums up what I feel is the message of hope as we end this year and eagerly anticipate a fresh start in 2021.  There’s no point in reiterating all the bad stuff we’ve seen in 2020; it’s not like we’re going to forget anytime soon—nor should we try to sweep it under the rug and deny the pain and suffering.

But let’s also remember that this same 2020 brought us such events as drive by parades at nursing homes to celebrate birthdays for residents.  Drive-in tailgate graduation events.  People sewing masks and leaving them on their porches with messages like “take what you need”.  Love bombing someone with cards through the mail.  Outdoor serenades for those under quarantine.  Communities coming together to provide food, clothing, and toys to those in need.  

And of course the tireless determination of our medical professionals and other essential workers to continue with the battle even in the face of adversity.  Let’s celebrate the resiliency of the human spirit and our ability to rise to the occasion.  

Remember the words of the traditional proverb:  It is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.

As the growing season draws to a close, I thought I’d share some gardening stories.  Specifically, that of Pearlann Haines vs. the Rabbit Nation.

In this Battle of the Bunnies she is not aided by Yogi, the Goldendoodle watchdog.  He is so named because he just sits and watches everything and everyone, including the rabbits frolicing through the yard.  To my Mom’s frustration, he does nothing to try to scare them off.

I suppose it’s good, albeit unusual, that he’s not territorial about his yard.  In fact, he’s not aggressive at all, with the exception of when he snatches your sandwich off the counter and you’re trying to take it away from him.

As a consequence, my mother’s garden suffered this year.  When I asked her for a list of what the rabbits ate, she rattled off so many names of plants, including things I’ve never heard of and therefore have no idea how to spell.  Let’s just say that the Age of Asparagus didn’t happen in 2020.

So Mom had to rely on her own cunning plans and unusual contraptions to protect the plants.  The cayenne pepper mixture spread around them didn’t deter the critters.  The solar lights didn’t make any difference.  

Then there were the shiny, multicolored pinwheels.  The rationale here was that they would catch the light when spinning in the breeze, and this would generate enough movement to scare the rabbits.  I think the bunnies must have gotten a good laugh from this one because guess who was the only one afraid of the pinwheels?  Yogi.

Next came unique yard art in the form of chicken wire cages.  I anticipated they would easily be toppled by a pair of back legs that are strong from hopping.  But they have mostly held their own thus far.

Finally, Mom developed the nightly ritual of covering the most coveted plants with garbage bags to protect them from nocturnal pillaging.  This also had the added benefit of enabling her to check on the fountain out front that inexplicably develops a chartreuse algae and so requires periodic cleaning.

(As an aside, this is the same fountain that in the winter gets covered with a tarp, on top of which little white lights are added for decoration.  One year Mom got the tarp too tight around the base, which made the fountain look like a giant mushroom.) 

After listening to all these tales, I think the obvious conclusion is that Yogi is getting paid off by the local Rabbit Cartel.  They made him an offer he couldn’t refuse; as a result, he watches them bound through the yard without interference.

This would also explain why Yogi won’t go outside by himself, despite knowing how to open the porch door.  (Although, if he’s such a smart dog you’d think he’d be able to figure out how to also close the door, which is even easier.)  I think he wants a human with him at all times because he’s afraid of the Bunny Thugs.

It’s possible that Yogi has developed some distrust as a result of these dealings.  I’ve seen a few cartoons in the newspaper that could describe him.  One shows a dog saying to the human:  “I’ll sit, but I want half the treat up front.”  Another dog says, “I don’t shake.  I get things in writing.”

(Another cartoon made me laugh out loud at the timing with our current social distancing situation.  The human is bending down with his hand out for the dog’s paw, and the dog says, “Shake?  Are you crazy?!”)

If you’re a Monty Python fan, you’ll be familiar with the Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog, and the famous line of “Run away!  Run away!”  Who knew there were so many scary lagomorphs out there, throughout the globe, spanning several centuries.

So whatever difficulty you’re dealing with, at least you can take heart that it’s probably not fear of your own backyard and the wildlife contained therein.

It’s funny to me that with everyone staying home these days there is such an emphasis on doing things on the computer, like watching funny videos, taking virtual classes, and having online meetings.  That’s not even counting streaming movies or TV shows and daily visits to Redbox.

I wonder, am I one of the few in the opposite camp who have been looking at this time as a way to spend less time in front of a screen?  With such unusual times it seems to me that this is an opportunity to do things differently.  We already spend too much time on our devices so I don’t see how moving everything to online forums is an improvement.  

Obviously we need to make adjustments during our current situation.  Why not change things for the better rather than just doing more of the same thing?  We want to get things back to normal, but how about a new and improved version?  Now is the time to get rid of those old patterns and to really shake things up.

Go outside.  It’s spring, with all kinds of amazing changes happening in nature right in front of your door.  Take a walk, just wandering around without a plan and look at stuffed animals or words of inspiration people have posted in their windows.  Make pictures with sidewalk chalk to brighten someone else’s day.  

Serenade your neighbors who might be quarantined inside, or send a card through real mail.  Set up a camping chair in your driveway and wave to passers by.  Have a dance party in your yard.  Layer up if you have to but get out there and soak up that vitamin D from the sunshine.  Just put down your phone, close your laptop, and turn off the TV.

In the evenings or on rainy days you can do puzzles or play cards and board games.  Talk to each other while making eye contact.  Set a good example for your family by listening to what they have to say.  You can learn a lot from your kids—have you ever noticed that a lot of toys are mimicking adult chores, like lawn mowers or vacuum cleaners?  Maybe we need to approach our work more like play.  

(Also we should use the universally accepted method of conflict resolution of playgrounds everywhere:  Rock Paper Scissors.  It’s impossible to cheat and it is a great equalizer across ages and abilities.  There is no arguing or disputing the decision, and the outcome is legally binding.  Children have a well-developed sense of justice and fairness.)

I think we must confront our need for constant distraction, stimulation, and entertainment.  It’s like we can’t be alone with ourselves and our thoughts.  Are we that afraid of what we might discover?  Yet it is essential to our mental health and personal growth to have some quiet time—every single day.

By downtime I mean just sit for a few minutes and watch the rain through the window.  Really notice that cup of coffee when you drink it.  We can’t continue at this frantic pace of having every minute scheduled and accounted for with constant busyness.  This is a great starting point to helping us appreciate what we already have, including the people in our lives.

Perhaps we will realize how many things really aren’t essential—physical items as well as activities.  Those projects we never seem to get to, that we always say we’ll get around to when we have time?  If we still aren’t doing them when we’re stuck at home then they probably really aren’t a priority.  Maybe we can let them go and keep them from hanging over our heads.  

Think of the old joke about kids who get elaborate toys but then end up having the most fun with the empty box?  Like that.  The simple things in life really are the best, and open us up to increase our capacity for enjoyment of everyday pleasures.

So slow down.  Take notice of the small moments that make you smile.  That’s a contagion worth passing along.

The Slippery Doodle.  No, that’s not a typo for the Slippery Noodle Inn, the blues bar in downtown Indy.  It’s a nickname for Yogi, my parents’ Goldendoodle. This is my latest moniker for him because he’s such a slickster that he can steal food off the counter practically right out from under your nose.  (Truth be told, I’m actually more likely to hang out at the Jazz Kitchen but that place doesn’t lend itself as well to a clever nickname.)

Mom masterminded a way to keep Yogi off the counters by setting up mouse traps on top of stacks of papers.  The idea was that if the papers were moved then the trap would go off, scaring the dog without hurting him. No one was harmed in this experiment.  Yet, how often were the traps set off by Yogi versus someone else? Let me just say one number is zero and the other number is not zero.

Yogi’s biggest transgression to date was eating an entire loaf of homemade cinnamon bread that my Mom spent all afternoon making.  He’s also recently gotten a box of cinnamon rolls, and a package of Hawaiian rolls. The bread zone is now barricaded with a wire cookie rack wedged in front of it—a cage for the baked goods.  This seems to be doing the trick. For now.

Clearly Yogi is not on a low-carb diet.  Or perhaps he is, which is why he acts the same way a human would in the same situation.  Mom is very particular about not giving him people food as she doesn’t think it’s good for dogs.  She will read a label and say that since it has high fructose corn syrup it might make him fat. I try to explain that it makes humans fat too.  Breaking news: People food isn’t really good for people either.

(Interesting to note that Yogi was having some digestive reflux issues, and the vet suggested that his food bowl be placed off the ground so that he isn’t leaning so far over when he eats.  Mom covered a couple of end tables with a rug and placed his dishes on top. It looked like a table set in a fancy restaurant. She then put a vase of flowers down to complete the look, and naturally took a picture of Yogi in his dining nook.)

So why does Yogi persist in counter surfing?  Let’s delve into psychology for a moment. I’m a fan of the theory of operant conditioning.  If you’re not familiar with this concept, it is all about prizes and punishments to influence behavior.  The best way to form a habit is a positive reward, in which you get a treat when you do something right.

The most powerful version of this is intermittent variable reinforcement, whereby you don’t know exactly when you’re getting that payoff.  This keeps you going and going until you do get it, which might be right around the corner or after many more tries. This is why gambling is so very addictive because you keep waiting for that next hit, even though in the meantime you could be losing your metaphorical shirt.

Back to our furry friend.  Yogi jumps on the counters to try to get stuff.  There are many times when he leaves empty handed, and he might get a stern “Off!” or “Down!”, but there otherwise aren’t any dire consequences.  Yet once he hits that motherlode of a whole loaf of carbohydrate-laden perfection, then that action is permanently wired into his canine cerebellum.

What’s the obvious way to solve this?  Only leave spinach on the counter. Or Swiss chard.  Or kale. Don’t have anything out that the dog would want to eat so he won’t be tempted.  This has the added benefit that you aren’t displaying food that humans want to eat either so you cut down on people snacking.  Everybody wins!

Until you take Yogi for a walk and have to wrestle a fast-food wrapper out of his maw.  And then watch him wriggle out of your grasp just like the Slippery Doodle he is.

I decided it was time to partake of a fun summer tradition:  A day at the Indiana State Fair! The theme was Heroes in the Heartland; there was a large Spiderman greeting us at the entrance.

I rarely wear sunscreen so I had to borrow some; the last time I wore it was two years ago when I went canoeing.  (Contrast with the fact that I pretty much need bug spray if I even take the trash out at night.) I thought this would be a good move considering I went to a burger battle a few weeks before and ended up looking almost as pink as some of the fare.

Some things I knew to expect, like tenderloins or lemon shake-ups at every other booth.  But I never was able to find the mac and cheese eggrolls I had read about. I was able to successfully avoid desserts so as to save my calorie allotment for a chicken and waffle sandwich covered in powdered sugar (much of which ended up on my feet and stuck there).

I went to one of those “Guess My Age” booths; you give them $5 and if they don’t come within two years you get a prize.  I did win but it was a hollow victory when it dawned on me that I essentially just bought a cheap toy for $5. I picked a bright green stuffed narwhal and we kept scanning the crowd until we found a cute little kid to give it to.

Pioneer Village was on the agenda as my interest in history goes all the way back to reading the Little House books as a kid.  We watched a demonstration of threshing with an antique piece of machinery (just a guess here, but probably called a thresher).  It was loud, smokey, and we were greeted with a shower of chaff.

It made me realize how I wouldn’t have done well in those days, with my allergies and childhood asthma.  I wasn’t willing to venture into the livestock barns as I was still recovering from a cold and I knew the animal dander would set me off.  I was sad to forego visiting the bunnies.  

But in looking through the antique tractor exhibit, I was pleased to see that six of them came from Hancock County!  I also like to visit the old-time drugstore exhibit. It was fascinating seeing the old bottles of various elixirs. I was thankful that it wasn’t an old doctor or dentist office, complete with rustic implements.

Of course there was music. We particularly enjoyed the brass band dressed in clownish costumes that played on the street.  It was fun to see a couple of little girls dancing with their inflatable unicorns. I taught my friend how to do the Chicken Dance.  (Me: “What? They didn’t do this at every wedding you’ve ever been to?!”)

Without a doubt we were having an amazing time, but I couldn’t help but wonder, what does any of this have to do with Heroes in the Heartland?  No capes, no superpowers—just a bunch of everyday Hoosiers converging at the fair.

Here’s the eureka moment:  Heroes are everywhere, if you just pause long enough to see what’s really going on around you.  They are the guys in the food booth that wasn’t really open yet, but they were willing to go ahead and fix my friend a sandwich.  And they did it while laughing and joking with us, despite their long day ahead.

They were the people dressed in uncomfortable pioneer clothing, educating the crowd about what life was like back then in order to keep a tradition alive.  They were the ones driving the shuttle busses or picking up trash or giving a great performance or volunteering in any number of booths and exhibits.

Who are the true heroes?  Those who put their heart into whatever they undertake, and who work as hard as if what they are doing is the most important thing out there.  Which it might be to someone; your kind words or attention to detail might make all the difference in another person’s day.

Heroes don’t all come in the same form.  Anyone can be a hero to someone. You don’t need superpowers, just determination.  And probably a sense of humor helps too.

You have to understand that my aversion to golf goes way back.  My dad always tried to get me into golf, and according to him, the fact that I do not play is one of the causes of all the problems in my life.  (The other two things that all my issues can be traced back to are that I don’t eat enough fiber and that I didn’t go to Purdue.)

So when a friend suggested “foot golf” as a fun afternoon outing, I didn’t exactly jump for joy.  Then again, this friend has been my partner in crime for many other fun activities so I thought maybe I could give him the benefit of the doubt and just roll with the punches this time.  When you get a reputation for doing oddball activities it kind of obligates you to say yes.  

(I did find a cartoon in the paper that I gave to him where a character announces that he is going to play golf.  The others ask why. He states that since all life is meaningless, he might as well chase a little white ball around.  The other characters agreed that this was the best description of golf that they had heard.)

Foot golf is played on a small course similar to a par-three golf course, but instead of needing a bunch of fancy expensive equipment, you just kick a soccer ball around in your everyday  sneakers. None of us in the group were particularly athletic, and it was good that we were all on the same page in terms of non-competitiveness.

It was almost the hottest day of the year, and there were persistent gnats galore.  But we were able to take that in stride as part of the summer outdoor experience. We took our time going down the course, waiting for each other to kick closer to the hole.  It was a pretty mellow experience, as we strolled along, sipping from water bottles.

We each kept track of our score then would record the final score at the end of the hole.  But we were having so much fun laughing and joking with each other that we often lost count.  And none of us cared what our scores were, nor anybody else’s. Then we went and ate Mexican food, which was probably the real goal all along.

We were sitting at dinner, recalling the afternoon events, good-naturedly teasing each other, and it dawned on me that this is really what the whole day was about:  Spending time with really amazing people. Getting to know each other and interacting in person; no phones or social media. Talking, having real conversations, and making eye contact.

If you have all that, then it doesn’t matter what you’re doing.  You don’t need elaborate or expensive activities—just being with people is enough.  Engaging in some goofy activity can provide hours of entertainment because the real enjoyment comes from those you have surrounded yourself with.

So here’s Stef’s NOW (Nugget Of Wisdom) for the month:  It’s not the what; it’s the who. If you focus on the what you will probably never be satisfied.  But if you concentrate your energies on the who then the rest will take care of itself. Then you can have a good time no matter what you do, even if it includes copious amounts of bugs and sore shins the next morning.

I don’t ride rollercoasters or do rides at the fair.  The last time I went to a planetarium I got dizzy. No way am I getting on one of those spinny things at a playground.  So when a friend suggested I try a virtual reality experience I knew I was going to hate it.

It’s inside.  It seems like a video game.  I have to wear something encasing half my head which means I’ll get claustrophobic.  I figured I could only endure it for a few minutes before I had to escape. There are so many things that could go wrong I knew I’d get plenty of fodder for an article.  

I finally had to quit whining and try it so that I could put my time in, get it over with, make some notes, and go eat with my friends.  When I put on the headset it was still on my friend’s game, which was killing zombies. Having the undead coming at me did nothing to improve my bad attitude.

I thought a nice nature scene would be more up my alley, something that would be calm and slow instead of a competitive game.  No shooting, blood, or general mayhem. I chose a relaxing moonlit woodland experience. They showed me how to work the controls and—

It was the coolest thing ever.  I loved it. I could coast down a creek just over the water; it was like canoeing without a boat.  I could use my fake hand to reach out and pat the rump of an imaginary deer. I had an option to turn on a starburst setting, which made it look like I was inside a ring of fire.

At one point I had to sit on the floor because I wanted to be right there in the midst of a field of wildflowers.  I wanted to lie flat on the floor so that I could look up at the stars but I was afraid that might be a bit much. I got so into it that apparently the rest of the group got a kick out of just watching me.

The next day I pondered all this.  It’s really cool that we have the technology to create such experiences, that fool our brains into thinking something is real even when we know intellectually that it isn’t.  Perhaps this could have applications for treating medical or psychological disorders.

But then couldn’t it also be something we can use to escape our lives, like so many activities that can turn into dangerous addictions?  What if we deluded ourselves into thinking that this fake world is better? Wasn’t that the whole point of that movie, The Matrix?

What do I do now to answer these questions swirling around in my head?  What is the cure for my inner turmoil? And how am I ever going to be able to top such an experience?  The solution is simple, easy, free, and readily available to everyone:

I went outside.

I walked on the trail and heard actual birds singing.  There was warm sun on my face and breeze in my hair. I took off my sandals and felt the texture of the pavement.  The smell of grass and flowers wafted over me.

Obviously I was blown away by the virtual reality experiment.  I love to try new stuff, even things I’m convinced I won’t like.  I think everyone should seek out new adventures.

But let’s also not lose sight of how amazing real life is.  The antidote to what ails you isn’t avoiding reality, but embracing it in all it’s awesomeness.

When three people, independent of each other, suggested I try axe throwing for an article, I knew this had to be my next adventure.  I had no idea what this would entail so I figured I’d need to do a little investigating. But then that’s kind of the point of me trying all these different activities, that I step into the unknown.  Besides, I finished re-watching all six seasons of Downton Abbey so my weekends were free again.

As I researched the axe-throwing phenomenon, I picked up on a few themes.  One was to appeal to the Inner Viking that apparently lives within us all. Another was that it seems to have gained traction in Canada, which makes sense—take the British penchant for throwing things at a target (darts), add crazy Canadians, and the result is a world axe throwing league.

Another commonality among the places I found was that they each require closed-toed shoes (no sandals).  Yet they also all serve alcohol. I think it was at this point that some of my acquaintances who were potential participants decided to rethink their availability for this event.  (The $25 price tag was probably also a contributing factor.)

I went into this outing with a number of expectations.  I assumed it would be all a bunch of hard core sweaty guys, yelling over heavy metal music.  I thought I wouldn’t fit in, given my lack of upper body strength due to my scrawny bird leg arms.  I had already decided I would use the two-handed throwing method; I steer away from activities that force me to be one-sided.

I’m also extremely myopic.  I questioned whether this combination of traits really made me a good candidate for flinging sharp, heavy objects.  (To put it in perspective, my vision with glasses is only slightly better than that of my octogenarian father without glasses.)  It turns out the target was both really big and close enough for me to hit it maybe 75% of the time, which was certainly much better than I anticipated.

I’d like to think I have a small stash of knowledge about weaponry from hanging out with history enthusiasts all these years—everyone from Renaissance Faire geeks to Dungeons and Dragons dorks.  As such, I was expecting something that looks like the king with the axe on playing cards (the king of diamonds, for all you card sharps). Or else something that Paul Bunyan would shoulder around.

But I believe what I tossed about is more accurately called a hatchet.  Think of Last of the Mohicans, except that the hatchet didn’t whip around in multiple rotations before hitting its target.  Also, there was no shirtless Daniel Day-Lewis with flowing hair. (And he wielded a tomahawk anyway, so never mind.)

The sound of the wood target splitting when I got a hit was truly satisfying.  But otherwise I’d say it was quite the mellow vibe. It reminded me of a hobby with a communal aspect like bowling or archery.  Perhaps it was the result of booking on a Sunday afternoon. Or maybe they just wanted to encourage a family-friendly atmosphere; there were some silly hats and costume accessories that you could have fun with.

Many people asked me about it afterward and I felt I was disappointing them without some wild and crazy story.  I wasn’t even sore the next day. Maybe that’s the life lesson here; don’t assume something will be super weird until you give it a try.  If you overcome your apprehension about new experiences then you just might stumble upon an idea for your next social gathering.

In some of my latest readings, I’ve encountered the opinion that you should push your comfort zones and go out on a limb more often.  Some even go so far as to say that if you’re not getting rejected on a daily basis then you’re not taking enough risks. The obvious reaction to all this?  I needed to sign up for a speed dating event.

I don’t have a problem with the idea of talking to a lot of different people.  I’m generally pretty outgoing, so in that sense the event wouldn’t be a stretch.  But the thought of the inconvenience of getting gussied up, going out at night, and finding the location without being left adrift on the sea of roundabouts that is Carmel seemed like more hassle than it was worth.

Then it dawned on me that this is the reason I don’t get out much—because I don’t get out much.  It may sound like a tautology but it’s true; since I never go anywhere then I don’t meet people who want to go do stuff so then I either don’t know about events or else don’t have anyone to go with when I do.  Vicious cycle, self-fulfilling prophecy, or Catch-22? Take your pick.

The email said to dress “hot”; I guess they were expecting it to be cold in there?  I ended up with a long sweater, leggings, and tall boots. I kind of looked like a goth Robin Hood.  You know that horror that many women have talked about, of showing up someplace and there’s somebody else there dressed like them?  That hasn’t happened to me ever, in almost five decades of life.

The event was $27, but advertised free appetizers.  If you’ve ever been out to eat with me then you know I can easily put away $27 worth of food without missing a beat.  So I figured I’d get my money’s worth no matter what happened. I was expecting meatballs, chicken wings, and various meats filled with nitrates.  I didn’t anticipate that there would be only plates of chips and salsa; I felt cheated.

I figured it probably wasn’t a good idea for me to start a conversation with the fact that this event was taking time away from my latest hobby, learning about bioanthropology.  On the other hand, it would give me a chance to study the mating behavior of modern primates, which would dovetail with the book I’m currently reading. This could be a key opportunity for sociological observation.

So here it is:  I’m at this event, thinking I’m going to stand out as this nerd who is older than most of the other people there.  I worried that I wouldn’t know what to talk about or how to interact. I figured I looked like a dork who would come across as awkward in my attempt to be social and meet people.

What I discovered, while talking to and observing the other participants, is that everyone has their insecurities.  Everybody; all inclusive—no matter how confident they may seem at first. You think you’re too tall or he’s worried that he doesn’t have enough hair and she’s self-conscious about her teeth and somebody else is from a different culture.

If you go into a situation feeling a bit off balance, remember that everyone else does too.  You can cut yourself some slack for merely trying, and extend that goodwill to others. Then you can throw any expectations out the window and relax for a good time because it’s not a big deal.  And you just might make some new friends in the process.

As the youngest in my family, I’ve learned to be skeptical.  So when I first heard about goat yoga I thought someone was pulling my leg (or trying to get my goat).  But when I searched online (“Goat Yoga Near You”), I found Happy Goat Lucky.

The idea behind goat yoga is similar to other types of animal-assisted therapies, such as horseback riding, reading to dogs, or companion pets.  So why not combine the healing properties of animals with the therapeutic effects of yoga? Especially cute baby goats; I could get on board with that.

I wanted to go around the holidays for “Seasons Bleatings” but I wound up with bronchitis and didn’t think rolling around on a floor with animal dander in a cold garage sounded conducive to healing of mind, spirit, or body.  Besides, I was afraid my barking cough might scare the little critters.

The FAQ had the usual—What do I wear?  How long is class? Then I got to: Will I get pooped on?  I can’t offhand think of any other hobby I’ve contemplated that starts off with this question.  It turns out the answer is maybe, but it comes out in pellets and they have brooms at the ready to sweep it up.

Goat yoga is a great antidote if you ever suspect you are taking yourself too seriously.  It’s just hard not to lighten up when you are getting mugged by young ruminants who are trying to pick your pockets for treats.  It was a little difficult to focus on yoga when being sniffed and/or licked.

But then I didn’t have high expectations for the yoga portion; I knew it wouldn’t be as intense as the hot yoga I’ve done in the past.  Then again, “intense” and “baby goats” aren’t usually used in the same sentence to describe an activity.

I figured it was more about legitimizing interaction with the goats—we’ve done some yoga so now we can play.  Kind of like eating your veggies so you can have dessert. Otherwise it would be sort of a petting zoo for grown ups.  And what adult besides me would go for that?

While I certainly enjoyed myself, I had to admit that you could probably get just as much benefit from doing yoga at home with your dog.  Or with Yogi, my parents Goldendoodle. I could start a “Yoga with Yogi” series. He is housetrained, just fyi.

Here’s a stream of consciousness:  I thought about the moment when they let the goats go, before they run into the garage.  It made me think about the quote from Julius Caesar that I post on Facebook every year on the Ides of March:  “Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war!”

So I thought, why shouldn’t these be called the goats of peace?  After all, they are there as the harbingers of healing. And if that’s the case then how about if we were to be the goats?  Instead of having the goats help us, we ourselves could act as the goats, ministering to others.

We could let slip the goats of peace by bringing comfort to someone else.  Playing with kids, listening to a teenager, organizing a card game at a nursing home.  Helping a stranger at the grocery store, picking up trash in a parking lot, even a big smile while opening a door for somebody.

You’ve heard the exhortation to be the change you wish to see in the world.  I challenge you to be the goat. You all know what you need to do; now goat out there and do it.

My new idea for a column series:  I do random oddball stuff and then write about it.  (I suppose that pretty much sums up my life in general, but here I’m referring to specific pastimes.)

I figured this serves two purposes, as it gives me an excuse to try weird things that I want to do anyway, and also provides me with plenty of fodder for articles.  And perhaps this will give readers a vicarious look into activities they’ve been curious about but didn’t want to bother with themselves.

I went with some  friends to one of those escape rooms.  This is apparently a new trend in fun activities:  You are “locked” in a room as a group, with an hour time limit to solve a puzzle that gives you the code to unlock the door and enable you to leave.

The idea is that you solve a mystery the old fashioned way, by using your brains and working together as a group.  Our task was to complete an art heist. We were led to a dim room, with only flashlights to assist us. We had to keep our voices low so that the museum security would not hear our conspiratorial whispers.  

We had to determine what clues were important (some were red herrings) and which ones would come into play further down the road.  We couldn’t immediately dismiss any details, but also didn’t always know what to pursue first and might not realize the significance of a clue until later.  We had to keep an open mind, yet take some kind of action as the clock was ticking.

It’s been said that you don’t want to be the smartest person in the room, and this experience showed me why.  I would have been completely lost without the rest of the group. This may sound like I’m really down on myself and that I doubt my own intelligence.  

On the contrary; I believe I’m perceptive enough to recognize my own shortcomings and to know when to surround myself with those who have the abilities that I lack.  I’d like to think I’m smart enough to know where I’m not smart. I am also very fortunate to know a lot of really sharp, competent people so that certainly helps a lot.

I got an appreciation for the varying talents of the group—maybe someone is good at recognizing patterns in seemingly random data; another person can extrapolate a metaphorical interpretation of a phrase that tells us what to do next.  Somebody else can solve a brain teaser with lightning speed.

It goes to show that not all minds work the same way.  And that’s a good thing. The escape room may have been a fun excursion on a Sunday afternoon but it is representative of a bigger principle:  The demonstration that we all need each other.

Your weakness may be your neighbor’s strength.  We can achieve so much more by working together rather than working against each other, appreciating differences rather than being jealous of them or annoyed by them.  What if we learn a lesson from a simple party game and make this into our default setting for our everyday lives?

What happens when we do combine our best qualities to achieve a common goal?  The word synergy is thrown around so much these days that we forget what it means.  But that doesn’t have to diminish the impact when it happens.

When you use everyone’s talents and value their contributions then you end up cracking the code that enables you to escape from the room—five minutes before the clock runs out.

Here is a (likely unpopular) statement for you to ponder:  I think we need more inconvenience in our lives.  That’s right; I’m advocating that we need to make some stuff harder for us.  Or more specifically, we need to practice doing the difficult thing, rather than always taking the easy way out.  The areas in which we have the most convenience are the places where we need the most growth.

Think about it—we don’t learn or grow when it’s summertime and the livin’ is easy.  Doing the right thing is usually inconvenient.  But we must look to the payoff down the road rather than visit the house of instant gratification that lives on easy street.

This holds true for taking care of your physical health (exercising and eating right rather than inactivity and junk food), mental discipline (challenging reading and puzzles rather than TV and surfing the net), and interpersonal relationships (helping others and being real rather than superficial texting and posturing on social media).

I read an article from Forbes magazine that stated only 20% of obese Americans are poor; it’s not cheap food that makes us unhealthy, it’s convenience.  It went on to say that 80% of low income people cook at home five nights a week.  By contrast, middle income people are the most overweight and eat fast food more frequently than any other group.

Something that baffles me is the prevalence in recent years of reminder calls, such as for doctor’s appointments.  It didn’t used to be that way; you were expected to be responsible enough to write it in your calendar, and you were held accountable for that time slot.

Along the lines of “I can’t be bothered” is the fact that we can’t even manage to open milk cartons the right way.  Apparently that’s too difficult for most Americans, so now we have a plastic spout built into the side of the carton?  Really, how lazy can you get?

As a result of this mindset, we don’t know how to do many practical things, like read maps (just rely on Google), fix stuff (easier to just throw away and replace), do math (use a calculator), or spell. (Autocorrect to the rescue!  Or not, based on the variety of websites for hilarious autocorrect mishaps.)

Much of this penchant for convenience falls under the umbrella of First World Problems.  They didn’t use almond milk in your latte?  You have to wait in line?  Your dishwasher left spots on your drinking glasses?  How about you have some cheese with that whine.  Let me dial whine-one-one and call you a waahmbulance.

The good news is that we can change.  I’ve been reading a lot about habits lately, and the consensus is that creating a positive routine is much like building a muscle.  Every time you decide in favor of a healthy choice, you strengthen that pathway in your brain.  It’s CrossFit for your mind!

You can find some interesting ways to give yourself a kick start.  Announce an intention for a lifestyle change to your family so they can give you a hard time if you’re not working toward your goal.  Or, write a check to an organization that you hate, and give it to a friend.  Instruct them that if you don’t hit your target within your timeframe then they are to mail it in.  That should get you motivated! 

You could make a fun game out of your life improvement goals.  With a bit of creativity you can resist the inertia of convenience, transform yourself for the better, and serve as an inspiration to those around you.

 

What’s black and white and everywhere all over the place?  It’s Yogi, the Canine of Chaos!

A lot of dogs bark—at other dogs, at people going by outside—but Yogi only barks when you quit paying attention to him.  It sometimes takes my parents nearly three hours to watch a movie due to all the pauses to get the pooch calmed down.  (The only exception is IU basketball; Mom tells Yogi he can bark all he wants, but she’s not taking him out until halftime.)

Yogi has severe separation anxiety and has to be held back when someone is leaving because he always wants to go with them.  Mom has been known to lock the door to the garage, sneak out the porch, and go around to the front in order to escape to run errands.  It’s weird because he’s two, which means about age 14 in people years, so you’d think he’d be at the stage of wanting to separate from his parents.

He scratches at closed doors when his people are on the other side, which means no peace in the bathroom for my parents.  The best stories come from when Mom has been in the garage—in a desperate attempt to open the door by flailing at it, Yogi has flipped the deadbolt, locking Mom out.  Not sure a dog can understand the irony of this situation.  (Current score is Yogi four; Mom, zero.)

Since Yogi is such a social dog, they try to take him out in public to get him more socialized, with the hopes that this will make him less needy at home.  That, or he needs to learn the command “Stop being a maniac.”  So if you see any of us wrestling with a black and white goldendoodle at the farmer’s market, come over and say Hello.

Yogi might not be able to entertain himself but he does play well with others.  He is a favorite at doggie day care, as well as with the neighborhood children and pets.  His best friend is Lilly, who is about ten.  (Dad likes to point out that Yogi must be into older women.)

I had the idea of trying to hook up some kind of generator to the perpetual motion machine that is Yogi’s tail.  Then they could use that to power the water heater or something.  Or, give him a canine-sized hamster wheel which might help to wear him out so he doesn’t have as much energy left to get into mischief.  

It’s hilarious to listen to Mom try to reason with Yogi.  I try to point out that it didn’t work with us kids, and our communication skills were more developed.  I think a tap on the nose with a flyswatter would get his attention, but the most aggressive Mom will get is to smack him on the butt.  Then he thinks she’s playing with him, so you can see how the stage is set for miscommunication.

But there is some structure in Yogi’s life—his bedtime ritual.  He has this weird green thing that looks like an alien tadpole which Mom can stuff with treats, then seal it up with peanut butter.  (Interesting to note that Yogi gets all natural peanut butter that has to be refrigerated yet Dad gets generic stuff that can sit on the shelf.)  

Accordingly, Yogi looks forward to going into his cage at night, especially since Dad got him a huge new one that isn’t really that much smaller than my last apartment in Bloomington.  It reminds me of a canine condo.  I think Yogi is transforming into a Yuppie Puppy.

 

When I first read about the residents of McCordsville who lodged noise complaints against the music at Daniel’s Vineyard, I thought:  “Those poor folks, being kept up until the wee hours of the morning!”  I figured the music would have to be unreasonably late for so many people to be upset.

I went to the website for the vineyard, and the hours listed for entertainment were Saturdays and Sundays from 2-5 in the afternoon, and Saturday evenings from 6-9.  They also have a concert series on Fridays from 7-10 pm.

These are not excessively late for music on weekend nights.  It’s important to allow the vineyard to have music, as this will make it a destination place and bring commerce into the area.  Agritourism is a vital part of our Indiana culture and should be encouraged.

Rather than detracting from the quality of life, I would think music would add to it.  Free live music, and you don’t even have to get dressed up and leave your house?  I feel entertainment is the kind of thing that would make someplace attractive to move to in the first place.

It’s possible that not everyone is as much of an enthusiastic music fan like I am.  But we are talking about professional musicians here, or at least bands who are good enough to be booked for a real gig.  It’s not the same as having to listen to some novice practice a squeaky clarinet or screechy violin.

It sounds like the noise ordinance in McCordsville is too restrictive if it allows residents to call the police if youngsters are making noise playing in a pool.  That’s what they do; it’s called childhood.  (But I am sympathetic; I was recently around a pool and had “Marco, Polo” stuck in my head for the rest of the day.  Was I annoyed?  Absolutely.  Did I complain or try to curtail the dumbest game ever invented?  Of course not.)

That said, Daniel’s Vineyard should be willing to make some accommodations out of respect for the neighbors.  The way it stands now, there are about 12 hours a week when music is possible.  Cutting out a time slot would make sense, or else consolidating the Saturday hours to one shortened block like 2-7 pm.

Why not also survey those in closest proximity to see when they would prefer music?  Maybe then it would be clear what times are more problematic—evenings when parents are trying to get the kids to bed, or afternoons when folks are out working in the yard?  People are less likely to object when they feel they have had some input. 

Also, the music at the vineyard needs to be turned down.  How do I know this, despite not having been there?  Because generally everywhere I go I think the music could be about half of the current volume.  If a resident living 1.5 miles away can still hear it then it’s far too loud.  How about some kind of sound-absorbing wall?   Structure(s) that help to contain the music to the vineyard grounds could go a long way to making peace with the community.  

How about acoustic music?  Like old-fashioned instruments that don’t need to be plugged in.  It might change the schedule of bands but it might also add some diversity to the lineup.  And if it enables the music to continue then I’d think the pro-music faction might consider the change worth it.

This is a solvable problem.  The parties involved need to commit to a dialogue in which solutions are proposed.  There is a reasonable compromise right around the corner.

When I heard that the firefly was chosen as the official insect of Indiana I was pretty excited.  For one, it’s awesome to have an official insect.  For another, bugs are pretty cool and these are the best of the best.

But I do have one issue with it—if the people who decided this are from Indiana then shouldn’t they know that in Hoosierspeak it’s actually called a lightning bug?

Sure, that my not be the scientific name (when I typed lightning bug in Wikipedia it redirected to firefly), but believe me when I say that I was probably in college before I ever heard someone refer to the creature as anything but a lightning bug; I probably had to ask what they were talking about.

(It’s also just as likely that I argued over the nomenclature.  In another incident, I remember adamantly insisting that a treat sold at a street fair was called a Lion’s Paw as that is what they were called when sold by the Lion’s Club at the Riley Festival.  I had never before encountered the term elephant ear.)

Here is a joke that only Midwesterners will understand:  A weasel walks into a bar.  “What can I get for you?” asks the bartender.  “Pop,” goes the weasel.

I would never refer to a soft drink as soda; that’s an ice cream dessert (think soda fountains from the 1950s).  I love it when I see a church advertising a rummage sale, and I especially dislike potluck when used to describe a collective meal—pitch in is so much more descriptive of what actually happens.  

Let’s talk about how people outside of Indiana don’t know the joys of sugar cream pie, and many have never learned how to play Euchre.  Also, I’m tired of explaining to anyone not from Greenfield what a wet tenderloin entails.  And who else but Hoosiers knows what a Brown Cow is?

My point is that, sadly, regional colloquial speech patterns are disappearing.  This is significant because I feel it is indicative of the homogenization of our greater American society.

This may make me sound like some kind of isolationist who disapproves of mixing and mingling with other people and cultures.  On the contrary, it is these differences that makes travel worthwhile in the first place.  Why go anywhere if every place is the same barren landscape of big box stores and chain restaurants?

Some may say that since much of Indiana remains predominantly rural, then there isn’t much to see.  Have you not heard the term agritourism?  That’s exactly what we have to offer!  It could be a local winery with corresponding vineyard, or a novelty like a hops farm.  

Or how about places where you can pick your own apples or cut a Christmas tree?  What might be farm work to someone who grew up here could be a fun afternoon outing for an urban family.  It’s a matter of rebranding; think along the lines of Tom Sawyer whitewashing the fence.

Let’s celebrate our local culture, and seek out ways to entice tourists to visit Hancock County.  To do that we must first embrace—and be proud of—what makes us unique.  Then we need to let the rest of the world know what we have to offer, and be prepared to welcome our new friends.

Yogi may be a hybrid of dog breeds who is named after a bear, but I believe he is part goat.  He reminds me of a little kid that puts everything in his mouth.  It’s as if he has some weird paper deficiency that makes him eat every napkin, paper towel, and kleenex in sight.  He snatches the flowers Mom is trying to plant and eats the roots, rendering them useless.

Of course he makes a grab for food.  I don’t think he’s even that hungry; he does it just to show off.  For this reason he has earned the nickname Sneaky Pete.  His penchant for people food is aided and abetted by Dad giving him treats.  Yogi goes for a ride with Dad; they end up at the ice cream place in Knightstown where Yogi is given a generous pup cup of vanilla.

You can tell when he’s going in for the kill on your sandwich resting innocently on the counter.  His weight shifts to his hindquarters and his head points upward.  He’s about to pull a Fast Eddie.  I’ve suggested leaving a hot pepper perched precariously on the edge in order to teach him a lesson but Mom says that’s too mean.

Yogi even likes to purloin non-edibles.  Once my sister was dog sitting while my parents were away and he managed to get a hold of her underwear.  He escaped outside so my sister was chasing him around the yard at night trying to get her undergarment back.  She said she never expected a panty raid from the dog.

With as much as he steals I guess Yogi could be defined as a canine juvenile delinquent.  I’m surprised the other dogs in the neighborhood aren’t forbidden to play with him as he’s probably considered a bad influence.  Once he stole a pig ear at the Farmer’s Market.  Mom had to go back later and pay for it and was so embarrassed that she added on a little bit extra as a tip.

He gets fed enough; in addition to kibbles with chicken broth he regularly gets green beans.  And sweet potatoes.  But those tend to have unfortunate effects:  flatulence.  I recently discovered a series of children’s picture books titled Walter the Farting Dog that I checked out for my parents.  They were not amused.  (Maybe it hit too close to home?)

With all the food Yogi eats then you have to deal with what comes out the other end.  Yogi has a thing for eating plastic bags.  I thought maybe this was a positive development as his droppings might come out already bagged up.  The ritual after dinner is for one of my parents to go out in the yard to look for dog piles.  I call it the Post Prandial Poop Patrol. 

As you might imagine, picking this stuff up is not my favorite thing.  I have a particular aversion to carrying around a full bag.  Once when we were out for a walk I tied the bag onto Yogi’s harness.  My parents were impressed at me for coming up with this.  I thought it was the obvious solution as my attitude toward the dog was something like “Dude, carry your own poop.”

The best laughs come when Dad narrates the dog’s thoughts:  “You people are so dumb.  If you don’t want me eating your food, why do you keep leaving it where I can reach it?  You still think you’re the ones in charge?”  I’ve thought of making a series of YouTube videos along this theme.  Maybe Yogi deserves his own Facebook page and website.

I’ve been reading about how to set up your environment for success, such as making your lunch the night before to eliminate the morning scramble, keeping gym clothes in the car so as to enable you to exercise after work, or not keeping candy in a jar on your desk.

I feel we need to do the same thing with our city—specifically, we need to make Greenfield more walkable.  There are many areas where it’s difficult to get from one place to another on foot and you are forced to drive, even if it means moving your car across the street or from one parking lot to another.

As a result, everyone drives everywhere.  I imagine the criticism for my idea will come from those who point out that if people aren’t walking, then why do we need sidewalks and crosswalks?  But I am definitely of the “If you build it, they will come” school of thought.

I realize encouraging people to walk more is asking people to change their  lifestyles.  It is difficult enough to shift the mindset from relying on motor transportation, so we need to remove as many barriers as possible for those who choose to hoof it.  One reason people don’t walk here is because it’s not part of our culture; the other is that it’s not part of our environment.

When I talk about walking more, I don’t mean going for a stroll on the trail after work.  That’s great, and I am very thankful for the Pennsy Trails.  But I would like to see us be able to walk to work, restaurants, and stores—making it part of our daily lives and not something we have to carve out special time to do.

The north part of State Street is particularly problematic.  You can’t cross from one side to the other on foot without taking your life into your hands.  The only pedestrian crosswalk is at McKenzie and State, so if you were further north you would have to  walk all the way south to McKenzie to cross then walk all the way back up, then reverse coming back.

And then there is the issue that there aren’t sidewalks on both sides of the streets so at some point you would be stumbling along on the shoulder of the road.  It’s bad enough to have a proliferation of fast food places but to add insult to injury, you can’t even walk to them to get rid of some of those extra calories.

Interesting aside:  When I was in grade school, there was no sidewalk on Apple Street, which meant that I wasn’t allowed to walk or bike down to the park/pool/fairgrounds with my friends.  As part of a school class project we wrote a letter to the mayor, which resulted in a completed sidewalk.

So I guess my activism days started early.  But then here it is 40 years later and I’m still grousing about sidewalks.  Maybe I could start a citizens’ action coalition (perhaps appropriately) named PEST:  People Eager for Sidewalk Transportation.

Think of the benefits—we save fuel expenses, cut down on pollution, and don’t have to hassle with parking.  We become more connected as we encounter friends and get to know our neighbors.  We can walk our kids to school and meet their classmates.

By encouraging a culture of physical activity, and creating an environment that fosters it, we will help put a dent in our obesity epidemic.  Being sedentary has become a habit but by changing our surroundings we can make our activity goals more accessible and our city healthier.

We may have celebrated Lunar New Year a few months ago by welcoming the Year of the Dog, but for my parents it’s been that way since mid-2016.  

That’s when a goldendoodle puppy came to live with them.  His name is Yogi.  Despite my mother’s enthusiasm for IU basketball, she insists the dog is not named after Yogi Farrell.  He’s black and white so I pointed out that he has one color each for both IU (Mom) and Purdue (Dad) so hopefully the dog can remain neutral.

Yogi has long whiskers and four white paws which make it look like he’s wearing black pants that are rolled up.  Accordingly, I refer to him as a hipster dog.  Due to this look, my sister and I thought Spats would have been a good name.  Mom vetoed it, stating she would feel dumb standing in the back yard yelling for Spats.  (This turned out not to be an issue as the dog never leaves her side.)  

Dad has recently taken to referring to him as a poodledoodle, as he’s actually 3/4 poodle with only 1/4 golden retriever.  He definitely has the coat (and temperament) of a poodle.  He looks a lot like Portuguese water dog, which is what people most often think he is.  Mom was assured Yogi would not get bigger than 30 pounds.  As of last weighing he was at 67.  Mom always has known how to get good value for her money.

From the beginning Yogi has been the Dog of Destruction.  Not aggressive—just exuberant.  He received a stuffed llama toy; he disemboweled it within fifteen minutes.  The fluff was everywhere; Mom collected it up, returned it to the llama, and sewed it up.  After repeating this procedure a few times she finally gave up and just let him play with the limp llama carcass.

Containment has been a theme.  It was decided to keep Yogi fenced in the kitchen, thinking that there would be fewer opportunities for him to mess things up.  Yet every bit of woodwork in that area has been either scratched or chewed.  I saw a doggie T-shirt that I considered buying for Mom:  “I’m the reason we can’t have nice things.”

After it was discovered that he could move the barricades, they had the bright idea to anchor the blockade in place with something heavy.  Because, you know, there are only about a thousand things that could go wrong with my octogenarian parents climbing over baby gates blocked with brick-laden chairs several times a day.

This was also around the time that they were locking the bedroom door in case he escaped from the kitchen.  This meant they had to go from the bedroom, out onto the back porch, and in through the kitchen door every time they needed to go from the one space to the other.  It would be interesting to look at their fitbit log of steps for this period.

So then, since the electric fence had already been installed in the yard, why not get a zapping device that could be plugged into the wall inside, and moved around on an ad hoc basis?  FYI—when taking the shock collar off the dog, be sure to hold it by the end when walking into a room that is protected by the invisible eye.  

But I’m pleased to report that the rigorous training is progressing along quite well.  In another few months of work, I feel confident that Yogi will have my parents up to speed.  He’s doing good work with the lessons; they are almost completely obedient to him.

People seem polarized on the issue of Daylight Saving Time; you tend to be either for or against it, and have strong reasons for those beliefs. But I have a proposal in which both sides win and we can all reap the benefits that DST has to offer without enduring the detrimental side effects.

The naysayers cite statistics about the increase in traffic collisions, heart attacks, and workplace accidents during the week in the spring when we move the clocks forward. They point out that people are often sleep deprived to begin with, and the spring shift makes this worse, leading to the incidents mentioned above.

They talk about how jarring it is to the body, like jet lag. Our biorhythms are messed up, which adds stress to our bodies that are often already maxed out by modern life. They mention studies that show that energy consumption does not, in fact, decrease during DST months. They discuss the rise in depression in the fall when clocks shift back an hour.

The folks who are gung-ho for DST assert that it has a stimulating effect on the economy with more people going out to eat or shopping after work. They say it is a deterrent to crime, most of which occurs at night. And they point out that it encourages healthful behavior as individuals, kids, and families can get outside for evening walks.

The solution is simple: Let’s keep Daylight Saving Time all year round. We get to enjoy the wonderful daylight after office hours, and all those accompanying benefits. Yet we lose the disorienting shift and the misery of the long adjustment period to the new time. If we want more light in the evening, then we can just collectively agree to start our days later.

This really isn’t as kooky as it sounds; it certainly isn’t any goofier than the idea of DST to begin with (or time zones, for that matter). Our circadian rhythms are already under assault from light pollution plus the trend toward 24-hour businesses so we need all the help we can get by not fiddling with clocks twice a year.

After all, the real problem for the anti-DST group is the sudden, dramatic shift. Yes, the body does adapt over time, but the toll taken on your physical well-being from having to adjust twice a year isn’t worth the benefit. But if we just shift the time once—then leave it there—we can benefit everyone.

I can see how an argument against leaving the clocks forward an hour would be that winter mornings would come very late. But really you’re going to be heading to work in the dark anyway—does it really make any difference if it gets light when you get there, or an hour after you arrive?

Personally, I’d rather it get light on a mid-morning in December if it meant I could still go for a run outside before dinner. Yes, there will still be fewer hours of daylight at the end and beginning of the year; that’s how seasons work. But having a bit more light in the otherwise long winter evenings would go a long way to putting a dent into Seasonal Affective Disorder.

If Indiana can change 202 years of history by allowing alcohol sales on Sunday then we can certainly end our complicated relationship with DST. This is one issue that is easily resolved; everyone should support this practical solution. It is one with everything to gain and nothing to lose; a way to keep everyone happy—and healthy.

My first reaction to the proposal of township consolidation was one of approval. It seems like township designations are a holdover from the days when communications had to be sent on foot or horseback. I thought they were largely irrelevant to modern society.

But the more I thought about it, I realized my objections were based on the perception that whatever work is done at the township level was (or could be) duplicated at a city, county, or state level. Why have overlap and redundancy when there could be streamlined efficiency?

That’s when I thought that keeping townships, and in fact keeping as much government as possible on a local level, could help reduce bureaucracy. It could also help improve the image of government and increase trust within the population, while getting more work accomplished.

How and why would this be the case? For one, if those who govern are immersed in the communities they serve then there is more accountability. If you are a lawmaker and you are aware that your constituents know you and encounter you on a regular basis would, I hope, keep you from wasting public time and money.

Transparency is related to this. It’s a whole lot easier, and perhaps more tempting, to be dishonest (or even just inefficient) when you are removed from those you represent. The distance could be a physical separation or a barrier of communication, in the form of layers of gatekeepers guarding access.

If citizens are able to speak directly with policymakers, and feel that they are being heard, then this will go a long way to relieving dissatisfaction with laws, policies, and ordinances. This could be in the form of open door policies for office holders, meetings that are open to the public, or discussion meetings where individuals can go to share their views.

The flip side to this is that the local lawmakers need to have the authority to make changes. I would be very frustrated if I were to voice an opinion to my local representatives, only to be told that the decision rests with those higher up on the governmental pyramid. The obvious question would be, Why can’t that be taken care of here?

Another reason to keep as much control as possible on a local level is that those in positions of authority know their people. They are aware of the challenges the community faces, as well as what has been tried in the past—both what works and what doesn’t. They know the strengths and assets of their citizens.

To expect governors without that knowledge base to make decisions of impact is a recipe for bureaucracy, red tape, and inefficiency. There is a good chance that proposed changes might not end up bettering the local community, no matter how well intended. Lawmakers simply must be in touch with those that their decisions affect.

Government needs to have a face, and it needs to be one that we know and have access to. As much authority as possible needs to be held at the ground level of the lawmaking pyramid—townships, cities, and counties. States should have autonomy so as to not have to rely on federal government any more than absolutely necessary.

If we are the people then we need to demand contact with, and efficiency from, our lawmakers. We can’t have a voice with those we’ve never met. If we expect our representatives to work for us then we must do our own part, not succumbing to apathy or helplessness. We can be one community, held together—with accountability and transparency for all.

’Tis The Season. But wait, aren’t we past all that? No, I’m talking about something that is way more important to my family—Basketball Season.

My mother is the most rabid IU basketball fan I’ve ever met. You might think this is strange coming from someone of her age (if you’re curious you can do the math; I’m 48 and the youngest of three kids) but her passion for the hoops has lasted for the majority of her lifetime.

This mania started when she moved to rural Brown County when she was a teenager. She was dismayed that there was nothing to do, as she was at a distance from school and peers. But, unusual for the time, her parents did own a TV. It was able to receive two stations, one of which was from Bloomington, broadcasting IU basketball. Thus were the fires ignited.

The IU coach at the time was “Branch” McCracken; the boys’ coach at Mom’s high school was given the honorary moniker “Twig.” Basketball has always been popular in Indiana; this was in the era of the Milan Miracle—when the tiny high school team won the state championship in 1954, upon which the movie Hoosiers was based.

She later attended college at IU and claims that decision was based solely on her interest in the medical technology program. Yet, she never missed a game when she was a student there. (Although now she has given up Assembly Hall for Comfy Couch, stating she can see more of the players when they’re on TV. She makes Dad turn off the captions because they obscure the game.)

She was always incredulous that I lived in Bloomington as long as I did without ever attending a game. Or even knowing when IU played—as evidenced when I’d accidentally call her during a game. It would be a short conversation. Everyone knows not to disturb Mom on basketball nights.

Recently I happened upon a broadcast, which happened to be a game where they wound up in triple overtime. I was surprised at how much of it came back to me; you can’t grow up in Indiana without absorbing some basketball knowledge. As a point of reference, the last time I followed this sport was so long ago it was before the adoption of the three-point shot.

Every year an official IU basketball poster is distributed, which includes headshots of the players and listing of the games. It would be my mission to get her one, which would always make me popular when visiting home. As of last fall, I no longer lived in Bloomington so I had to make a special trip down south to retrieve one. Sure, I also saw some people and went to a yoga class but I made sure to get the poster first.

At least it wasn’t like the year I had to shop around trying to find her the red-and-white candy striped pants like the players wear—until I found out they were an officially-licensed team product that cost $100.

So here’s an odd twist. Dad went to Purdue so there’s a friendly rivalry between my parents for any sporting event. But Mom has been so impressed with Purdue’s stellar play this season that she has found herself intentionally watching Purdue and cheering for them. It’s kind of throwing my whole worldview off kilter.

Still, during December, Mom had a red tablecloth with a white lace overlay on the dining room table. Some might assume this was a Christmas decoration, but the rest of us know the real reason.

Every Who down in Who-ville liked Christmas a lot…
But the Grinch, who lived just north of Who-ville did NOT!
The Grinch hated Christmas! The whole Christmas season!
Now please don’t ask why. No one quite knows the reason.
It could be his head wasn’t screwed on just right.
It could be, perhaps, that his shoes were too tight.
But I think the most likely reason of all
May have been that his heart was two sizes too small.

Thus begins one of the masterpieces of western literature, Dr. Seuss’ How the Grinch Stole Christmas. This story is so much of our culture (by the way, “Grinch” is automatically capitalized by my word processing program) that we forget how much we can learn from it.

We all know a Grinch. (Or maybe we are the Grinch that everybody else knows.) Here are a few insights that the Whos down in Who-ville can offer us for help in living with a Grinch:

• They didn’t invade his personal space and force him to join their Christmas celebrations. They didn’t preach; they simply let their lives be an example. They did their Who-thing in their cozy homes and let him simmer in his own anger up on his cold grinchy mountain.
• They kept a good grasp of what Christmas was about. Although they had their preparations for the big day with gifts and feasts, they still had a joyous gathering even when those things were taken away. They did not get caught up in the external materialism; they saw the bigger picture of what they were truly celebrating.
• They gave him the benefit of the doubt, as when he was stealing the tree and was caught by Cindy Lou-Who (who was not more than two). They showed forgiveness even when it was clear that he stole all their stuff for the sole purpose of messing up their holiday. They did not waste time trying to hunt him down; they stayed focused on singing while hand in hand with the other Whos.

Because of the above, he was confronted with something completely different, which shattered his grinchy worldview. He was jarred out of his own self-absorption and was able to open his mind to other ideas:

And he puzzled three hours, till his puzzler was sore.
Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before!
“Maybe Christmas,” he thought, “doesn’t come from a store.
Maybe Christmas…perhaps…means a little bit more!”

The last thing we can learn from the Whos is the ability to live with mystery, to let go and acknowledge that there are some things we don’t, or perhaps can’t, understand:

And what happened then…?
Well…in Who-ville they say
That the Grinch’s small heart
Grew three sizes that day!

This change of heart on the part of the Grinch led to a change in action. Not only did he have a sudden insight but he then followed through on his new conviction. He did what was necessary to make reparations to those whom he had wronged:

And the minute his heart didn’t feel quite so tight,
He whizzed with his load through the bright morning light
And he brought back the toys! And the food for the feast!

Lastly, the Whos were able to recognize this transformed Grinch, and opened their hearts to forgive him and place him in a position of honor:

And he…HE HIMSELF…!
The Grinch carved the roast beast!

I should point out here that while the carving of the roast beast was a privilege, it was also a position of serving as it meant he would eat last. He was given distinction by the very beings he had tried to victimize, and in turn, he was humble enough to be at the end of the line at the banquet.

May we all keep this message in our hearts through this, and every, season.

Wellness. We hear this word bandied about these days which may lead us to dismiss it as a trendy buzzword. But we need to acknowledge its importance in each of our lives, and make it a priority in our homes, schools, and workplaces. We may think we can’t spare the time, money, and effort for wellness but the truth is that we can’t afford not to.

One definition of wellness: An approach to healthcare that emphasizes preventing illness and prolonging life, as opposed to focusing on treating diseases. Western medicine has traditionally been characterized by fixing what is already broken, often through medication or surgery. It has also tended to view the patient as having compartmentalized problems, rather than investigating how the parts interrelate as a whole.

But the tide has been changing. Health officials are recognizing that it costs less in the long run to keep people from getting sick in the first place. (I would argue that prevention is always less costly and takes less effort overall, whether we’re talking about health, car maintenance, or keeping your basement from filling up with junk.)

The old mindset would have been to hit the gym once we look like we need to go. But now we see how important it is to go to the gym even when we don’t look like we need to, so that we don’t end up looking up like we need to go to the gym. It’s a pretty worthwhile positive feedback loop.

Also the concept that emotional and mental disruptions can have an effect on physical health is more widely accepted. We are seeing the connection between mind and body and how they are connected. Anxiety, depression, and chronic stress can lead to physical problems; taking care of the whole person is beneficial to both individuals and those with whom they interact.

Many employers are offering wellness incentives with benefits such as paid time off for achieving certain goals. The healthier your employees are, the happier and more productive they are. There will be less absenteeism, and fewer interpersonal conflicts. You will save money on health care costs for the employee, and there will be reduced turnover—which can be expensive and can negatively affect workplace morale.

Having unwell people in your place of employment (or school or home) can spread symptoms like germs—physical manifestations like overeating, inactivity, and substance abuse—as well as emotional negativity. You wouldn’t want someone with the flu coming to work and infecting others; similarly, you don’t want an employee who is unhealthy in other ways distributing contagions.

Conversely, wellness can also be spread through interpersonal contact, especially if employees are given external motivation such as friendly competition between departments. If you get a reputation for being a workplace with happy people, then you will be desirable to job seekers. As a result, you will attract good people who value workplace wellness.

Wellness is an overall change in lifestyle, encompassing activity, diet, sleep habits, and preventative screenings. Wellness also means learning how to say no to additional responsibilities that could lead us to becoming overwhelmed—and giving us permission to stop the constant multitasking or obsessive phone checking. Wellness equals attending to those we are with instead of feeling the need to rush to something else.

We can survive without making wellness a priority but we will not truly thrive. We must take responsibility for health instead of relying on a fix once a problem has surfaced. This proactive decision is the first step. The next is structuring our environments to ensure health and happiness for all.

Vines spiraling upwards around a rope. Conical buds that look like mini artichokes. It’s a newcomer to our local agriculture industry—hops.

Crazy Horse Hops is a 60-plus acre farm on the western edge of Henry County. They grow and process five different varieties of hops for sale to craft breweries in the midwest area.

The farm is owned and operated by Ryan Hammer (CEO), Dr. Todd Kaminski (CFO), and Josh Martin (COO). They consider this trio to be a great fit with their talents: Hammer holds the knowledge of the hop plant, Kaminski brings financial experience, and Martin is a large-scale farmer.

Hammer started in 2012 with 20 hop plants of 4 different varieties—“all the wrong ones,” he joked. He says that hops are harder to grow here because the conditions are moist; mildew and diseases can plague a midwest hops farm. Most hops grown in this country are on farms in the west, as drier conditions are more conducive to hops growth.

Additionally, the hops farms out west are much larger and the equipment isn’t suitable for an operation the size of Crazy Horse Hops. Hammer states that he often buys machinery from Germany, as their farms are similar in scale. But small scale can mean high tech; he has an app on his phone which allows him to monitor the irrigation system.

Hammer wanted to get in on the local foods movement, and the rise in the popularity of craft beers has made the farm possible. He states that artisan brews are around 8% of the market, but they use about 60% of the hops grown. In Indiana alone there are 130-140 breweries. Greenfield’s Wooden Bear is a big customer.

Martin got involved in 2014 when Hammer was looking for land to grow hops and chance brought the two of them together. He said that the actual work of the farm isn’t a problem but rather trying to pioneer an industry.

Martin states that at first banks didn’t know what they were and so didn’t want to loan them money. And breweries were concerned about quality and were reluctant to buy until Crazy Horse Hops established legitimacy. But after the first year the tide turned in their favor.

Hops are planted in spring and harvested in fall, but they are weeks ahead of corn and soybeans on both seasons. This is helpful to not interfere with Martin’s other farming, and also helps with the availability of labor. 100 acres of hops is more profitable than 3000 acres of corn, but hops are far more labor intensive.

Kaminski has farmed with Martin’s father, and joined the hops operation in 2015. He maintains his dental practice in Greenfield but is still at the farm several times a week. But he jokes, “They don’t tell me where they keep the keys to the tractor.”

He says there are maybe 20 hops growers in Indiana, but all of their acreage together doesn’t equal Crazy Horse Hops. Their goal is for 110 acres. They also want to be the largest distributor. They can process hops into pellets which aids in storage and shelf life. They plan to offer this service to other hops growers and even act as a hops broker.

There are also plans with Indianapolis’ Sun King Brewery for an all-local beer, with barley from a local grower and hops from Crazy Horse. They also plan to work with home brew equipment supplier Great Fermentations in Indianapolis. And the future might hold the possibility of U-pick hops for hobbyist brewers.

Potential additions include a tap room, where guests can taste beers from various breweries who use Crazy Horse Hops. Tours of the operation are in the works, since a hops farm is such a novelty in the area. They want to make the farm a destination and welcome the whole family, with picnic and play areas.

They can be found on the web at www.crazyhorsehops.com.

Buy local. This may seem like a trendy buzzphrase but it is something that’s important to think about. How, and where, you spend your money can have an enormous impact on the place you live, work, and play.

With the Shopping Olympics upon us from now through the end of the year, we really need to get a grip on where our money is going. If actions speak louder than words, then money positively shouts to the rest of the world.

Do you want to further enrich distant multimillionaire CEOs of big box stores who make their staff work on Thanksgiving? Or would you prefer your money went to the small business owner who lives in your neighborhood who also coaches your kids’ soccer team?

Either way, you have a choice. Your decision could mean life or death to a local business. How many times I have heard someone lament the closing of a local restaurant or shop, but when probed, the speakers admit that they never really went there but, you know, they meant to.

But wow, they might say, it’s just so much less expensive to go to one of those big stores. That’s very probably true. When stuff is made overseas by people who aren’t given a living wage then the result is cheap goods. While the price tag may be lower, we pay the cost in other ways.

When you insist on the lowest price for everything then nothing will be made here because it’s too expensive. Then consumers won’t be able to afford domestic products because their jobs got relocated to someplace with a lower cost of labor. Then the only thing they can afford is imported, mass-produced items from franchise retailers.

Kind of a vicious cycle, isn’t it? Sometimes you get what you pay for. In this case, if you shop at generic chain stores, you’ll end up with an area that is just like every other place. And the profits go to the pockets of absent executives rather than to your friends in the community.

It doesn’t have to be this way. Besides keeping the money here, shopping locally means you won’t have to drive elsewhere and fight crowds at huge stores. If you really want to get into the spirit, you could do something crazy like walk to an in-town store. Then you could finish off your day at a neighborhood restaurant. A trifecta of keeping it local!

It is true that if you buy things that are more expensive then you can’t buy as much. But it’s also possible that if you buy items of higher quality to begin with then you do not have to replace them as frequently, saving money in the long run. On a philosophical level, you might realize that you don’t really need as much as you once thought you did.

On the fun side, local means unique. Small business owners have the opportunity to be innovative in ways that wouldn’t be possible if they worked for large corporations. They can customize their products and services to meet your needs. They are likely to work with you to get you what you want.

If you’re not aware of what local businesses our community has to offer, I’d suggest looking at the websites for the Chamber of Commerce and Greenfield Main Street. Additionally, watch for churches or civic organizations hosting arts and craft fairs. And the winter farmer’s market meets the 1st and 3rd Saturdays of the month at the fairgrounds, which is a great place for locally-produced goods.

Buy local and be local!

Rain or shine, through an ice storm or 110 degree temperatures—this may sound like a wedding vow but rather it’s the motto of a Monday night women’s bridge group. They can count on one hand the number of times that the monthly meeting has been canceled in the 45 years they have been together.

The nine members are: Susie Billings, Susie Broome, Ann Brewer, Mary Cross, Sarah Davis, Cleone Peterson,  Carol Reddish, Glenna Shelby, and Mary Anne Siurek.

The bonds formed through the longevity of this group resulted in a lasting impact on the Greenfield community. Every member of the group has at some point served on a foundation or board; almost all have been president of the local Tri-Kappa sorority.

The women did not foresee that what started as a fun social gathering would lead to so many accomplishments. Because the women are such good friends, they would become involved in each other’s activities. “If one of us was working the after-prom then we all would,” Siurek laughed.

They were also able to ask the other members for help with projects; they knew they would have a pool of pinch-hitters who could be called up at the last minute. They have traded duties when they know another woman was better equipped to work in a particular area in order to best utilize everyone’s strengths.

A sampling of other organizations represented are Kiwanis, library board, Girl Scouts, the Red Cross, school boards, the hospital foundation, Bradley preschool, ReadUp, city boards, Greenfield-Central School Foundation, Hancock County Community Foundation, CASA, and various children’s athletic or theatre organizations.

What might come as a surprise is that none of the ladies are originally from Greenfield. Many of the newcomers met through a welcome wagon event where baskets of coupons were distributed and feel that this was the genesis of the group.

While she was still adjusting to her new home in Greenfield, Broome states that she saw a sign in Reddish’s home that said “Bloom where you are planted.” She felt this gave her the impetus she needed to commit to involvement in the community.

Bridge was the most logical game for the group since many of them participated in the Tri-Kappa Bridge-O-Rama. But they acknowledge that even though their monthly meeting is a bridge group, playing cards is only 3rd on the list of reasons to gather. “We have three priorities—food, see each other, and bridge if we can,” jokes Siurek.

They admit that the rules for bridge are open to interpretation. The bridge authorities of the group are Billings and Davis but the other ladies say those two do not hold their abilities over the rest of the group. As a case in point, one evening they played four hands of bridge before they realized there were only 48 cards in the deck.

The women have become a tight-knit group and feel they are unique in that they have stayed friends all this time. Their families are also close; the ladies state that it wasn’t uncommon for them to parent each other’s children. They have supported each other through illnesses or surgeries; they have gone from discussing their children to talking about their grandchildren.

Says Davis, “We rely on each other. We’ve had fun and these ladies have enriched my life, as well as so many others in Greenfield.”

What do an auctioneer, a bus driver, and a Mason have in common? They are all one man—Matthew Heath. Heath believes in the importance of serving others in Hancock County. These three roles are some of the channels he uses to give of himself to the local community.

Heath is a 2011 graduate of Eastern Hancock High School who then went on to the Reppert School of Auctioneering, obtaining his license in 2012. He became interested in this career when he went to auctions as a child with his father. By the 8th grade Heath already had his own style of an auctioneer’s chant. Many found it impressive for one so young but he laughed, “It was pretty terrible, compared to what I do today.”

During high school he was doing benefit auctions, and often friends would ask him to “sell” something in class. He would launch into his patter, commenting that it would annoy some teachers but others were supportive of his budding career.

Heath sells everything from farm implements, livestock, personal property, and estates. He must be able to make an appraisal of an item within seconds of picking it up, assessing the age, condition, and value. He also needs to be adept at reading the crowd. “I wear a lot of hats when auctioneering,” says Heath.

These skills enable him to help those in need, whether he is doing a benefit auction or liquidating an estate. He knows the better he can master his craft, the more money will be made for a local charity or bereaved family members of the recently deceased.

Being able to shift gears quickly when auctioneering helped ready him for driving a school bus. He must be prepared for anything, and be able to quickly adapt to any situation. He shopped around with the other schools but found he was too loyal to the Eastern Hancock community to seriously consider driving for another school. He enjoys his time with the youngsters, and interacts with the children of his former classmates.

Additionally, Heath is a farmer who works with his father on two different properties in the production of corn, soybeans, and cattle. He can’t remember if he is a 4th or 5th generation farmer. He hopes the family tradition will continue on into the subsequent generations.

The Shirley Masonic Lodge is another area of local service for Heath, who is a Mason there. He feels the organization is a ray of hope in an area that has seen some business closings. The lodge plans a 5K, an Easter egg hunt, and a fish fry to help bring the community together. They also raise funds for a scholarship—$1500 to a college-bound Eastern Hancock senior.

Heath has been together with his wife Kristi since 2013—their 7th time dating. They dated on and off in middle and high school, and had actually spent time at the same babysitter as children. “We didn’t have to go through all that getting-to-know-you stuff, but then I couldn’t tell her I was a test pilot for NASA either,” Heath joked.

Both the Heaths are involved in two different churches: Wilkinson Church of Christ, and Shirley-Wilkinson United Methodist Church. Says Heath: “I try to help everybody I can but I’m savvy. I was raised to help others, if it’s within my means. There’s always more I could do as a citizen and as a human.”

Heath feels the community showed exemplary behavior in the way it supported the family of a local student who died earlier this year . He says this is the reason he is committed to this place, and will never leave Hancock County. “I was born here and I will die here. And in the time in between I just try to do my best.”

Meetings. Perhaps nobody really loves them but yet can understand why they are necessary. With proper guidelines in place they can be a productive exchange of ideas and an opportunity to delegate tasks toward accomplishing a goal. Group members will have a chance to speak without a few monopolizing the floor.

There is a reason that a standardized framework like Robert’s Rules of Order was developed. This ensures that everyone has a voice and that leaders cannot run roughshod over the other attendees. It also gives organizations a starting point so that they do not have to reinvent the wheel every time a meeting is held.

That said, there is plenty of room for customization of an agenda and how it is to proceed, depending on the needs of the organization. It is also relevant if the meeting is of an administrative board, trustees, council members, or other representatives who are answerable to a larger population.

If this is the case then there absolutely must be an accommodation for individuals to address this governing assembly. A church member should be able to talk to the parish committee; a parent needs to be allowed to speak to the school board; a taxpayer has a right to comment at council meetings.

Without this provision there is no transparency into the organization. The people are allowed to pose difficult questions, express unpopular views, and disagree with current policies. The representatives have an obligation to give the speakers a fair hearing. If they do not then they cannot be said to be ambassadors from the larger body.

Constituents must have access to their delegates otherwise an organization becomes an oligarchy that is not acting for the greater good of the group. (It’s possible that they could be making popular decisions by chance but they will never know for sure unless they ask.) Even asking isn’t enough; representatives must also listen.

Decision makers and those in charge of meeting must allow the constituents to listen as well; that’s what transparency is about. There can be no secrets held from those who chose the policy makers. Public means out in the open and not hidden. Becoming a representative is the opposite of an exclusive club—your words and actions regarding that office are now on display.

The flip side to this responsibility from delegates is that they also have rights and can form parameters as to how they are to be addressed. They can decide if they want an open floor for comments before or after a meeting. They can require an individual to submit a proposal ahead of time to be formally added to the agenda.

Additionally, officials are under no obligation to listen to personal insults or foul language. They can set time limits for speakers and insist that comments be relevant to current business. They have freedom to conduct a meeting that is free from disruption or tangential time wasters. And they are within proper boundaries to ban individuals who repeatedly violate these terms.

Working together to find the balance between efficiency of the governors and accessibility for the people is the key to success. And an effective organization is a sustainable one. All this can be achieved with some basic guidelines and mutual respect for both people and process.

There’s been a lot of hullaballoo lately about Indiana’s liquor laws. Could a convenience store qualify as a restaurant? Should grocery stores be allowed to sell cold beer? Can children come into a liquor store if they are accompanied by a parent? What about Sunday alcohol sales?

As far as I’m concerned none of these things matter; they’re just distractions from the bigger issues. The real questions that need to be asked and addressed: Are establishments serving or selling to those under 21? Are people overconsuming alcohol? And are people driving while intoxicated?

Everything else is just details. Which day of the week you buy your booze doesn’t matter, as long as you’re over 21 and not driving drunk. If children can be around a parent purchasing liquor in a grocery store, why can’t they accompany that same parent to a liquor store?

For that matter the parent might not have to make an additional stop at a liquor store on the way to a family gathering if the grocery stores were allowed to sell cold beer in the first place. None of these nitpicky regulations have anything to do with the larger issues I’ve mentioned.

Same thing with sectioning off a bar in a restaurant. When I was a kid it had to be completely closed off so that you couldn’t even see the bar from the dining room. Now the bar is usually demarcated by a railing, with everything visible. What difference does this make? None toward addressing my above caveats.

I can see a reason for designating a separate bar space so that there is a family section and a more adult-oriented area. I would understand that a parent might not wish children to be exposed to conversations and language likely to exist in a bar. But that is more along the lines of movie rating regulations than it is akin to liquor laws.

Once it is determined a customer is of legal drinking age then this is the next issue: Are patrons overconsuming or being overserved? It doesn’t matter if someone is drinking in a restaurant, bar, or a convenience store with a certain percentage of food sales. If they are consuming responsibly, then it doesn’t matter where they are doing it.

If they are consuming irresponsibility, then it is a problem. Legislation should focus on educating servers of alcohol rather than spend time gerrymandering who can sell it. Alternatives to driving after drinking should be emphasized, such as perks for designated drivers.

Increase public awareness about substance abuse and so that people aren’t drinking too much to begin with. Let people know there is help to combat problems with chemical dependency through free programs such as Alcoholics Anonymous.

Simply limiting where adult beverages can be purchased or consumed will not solve the more important problems of overconsumption or operating under the influence. The problem isn’t access to alcohol but rather what someone does with the drink once it is obtained.

If we simply rely on making alcohol difficult to get then we are falling back on the ideas behind prohibition and dry counties. Instead let’s educate our citizens about responsible consumption and the risks involved with overindulging, and by extension, the evils of driving after drinking.

Drunk driving is a serious issue that can have lifelong consequences for the violator and victim. This is the real dragon we need to slay. The way to go about it is awareness about alcohol and its effects, and education about monitoring one’s self. If these objectives are achieved then we need not spend time debating minutiae.

What if I gave you a suggestion for something you could do that would nearly eliminate waste of kitchen scraps, cut down on your food bill, reduce the endless mowing and mulching in your yard—all while paying for itself? Welcome to the idea of backyard chickens. The idea is sustainable, ethical, and practical.

This is recycling at its best. You can feed the chickens the bits and pieces of leftover food that you might otherwise be throwing away. It’s easier than composting. You can even freeze stuff for future use and get your friends and neighbors on board to save their scraps, as well as from any group you attend such as church events or club meetings. Besides, chickens eat bugs. You want them there.

If you’re getting your eggs from someone you know then you can have firsthand knowledge of how the animals are treated. Many store bought eggs are produced in factory farms, with unethical treatment of the chickens. Even labels such as cage free, pasture raised, or free range aren’t a guarantee that the birds are allowed to live natural lives.

But if you can see into your neighbor’s backyard, and know that the animals are given free movement and enough space to behave like chickens, then you can feel at ease about consuming the eggs. When hens are treated properly, and given a varied diet of real food then the yolks are a darker color. This indicates a more nutritious egg that is better for you, the consumer.

Eggs are a great source of cheap protein—compare the cost of eggs to that of meat. They’re also suitable for vegetarians since there is no slaughtering involved. Eggs are easy enough to cook that even someone like me can do it. Remember those old ads about the “incredible, edible egg”? Indeed!

On a practical level, why not use your backyard for something other than useless grass? Of course gardens are great for growing edible vegetables or pretty flowers. Why not add chickens and make yourself that much more self-sufficient? Or you could trade your eggs for your tomatoes next door and start a barter system, and become better acquainted with your neighbors thrown in for free.

As far as objections go, I bet the top ones would be noise and smell. I can’t imagine that chickens would be any worse than your neighbors’ dogs. (Or maybe even your neighbors themselves; I don’t know your life.) Some regulation would be essential, as to the number of birds allowed and a requirement to keep the pens cleaned up.

I’m not in favor of getting rid of all regulation for property use but I do think that zoning has become too restrictive, especially in certain neighborhoods. They have no character; everything looks the same. No one is out in their yard unless they’re out taking care of their yard. It’s almost like the space is an outdoor museum—look but don’t touch.

Certainly there need to be certain parameters; I’m not suggesting we allow junkyards or manufacturing in residential areas. But the time has come to let the pendulum swing a bit back toward giving property owners a bit more freedom—within reasonable, clearly defined limits.

At first glance the idea of backyard chickens might seem to be an off-the-wall suggestion. But when viewed in light of the considerations and caveats above I believe it would add to our local community. Let’s contact our elected representatives on the Greenfield City Council to encourage them to take this notion from concept to reality within our city boundaries.

When I first saw something about the possibility of allowing golf carts on city streets, I thought it was completely goofy. But after I thought about it for a second, I concluded it was a brilliant idea. I’ll tell you why, and what caveats should be included in this community decision.

The best reason to favor the carts is fuel efficiency. Since most people would most likely be using them for short distances, it makes more sense to use the smaller golf vehicle than a larger car. If you’re just grabbing a loaf of bread or returning books to the library then you could easily accomplish this while consuming a whole lot less energy.

Of course I would also encourage everyone to do as much as possible without a motorized vehicle, such as by walking, bicycle, skateboard, or unicycle. (Allow me some humor here; we are talking about golf carts after all.) Short of all that, the carts are a good compromise between hoofing it and using a full-sized car.

Many golf carts are electric, which further improves the fuel efficiency profile. Sure, you do need to recharge the battery on a regular basis, but this would be less of an issue with a cart than with a car—you wouldn’t be taking the golf cart on a log trip out of town where you’d need to find a place to plug it in.

Space. Carts take up less of it, so you’d have more room in your garage if you traded a car for a cart. Imagine being able to keep all of your vehicles indoors at the same time. You’d also have an easier time of finding a parking place for street parking since you could squeeze into places otherwise only accessible to a smart car.

One of the arguments I’ve heard against allowing golf carts is that this would slow up traffic. I think this would actually be a factor in their favor. There are many roads in which people drive far too fast, disregarding the posted speed limit. I would see this as a safety asset, rather than a safety hazard.

That said, carts should only be allowed in residential areas or on streets without heavy traffic. I believe they cannot be used on state or national highways, regardless of what might be decided at a City level, so that eliminates their presence on State Street and Main Street. There could be other streets designated as cart free zones.

Once the carts are approved for use on city or county roads then there must be safety standards: license plates, turn signals, seat belts, safety flags, head and tail lights, slow moving vehicle signage, to name a few. Operators of the carts must be required to have a driver’s license and maintain insurance on the vehicle.

What about ATVs? If the above requirements are met, then I would place them in the same category as golf carts, although their fuel inefficiency loses points in my book.

One last restriction is that golf carts (or ATVs) should absolutely never be allowed on sidewalks or on the Pennsy Trail. These areas need to remain safe for pedestrians, cyclists, and other non-motorized vehicles (other than power wheelchairs). One of the joys of biking on the trail is the opportunity to get away from the noise and hazard of motorized traffic.

With a little creativity and some regulations we can make it safe and feasible for citizens to have their choice of transportation around our community. We can work together to make this happen for the benefit of all.

Now that we are past Memorial Day and the Indy 500, summer can officially begin. I thought I’d celebrate by proclaiming that you don’t need to be scared of the sun as you’ve been taught in recent decades. The sun is your friend and can help you.

First, your body needs vitamin D3. Among other things, it helps with the absorption of calcium. The most efficient way to get D3 is to expose your skin to sunlight. Yes, bare skin. Without sunscreen. In the direct sun. The good news is that during the sunnier months your daily quota can be achieved in about 15 minutes, depending on how dark you are to begin with.

(Grayer months may require longer exposure, and who really wants to have bare arms or legs for a couple hours when it’s cold? In this case, you’re better off with a quality vitamin D3 supplement. You can also get D3 from fatty fish such as salmon or tuna.)

The key here is moderation. You want to gradually expose your skin to the sun so that you can safely go out without worrying about burning. Work yourself up gradually, increasing your time in small increments. The worst thing you can do is to overdo your time in the sun and allow yourself to burn, as repeated sunburns increase your risk for skin cancer.

But here’s some news: People who are regularly in the sun, and slowly build up their time in the sun, may have less risk for cancer than those who never go outside. The sunlight in these cases has been suggested to show a protective effect for many types of cancers, due to the increase in vitamin D production. (https://thetruthaboutcancer.com/sun-exposure-cancer/)

While you allow yourself longer periods of exposure, remember that the best sunscreens are clothing, hats, and umbrellas rather than chemical sunscreens. These creams tend to give a false sense of security; you think you’re safe from harmful rays and as a result you may stay out too long.

They also often have the effect of suppressing the redness from a sunburn that would otherwise give you a big warning flag that it’s time to go inside. You are better off simply limiting your time in the sun. If you do need to use sunscreen, get one that offers both UVA and UVB protection (often called “broad spectrum”).

Ever wonder why you feel better in the summer, with better mood and more energy? Sunshine is a likely contributor on a number of issues. For one, it stimulates seratonin production which protects against depression, especially when coupled with exercise. Outdoor exercise releases more endorphins than indoor workouts. Outside activities are a double shot of goodness!

Solar rays also regulate melatonin, which is what tells you it’s bedtime. Trouble sleeping? Get natural light in the morning to help you wake up and be sure to cut back on light in the evening—including TV and other screens from electronic devices. You can use a red light in the evening (or as a bathroom night light) as this wavelength is less disruptive to melatonin cycles.

I’m tired of seeing so many people creeping around like vampires, afraid of the sun. If someone wonders why they feel crummy all the time then I have an easy and free solution that’s worth a try. You do need to guard against overexposure and burning but this can be done without slathering yourself with goop or living like a mutant cave-dwelling fish. So open the drapes, get outside, soak up those rays, and be healthy.

I am proud to be a Greenfield resident once again. When people relocate, they probably have several things on their to do list, such as open a new bank account, look for a local dentist, or update their address on their driver’s license. My priority? Get a library card!

This is (for me) like other people getting a passport—it enables me to go places. And it costs a whole lot less, not to mention I can walk or bike there. I also get to check out that awesome horned owl in the children’s section.

One way to share my enthusiasm for all things library is to encourage everyone to get involved in the Summer Reading Club. If you think it’s just for kids then you are misinformed. There are categories for teens and adults too.

The title of this summer’s program is Build A Better World. I’d like to think that’s what happens when people read more. They learn, grow, and think. They discuss, share, and educate. They put down the remote, video game, and phone.

The full club guidelines can be found on the Hancock County Public Library website (www.hcplibrary.org). The gist is that kids keep track of the number of minutes read per day; teens and adults log number of books read. The more you read, the more entries you have in your name, because:

The crowning glory of this whole program is that you can win stuff! Like gift cards with actual monetary value, from generous local sponsors. So I can potentially earn financial compensation just for reading? Sign me up! (As you might imagine, I already have.)

The contest runs from June 1st to July 31st. Two months to commit to increasing your reading. You might think this isn’t a very summer-y type activity but you can string up that hammock and kick back with some lemonade and a book.
I’ll see you at the library!

With Earth Day approaching on April 22, I thought I’d take some time to celebrate it by grousing to the world about why bottled water gets on my last nerve.

As you might imagine, my first objection is one of environmental impact. All those bottles—and I cringe to think how many are discarded without being recycled.

(One objection I often hear about recycling is that people don’t want to take the time to clean out a container that contains something messy or sticky. By that definition water bottles are the easiest thing to recycle because you don’t need to rinse them!)

Even if every bottle gets recycled, there’s still the issue of the manufacturing of them and the resources it takes to fashion them into new bottles. I realize recycling isn’t flawless; that’s why the first two items in the “reduce, reuse, recycle” mantra are the most important.

Along that line, it’s best to just get a good quality reusable bottle and fill it up at home. Here’s the big reveal: Bottled water isn’t any better than just drinking out of your kitchen tap (or probably a garden hose, for that matter).

Yes, quality of drinking water is important. But if you get a filter on your faucet or one in a pitcher, then you’re ahead of the game—this will take your water quality above and beyond that of most purchased waters.

The thing I find most fascinating is that somebody out there found a way to sell people ordinary water. With the exception of camping or emergencies, this is something you already have. So it is with grudging admiration that I look to the genius marketers who found a way to make this work.

Remember the expression about selling ice to Eskimos? That’s exactly what’s going on here. Don’t be sucked in. Two or three decades ago you probably would have laughed at the idea of buying bottled water but now everybody is doing it (and some others are making a lot of money).

The other thing that irritates me is the prevalence of people drinking water all the time, in every situation. Yes, staying well hydrated is important but I probably drink more water than almost anyone I know, yet I don’t carry a bottle around. (Hint—I don’t do soft drinks so when I go somewhere to eat I order water.)

Even in an exercise class I find it weird that someone can’t go an hour without hitting the bottle. In my dance classes growing up, no drinks were ever allowed in the studio, and this was normal everywhere. You also didn’t bring drinks to college classes. Now you find people slurping away in church!

Lay off the pop and switch to water in restaurants (the kind in a glass, not a bottle). Remember that much of the bottled water is produced by soft drink companies so I’d say it’s a safe bet that your health is not their first priority. If it were, then they wouldn’t be distributing health-damaging sugary beverages in the first place.

As an aside, if you’re going to consume alcohol—responsibly—when you go out, drink beer on tap rather than anything from a bottle or can, as this poses the same kinds of recycling issues as bottled water.

This Earth Day, do yourself a favor and ditch the bottle. Arm yourself with a filter and a reusable bottle for those just-in-case situations. Stop going along with this crazy idea of buying something you already have, just because it’s all fancied up in a nice little package.

What is CSA? It stands for Community Supported Agriculture. Basically it’s like a co-op without the retail establishment. Or being able to buy wholesale as an average consumer. Or like several co-workers going in to buy a gift or something for the office.

A CSA is where groups of individuals get together to buy from a local producer, in order to save money, buy within the community, and have fresh products. The most common CSAs are for meat, fruits/veggies, or milk (particularly raw, since unpasteurized milk cannot be sold in stores).

CSAs are the wave of the future (or a throwback to the past, if you prefer). You’re buying from your neighbors, maybe even trading goods and services rather than money. You are able to know where your food is coming from, and who has handled it.

This enables individual consumers to have the buying power of an entire group (such as buying a whole beef cow). It also frees the producer from the hassles of retail, allowing them to do what they do best—farm.

Best of all, it puts the transaction between producer and consumer back where it belongs—between individuals, without interference of a middleman. It keeps the interaction on a local level. Think of it as a wholesale Farmer’s Market.

The best website I could find for the area was www.farmerspal.com. This gives a listing of producers and how to contact them. If you are a local farmer, I encourage you to get listed. I know there have to be more small, local, independent farmers out there but I don’t know how else to find you.

Agriculture doesn’t have to be the big business it has become. Producers have a right to sell directly to consumers. As a purchaser you have a right to know where your food is coming from. Ideally we have very little need for supermarkets and distributors.

The Farmer’s Market is a good place to find the opportunity for such arrangements as CSAs and co-ops. Start talking to farmers and asking questions about how you can patronize their business directly, without outside regulation.

Neighbors interacting and transacting with each other is a beautiful thing. You can make it happen every time you choose to buy local instead of through a franchise establishment. Cut out the distributors and buy from those you know, right in your own backyard.

My parents have a sense of humor. For Christmas they got me a five pound chocolate bar—and a tube of toothpaste. I got through about half of it then took it to work to share the love (and the sugar). I felt a bit bad about this because if I don’t want to eat something for health reasons, should I really be pushing it off on someone else?

Pushing is an apt word because that’s what processed food companies do to us. Sugar is big business; the more they can hook you with sweet treats then the more of their products you’ll buy. Food scientists run consumer experiments to determine the “bliss point” at which a food has the optimal level of sweetness to increase appeal.

Sugar in all it’s various forms is in everything, even foods that are advertised as beneficial to health, such as cereals and yogurt. You get conditioned into thinking that is how food should taste and end up expecting everything to taste sweet. This is happening at increasingly younger ages as products are marketed to kids; they grow up without knowing what real food tastes like.

Keep in mind that you don’t actually need sugar. Not too long ago sugar was only available as fruit, for the small window of time that it was in season, and or perhaps honey (if you were willing to brave the bees). Fruit doesn’t cause your blood sugar to spike because the fiber helps to offset the sugar—it’s hard to overindulge with fruit. Contrast this with sweeteners that are distilled down into a very concentrated form, like high fructose corn syrup.

Sugar could be considered as dangerous as a drug, considering the health problems it contributes to, such as obesity and diabetes. I read about a clinical trial in which subjects were given glucose, fructose, or corn syrup. The fructose and corn syrup groups had spikes in LDL (bad cholesterol), triglycerides, and fat-binding proteins—which are all markers for heart disease.

Think about this—sugar responds to naloxone, which is what they give to people when they need to counteract the effects of opiate addiction when these folks are going through withdrawal. The pleasure centers in the brain that are activated with the use of addictive drugs are the same ones that light up when sugar is consumed.

Once you know that, maybe those proposed “soda taxes” don’t seem so crazy after all. Liquid sugar is the worst because you’re not aware of how many calories you’re consuming. You don’t automatically eat less to compensate, as you might if you were eating food and started to feel full. Liquids are a bonus, from a marketing point of view, which is why cup sizes (and the holders in our cars, and our waistlines) continually grow.

It’s not just soft drinks that need to go—virtually everything ready to drink in a bottle: sports drinks, iced teas, lemonades, even fruit juices (almost all have sugar added and those that don’t still have very concentrated sugar). None of these have any place in schools, nor should they be marketed to children. Adults can be responsible for their own poor nutritional decisions but our kids should be protected.

Know how to read your labels. Processed food and drinks use various kinds of sweeteners so that no one particular sweetener has to be listed as the top ingredient. This is a way of masking how much sugar has been added to a product. It may take a little homework to ensure what you’re consuming is healthy, but your body will thank you.

I’ve been reading lately about the industrial food industry. Specifically, processed food companies and chain restaurants design foods with a particular ratio of salt, sugar and fat in order to increase food cravings. This triple-threat combo renders us powerless to the addictive properties of these substances.

The fact that Big Food employs chemists to engineer what we eat sounds pretty creepy to me; food isn’t a science experiment. Keep in mind that at one time or another Nabisco, General Foods, and Kraft have all been owned by Phillip Morris—the tobacco behemoth. These people do not have your best interests at heart.

When we choose these foods we are gaining convenience but at the cost of our health. They are formulated to make you hungrier; they don’t really satisfy because they are calorie dense but nutrient poor. This leads to conditioned overeating—constant snacking, with no real idea of how much, or what exactly, is being consumed.

Snacking is a relatively new (and also American) concept, encouraged by Big Food. Decades ago it was not acceptable; meals were eaten at a table at certain times, not around the clock at desks, in classes, and in cars. In other countries portions are smaller, and restaurants close between mealtimes. Eating is viewed elsewhere as it’s own activity, not something done mindlessly while multitasking.

What’s the solution? We need to do our own homework and not rely on the claims of the industries that are trying to get us to buy and eat more. First, completely eliminate from your life the most insidious inventions of the processed food industry—trans fats and everything hydrogenated. These have no place in the human diet.

Learn to navigate product labels—if there’s a bunch of stuff you can’t pronounce then it’s not good for you. Likewise, if you can’t tell what it is from just the back of the box or bottle then it shouldn’t go in your body. Mile-long ingredient lists are another red flag; as an example, real bread should only have about five things in it.

Ideally, you should shop in the perimeter of the grocery store, buying whole foods that don’t even have a label to begin with. Once you get rid of all the junk in your diet and get in the habit of eating real food then your taste buds can reset to the factory settings, without all the food cravings and compulsive overconsumption.

What do we do with all these raw materials? This is where education really comes in. We need to teach ourselves how to cook the old-fashioned way. I think this is a vital inclusion in the curricula of school children. How else will we combat the epidemics of obesity and diabetes unless we free the next generations from a dependence on processed foods?

I can imagine some budget-minded individuals might say that fresh foods are more expensive. But once you change your eating habits for the better then you won’t be eating all those empty calories, and you will find yourself buying less overall. Even if you do have to increase your grocery budget, isn’t it worth the investment for your long-term wellness? Wouldn’t it be cheaper than an increase in your health care costs?

Regular exercise and stress reduction round out this lifestyle change. You might have to take some things off your (metaphorical) plate in order to focus on what you put on your actual plate! It must be a priority to carve out time to prepare nourishing meals that will sustain us so that we can eat well to live well.

I encountered a brilliant idea recently that I think could be easily implemented for an enormous positive impact on local communities.

I was checking out at a local Bloomington grocery store, and after I was given my total, I was asked if I wanted to round up my total to the next whole dollar. The extra amount would be donated to a community charitable organization (in this case, a women’s shelter for victims of domestic abuse).

I readily agreed. For one, the amount was less than a dollar so it didn’t seem like it would make an impact on my finances. Not to mention I like the idea of having an even amount to subtract when I balance my account, or not having to deal with change if I’m paying with cash.

But more importantly, I felt good that I was helping a worthy organization, and that I was joining together with others to reach a goal that probably none of us would be able to achieve alone. I later found out that over $7,000 was raised for the charity, and I could feel that I was part of that.

This is such an awesome idea because it is such a small amount for any one individual. Even if you consider that you might have several transactions per month, it’s still not a huge burden. Spreading it out in incremental donations means you probably won’t miss it. But when every little bit is added together from all the customers, then it can be a huge benefit for a worthy charity.

I’ve encountered situations in which customers are asked to donate $1 for a charity. I’ll usually do it once, but probably not every time. For some reason, the fact that it’s $1 rather than the spare change that would come from a round figure just seems to be some sort of psychological barrier—even if the total I end up donating over the course of the month ends up being the same amount.

Plus these are usually national non-profits, and while they are good causes, just don’t grab me the same way that a local group would. I think of this as a sort of crowdfunding, within the local community. I’d also be more likely to patronize a store that did this, so that’s an added incentive for the merchant to get this set up.

The monthly charity could be highlighted in a display so that everyone would know who was being supported, and that alone might prompt customers to shop more, or even to add extra donations to their transactions. Spotlighting a group in this way would also raise awareness, and might encourage community members to donate at other times, or to get involved in a volunteer capacity.

Of course there needs to be a posting of how much was raised from the previous month to demonstrate the effectiveness of the program. This could also be a teachable moment for children; parents could show how working together helps to reach a goal. This could work to instill a sense of community activism in young people.

Stores that offer bag credits (which they all should), could give you the option to donate your bag credit to the charity rather than having it taken off your bill. This is a particularly great deal for us patrons because it doesn’t cost us anything (not to mention giving us motivation to bring our bags each time we shop).

Supporting local charities doesn’t have to be complicated or unduly burdensome; with a little creativity we can even find ways to make it fun.

A while back I noticed that my legs looked funny. I was concerned as I’d never seen them look like that before and wondered if there was something wrong. Then it hit me—that’s what cellulite looks like.

I tried on a skirt that I had worn only two months before and couldn’t get it zipped. Clearly the situation was critical and I needed to take drastic action: I decided to start running. It seems so extreme. Why make myself tired on purpose? Do I truly want to run unless something is chasing me?

I thought it best to seek professional help so as to avoid injury. I have a friend who is an ultra-marathoner. That’s right; plain old marathons just aren’t enough. In 2013 when he was getting really serious about exercise, he decided to run the year. As in 2013 miles in a year. I told him that was like running to Denver and back (minus the mountains).

I went to the store dedicated to all things running. I found out that they’re really cool; I thought they’d have an attitude about someone who isn’t a serious athlete but I’ve noticed runners tend to be so excited about it that they are interested in getting you to do it no matter what your level.

I figured the amount I’d spend on a good pair of running shoes was less than buying all new clothes so I made the commitment. They cost about the same as 11 yoga classes; I think I can manage to jog in them at least a dozen times. The only other pair of athletic shoes I have are Grinch green. I didn’t want to mess up the bright color, so that was rather a disincentive to use them for jogging.

Then where to go? I thought the rail trail would be a good option as it’s gravel so I wouldn’t have quite as much impact as running on pavement. The problem with this idea is that parking for this trail is right down the street from a grocery store that sells good cheap pizza by the slice, making it possible for me to gain weight the more frequently I run.

I tried some trails on my side of town but there were too many hills. Also it probably wasn’t the best idea to try to jog with leaves covering the trail as I kept tripping on tree roots and ended up with a few nose dives, scraping up my bony shoulder. (Why couldn’t I fall on my backside, which has adequate padding?)

I finally ended up in the park across the street. Even though it’s paved, at least it’s well lighted, flat, and I can see it from my window. But the loop is .59 miles which makes it a bit of a challenge to calculate how far I’m going. (Really, City of Bloomington? You couldn’t have make it an even .60 miles? Let me just say that this sort of nonsense would never have happened in Greenfield!)

I started out doing a 15-minute mile, which is only marginally faster than I can walk. I’m currently down to 11 minutes per mile, and can say with confidence that I no longer run like a girl. That’s because I run like a middle-aged woman.

You know you’ve got the running bug when you see an attractive fit man jogging up the street toward you, and you’re looking at his shoes to see what brand he’s wearing. Now if only I can get around to running as frequently as I talk about it.

Having been around for a while, I’ve seen some interesting fad diets. I understand—people want a quick fix to being overweight and think the next trend that comes along might be the answer to all their weight problems.

I’m sympathetic; if you offered me a bracelet to slap on my wrist or a pill that would turn me into a social gazelle, I’d probably fall for that. It would be so much easier than doing the work myself, day after day.

But let’s face it—the only real way to lose weight is through eating less and exercising more, which takes a lot of time, willpower, and commitment. Anything that promises results faster with less effort seems very attractive, and it is easy to be seduced by these claims.

But the problem with these trendy diets is that they are unhealthy in the long run. True, you may lose a lot of weight quickly but that is not a good way to go about it. For one, you are unlikely to keep it off; in this case slow and steady wins the race. Plus, any such dramatic change is not good for your body as it has to adjust to the new status.

I am skeptical of any plan that tells you to cut out an entire food group. The groups that avoid all starches or carbohydrates seem short-sighted and unbalanced. (Don’t get me wrong, I love hanging out with non-carb/gluten-free people; I get all the breadsticks, rolls, and biscuits I could ever want.)

For the record, I have advocated a non-animal product diet, but that is based on ethical and sustainability issues. I would never say to cut out all protein but rather to find plant-based proteins and dairy alternatives.

I have a coworker who comes in with fast-food BBQ chicken wings. Never mind the fact that the wings are fried and covered in high-calorie sauce; she is convinced this will help her lose weight because she is not eating bread.

But not all carbs are created equally. Brown rice and pastas or multi-grain breads would be good picks. Anything that is highly processed should be avoided. I would think it would be more realistic for a long-range plan to focus on which carbs are the healthiest choices, rather than trying to avoid them entirely.

I like plans in which you have a daily allotment of calories; this makes the most sense to me because it resembles a financial budget. Once you’ve spent it, it’s gone. This seems to allow the most freedom of food choices although it’s possible to quickly waste all your calories early in the day on junk food. But at least that would get you in the habit of thinking about how much the food item “costs” before you consume it.

I’ve also noticed people would rather try to change what they consume, rather than exercise more. To me, it would be easier to add physical activity—walk frequently, take the stairs, do household tasks manually. That sounds like a lot more fun than severely restricting what I can eat. But there is probably not one single approach that will work for everyone.

The focus needs to be on overall lifestyle change, not temporary measures. If you go back to what you were doing before then you will end up right back where you were. Don’t be dazzled by fantastical claims of the latest diet trend. You owe it to yourself and your long-term health to take your time and do it right.

Autumn in Indiana wouldn’t be complete without several forays into the woods to hike and enjoy the spectacular array of leaves. I feel that if I miss this important fall ritual, I cannot properly transition from summer into winter. I hope to inspire others to feel the same.

October seems to be the peak season but even into November the weather is usually mild enough to enjoy the outdoors. Of course after daylight saving time ends you do need to plan ahead to make sure you get to where you’re going with enough time to hike before it gets dark.

Later in the fall is a great time to get out in the woods because the bugs and snakes have retired for the season. Even in winter it’s great to bundle up for a hike as you can experience a panoramic view on a hilltop when the leaves are gone. And you’ll probably have the whole place to yourself apart from any other serious outdoor enthusiasts.

I have a park pass that I got with my donation to the local public radio station so all I needed to do was set aside a good chunk of time so I could relax and not be looking at my watch. I made several trips to Spring Mill and began to be familiar with the trails so that on future visits I was able to map out a route that would enable me to catch most of the paths with minimum backtracking.

I don’t have actual hiking shoes or boots; I was doing this in my mom’s old golf sandals. I thought the soft spikes on the bottoms would give me good traction for hiking. Perhaps so but I also found that wearing them without socks gave me blisters, and with socks I not only looked silly but ended up with very dirty socks. Maybe I need to make an investment in hiking and actually spend some money to buy something appropriate for the activity.

On one of these trips I decided to eat in the dining room at the inn. It smelled wonderful; it reminded me of a grandmother’s house before Thanksgiving. It gave me a feeling of nostalgia for a time when people had family and friends over for Sunday dinners. I’d like to go back and sit by the fireplace but then they’d probably have to kick me out when they close.

As a good Hoosier, I feel the imperative to celebrate autumn by crunching through leaves as much as I can. (That’s why I get annoyed when I see people clearing the sidewalks—with a noisy gas-powered leaf blower, no less! If you have to do this, go with an old-school broom.)

I feel this is more about being outside in nature, and mental or emotional health, than about getting serious physical exercise. But that is definitely a bonus; after one trip I was hurtin’ for certain. It must mean I need to go more regularly to build up those muscles!

I’m also thankful I have time off during the day so I can go when it’s not crowded (or dark). I find it hard to contemplate the beauty of nature with congregating people chattering nearby. I suppose that irritation on my part also shows I need to get out more often.

I encourage everyone to go leafing: Take a hike in the woods, especially if you haven’t done so yet this season. Remember why you love living in Indiana—because of its natural beauty, that is only a short walk away. You’ll be glad you did.

I’m usually an active person but I completely slacked off in August. I think I got lazy; it was hot and humid. I succumbed to inertia which can be a powerful force and difficult to resist once you’re there in the doldrums.

Then in September I had a cough that would not go away so then I had an excuse for my inactivity. When I got winded taking what would usually be just a short walk for me, a jaunt to the library, I knew something had to change.

Around this time I got a free yoga class for my birthday from the studio I sometimes attend. Several months back I used to clean there in exchange for classes. I had seven free classes available to me that I just couldn’t seem to get to but since they don’t expire I just hadn’t made it a priority.

But the birthday class had to be used within a day on either side of my birthday. I can’t possibly let something free go to waste so I was determined to attend. You wouldn’t think that a three-day window with a variety of class times at a studio that I can almost see from my window would be a challenge. But it is remarkable the psychological barriers we put up when we don’t have regular habits in place.

There are many reasons I have enjoyed going to this yoga studio. It’s close by, it doesn’t have loud music or TVs like at a gym, and it tends to focus on the exercise aspect of yoga, rather than the spiritual or philosophical elements (some of the studios in Bloomington can get a bit out there).

Most of all, they have hot classes—like around 95 degrees. I feel it helps me to limber up which aids in stretching, and I sweat a lot which makes me feel like I’ve really done something, even before the class starts. I realize this wouldn’t be everybody’s cup of tea to come out of class with a slimy mat but it works for me. Besides, I get to go barefoot which I consider an added bonus.

Due to the emphasis on physical fitness, most of the people in the hot classes are young athletic types. I have never seen so many small women in one place—not just thin, but tiny all over. I’m concerned that one day I’ll go in there and there will be a sign with a cartoon character pronouncing “If you’re taller than me then you’re too tall for this ride.”

Then there was the point early on in my relationship with this studio when it dawned on me that my leggings were quite possibly older than many of the students. (I suppose this does speak well of the craftsmanship of mid-90s clothing from Limited Express).

So, I knew that first class back would be painful on several different levels. But getting through that ordeal opened the gateway for me to start using those free classes. I’m happy to report that it got just a little bit less difficult each time.

And that’s my point. When you first begin a new venture, it may well be awful—starting a new exercise plan, learning to paint, going through boxes in the basement. You need to accept that you might not be any good at it and probably can’t do it all and that’s ok. But it’s keeping at it that enables you to make progress toward that goal. And once you get going you may decide it isn’t as bad as you thought.

When I first moved into my apartment a couple of years ago, I made sure that the free wifi reached to my particular unit. I didn’t want the hassle of packing everything up and venturing to the community room every time I wanted to use the internet. (I am thankful to say I don’t have an office job where I’m stuck on a computer all day. It’s also relevant to this story that I don’t have a smartphone.)

Everything was fine until a couple of months ago when the network that I was using, that reached to my apartment, quit working. Apparently that particular network was not going to be an option for the future, so I was told to just use the free wifi in the community room (which is only available in that space).

I don’t want to go there. It’s part of the laundry room so it’s hot, stuffy, and humid, plus you never know if there will be others around. I’d much rather be at home in my comfy private nest, sipping tea and listening to the classical music station. That’s so much more of a pleasant environment to waste copious amounts of time surfing the web.

Besides, I need constant access to the internet. I need to check things and look stuff up. Weather, email, Facebook, my bank account—and how else can I play chess? But unless I wanted to pay for it (I don’t, considering free wifi was one of the reasons I moved here) then breaching the great divide of the parking lot was my option.

I thought this was a good opportunity for me to practice what I preach. I tell others to unplug and get back into real life. I know I spent too much time online but just succumbed to the path of least resistance. I could see how Facebook didn’t do me any favors, usually leaving me with a feeling of inadequacy about my own life (which is a common phenomenon).

Then the beautiful thing happened. I realized it wasn’t a huge loss. It was freeing to not have to get online mornings and evenings, leaving me time to tackle real life books. My mental space wasn’t taken up worrying about what everyone was posting on Facebook. (I did miss the news about a coworker’s engagement but eventually heard about it a fortnight later.)

I found that just that small barrier of walking across the parking lot to the community room was enough of an inconvenience that that made it not worth it to be online every day. I can hear the weather from the local radio station. Checking email and bank balances can be done once or twice a week. Chess games can be played live with another person with physical pieces.

I discovered it was easier to walk over to the public library during a break from work to see if they have an item, rather than waiting until I was online to look it up on their website. I can communicate with friends through texting throughout the day rather than trying to remember what I need to email them later.

It’s amazing how you might think something is such a necessity until you don’t have it, and then realize it’s not an inconvenience. I experienced the same thing about ten years ago when my microwave quit working and I decided I could just heat food on the stove, like we did back in the 70s.

Now if I can just get myself to quit spending so much time checking out movies from the library…

As you probably know, October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. You see pink ribbons everywhere, many products are available in pink, and there is even a trend for pink hair. It’s Pinktober. This penchant for pink is thanks to the Susan G. Komen for the Cure Foundation. The problem is that none of this stuff really does anything toward wiping out cancer.

There’s nothing wrong with wearing pink, and that alone can increase public consciousness about an issue. But raising awareness isn’t the same thing as raising funds. And once the money is there it doesn’t automatically follow that those dollars will be applied to medical research. It has been reported that the Komen Foundation only spends about 15% of its funds on research. (Contrast with the Breast Cancer Research Foundation which spends 92% on research.)

And that’s why Komen is not a good charity to support. What they say they want to do, and what they actually do, don’t match up. For one, it could be argued that at this point knowledge of breast cancer in commonplace and therefore continued spending to increase the profile of this issue is superfluous. One has to ask if the goal is to raise awareness of breast cancer—or of the Komen Foundation.

Additionally, the institution’s public education efforts do not include information about lifestyle changes that can help ward off cancer, such as diet choices, regular exercise, sufficient vitamin D, adequate sleep, or stress management. Rather, they emphasize the importance of regular mammogram screenings. While this is essential to an early diagnosis, it does not cure cancer. Perhaps more funding should go toward research to discover how cancer can be eradicated, or prevented from growing in the first place.

I would expect as much from a foundation that has Cure in the title. For that matter, the charity is extremely proprietary, targeting smaller groups that use “for the cure” in their names, or pink in conjunction with cancer research. Potential donors should ask themselves if they want their financial contributions going towards lawsuits against other non-profits.

Then there’s the high salary of the CEO. At one point the compensation package was more than the head of the Red Cross—for an organization that is only a tenth of the size of the Red Cross. Estimates put the income of the Komen leader at around $250,000 more than those at the helm of other charities of a similar size.

Next, there is a term known as pinkwashing. This refers to corporate sponsorships that result in huge levels of positive publicity for their association with Komen, while in reality donating very little to the foundation. That ubiquitous pink ribbon is slapped on an item. You buy it, thinking you’re doing some good for cancer research but in reality you are merely enriching the corporation selling the product.

(This is also the idea behind slactivism. It is something that requires very little effort from you, such as posting on social media, that in reality has a low net result. With the purchase example above, you end up buying what you were going to get anyway, but now you can justify spending that money, even though it didn’t really result in any charitable giving.)

All this is not to discourage anyone from donating to a cause but rather to encourage you to do your research first to ensure your dollars will have the maximum impact. You can visit the website of the grassroots organization Breast Cancer Action to learn how to truly make a difference toward cancer research with your financial contribution: www.thinkbeforeyoupink.org.

It’s harvest season in Indiana. The cornfields have been transformed into giant mazes. Pumpkins, squash, apples and cider are abundant. I thought now would be the time for me to reap the fruits of my labor but that is sadly not how events played out. I shall explain.

First I should back up a few months. I was sitting outside in April and ended up talking to one of the staff at my apartment complex. I said they should have an area that we could use as a community garden. They own the building a few doors down the street which has garden plots on the roof, and he said that since they weren’t all being used then they could let me have one.

I was thrilled! I imagined summer days engaged in an age-old tradition, getting fresh air, exercise, and working on my tan. How healing it would be for mind, soul, and body to enrich my life with this wholesome activity, communing with nature.

I even thought it could usher in a new era into my life, like they talk about in the line from that song in the 1960s musical Hair: “This is the Dawning of the Age of Asparagus.”

A coworker gave me a tomato plant and sunflowers. A friend donated some mint. My mom let me have whatever seed packages she had on hand and even sent me some garlic cloves she had dug up from her garden. (I now know that whenever I get a package from her I should open it over the sink.)

I had to keep asking when the plots would be tilled and ready for use. This didn’t happen until mid-May, which even in my limited experience seemed a bit late to get started. Soon after everything was planted they hooked up the irrigation system. This may sound really fancy but what it meant was that you could no longer use the water spigot to fill up a bucket to water your plot.

The irrigation didn’t provide enough water, and since this is a rooftop garden, it is in full sun. This was around the time of the summer solstice which meant lots and lots of daylight hours. It might have been a better use of this space to make clay pots and leave them up there to bake.

The options at that point were to haul buckets of water up three flights of stairs (nope), unhook the system and risk not being able to get it functional again (didn’t want to go there), or do a rain dance (not my style).

Then there was the issue of weeds. Not knowing what I’m doing, I had a friend come up to check out the plot to tell me what should stay and what needed to go. I didn’t feel like putting him to work while visiting me; I thought I’d just wait until tomorrow to sort it all out.

Except that when I returned the next day a maintenance guy mentioned that since they saw so many weeds, they went ahead and tilled it over. I realized some plantings might still grow. But if I had trouble before separating the wheat from the chaff then it was impossible now, considering that the sprouts were no longer in discernible rows. It had become garden soup.

I feel like a disappointment to all of my green-thumbed friends. But if it weren’t for people like me then what they do wouldn’t be so amazing. It certainly gives me a new appreciation for those treading the earth with their gardening superpowers.

If you’re getting tired of considering how to vote for the lesser of two evils in this presidential election, then this article is for you. There are alternatives. Two third-party candidates who have gained traction during this campaign are Gary Johnson (Libertarian) and Jill Stein (Green Party).

According to a Gallup poll, since 2007 a majority of Americans (58%) have called for third parties. Between that and much overall dissatisfaction with both major candidates, now just might be the time that the stage is set to overthrow our current system of Republicans vs. Democrats.

One sentiment that I hear is that voting for anyone who isn’t in one of the major parties is just throwing your vote away. I’m no political scientist, but I have to ask how will third-party candidates ever make an impact on our government unless we vote for them?

True, it might be several elections down the road before one of these types of candidates wins a major election. But numbers speak. If voters cast their ballots for someone in an alternative party, politicians will sit up and take notice. Changing your voter registration to another party, or even to “unaffiliated,” will also show up in statistical analyses.

After all, Democrats and Republicans hasn’t always been the norm. The Federalists were one of the early American parties, and the Whigs were influential in the mid-19th century. The Anti-Masonic Party was mostly a single-issue party but is considered the first of the third parties. You can probably guess what hot topic the Prohibition Party espoused.

The Socialists at the turn of the 20th century were associated with the women’s suffrage movement and they were also a champion of child labor laws. The Populist Party also had some clout around this time, and these two parties collaborated to standardize the 40-hour work week, resulting in the Fair Labor Standards Act of 1938.

The Democrats have been around since 1828 and are considered the oldest active party in our country. But the Republicans didn’t show up until the time of Abraham Lincoln. It could be argued that he was the first third-party candidate to win a presidential election.

Interestingly, these two parties have changed positions on various issues over the years so it could be argued that they are not really the same parties as they were originally established, apart from the names. Certainly who belongs to each party has changed over time. In the Civil War Era, Democrats were those who wanted to keep the status quo, and the Republicans were the ones associated with abolition and reconstruction.

As for current independent parties, the Libertarians have been around since 1971. They consider themselves more culturally liberal than Democrats and more fiscally conservative than Republicans. The Green Party was established in 1984 and focuses on environmental and social justice issues and favors grassroots involvement.

I found a great website that lists all four candidates and a comparison of their stances on various issues. There is also a handy quiz that asks you your views on these same topics and as a result gives you the percentage of how much you agree with each politician.

This can be useful to help you discern with whom you truly have the most beliefs in common, and who is most likely to represent you as a voter. This is helpful so as to not get sidetracked by which party you think you should endorse, nor attracted to/repulsed by the personalities of the candidates.

The site is: 2016electionprocon.org. May we all be prepared for November!

Americans love conspiracy theories! I recently heard about one that really takes the cake.

Apparently Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton might not be quite the rivals that we have seen throughout the presidential campaign. After all, Trump was close enough with the Clintons to be at their wedding, and the daughters of the two families are friends.

So here it is: Donald Trump isn’t really running for president. As the theory goes, he was convinced to run by Hillary Clinton herself. Having an outrageous opponent who could never be elected would be a sure-fire method of getting herself elevated to the White House.

I get a kick out of this for many reasons. It plays into the worst stereotypes of each candidate: A megalomaniac who wants to see what he can get away with, and an ambitious shark with a personal agenda.

It also taps into our fears that what we do with our votes doesn’t really make a difference, and our paranoia that larger forces are at work behind the scenes, making us merely pawns in a life-size chess game.

According to modern lore, Trump said and did the things that would earn him the Republican nomination in order to beat out the other candidates. But now he has to alienate the various voting blocks in the next few months in order to throw the election and ensure Clinton’s victory. This, supposedly, explains why his behavior is becoming more erratic and unpredictable.

Even if this plot were true, which I highly doubt, I want to ask those behind it if they’ve ever seen a teen movie. Because this kind of thing never works. You don’t fix up the cute guy with your ugly friend to make yourself look better; he ends up falling for her and you are left alone on prom night.

Next, it implies that Americans are so stupid that they would fall for such a scheme. If you think the majority of people here are that dumb, why would you want to be responsible for them and be their leader?

Although if you had to trick them in order to get elected then I guess you’re saying they’re pretty smart, in that they would be discerning enough not to vote for you in the first place. Which really says more about you as a candidate if you know you can’t get elected on your own merit.

More to the point, what happens if your plan backfires, and your ugly friend (from the above analogy) accidentally gets elected prom queen? Or worse, decides she’s popular enough to run for class president, now that she knows she has a serious chance of winning?

I would find this whole conspiracy and ensuing election hilarious if the stakes weren’t so high. I feel a bit ashamed of my irreverence when I remember that it’s not even been a whole century since my suffragette sisters suffered so that I could walk into an election booth.

It still doesn’t change the fact that at the end of the day we have no good choices. An unstable hothead against a corrupt panderer? Vote for a third-party candidate or move to Canada?

I’d say good luck to each of the candidates but I think that sentiment is better reserved for the voters; we’re the ones who need it.

I have a shocking statistic for you about crime in America. Ask anyone and they will tell you that our country has gotten more dangerous, with violence all around us. We hear it on all the news outlets, and even our entertainment of movies and television reflects this.

Except that it is completely false. The crime rate today is about half what it was in the early 1990s. Crime did rise from the 1960s into the 1990s but has been falling steadily ever since. In the span of a generation, our level of crime has dropped by half.

The last time serious crime was at the level it is today, gas was 29 cents per gallon and the average American income was $5,807. It was 1963.

Remember those scenes in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, when the flawless Audrey Hepburn is walking around New York City by herself at night or early morning? You couldn’t possibly do that today! Other than the fact that the crime levels are about the same now as then.

Yet as the country has become safer, the more we perceive our surroundings as increasingly unsafe. Why the paradox?

First we should talk about some theories as to why actual crime has fallen. Technology plays a part, such as security lights and cameras, as well as the prevalence of cell phones. Also the overall population is aging, and crime is more commonly perpetrated by young people.

So where do we get this idea of doom and gloom if the actual statistics say otherwise?

Sociologists have a term called pessimistic bias, which is a pervasive mindset which believes not only that things are worse than they are, but that they are worse than they used to be. There seems to be a human tendency to glorify the good old days. The era of the golden past naturally changes, depending on the age of the person you ask.

There is another psychological phenomenon in which negativity tends to stick more in your brain. You’ve probably experienced it yourself; you may get nine compliments in a day and only one criticism, but that is what will remain forefront in your mind.

This is where media comes in. Even seeing one piece of bad news will lodge in your head. The effect increases exponentially when you consider the penchant for reporting negative events in a sensationalistic manner. We live in a culture of fear mongering. No wonder we’re freaked out.

Combine this with the continuous deluge into our awareness through 24-hour news channels, phone alerts, and the Internet, particularly social media. This also goes for what we call entertainment, in the form of TV shows, movies, and video games that depict violence at far higher rates than what actually occurs in real life.

The more media you consume, the more you will perceive the world as scarier, meaner, and less safe than it actually is. Worry, fear, suspicion, and paranoia will become part of you, and will severely limit both your daily life as well as your world view.

This is why we have such outrageous things today as parents getting in trouble for letting their children play outside in the park unsupervised. One theory I read as to why our houses are so much bigger today is that back in the 1950s kids played outside; now the house has to be bigger to accommodate them being kept continuously indoors.

Obviously any crime is unacceptable, and we need to take reasonable precautions to keep ourselves and our communities safe. Then get the facts so you won’t live on constant high alert.

We hear a lot about Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD) in children. Now it seems that adult ADD is on the rise, and this is becoming a health concern. But I’ve read some interesting books lately that seem to indicate that it might not be true ADD but rather that our current culture has made many of us manifest the symptoms of ADD.

We are forgetful, impatient, distracted, irritable, and chronically late because we are completely overwhelmed. The deluge of information that we encounter each day is more than we can process. We somehow think we have to be doing things all the time but we work in ways that actually impedes efficiency. We are on a giant hamster wheel.

We absolutely must make changes to our lifestyles even if that means going against the tide. We are responsible for our own mental health and well being and must protect it even if that puts us on the fringes. We need to take conscious control of how we spend our time and what stimuli we allow into our lives.

First off, get rid of as many screens in your life as you can. Wean yourself from TV, internet, and video game dependence. When you go out, ask that TV be turned off or at least muted. Sit where you can’t see it. If your workplace wants to add screens, respectfully protest. These screens really do decrease your attention span and you indulge at your own risk.

Next, let’s talk about phones. They can be useful tools if used in moderation. But you really do not need to have your phone within reach at all times. You can turn it off, leave it in the other room, and be unavailable for a while. If you can’t do this then that just proves that you are truly addicted to your phone.

Checking constantly is a distraction that keeps you from giving your attention fully to whatever you’re doing. It is unequivocally rude to check your phone when you are with another person. You are telling them that they are boring, and that an inanimate object is more worthy of your attention than a real human being with intelligence and feelings sitting in front of you.

Don’t even think about texting and driving (or eating or any other activity while you are behind the wheel of two tons of steel). Additionally, merely talking on a phone when driving is equal to the same impairment as driving while over the legal blood alcohol limit. Hands-free phones can be worse because they give a false sense of safety; you convince yourself that you are not as distracted because you are not holding a phone.

Finally, let’s attack the myth of multitasking. It doesn’t really exist. Whatever you’re doing, you’re not doing it as efficiently as if you did each task separately, focusing on each one individually until it is complete. Completely giving your attention to a single activity at a time will go a long way to curb those symptoms of ADD.

When you think you are multitasking, what you are actually doing is switching between the two activities very rapidly. Each time you switch you need to reorient yourself to the new one, which is what makes it a big time waster. This multitasking reduces the brain’s ability to discern the relevant from the irrelevant. You will make mistakes that will then take more time to clean up later.

We can bring our society back to sanity. But we must start with a conscious, determined effort to protect ourselves, and reject the ADD culture.

You may have heard that there has been a recent introduction of a bill in Pakistan that would allow men to “lightly beat” their wives. It got me to thinking that countries with high rates of domestic violence seem to be worse off in other ways.

I started doing some searches and I found that the countries with the highest levels of violence against women are also those that are the least developed. So the more developed a country becomes, the rate of domestic violence drops. (Or, as the rate of violence drops, a country is able to become developed, depending on how you wish to look at it.)

I found a list of the ten worst countries for women (http://www.wonderslist.com/10-worst-countries-for-women/). In ascending order, they are: Iraq, Pakistan, India, Somalia, Mali, Guatemala, Sudan, Democratic Republic of Congo, Afghanistan, Chad.

I then checked these countries against the Human Development Index. This is a report that includes statistics of life expectancy, education, and income. A country has a higher HDI when these factors are higher and it is used to define countries as developed, developing, or undeveloped. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_countries_by_Human_Development_Index)

In the lowest category of human development were Sudan, Chad, Mali, Congo, Pakistan, Afghanistan. In the next lowest category were Iraq, Guatemala, India. Data was not available for Somalia. In looking at this it’s clear that there is a correlation between violence against women and low levels of domestic development.

Before we get all smug and say that this sort of violence is something that occurs with those people over there, I need to share another statistic. The HDI has been referred to as an index of potential human development, but there is a variation on this report that accounts for inequality (IHDI), which is a more accurate measure of actual human development.

And here is where it gets interesting. The US doesn’t come out on top. In the most recent report (2015) we are ranked 27th, tied with Poland. In the previous report (2013) we were 16th. I couldn’t find any specific statistics comparing domestic violence rates between years for the US so I can’t make the assertion that it increased as our human development rating fell.

But I still think it is worrisome that we are not in the top echelon of domestic progress. As far as income equality among citizens, we’re in the middle for developed countries. A higher rating on the development scale means more medical care, higher standard of living, less inequality, less gender violence, less poverty, and less crime.

So which comes first? Is violence born out of a low standard of living, whereby people take their frustrations out on those who are weaker physically or have less power? Is it because of economics that women in these countries have less power to begin with?

Or could it be that once attitudes change toward women and they are respected and not treated with violence that they are able to gain economic and social power? And perhaps this shift in attitude is what is responsible to enable a country to become more developed?

We need to be aware of this correlation so that we do not allow our country to slip further down the development scale, and to be aware that one aspect of increasing our standard of living is eliminating domestic violence, and all other forms of violence. For a society to be truly developed means that it is safe for all of its citizens.

The official title of the Dr. Seuss story is What Was I Scared Of? but growing up we always referred to it in my family as “The Pale Green Pants with Nobody Inside Them,” because that’s what it’s about. This topped the list of freaky weird tales that creeped me out. Yet it was one of my favorites.

The protagonist keeps encountering these spooky pale green pants (with nobody inside them) in various settings, and is understandably shaken. He runs from them and otherwise does everything he can to avoid crossing paths with these disembodied trousers.

This really is an odd concept if you stop to think about it. Wouldn’t you be disturbed if you came across a pair of levitating leggings? Not only that, but they are capable of independent movement. And they’re that weird monster-green color. If you’re not familiar with this story, you should be. Check out those pictures.

So then our friend has a meeting he can’t run away from! He’s now face-to-face (so to speak) with the strange free-standing tights! Screaming in terror is the only option! What will happen?!

Something we didn’t expect. The floating breeches quiver to the ground and start to cry. They were just as frightened as our hero, and all that screaming didn’t help, thank you very much. The narrator then sits down and comforts the sobbing slacks, and they become friends.

This reminds me of the time I had a live mousetrap and the big noise that was coming from it. I envisioned some rat that would be at home in the sewers of Paris (forgetting that it wouldn’t have been able to fit in the trap in the first place). In reality, it was a little mouse, looking up at me with those big eyes, quaking in fear, probably from looking at my even bigger eyes.

(I must insert here that I once went out with a guy with whom I was completely smitten. I kept learning all these things that convinced me we would be perfect together. The icing on the cake was when he mentioned that this was his favorite Dr. Seuss story. This alone would have been, to me, sufficient justification for an ongoing relationship. Alas, he did not return my feelings.)

I think the takeaway here is that we shouldn’t assume we know what’s going on with others. Even those who appear confident may have as many insecurities as we do. Rather than despise them, we should reach out, as we might have more in common than we think. And in doing so we might make the acquaintance of someone who could become a really interesting friend.

The first thing is that everyone seems to be confusing sex and gender. Sex is genetic: If you have XX chromosomes you are female; if you have XY chromosomes you are male. This is a matter of biology and in all but a few rare instances everyone is genetically one or the other.

Gender, however, is a matter of how sex is expressed. This can vary between cultures; it can be made up of how you dress, what activities you’re allowed to participate in, what society expects of you. These things can be much more fluid and can change over time.

I understand that some people do not wish to conform to gender stereotypes and may feel that they do not fit discreetly into one category or another. Anyone is free to express a gender, or no gender, in any way they like. But this doesn’t change the fact that you have a set of chromosomes that determines which bathroom you need to go in.

(To me, it’s kind of like voting in the primaries. I have to choose Republican or Democrat; Libertarian or Green Party or None Of The Above isn’t an option if I want to vote in May. Come November, I can do what I want but in the spring I have to choose.)

I may or may not like how you choose to express yourself. But it’s not really my place to tell you, a complete stranger, whether I approve or disapprove. That is what is called tolerance. It’s also what has become a forgotten trait, that of minding your own business.

But when it becomes my issue is when I’m in a public restroom and have to worry about who is in the stall next to me. If someone is biologically male then I am going to be extremely wary as I do not want to be in a vulnerable situation with a male stranger who could easily overpower me.

In developing countries women are often attacked due to lack of toilet facilities. They must go out into fields in early morning when it is still dark so that they can do their business and still retain their modesty. This is one of the prime situations for sexual assault for women and girls.

We cannot let that happen here. I understand that a man living as a woman may not be the potential rapist I’ve just described. But what is to keep those who are sexual predators out of the women’s restroom when they could just say they identify as a woman and have an opportunity to do harm?

What we need are practical solutions that can keep everyone safe; not only women and children but also those with various gender identities who are often subjected to harassment. And how about so many parents who may find themselves at a loss in public when their opposite-sex child needs to go?

The best option is for more single-person restrooms. Whether you want to call them gender-neutral or family-friendly, the point is that this would solve all of these problems. (It would also cut down on long lines for women’s restrooms; a beneficial side effect.)

In smaller establishments a few of these one-person washrooms would suffice. Obviously for larger places this wouldn’t be entirely practical; we still need separate women’s and mens’ rooms but then several of the single bathrooms could be added.

It doesn’t have to be a difficult solution; it seems the most practical and straightforward one is what would take care of the various issues that we are facing.

Often people look forward to this time of year in Bloomington waves of students are making a mass exodus. But sometimes I get sad as well because I think of all the pets that get abandoned by irresponsible owners who move away and don’t bother to find new homes for their animals. I don’t think I really want to know the statistics of how often this happens.

A pet is a commitment. It is a living creature that you have signed on to take care of. That means for the lifetime of the animal, not just while it’s cute or convenient for you. Every year there are rabbits that get turned outdoors in the months following Easter; Christmas puppies that are adorable under the tree become work as they need to be taken outside even during the winter months.

Yes, there might be times when you are no longer able to care for a pet. Perhaps it’s your own illness or you lose your job and have to move to an apartment that doesn’t allow animals. But every effort should be made to place your pet in a loving new home before surrendering it to a shelter. You owe that to your companion.

If you are looking for a pet, your first and last stop should be the animal shelter. Think of all the animals that are looking for permanent placement, that have been given up by their first family, and how grateful they would be to become part of yours. Yes, I believe that animals can feel gratitude—and show it, if we will only pay attention.

Pet adoption fees are very reasonably priced, and sometimes shelters will have specials during certain times of the year or on certain animals. Often the adoption fee includes a spay or neuter procedure. But even if it is not included be sure to have this done, as part of your job as a responsible pet owner is to make sure there aren’t more animals out there that will end up in a shelter.

Sometimes people will say they don’t want a shelter dog because they are looking for a particular breed. Most county humane associations have websites featuring their adoptables. If you don’t find what you’re looking for locally, then look at the surrounding counties. There are also a variety of rescue organizations that specialize in specific breeds.

There is really no reason to purchase a pet from a breeder. Even if the breeder is reputable and not part of a puppy mill, that still doesn’t change the fact that there are so many animals out there waiting for a home that will otherwise be killed if you or someone else doesn’t adopt them. Otherwise it’s like saying that a used pet isn’t good enough for you. Isn’t saving the life of a critter more important?!

On a positive note, sometimes cool things happen with animals in Bloomington. During spring finals week there is an event called Rent-A-Puppy, at which students can play with a dog for a fee. This is a fundraiser for the animal shelter as well as a way to showcase adoptable pets (and help students de-stress).

Check out your humane association and see what they have to offer. Check Craigslist and do other web searches for animals who need to be relocated. You can save a life and give a furred, finned, or feathered friend a second chance for a good home.

If there is one particular industry that exemplifies some of the worst aspects of our throwaway culture, it would be the world of fashion.

Traditionally, clothes were very expensive. They would be mended, reused, and handed down. Home sewing and repair skills were crucial. Frugality and caring for the items you had were values taught to children. People tended to have fewer pieces of clothing that were made to last, especially as styles did not change quickly.

But all this started to change with mass-produced clothing. It became more economical to buy clothes rather than make your own. Still, clothes were somewhat of an investment and quality trumped quantity. If something was too inexpensive you would wonder what was wrong with it, and assume that it was poorly made.

The real problems arrived when we began moving clothing manufacture overseas. It used to be that you could have one earner working at a laboring job who would be able to support a family at a middle-class level. But once jobs were outsourced to other countries then it not only brought us cheap goods but also deflated wages.

As a result, we were forced to shop at discount retailers because that is all we could afford. Then the cycle reinforces itself and we become dependent on inexpensive imports. We can’t afford to buy what is made here because it is too expensive. What is called free trade really ends up being a form of colonialism. How quickly we forget what it felt like to be the colony.

I saw a quote that the exploitation of workers in China and the contraction of the American middle class are two sides of the same coin. If we were to demand that workers in other countries were paid a living wage (according to the standards of their local economies) it would actually benefit us because it would give us a chance to once again be competitive manufacturers.

Overseas garment workers only earn about 1% of the retail price of the products they make. Wages could be doubled or tripled without affecting the price for the American consumer. (Elizabeth Cline, Overdressed.) Of course the CEOs of clothing retailers may have to take a pay cut but they are the ones most able to afford to do so.

Additionally, the power used to lie with the manufacturer but it now resides with the retailers and distributors. These entities have such enormous leverage that they can demand what they want, and at what price. This makes it difficult for smaller, fair trade groups to be competitive, and it also leads to generic styles in which uniformity is valued over innovation.

There are also sustainability issues. In order to make clothes even cheaper, natural fabrics are increasingly less common. Synthetic materials, often petroleum based, have a negative environmental impact. With so much available to us at so little cost, we tend to buy far more than we need. We may be generous and give clothes away, but what the donation centers can’t use often ends up in landfills.

Even if you don’t feel compelled to become an activist for global workers’ rights, you can still make a difference as a consumer by purchasing things made in the USA. Buy fewer items of good quality. (You really don’t need as many clothes as you think you do.) Also, you will save money in the long run by not having to replace things as often. Then you can look forward to the extra free time you will have by eliminating all those shopping hours!

One of my spring cleaning projects is usually to go through everything and donate things I’m no longer using. It’s funny that I have less stuff than most people and yet I still feel I have too much and it drives me crazy. I do not understand how people feel like they need to hang on to so many possessions. I’m surprised they haven’t succumbed to stuffocation—being suffocated by stuff. I definitely admire the minimalists.

The truth is that things do not make you happy. There are studies about this, such as happiness inventories of people in other countries who have less than us, and they usually rate higher on the scale of satisfaction with life. In fact, the more a country resembles the US, the higher the rate of emotional distress among its citizens.

Yes, money and possessions are useful and make one’s life easier but only up to a point. After that the excess is simply superfluous. There is even a psychological term for this: The law of diminishing marginal utility. Basically, this means that the first cup of coffee is better than the second. By extension, the third and fourth give even less pleasure.

So these things are good and we can enjoy them but more often isn’t better. Once you have what you need then that should be enough. (Full disclosure of my own hypocrisy—I’m writing this after multiple cups of tea. Even I need to be reminded of this message!) Pursuing more, and putting faith in it making you happier, will lead to disappointment.

How did we get here? Back in the 1920s, we were at a crossroads. The factories were producing what we needed; in fact, there were more goods than there were consumers. The obvious solution would be to have people work less. Everyone could have had more time to spend with family and friends, engaging in leisure activities.

Instead, the advertising sector boomed. They realized they could encourage folks to buy more. They emphasized style, whereby things would quickly look dated and need to be replaced—even if still functional. This was a deliberate manipulation of the American consumer, and one that has continued to gain momentum ever since.

The problem is that mass production coupled with mass consumption results in mass depression. The solution? Choose creating experiences over having more stuff. When reflecting on their lives, people are fonder of their memories than they are of their possessions. Doing things makes you happier than having things.

Besides, experiences bring us closer to other people. Activities are usually done with others so that is one form of connection. Another is histories that are shared with loved ones. And even third parties who are not involved are more interested in hearing stories about your adventures than listening to you talk about what you own.

We are each responsible for our own happiness. We need to listen to our hearts and not the world of marketing that does not look out for our best interests. If we continue to buy into the lie that having more is better then it is our own fault. We must realize that there is a different and better way but we may have to blaze a trail to get there. But what a great tale to share with others.

There are many signs that spring is finally here, and one of those is the appearance of the farmers’ market. It may seem like some quaint old-fashioned custom to some, but in Bloomington it is the place to see and be seen. I hope that the farmers’ market can be viewed as a cool destination in other communities as well.

Short of growing everything yourself, shopping at farmers’ markets is the only way to beat the grip that factory farms have on the way our food is generated. You can meet those who grow your food and know that it has not passed through many hands before it reaches your kitchen. This reduces the risk that it has been produced with the use of exploited migrant workers in a faraway place.

A farmers’ market is the best way to ensure that you are getting produce that is not processed or treated to withstand transportation from distant lands. It gives you more peace of mind knowing what is actually in your food, and you can ask those difficult questions about fertilizers, pesticides, organic practices, and genetic modification.

Shopping locally means supporting individual local growers and ensuring that profits stay within your own community. In this way you are not bolstering a large corporation that may not have the best interests of your local area in mind. Yes, farmers’ markets may cost a bit more than what you would find at a supermarket but it is worth it to pay more for quality when it comes to what you are putting in your body.

Shopping at farmers’ markets should be possible for all citizens and not just a wealthy elite who can pay top dollar for produce. One way to make the market more accessible to a wider demographic is through the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP), also known colloquially as food stamps.

Many farmers’ markets do allow the use of SNAP benefits but the Bloomington market takes it one step further—consumers are able to double the use of SNAP funds. Shoppers can exchange up to $18 in benefits per week for vouchers which gives them the ability to purchase $36 worth of food. It is easy to see how enticing it would be to patronize the farmers’ market when on a tight budget.

A program of this sort is advantageous for the growers by giving more people the opportunity to buy directly from them. It is helpful for the frugal consumer who might otherwise sacrifice quality for quantity of food. And this is of overall benefit to the entire area by encouraging healthier eating habits for all citizens.

And it’s just plain fun to hang out at farmers’ markets. I don’t get into long conversations at the grocery store but I sure do that at the market. This creates an additional positive side effect in the form of a gathering place for members of the community to come together to socialize. Think of it as a weekly opportunity to celebrate what you love about where you live.

Farmers’ markets—a throwback to the past? Or just maybe the wave of the future.

Everyone loves a bargain; no doubt about that. But once you do a little investigating, you’ll realize that cheap ultimately has a high cost. I read a fascinating book that breaks down the far-reaching results of our fondness for bargains—Cheap: The High Cost of Discount Culture, by Ellen Ruppel Shell.

It started with distancing the relationship between seller and buyer. In a traditional marketplace, merchants know their wares, and also the needs of the customers. Of course they want to sell at the highest price, but also realize that making a palatable offer will result in repeat business. Clients can have more confidence that they are getting what they pay for because in a small community, you can’t get away with cheating, at least not for long.

Early discounters like Woolworth changed the paradigm of trained sales staff with full-service stores to the increasingly self-serve model we are familiar with today. Without adequate information about products from knowledgeable clerks, customers are increasingly reliant on price as a signal as to the value of a product.

This leads to what’s called Gresham’s Law, whereby when a superior, more expensive product is indistinguishable to the buyer, the purchaser will choose the one that is less, assuming the higher cost item is overpriced. Quality is then lowered, as the better-made items can’t be sold at a price that is competitive to the cheap stuff.

This creates a domino effect, whereby items must be made inexpensively, which means cheap labor in the manufacturing process, and also cheap labor in the stores (fewer clerks who are minimally trained). Then because wages have decreased, consumers are more dependent on lower prices, which decreases the market for quality goods.

Eventually factory jobs move overseas where labor costs are even lower, not to mention the human rights abuses and environmental degradation incurred. These would be reasons enough to eschew cheap products but it also has led to the squeezing of the American middle class in terms of deflated domestic wages and lack of purchasing power.

Have you wondered why Walmart, the leading discount retailer, lobbies against unions, health care reform, and other policies that would benefit both its workers and customers? It is because discounters benefit most when people are poor. When Americans lose disposable income, Walmart revenues increase.

The sad fact is that poor people are of benefit to discount retailers far more than discount retailers are of benefit to the poor. When Walmart CEO Lee Scott retired in 2009, his biweekly take home paycheck was what his average employee earned in a lifetime. Who is really profiting from our culture of cheap?

A century ago, president William McKinley said that cheap merchandise means cheap men. We are seeing this play out on a global level today, and it is not sustainable. We must combat this movement by demanding quality products that will last. And we must be willing to pay for them, even if it means saving up and buying less.

Sometimes it’s nice to shine a spotlight on an organization that is doing good in this world. Habitat for Humanity is just such a group.

If you’re not familiar with this non-profit, Habitat’s mission is to provide affordable and livable housing for those who need it. It is not a giveaway program; homeowners purchase the house but Habitat does not make a profit on the sale. Future owners are also expected to invest their own time in building, known as sweat equity.

There are also Habitat for Humanity ReStores which accept donations of home improvement materials, furniture, appliances, and other household items. The store proceeds go toward the Habitat building projects. These can include construction of new homes as well as improvements and neighborhood revitalization.

The end result of these projects is about much more than homes. Proper housing is seen as the basic first step to escaping poverty. Once families have possession of decent homes then they have building blocks on which to improve their lives. This can have the result of access to educational opportunities as well as increased job prospects.

Without humane living conditions, there is chaos and instability. But when these needs are met then there is sanitation and physical safety. There are intangible gains such as dignity and self- respect. Entire communities can be lifted out of poverty and become cohesive, supportive, and nurturing of their members.

Habitat is a volunteer-run organization. Groups as well as individuals are welcome to donate their time on a project. Habitat also has a teaching program to train women in the building trades. This can be particularly empowering for women in impoverished countries, who often face the worst of the global housing crisis.

The most famous Habitat supporters are former president Jimmy Carter and his wife Rosalynn. For over 30 years they have set aside an entire week of their time to volunteer with Habitat. Regardless of where one is on the political spectrum, I think we can all agree that a 91-year-old man with cancer who builds houses for those in need is definitely putting his money where his mouth is.

I don’t think he would waste his time with an organization that he didn’t feel was worthy. His quote has become representative of their global vision: “Habitat has successfully removed the stigma of charity by substituting it with a sense of partnership. The people who will live in the homes work side by side with the volunteers, so they feel very much that they are on an equal level.”

Get involved: go to www.habitat.org to find a project near you. Donate money, building materials, or household items to a ReStore. Consider volunteering on a build; you might learn some valuable skills, meet some interesting people, and do some good for others.

With Kentucky Derby season approaching, I recall how I used to enjoy going to the races, watching the beautiful horses and seeing all the stylish hats. But there was a shabby underside to all that when I would notice all the people who shouldn’t have been wagering, who didn’t seem to have money to spare. I’ve since decided that the only good that comes from gambling is for those who don’t engage in it.

The odds are always against you. Always. Observe glamorous casinos with fancy interiors and glitzy flashing lights. Do you know how they are able to pay for all that? It’s from all those losses—yours and everyone around you. If I’m going to give money away it’s going to be to my friends and family or to a charity, not to some gaming establishment.

Let’s discuss the term “gaming.” This is a euphemism that makes it sound like gambling is an innocent pastime. At worst it is an addiction as destructive as a chemical dependence. At best it is a complete waste of resources, turning you into a zombie as you feed money into a slot machine, mesmerized in a trance-like state.

On the rare occasions when people do win, it usually doesn’t stay with them for long. There are countless examples of winners who think they are particularly lucky from a win so they continue gambling and lose it all. Worse, they spend even more money on top of that in chasing their losses only to come out worse than if they had never started in the first place.

One of the appeals of gambling is the idea that you are getting something for nothing. Many view gambling as a high yield, low stakes proposition when it is in fact the opposite. Some enjoy the risk taking or the escapism that it offers. Gambling fosters an illusion of control, the belief that something you do can control an outcome that is in reality completely due to chance.

This can take the form of magical thinking such as performing certain rituals or a belief that you are special or that you can feel a win. This is evident with those who play the lottery, picking their special numbers or buying tickets on particular days of the year. The sad fact is that the majority of lottery players are the poorest and least educated, those with the most to lose and who least understand the astronomically poor odds.

State lotteries exploit these people—their own citizens. Once the state becomes dependent on this stream of income, then they have an incentive to promote it, even while knowing that it is to the detriment of the most vulnerable members of society. One could point out that buying a ticket is voluntary and people are responsible for their own decisions. But I am uneasy at the idea that people are deceived into believing that they are buying hope.

A reminder during this time of March Madness: Basketball brackets (as well as poker games, bingo, raffles, and cakewalks) are all gambling if money is exchanged. Some of these may seem innocent enough but they all rely on the psychological phenomena mentioned above and can be a slippery slope toward problem gambling.

Even if it doesn’t get to that point, you should ask yourself if that’s really how you want to spend your time and money? I know I don’t. There are so many things to do in this world that are edifying to me or others, and gambling most certainly does not make that list.

I am a proud lifelong Hoosier but sometimes things happen in our legislature that do not make sense to me in any way, shape, or form. A statewide bill that prohibits local communities from enacting bans on single-use plastic bags is one of these astounding events that stops me in my tracks.

There has been a campaign in Bloomington for a number of years to get rid of these bags in stores. Many environmental reasons are stated, such as the bags frequently get thrown away rather than reused or recycled. Pictures are shown of wildlife with bags caught around their necks or other such disastrous results when animals come into contact with this foreign material in their habitats.

While I absolutely agree with all of these reasons, I also feel it’s a psychological issue, that we have become too accustomed to convenience. We have become so inflexible that we are not willing to make a bare minimum effort to plan ahead with something as simple as storing a few reusable bags in our cars, even when that small act could do so much good. That’s really pretty lazy when you think about it.

Bringing your own bags to stores has been the norm in Europe for years. They look on Americans as some combination of demanding, entitled, or even childish when we expect the store to provide them for free. California has enacted a statewide bag ban as well as other areas across the country and people seem to have adjusted but asking Hoosiers to make even a minimal change is too much to ask?

The other thing that baffles me is that Indiana lawmakers tend towards the protection of values of a local municipality, such as disputes over holiday displays with a religious theme on courthouse properties. They must decide that if they protect the values of one community then they must respect the values of another community, even if they differ.

After all, this is a microcosm example of the whole debate about states rights versus a strong federal government that could supersede laws of an individual state. We can’t have it both ways; if we argue for freedoms for individual communities to choose, then we can’t go over their heads with a state law squelching what an individual city has enacted.

The only explanation when something as ridiculous as this happens is that somebody somewhere is making some money. It is interesting to note that this bill to prohibit individual communities from enacting bag bans was authored by Rep. Ron Bacon of Evansville. There is a company in Evansville, Berry Plastics, that makes all sorts of packaging, plastic wrap, etc.

I smell something fishy, and it’s not from a dead sea creature who bloated up from accidentally eating a plastic bag by mistake.

What can we do? I’d say get a grassroots movement going, gather signatures on a petition, and garner support for your issue on a local level—until it gets squelched by big business and industry lobbies on a statewide level.

Still, we can write to our representatives to let them know this bill is unacceptable. And for our own behavior, we can make sure that we are not feeding the monster by getting new plastic bags from stores. It takes only a small amount of effort, but if we all brought our own bags consistently it would have an impact that would make lawmakers sit up and take notice.

It seems like cars are representative of American independence, and perhaps that’s why we’re so attached to them. But I feel our reliance on them is an overall detriment and we need to revisit the idea of more widespread public transportation, as well as making our cities more bike and pedestrian friendly.

This used to be the norm until the automotive industry really took off. Trains and busses used to be much more widespread. But then later people had more access to affordable cars and our landscape changed to accommodate this shift. As public transportation became less available then people needed cars to get around and it became a self-reinforcing loop.

Public transportation is more fuel efficient so it is better for the environment, which benefits us all in the long run. With fewer fossil fuels consumed, it will also reduce our dependence on foreign oil, which will also have a far-reaching positive effect.

There is a small step in this direction with the hybrid cars, and it seems many families are downsizing so that not everybody in the household has their own car. But I also see a lot of large trucks and SUVs on the road so there is still much work to be done.

Increased public transportation would give the opportunity for better usage of space than having so many parking structures. Individual homes would not have to use up lot space for multi-car garages; those areas could be turned into gardens or play areas for kids.

Without all the cars on the road there would be fewer traffic jams, and this would help to lessen incidents of road rage. And this could drastically reduce the temptation for individuals to drive while intoxicated, making the roadways safer for everyone.

And if people aren’t driving as much then maybe they wouldn’t be as dependent on drive through restaurants, with their unhealthy food and the tendency to eat in the car or worse yet, to eat while driving. For that matter, if people took busses and trains to work, maybe they could get caught up on all those texts that they think they have to deal with while behind the wheel.

Our society has gotten so used to rushing around from one place to another that having time to relax during a commute could be a welcome relief. We could use that time to knit or look at the scenery or even talk to one another. This could give us a sense of community by giving us the opportunity to get to know one another that we might not otherwise have if we are alone in our cars.

Along with an increase in accessibility to public transportation, we need to make our towns more bike friendly so as to encourage more physical activity. The rails-to-trails projects are a great step in this direction but the paths need to enable people to use them to get from one place to another and not an out of the way location that they drive to in order to get exercise.

Lastly, it would be great to see more downtown areas that are closed to motorized traffic altogether. This would encourage more walking which would give us health benefits. And it would also dovetail with the points mentioned above such as better use of space and creating interpersonal connections.

Think of this as a miniature Mackinac Island right in the heart of your own town—a vacation spot just a few footsteps away.

Every year on April 15, members of the Libertarian party can be found protesting outside the Monroe County post office as people are mailing in their tax forms at the last minute. Their placards say things like “Work is a crime; pay your fine today.” I must say, I think they have a point.

I do understand why some sort of taxes are necessary, and I think we generally, if grudgingly, agree. Granted, most people would like it if other people or groups were the ones taxed and not them, and I suppose I’m no different from what I’m going to propose.

On the surface, an income tax makes sense. The more money you make, the more you can contribute to taxes. This also seems to be the rationale behind property taxes, as the amount paid is proportionate to the size of property owned. Since one of the primary uses of property tax is funding for public schools to provide educational opportunities to all children, I see this as a good thing.

But it does seem that an income tax is a penalty for trying to earn money, and leads to a disincentive to work hard. It is also used as an excuse for tax evasion. Being paid in cash “under the table,” not claiming cash tips, or other types of undocumented income are common methods. For these folks, I’d suggest bartering work or goods; that seems more honest. But I do understand where they are coming from and it is especially difficult when trying to rise out of poverty.

Therefore, I think instead of relying so heavily on the income tax, we should rather increase consumer taxes. One reason is that you have control over what you consume. It could be argued that you also could decide how much money to make but I don’t think that deciding to be poor just to avoid paying taxes is a good strategy. I think changing one’s buying habits has a better long-term prognosis.

I haven’t sat down to do the math, but I think we could reduce or eliminate income tax for those who earn under a certain level, based on household size and regional costs of living. In return, sales tax would be increased on many types of items. If you don’t want to pay so much in taxes then quit buying so much stuff. This would have a side benefit to helping reduce the materialism that is so rampant in our culture.

Any type of luxury item should be more heavily taxed. I realize my definition of what is a luxury is probably far broader than most; I’d define it as anything that’s not really necessary. Jewelry, home entertainment items, minor appliances, and all those gadgets and gizmos we think we need would fall into this category.

Lottery tickets and any winnings from gambling should be heavily taxed; additionally tobacco, alcohol, fast food, cookies/candies, prepackaged microwave meals, soft drinks—basically, if it’s unhealthy then it should be taxed more heavily. This may sound harsh but with the obesity epidemic drastic measures need to be taken to encourage Americans to give attention to their health.

The things that would be taxed at a lower rate would be raw materials that can be used to make something else. Fresh produce is currently this way; this could apply to all grocery items if it doesn’t already. If it is an ingredient used to make a meal then it would be taxed at a lower rate, if at all. (As an aside, with regard to grocery items, food stamps should be expanded to allow such things as toilet paper and soap, but should be restricted so as to not include cakes or other prepared items.)

Building materials would be taxed at a lower rate so as to encourage do-it-yourself home improvement projects. Fabric and patterns to be used to make your own clothes and household furnishings would have lower taxes. If it is already made furniture or clothing the rates are higher; if it is the materials to make them then it’s lower. It’s time we rediscovered the life survival skills our grandparents had of being able make things at home.

To keep your own money: Quit buying so much, learn how to do things yourself, and don’t let yourself fall into “intaxication”—the euphoria you feel when getting a refund from the government, until you realize it was your money to start with.

With all the debates about what should be taught in schools, I’m going to add another subject into the discussion: Chess.

Some may argue against this; after all it’s just a game, they might say. I would respond it’s not just a game, it’s THE game. Sure, most people aren’t going to become chess masters, but chess teaches more than just the rules of this ancient activity. The principles learned from chess are applicable in real life, far away from the black and white board.

And since it is a game, it can make learning these lessons fun and interesting for young people. It’s also great for people of any age; it can help keep older adults mentally sharp and ward off dementia. If chess is learned as a child then it is more likely that people will continue playing and enjoying the benefits of the game throughout their lives.

So what are these skills? For starters, cognitive abilities such as logic, problem solving, and critical thinking. Chess stimulates brain activity and helps with memory and pattern recognition. Children who play chess are better at math which might be expected, but it turns out they also score higher on tests for English and reading. Chess is like a superfood for the mind.

Next, there are personal character traits, such as patience, persistence, and hard work. Chess teaches the value of overcoming challenges, time management, and learning how to learn. Children who may have problems sitting still in a regular classroom have been found pondering chess problems for hours.

Young chess players tend to be more mature overall, with greater self-confidence. Perhaps it’s arguable that the kids who are more advanced to begin with already gravitate toward chess. But it’s also true that chess is certainly not going to make currently immature students go backwards. It has nothing but benefits to offer.

Surprisingly, chess can help social skills. It creates common ground between students and teachers, as well as among students of diverse backgrounds who might not have anything else to talk about together. It gives a socially acceptable mode of competition and teaches students how to both win and lose gracefully. It also gives players immediate feedback and the opportunity to accept the consequences of their actions.

I learned chess as a kid (probably so my big brother would have someone close by to easily defeat) but I didn’t start playing on a regular basis until several years ago. It’s interesting that I got into it because I felt that I was so hopeless in dealing with people that maybe I’d have a better chance of success at something a little more left-brained.

I was amazed to find that this game had the unexpected result of improving my people skills. Often I’d be stuck on a chess practice problem, thinking I had tried all possible moves, but when I hit the solution button I’d see an option I hadn’t noticed before. It taught me that there is almost always another way of looking at things.

So maybe I’ve made a few chess converts out there. You may be in favor of chess groups as an extracurricular activity but wonder why I advocate for it as a required subject. My answer is that if left alone, stereotypes take over and the kids will self-select in or out of the club—which is what it becomes—only for boys or rich kids or math nerds.

Chess can benefit all young people but only if everyone is given the opportunity to learn unimpeded. Students should not have to break through social barriers, or be accepted into some clique before they are “allowed” to play by their peers. Making chess a skill that all students are introduced to helps to combat the self-fulfilling prophecy that only some people can play it—because those are the only people playing it.

Chess is part of many schools around the world, particularly Europe. In 2011, Armenia made chess mandatory for 2nd through 4th grades. It should be noted that Armenia has the most chess grandmasters per capita. Further east, China is a formidable producer of chess masters, including four female world champions in 20 years. Just something to mull over as we watch China as a growing economic force.

Chess does not require expensive equipment, and there are many computer programs that can train students in the absence of personal coaches. There should be no barriers to chess in our school curriculum.

With Valentine’s Day approaching, thoughts often turn to chocolate. I am personally a big fan of this treat but as I’ve been discovering lately, there is a dark side to the chocolate industry. We as consumers need to be educated about what is behind a seemingly innocent confection, and investigate alternatives to mass produced chocolate.

Nearly 80% of the world’s chocolate is produced in West Africa, specifically Ghana and Côte d’Ivoire (Ivory Coast). Chocolate farms are notorious for relying on child labor, and specifically child slaves. The people in these countries tend to live in poverty, and this makes them susceptible to human trafficking as other opportunities for employment are few.

Children are frequently recruited from Mali and Burkina Faso, some of the poorest countries in the world. The children are often sold by their own relatives because they are promised good pay and they are ignorant of the true conditions of the farms or the fact that the children will not be allowed to leave for some time, if ever. Some children are outright abducted and trafficked across their countries’ borders.

These children work in dangerous conditions. They use machetes to cut open the cocoa bean pods, which often leaves them with scars all over their bodies. They transport pods in sacks that are often larger than the children themselves. They are forced to spray powerful insecticides on the plants, without the use of protective clothing. They face frequent beatings from not working quickly.

The slaves are housed in unhealthy environments; they are confined in squalor without clean water or necessary sanitation. Meals consist of cheap food such as corn paste and bananas, hardly sufficient nutrition for such demanding work. Needless to say they are not given the opportunity for education, ensuring the cycle of poverty will not be broken, even if they are fortunate enough to escape captivity. The mental and physical effects of slavery last long after individuals are freed.

As can be imagined, with such a profitable industry, large international companies have little incentive to change the methods of production. As word has gotten out about the true conditions of the cocoa farms, the governments of these countries have become increasingly hostile to journalists and other reporters to investigate potential human rights violations. Large chocolate manufacturers have the power to demand ethical treatment of workers but have not not used their influence responsibly.

Chocolate that is not produced by slaves is going to cost more. That is the reality when people are paid fairly for their work. But this is really the only option when we take the time to truly think on this issue. No matter how much we love chocolate, feeding our collective sweet tooth should not be at the expense of others. How can we find pleasure in a product that someone suffered to make?

And chocolate is not a staple, no matter how much we may joke about it. We need to take a more European approach, that chocolate is to be of good quality as is to be savored, not gobbled down everyday as is the American tendency. Higher end chocolate is often healthier, having fewer additives than mainstream bars, not to mention a wider array of exotic flavors—sea salt caramel, chili, lavender—to name a few.

What action can we take? As consumers we have purchasing power, and that is a way to get large chocolate producers to notice that there is a demand for ethical chocolate. Refuse chocolate that is sourced from West Africa. Latin America is another producer of cocoa, and the leader in organic cultivation. Some of the better known brands of fair trade chocolate are Dagoba, Green & Black, Endangered Species, and Equal Exchange. For a more comprehensive list, go to: www.vision.ucsd.edu.

There is also a movement known as bean to bar. This is where individual chocolatiers buy cocoa beans directly from a producer, and create chocolate bars from a single source of beans. This allows the nuances of flavor to be articulated in confectionary works of art. But the real advantage of this movement is that the cocoa has not passed through many different hands, which increases the likelihood that slavery has been involved at some point in the process.

It is possible to occasionally enjoy a luxury product, and to be thankful that we can do so. But let’s do our research first so that we can consume in a way that does not cause harm to any individuals, no matter where they live.

There’s a lot of talk these days about legalization of marijuana, but not nearly enough discussion about the status of industrial hemp. Since the plants are genetically related, people often mistake the purposes of one for the other. Specifically, many believe that legalization of industrial hemp is the same as making marijuana widely accessible, and that allowing cultivation of hemp will lead to an increase of drug abuse.

First, I am not an advocate of recreational drug use; I don’t even drink alcohol. But hemp contains 1% or less of tetrahydrocannabinol (THC), the psychoactive component in marijuana. Trying to get an effect from smoking hemp would be like trying to get drunk on non-alcoholic beer. But because hemp is similar to marijuana, and can look the same to an untrained eye, it is often guilty by association. We must not make the mistake to throw out a plant with amazing potential due to this.

People also assume that even if hemp is different, it will encourage growth of marijuana, arguing that these plants will be hidden amongst the hemp. But marijuana is grown further apart to allow the leaves to develop, which is where the THC resides. In contrast, hemp is planted close together so as to cultivate more stalks, which is the part of the hemp plant that is needed for the various industrial uses.

What are some of these applications? Can one plant really be so valuable so as to justify legalization amidst all this fuss? In a word, yes. Hemp has a long history of cultivation and practical uses that should not be discarded simply due to misinformation or mistrust. Hemp’s products are also extremely eco-friendly and sustainable, which makes its use desperately needed in these times of environmental destruction.

It is an incredible fiber, which can be used for rope, clothing, and paper. The fibers in hemp clothing are stronger than cotton, and block UV rays more effectively than other types of cloth. Due to the length of the fibers, hemp paper can be recycled several more times than paper made from a wood base. In 1916 it was suggested that by the 1940s trees would no longer be needed for paper as hemp can produce a yield of four times as much fiber as that of an average forest.

Hemp requires less processing, and fewer chemicals in the process than wood or cotton. It can help save forests and displace cotton production, which requires large amounts of pesticides. Hemp does not, due to more natural resistance to pests than other crops. Also less herbicide is needed because hemp grows so close together than there are simply fewer opportunities for weeds to encroach on the plants. It is a very flexible crop, able to adapt to various growing conditions throughout the world.

Hemp had a part in the fledgling automotive industry before its cultivation was needlessly squelched. Hemp can be used to grease mechanical parts, decreasing the need for petroleum products and their environmentally damaging properties. Henry Ford idealized hemp plastic to be used in the production of vehicles, and BMW is trying this today in an effort to make cars more recyclable. Rudolph Diesel’s prototype engine was designed to be fueled with hemp oil. We simply must look to biodiesel fuels for the future with their clean emission footprint.

There’s more. Hemp is a superfood. You may know of the benefits of omega-3 fatty acids, and how you can get them from flax or chia seeds, but the amount in hemp blows them both away. There is also hemp tofu, yogurt, milk, oil, nut butter, protein powder—the list goes on. Just to reiterate, you will not experience psychological effects from consuming hemp as the THC percentage is miniscule. (Nor will you test positive on a drug screening; you’re more at risk from a poppy seed bagel.)

Indiana has a strong agricultural heritage. We must take action to make certain Indiana quickly becomes the frontrunner in the cultivation of this lucrative crop before other states win the race. As of 2014, Indiana legalized production of industrial hemp but it is unclear whether any is actually being grown or if we are waiting on federal approval. We need to ensure there are no barriers to hemp production as this would be a way to revitalize our state: Plants could be grown in southern Indiana, and processed into various products in the more industrial north. This arrangement would have nothing but benefits for all Hoosiers.

We’ve got to get serious about the whole reduce, reuse, recycle concept. Consider this: What if there was no “away” when you wanted to throw something away? What if you had to live with all the trash you accumulated, and had to find some way to deal with it yourself? I think in this case you would recognize the need for some serious changes.

I’m amazed at people who don’t even recycle. This is so fundamental to basic ecology. It takes very little effort—sort some things into one container as opposed to another. Yes, if you live in an apartment you may have to drive your recyclables to a drop off location but you can just load them into your car to run past there whenever you are out and about. It really does not need to be difficult once you get a system and make it a habit. If your waste removal company doesn’t yet recycle, then demand this as an option.

But as much as I like to evangelize about recycling, I realize this won’t ultimately solve the problem of waste. It takes energy, time, and facilities to break down the materials to make them reusable. The better route is to have less stuff that needs to be recycled in the first place. Don’t buy bottled water; invest in a good quality reusable bottle and refill as needed. Think twice about buying those soft drink cans or bottles (not least of all because that stuff is bad for you.)

Look for products that have less packaging and buy in bulk. At the local grocery co-op in Bloomington, you can bring your own containers and fill them with everything from beans to peanut butter to soy sauce. (Be sure to label them once you get home so that you don’t search through a half dozen yogurt containers on your shelf trying to figure out which one has rice.) This should be standard in every grocery store.

In fact, this is how it used to be before the proliferation of cheap plastic bags for produce or individual packaging for our so-called convenience. This has the additional advantage of enabling you to buy the quantity you need so that you can have fresher ingredients if you are only one person. I personally have gotten tired of buying something in a large quantity to save money, only to give most of it away because I can’t use it up before it expires.

Reducing doesn’t only apply to packaging but also to consuming less to begin with. Purchase better quality items that will last longer or can be fixed so that these things will not need to be replaced as quickly. It may be difficult for me to advocate, as a hard core cheapskate, but often it’s better to spend more money up front. Even if the environmental argument doesn’t hook you then consider the impact on your bank account in the long run.

If we change our spending habits in this way then the market will respond with more of these offerings and less of the cheap throwaway stuff. Before buying anything new we should ask ourselves if we really need it at all, and if so, could we employ alternatives to purchasing a new item. If it’s something inexpensive that you might have to retire anyway, consider trying to fix it yourself—you don’t really have anything to lose.

Other options include reusing items, as mentioned above. Repurposing could include using worn socks as mitts for dusting. Upcycling is taking trash and making it into something usable, like furniture built from beer cans. Refashioning often refers to clothing like the clever person who has transformed old jeans into a shoulder bag. Composting gives new life to food scraps and nourishes your garden. Look for freecycling events or message boards where you can give away your things and possibly find what you are looking for in exchange.

(But don’t just leave stuff out on the curb to get ruined in the elements like students do in Bloomington. Apparently my maternal grandmother sort of did this—anything that was not being used would be thrown “over the hill.” I cringe at the idea but have often thought that had I been there at the time, I would have opened the “Bottom Of The Hill Thrift Shop.”)

There are many changes we can make, and with a little creativity we can turn what could be a chore into something fun.

I have an idea for a resolution for the new year that I’d ask you to consider trying with me—go vegan, even if you can only do a few days at a time to start with. There are many reasons we should make this change: personal health, protection of the environment, decrease of dependence on developing countries, and reduction of animal suffering.

A vegan diet does not contain any animal products. This is also called strict vegetarianism. No meat, fish, eggs, or dairy are consumed. You might wonder what is left but vegans eat a wide variety of fruits, vegetables, legumes, nuts, grains, and seeds; perhaps more so than those who limit themselves to meat-and-potatoes type meals. Most vegans also eschew leather and wool products as they reject exploitation and commodification of animals for any purposes.

If you are vegan you are more likely to cook your own food, if for no other reason than that there are still not many vegan options in mainstream restaurants. This means you have more control over what you eat and are less likely to rely on processed items with their high amounts of sodium, preservatives, and other food additives. Vegan diets are lower in cholesterol and saturated fat and higher in fiber than the traditional Western diet which leads to better, longer health.

Meat production equals environmental devastation by disrupting the balance of ecosystems across the globe. There is a tremendous amount of waste produced by large scale farms and fisheries that can contaminate surrounding soil and water. In developing countries, often rain forests or other areas are cleared to make room for cattle grazing for meat that will be exported to wealthier countries. This exploits the vulnerability of the people of these countries who have no say when their land is taken for these purposes.

Eating meat is not sustainable in a world with six billion people. We need to think about the impact of our eating habits in the era of globalization. It is incredibly inefficient to grow grains to feed to cattle, then to slaughter them for consumption. People are starving around the world for want of food; how then can we justify taking what could be their food and using it to fatten cattle for our own meals?

Yet we allow this because we want our cheap, convenient hamburgers. Every time we go to a drive through window we support this. There would be enough affordable food to go around if we all adopted veganism. If we fail to do so it is because we are more concerned about our own comfort than about global justice. If we are ignorant of these facts then we need to do our research to discover the path our food takes before it reaches us.

Ethical treatment of animals is another issue. Almost gone are the days of the local family farm as they cannot compete financially with the large scale factory approach to meat, eggs, and dairy. In these situations, animals are given growth hormones, are kept in confinement with their own feces, and are pumped full of antibiotics to combat the inevitable diseases that are a result of these overcrowded, squalid, and deplorable environments.

This also dovetails with human wellness issues—it cannot be good for our bodies to eat sick, miserable animals and absorb whatever the animal has been forced to consume. We are what we eat. Imagine the adrenaline that is released into the bloodstream of the animal when it is in a state of terror as it realizes it is on the way to the slaughterhouse. All this will be in the flesh that we humans consume.

We also need to address the hypocrisy of considering some animals as companions, and others as unworthy of such a distinction. We cannot justify the senseless, torturous sufferings of countless sentient creatures just because they belong to a species that we have arbitrarily sorted into the category of food rather than friend. If you think the idea of eating your dog is revolting then just extend that sentiment to all the other unfortunate creatures out there.

We cannot turn a blind eye to these painful truths, and we must modify our behavior accordingly. We live in a land of plenty and have many options for food and clothing that do not rely on animals. As those with the economic power we can set the tone of what is acceptable in our world. Choose compassion. Go vegan.

Now that winter weather is finally upon us, it’s time to have that conversation about turning down the heat. This is yet another NOW (Nugget of Wisdom) that I got from my parents, and I can say I’ve really taken this one to heart.

In the interest of full disclosure, I seem to be able to handle cold temperatures pretty well, despite being on the slim side. I chuckle at the fact that I walk to work in a couple of shirts with a large sweater, and those who are driving are in coats. I was still wearing sandals through the end of November. I do have a fast pace so I’m sure this helps to keep me warm.

My belief is that if it’s winter, then I should be able to wear winter clothing indoors. If I am comfortable without wrapping up in several layers, then it is too warm and I need to turn the heat down. Likewise, I should be able to wear lightweight clothes indoors during the summer months but I’m often very chilled when I encounter air conditioning in public places.

I am further convinced that the colder you keep your home then the less the cold will affect you when you go out. I don’t know if this is scientifically proven but it makes sense to me—if it’s 40 degrees out and your home is 80 then that’s a big temperature difference. If you keep your place at 60 then 40 outdoors it isn’t that big of a change.

But the real appeal I’m going to make is to your wallet—I will admit my cheapskate nature does go a long way into helping me adjust to the cooler temperatures. From what I’ve read, you can generally save around 10% on your heating bill through turning down the thermostat by about 3-4 degrees. If you are heating a whole house then that can be a sizable reduction.

Of course the colder you keep it overall will yield the most savings but there are other strategies to help cut costs. Letting the temperature drop overnight when you are asleep and snuggled under blankets works well, and also cutting back when you are gone all day at work. If you are planning extended time in the kitchen with cooking or baking then you can probably give the furnace a break then too.

You might find times that you need a bit more heat—in the morning when you are getting dressed, or when you come home in the evening. Just be sure to turn it back down once you’ve taken the extreme chill out of the air or you’ll be right back to where you started and your body won’t have a chance to get used to the lower temperatures.

Another important thing to consider is winterizing your home. There’s no point in living in an icebox if you’re still not saving money due to energy leaks. Look for drafts around windows, and re-caulk as needed. Get those long, thin tube-shaped bolsters filled with bean bag material that you can put at the bottom of doors. You might even consider putting up heavy curtains to section off parts of your home you don’t use as much—areas that can stand to be a little colder.

Change your furnace filters; if they are dirty then they require more energy to get the air through them (not to mention your air will be much cleaner, which is important in the winter when more people suffer from respiratory ailments). Check to see if your ceiling fan can change direction: Counterclockwise is used for cooling but clockwise will push the warm air back down to your living space. (I did not know this until I did some research for this article, and just got done adjusting my fan.)

Then make this next part fun. Wrap up in something soft and fuzzy, get some crazy slippers, or you could even wear one of those cute hats with animal ears and tassels. Have a hearty stew with some fresh baked bread. After dinner, light candles and tell stories in the dark like they did in the old days. Make a special drink like hot spiced cider and turn the evening into a celebration.

Saving energy and cutting heating costs doesn’t have to feel like deprivation and winter doesn’t have to be miserable. With just a little effort and creativity you can be as snug as a bug in a rug.

There has been a lot of talk lately about the custom of tipping and about the possibilities for altering the current paradigm.  I think it’s high time for this conversation to happen and for changes to be made, for a variety of reasons.

For one, gratuities are supposed to be a bonus given by the patron for outstanding service.  But the practice is so widespread in this country in certain situations, such as restaurants, that it is seen as obligatory.  And certainly everyone knows that servers do not make minimum wage and therefore most people want to do the right thing, knowing that food service is difficult work.

But the problem is that wait staff should be paid enough by their employers so that tipping can become obsolete, or rendered to show appreciation in an unusual situation such as a large birthday party that requires extra work for the server.   I don’t like the idea of a service charge as that is essentially a mandatory tip, and a gratuity is meant to be voluntary.

I do realize that many will argue that for restaurants to continue to make a profit and increase the wage of employees without the extra service then they will need to raise the prices on their menus.  But at least that seems more direct and straightforward than the current system we have now, whether tips or service charges.

From what I understand, tipping arose within the class system of England.  When guests would visit the estates of wealthy landowners, they were expected to give gratuities to the servants of the manor.  As I’ve just written this, I realize that with the use of “expected,” it does sound that from the outset, tipping hasn’t been as voluntary as I had hoped.

So then we could look at it from the class perspective.  If gratuities were given from the upper classes to those in the lower, then this would appear to be inconsistent with our (hopefully) egalitarian American society.  Not to mention that it seems to be an outdated system that perhaps served a function at one time but that has now outlived its usefulness.

The practice of tipping is inconsistent, even within our current culture.  Why are we expected to tip in restaurants, and servers are paid lower hourly wages, but in coffeeshops employees are paid at least minimum wage?  I get frustrated when coffee places have tip jars or otherwise encourage tips as then I feel like a cheapskate for not contributing, even though I know they are not relying on gratuities like those in food service.

Also, why is the amount of a tip in a restaurant calculated on the overall bill, rather than the quality or quantity of service?  I imagine it has to do with the amount that is expected to be claimed as income for tax purposes.  If so then that would be another chicken-or-egg dilemma–do we tip based on the overall bill because that is how the server is taxed, or are they taxed in that way because tipping on the overall bill is the prevailing custom?

As credit and debit cards have become more common, I imagine an increasing number of tips are left in this manner.  Those tips would show up on an employee’s paycheck as taxable income.  It seems that many people still prefer to leave cash tips, perhaps assuming that the server would rather not have a written record of what was left for them.  Maybe I’m naive, but doesn’t that encourage dishonesty in reporting income for tax purposes?  When I have received tips, I’ve always preferred card tips so that everything is on one paycheck and I don’t have to keep track of two different streams of income.  I realize I’m probably in the minority.

I would never want to discourage someone from showing appreciation to someone who has performed a service.  I enjoy thanking those who have gone above and beyond what was required, and it has meant a lot to me when others have taken the time to do this for me.  But this should be truly voluntary, initiated by the donor, and not arising from a feeling of obligation.

I think we need to work to change our current system to ensure everyone is paid fairly for their work.  Encourage restaurant owners to change their payment system and market their place as a non-tipping establishment.  This could encourage those who are weary of the tipping system to patronize the business.  This may inspire other restaurants to do the same, slowly making obligatory gratuities obsolete.

Almsgiving. You may think of this as an archaic term, something you’d come across in a scene in a Charles Dickens novel. (Or else in a Monty Python sketch, poking fun at such old-fashioned language.) Today we might phrase it as charitable donations or maybe even an end of the year gift for tax deduction purposes. But it all comes down to the same thing: giving.

There’s a lot of talk this time of year about the importance of sharing financially. It might be easy to feel like everyone has hands outstretched, asking you for something. It may seem like a nuisance, but if you really think about it, you can probably contribute in a way that won’t really have any adverse effects on your overall lifestyle.

It’s not too difficult to drop your change into a jar by the cash register at a restaurant or add a few dollars to your grocery bill when the cashier asks if you’d like to contribute to a cause. And this is coming from me who is a cheapskate both by nature and by necessity, from not having much money. Of course charities need money so that is always appreciated.

But I am going to suggest another type of giving, one that might be a bit more painful. I’m not going to advocate that you get rid of all your assets and become a mendicant on the street. But I’m going to challenge you to give in a way that is more personal, by volunteering your time.

The concept of almsgiving is part of the practice of many different cultures and religions, and it often includes giving of both money (or goods, in a more barter-oriented society), as well as of time in the form of acts of mercy. Or as we might say in modern English, helping others.

I can imagine some of the objections that might surface here, how it would be much more efficient for you to just mail off a check somewhere. After all, you reason, you make a pretty decent hourly wage so really, they’re getting way more out of you from your financial contribution than they’d get if you showed up in person.

That may all be technically true but the reality is this: real almsgiving isn’t only about the money; it’s about the change that happens in you when you give. That’s why it can be so much more difficult to give of your time as it is much more personal than material assistance. When you share your time you are opening up yourself to others and that can be very frightening.

It can be extremely uncomfortable to witness the reality of other people’s lives, such as poverty or sickness. Perhaps this brings up unpleasant memories from your own life, or else maybe you are confronted with your own assumptions and prejudices. To witness human suffering is most likely far beyond most of our comfort zones.

Support from family or friends can be very beneficial to encourage us to follow through on a volunteering commitment. Strength does come with numbers and can make the task seem a whole lot less daunting when we put ourselves on the front lines. Who knows, you could even end up having fun before you know it. Or there might be a different surprise ending to your work:

I’ve also noticed that many times I’ve gone into a situation thinking that I’m there to be of benefit to this group of people, imagining myself some great patroness. Then at some point it dawns on me how condescending my attitude was at the outset. I realize that, contrary to my expectations, I am the one being who is learning from the very people I thought I was there to help.

The reality is that I was the one who needed the most assistance in the form of a lesson in humility and I have grown in some way from the interactions at the event. I’d imagine you don’t get those sorts of insights by just sending off impersonal donations to faceless nonprofit organizations. As helpful as that is, it’s not the only aspect of almsgiving.

If you want to root out the garbage of your soul and get clean on the inside, then you’re going to need to get dirty on the outside through some real life hands-on activities. And those experiences are a precious intangible commodity that money can’t buy.

There are so many ways to get information these days that I think we tend to forget about good old-fashioned reading on the printed page of a book.

I like the general idea of electronic readers—they are more environmentally friendly than traditional books, they take up less space, and the size of the font and lighting can be adjusted to one’s particular visual needs.

But studies suggest that reading on the screen of a reader is different than with a book, and your brain pays more attention when it is printed material. It’s also been suggested that relaxing with a real book before bed can help you sleep whereas reading on a screen can keep you awake even after you’ve put it away.

Audio books also aren’t the best option. The appeal is that you can do something else while listening, due to the hands-free aspect. But then you are distracted and not really listening which means you aren’t getting anything out of it.

We are in love with multitasking but time and time again it has been shown that this is an inefficient use of our time because we do neither task well. This same principle goes for interacting with people—when someone says “I’m listening” while they’re doing something else, they really aren’t.

You probably know that I’m not a fan of TV. It really does put your brain in a passive, hypnotic state which makes you easily suggestible. This is why advertising works so well and as a result we have a consumer culture that is out of control. It makes us dissatisfied with our lives yet brainwashed into believing that with the purchase of this next product, everything will be better.

Television affects the development of childrens’ brains and gives them much shorter attention spans. As a result, the stimuli must change even more quickly. If you doubt this then take a look at some old films and compare how slow they feel compared to the fast-paced roller coaster movies we have today.

This has affected even the way we read—we want bite-sized nuggets in the form of blog entries or other online posts that we can read on our phones; we don’t want to take the time and effort to dive into a huge novel. But the results of committed reading are worth it as you can boost your brain power and slow the effects of aging. (Crossword puzzles and chess can also help.)

I understand that reading can be a challenge, especially if you’re not used to it. But with any skill, proficiency comes with practice. If you’re in the habit of watching a lot of TV then it’s going to be especially difficult. So start off with something accessible. Most of all find a subject that interests you, whether a novel or non-fiction.

For those of you who do read regularly, I encourage you to amp it up a bit with some classics. Read some Russian mega novel. (Because winter just isn’t depressing enough?) Maybe you’ve always wanted to take a stab at Shakespeare. Or maybe you’ve read some of The Bard of Avon and really do want to take a stab at him.

A hint—if you find the language inaccessible then try reading it out loud. The archaic English sounds less odd when spoken. Fun fact: Shakespearean theatre goers would say they were going to hear a play, rather than see a play, as we do now. It’s all about the words.

Start a book discussion group with your family or friends. This can help keep you on track if you think you are less likely to complete the book on your own without some sort of accountability. You get the intellectual stimulation from reading but also the added bonus of interpersonal connection; something that can be sorely needed at this time of year.

Do whatever it takes to read real books—check something out of the library, buy something at the Friends of the Library sale, find stuff at Goodwill or garage sales, seek out clearance tables or discount book stores. Look for those Little Free Libraries that have been popping up everywhere.

To make books more user-friendly, you may have to get a magnifying glass or admit you need bifocals. Make sure you have enough light to prevent eye strain. (My mom got me a snake-looking thingy that goes around my neck with LED lights on either end.)

So many books, so little time. Happy reading!

We hear a lot of talk this time of year about The Holidays.  This includes a variety of events, such as Thanksgiving, Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, and New Year’s Day.  Sometimes these holidays can be stressful with traveling and trying to visit as many people as possible.

Other times you can feel down because you feel like everyone is having a better time than you.  (I think of my issues with New Year’s Eve.  Half my friends don’t want to do anything at all, and the other half who actually do stuff already have plans.)

There are other days that get a lot of attention that also aren’t high on my list of priorities.  I live in a college town so between the weird outfits and the copious drinking, you’d think every weekend is both Halloween and St. Patrick’s Day, with a touch of Mardi Gras thrown in.

I’m sort of on the fence about Valentine’s Day.  I don’t like the emphasis on romance, flowers, jewelry, and overpriced dinners.  But I do enjoy getting boxes of childrens’ Valentines from the dollar store and sending them out to my family and friends.  Everyone needs a little Kindergartner love every once in a while.

But what about all those underrated holidays that we never hear about?  Those are some of my favorites.  April Fool’s Day has to top the list.  Playing practical jokes on your loved ones?!  My family tends to be a bit skeptical so if you can put one over on one of them then you’ve really done a good job.

Another one is Groundhog’s Day.  How can you not get excited about a holiday that celebrates a small furry weather-prognosticating rodent?  Most holidays have colors associated with them but I think this one should be all about texture–wear something fuzzy on this day.

I’ve often thought it would be fun to have a Groundhog Day breakfast.  Maybe I could gather a group of people at a local restaurant and convince the proprietor to tune in to the broadcast from Gobbler’s Knob in Pennsylvania so that we can see the Punxsutawney Phil make his proclamation.  (Did you know Phil has his own website?  www.groundhog.org)

My church has a St. Nicholas Night every year.  This is an exciting time for the little kids; we have cookies, hot spiced cider, and chocolate coins that appear in the children’s shoes while St. Nicholas is visiting.  (They take their shoes off first, just FYI).

The real St. Nicholas was a 4th-century bishop from Asia Minor, although today he tends to get confused with our modern Santa Claus.  The little ones are completely spellbound with his stories.  One year I recited How The Grinch Stole Christmas, almost from memory.  The story doesn’t really have anything to do with St. Nicholas but it was a lot of fun.

My dad has done taxes for many years so April 15th is practically a holiday in my family.  Earth Day is April 22nd and has celebrations in Bloomington ranging from an environmental fair in Dunn Meadow to a parade (one that I saw included an alpaca.)

Also in April is Arbor Day; when Theodore Roosevelt issued the proclamation in 1907 to make it a holiday he encouraged school children to plant trees.

The summer and winter solstices are the longest and shortest days of the year and are historically marked with bonfire parties.  My sister’s old neighborhood would have block parties (without bonfires) on these days so as to have a community celebration that wouldn’t be tied to a particular religious tradition.

Then there are the vernal and autumnal equinoxes, which I remember as a kid as being the days in which you can balance an egg on its end.  (You can do it on the other days of the year too.  I did it while writing this article but no one was watching.)  In some countries, the spring equinox is when the new year is celebrated.

Last but not least, there is March 14th.  For those who are mathematically inclined, you will recognize this as Pi Day.  As you might hope, it is commemorated by eating pie so all the non-left-brained people can enjoy it too.

If The Holidays at this time of year don’t appeal to you then remember that there are many more out there to choose from.  Find one you can identify with and make it your own.  Or create a new one.  Start your own celebration and invite everyone to share it with you.

There has been a lot of talk lately about school core requirements, standardized testing, and academic standards. Let me start by stating that I do not have a horse in this race—I am not a teacher, aide, administrator, school board member, politician, or parent.

I guess first we need to decide on the purpose of education. My personal definition: it is to teach an individual what they need to know in order to not just survive, but to thrive in this world. Before we decide just what those necessary subjects and skills would be, I think we need to determine what we mean by thrive.

We can probably agree what it means to survive—we need to have food and shelter, at the very least. We also need employment that provides enough income to cover basic expenses. Access to health care and a support system of family and friends is important to physical and emotional well being.

Individuals who thrive would have all these elements in their lives plus other non-tangible facets. A sense of purpose, a feeling of contributing to the good of humanity—a mission, if you will, is a part of this. Something that gets you out of bed in the morning because you want to, not because you have to is present in those who exist beyond just a basic level.

To enable people of any age to find their passion in life we need to treat them as individuals which means a cookie-cutter approach won’t work. School shouldn’t be a factory, continually churning out identical products and rejecting those that don’t conform to the standard. Yet this is what happens when we use the same teaching and testing techniques for everyone.

I cannot imagine trying to absorb information while sitting still for the majority of the day while someone talks at me—for even one day. Yet this is what we expect in school week after week. Not everyone is the same and therefore might not learn in the same way so I think a variety of approaches would provide a much more comprehensive education.

I like the idea of hands-on participation rather than passive learning. I should mention that I have always been an avid bookworm, and to this day when I want to take up something new one of the first things I do is read about it. But there is a limit; eventually I have to get off the couch and give it a try.

Along those lines, not all people have the same aptitudes. I’ve met amazing artists who can barely carry on a dialogue because their conversation is so hard to follow—it’s as random as popcorn. I have a brilliant mathematician friend who disappears incommunicado into his happy math place for days on end.

I once knew a girl who would most likely be described as a special needs child. She was homeschooled on her parents’ farm. She may not have been able to pass a basic standardized test but she ruled that barn. She knew everything there was to know about her sheep and horses and how to take care of them. And she had no problem assigning chores to other kids or adults who entered her domain.

How about abilities that are necessary for getting ahead in life that are not taught in school? Personal finance comes to mind—learning the power of compounding interest so as to not get ensnared with credit cards by their lure of instant gratification. Understanding how to create and follow a budget is a skill that is needed desperately, but is also teachable.

Another one would be the ability to get along with people. There’s probably no way to quantify this on paper but knowing how to interact with various personality types will enhance one’s success in life. Basic conflict resolution and mediation techniques could be taught. Students could learn how to resist peer pressure but also some diplomatic finesse to know when and how compromise is appropriate.

Maybe the question that needs to be asked is not so much what do you know, but what can you do with that information? In an ideal world, your knowledge would enable you to both make money and support yourself, as well as make you happy and give you a sense of purpose. This intersection is the ideal sweet spot that I would define as thriving, and it is possible if we take the time to develop as unique individuals.

It confuses me that there are people who want to discourage mothers from breastfeeding in public. I guess they view this as somehow inappropriate, but the reasons they argue against it as well as the alternative options they suggest for these women seem rather silly to me.

The sentiment heard most often from the naysayers of public breastfeeding is that it’s offensive. In a society that uses bare flesh to market anything and everything I would think it would be a welcome relief to see breasts finally being used for what they’re supposed to be used for. And it seems breastfeeding would be much less offensive than co-opting the breasts for a less noble purpose.

You know how when you buy some product and there is a slip that comes with it telling you all the do’s and don’t’s? One of them is often something to the effect that the product should only be used for the intended use. That’s how it is with this part of a woman’s body; I think we tend to forget that it has an actual biological function.

Some might question why a woman couldn’t breastfeed her child at another time, such as when she is at home. I don’t know a whole lot about babies but I do know that they are in control of all schedules that have anything to do with them. That’s how babies work.

Besides, many adults can’t seem to get a grip on their eating schedules and chow down whenever and wherever they want. If someone is sentient enough to be allowed to have car keys and they have difficulty suppressing their eating impulses then I don’t see how we can expect a newborn to do so.

If a mom has a baby who is young enough to be breastfeeding then she probably already has enough to contend with in daily life. She just really does not need to be hassled by some stranger in public. She has a high-maintenance infant; hopefully over the years the child will become less so. (Although there might be some parents of teenagers out there who would disagree with me.)

Then there’s the argument of why a woman couldn’t just breastfeed in the privacy of a restroom stall. That is so completely gross. I do not eat in a restroom and I doubt anyone reading this article does either. Why should a baby have to? I can’t imagine it would be very pleasant for the mother either, trying to nourish her child while people are doing their bathroom business on either side? Yuck.

Then we get to the idea that it just might be ok for a woman to breastfeed in public, if she really has to—as long as she covers up. There are a couple things wrong with this suggestion. For one, the poor baby is trying to learn this whole eating thing and this can be a distraction when she already has enough on her plate, so to speak.

For another, have you ever tried to eat with a blanket covering your face? I’ve tried some goofy stuff in my time but don’t recall trying to eat with a small tent over my head. I think this would require some practice, and I have over four decades experience of eating. (I think one of the reasons I have short hair is that I’m not coordinated to have both hair and food at the same time.)

If women are dissuaded from breastfeeding in public then they must choose alternatives. One could be inconvenient such as pumping and storing breast milk. Another option could be a reliance on manufactured formula, which lacks the health benefits to both the mother and the infant that are gained from breastfeeding.

Perhaps when you see a mother feeding her child, you feel that she should have more privacy than what is afforded to her in public. I couldn’t agree more—and I would encourage you to give her that respect by looking away at something else. Remember that she is doing this because she and her baby need to; they are not doing it to bother anyone.

For those who haven’t given this matter much thought, I challenge you to do so now. You may want to become a lactivist—a lactation activist. Educate those around you who may not understand why it is so important that we embrace public expression of this practice and create a nurturing environment for breastfeeding women and their children.

Things would sure go a lot better if people were just honest. Of course when we think of honesty then concepts such as not lying, cheating, or stealing probably come to mind first. Obviously those activities are not compatible with honesty and are serious and even criminal problems. I think we would all agree that these transgressions are bad for the people who engage in those acts as well as those around them. But the kind of honestly I’m referencing here is on a more subtle emotional level.

I often find myself either involved in, or witness to, a scene in which there is some sort of conflict, but what is being discussed isn’t what the whole disagreement is about. I’ll explain. I was having a conversation with a friend who was describing an ongoing struggle with her husband. They live far out in the country and she is limited to driving to Bloomington (in their non-fuel-efficient truck) only twice a week. This is frustrating for her because she works from home and the trips to town are her only chance to socialize.

I suggested several ways that she could easily make the extra funds needed to allow her enough gas money to make a third trip into town every week. But then I pointed out that this wouldn’t solve the problem because it’s not really about the gas budget. The real issue is that her husband is a very antisocial homebody and doesn’t understand why she feels a need to get together with others. Since having friends and meeting up with them isn’t of value to him, it’s hard for him to understand why it is important to her.

In any case, I thought her solving what he has stated is the problem would at least bring the real problem to light by calling his bluff and showing that it’s not about the gas money. But wouldn’t it be so much more efficient if he just admitted whatever his real concerns were? I suppose he could be using the gas issue as an excuse so that he doesn’t look like he’s trying to squelch her social life but what a waste of time—he throws up a roadblock, she finds a way around it only to find out that it was just a smokescreen for his true objections. All of this could have been bypassed by an honest, open discussion at the outset.

How often do each of us do this in our daily lives? I imagine quite a bit. We say something that we don’t truly mean, especially in an area of conflict with another. Then we get frustrated when the situation continues to annoy us because if anything has gotten solved then it wasn’t what was really the true thing that irritated us deep down in our core. But how can we expect a rift to be healed if we can’t verbalize to the other person what it’s actually about? And how can we express that to another if we can’t even be honest with ourselves in the first place?

For my part, I find that when I’m overreacting to a situation then that’s a good indication that whatever is happening on the surface isn’t what is really bothering me. I have to stop and ask myself what is actually going on. Once I do then I can often adjust my response to the other person and not only react appropriately to the immediate situation, but then decide if it is the right time or place to bring up some deeper emotional feeling that has been triggered. Even if I choose not to disclose whatever is going through my mind, I can at least be aware of it myself so then I will know what my real motivations are.

Being honest with ourselves may mean facing some pretty ugly stuff inside of us. But the only way those things can be healed and eventually no longer a part of us is by being real about their presence to begin with. You can’t solve a problem if you don’t first acknowledge its existence. If we can’t or won’t admit the truth then there’s not much anyone can do to help us. But once we can bring the truth out in the open then there is material to work with and we can progress along a brighter path. It might not be pleasant in the short term but it is well worth it in the long run.

Here we are once again at our annual “fall back” from Daylight Saving Time to Eastern Standard Time. Since we are on DST for more months out of the year than we are on regular time we tend to forget that the setting of the clocks in the winter months is actually the norm.

I suppose once could argue there’s no point to me writing about this now when DST is obviously here to stay. While growing up I was used to Indiana as one of the last holdouts against DST. Now that pretty much the whole US (except for Hawaii and the parts of Arizona that include the Navajo Nation) is on board, I imagine there’s no going back.

There are all kinds of arguments for it. Some say it reduces energy consumption, or they cite the increased ability to enjoy outdoor activities after work. Economic motivations state that people are more likely to shop in daylight hours, leading to an increase in retail purchases.

On the down side are more traffic collisions, especially in the first week in the spring when DST is implemented. Many workplaces report an increase in injuries and a decrease in efficiency when the clocks are first changed. Other statistics state heart attacks increase in frequency the first three days after the change in the spring.

All that aside, the thing that really gets me is the fact that somehow everyone has agreed to call something what it’s not—it’s nine in the morning but we’re just going to call it ten. What? How about if I tried that with my bank account? I know it looks like my balance is $100 but let’s just say it’s $200. I doubt that’s going to fly.

Sure, I’m being a little absurd here but that’s because if you really stop to think about it, this whole idea of DST is pretty goofy. I suppose we had to do some of this collective agreeing to get time zones in place to begin with. It became necessary so that we could know what time it is somewhere else for purposes of business or travel.

If you’re on the edge of a time zone then your true time is going to be a bit off from the clocks anyway—noon on a sundial probably won’t match up with your watch. But isn’t that enough mass compromise about time without adding the complication of DST?

(On the subject of refusing to compromise about time, I have a friend who insists on using 24-hour time in all communications. When he sends out emails for events, he will have a snarky line, like the party starts at 20:00, or 8 pm for those who prefer medieval time.)

I’ll admit, I do enjoy the memes that float around Facebook this time of year. A picture of Cher with a reminder to “Turn Back Time.” Or Christopher Guest as Count Rugen from The Princess Bride stating: “I’ve just sucked one hour of your life away.” I’d really miss those if we went back to real time all year round.

Why do we want to intentionally give ourselves jet lag twice a year? Messing with our circadian rhythms like that cannot be good for us. We or someone we know have all experienced insomnia, brain fog, or general crankiness as a result of DST. I just don’t see how a few potential economic benefits outweigh the damage that we do to our bodies.

Think about this—it never gets dark at 6:30 pm. In the last week before the change back to standard time it is night by 7:00 pm. Once we switch, it will be an hour earlier. How can that not be disorienting on a psychological level? What are the real long term costs to our health?

I think of how confusing it gets when we get a few days of weather that is unseasonable, and I’m from Indiana where this is common. But this whole light/dark thing should be more consistent, and a gradual change with the seasons to give our bodies a chance to adjust to the yearly rhythm of the sun.

Living in this world is stressful enough on us and I don’t believe we need to give ourselves one more thing to contend with. We already have enough light pollution at night and this time changing nonsense further interferes with our sleep patterns. I’d encourage everyone to give this some thought—and sleep on it.

Whatever happened to a day of rest? I’m old enough to remember when stuff was closed on Sundays and holidays. You spent time with family and friends rather than working or running errands as we do today.

It’s really only recently that this change has taken place. Perhaps it is because we used to do more physical work and therefore needed to take a break from labor. It could be due to the increasing secularization of our society in which not everyone observed the sabbath.

In any case, I think we can see the effect on us as individuals and on our culture as a whole. Everyone seems to be overtaxed with activities, yet apparently unable to divest ourselves from all these obligations. The idea of taking part of a day—much less a whole day—for rest seems unthinkable.

This kind of pace is not sustainable in the long run. Eventually we will get run down, like a battery. We simply must commit to recharging ourselves on a regular basis. Without this, we could end up with an emotional malaise or even some sort of physical illness.

Not everyone may need to refresh themselves in the same way. Some may like time with friends to be able to have meaningful discussions, or just to laugh. Others might prefer to unwind with a solitary walk in nature.

I would suggest that we all need these things at various times in our lives; it is a matter of balance to figure out what would be most helpful to us in a particular situation. Whatever we decide is best for us at a given time, we need to commit being fully present in that moment.

What does that mean exactly? For one, not checking your phone. For another, pay attention to what is happening around you. Truly see the colors of the fall leaves. Really listen to what the other person is saying. Don’t be mentally composing your to do list.

Introduce the people in your life to the concept that you will not always be available 24/7. Explain that while it might be a temporary frustration to them when they’re trying to get a hold of you but the reverse will also be true—when you are with them they will have your undivided attention.

Reinstating a day of rest can also help keep our lives from spinning out of control. I am thankful that I don’t have to work on Sundays or holidays and therefore I try not to do things that would cause someone else to have to work on those days. If no one went shopping on Thanksgiving Day then no one would have to work at a retail job instead of being able to enjoy the holiday with family.

But what do we do? I can imagine some asking this question. You don’t actually have to do anything; just be. (For the record, this is coming from someone who is always active. I once had a friend tell me that I relax by getting stuff done.)

If this advice sounds too weird then I might suggest you try to remember a simpler time in your life. Think of what was different then and try to emulate that. Another tactic is to limit the amount of time you will allow yourself for a task and decide you simply must get it done in that time frame.

Protect your day of rest. You’ll have to. People might think you’re selfish with your time, or that you’re trying to reenact a scene from the Little House on the Prairie books. But once they see how it works for you then they may want to get in on the action (so to speak).

Others may wonder how you are able to get through life at an even, measured pace. They may ask how you always seem to have time for the important things, and how you manage to say no to time wasters. Then once they are on board, their friends will ask them these things and so on.

We can create a ripple effect in the lives of those around us if we can dare to be different. Imagine if you had a new gizmo that rocked your world; you’d want to tell everyone so they could get one too. But this is an idea instead of a product—even better, as you don’t have to spend any money. It is both free, and freeing emotionally.

I still don’t feel I’m completely reconciled to this whole being an adult thing. But one advantage I will concede to is having the ability and freedom to speak out about what needs to be addressed. One of those things is the fact that bullying is far more common among our young people than we may like to admit.

There has been a lot of media coverage about this subject in recent years. One noticeable example is the non-fiction book Queen Bees and Wannabes (Rosalind Wiseman), which inspired the movie Mean Girls. This drew attention to the kind of bullying that happens among girls, which is different from the bullying of boys, which often involves physical intimidation or violence.

This book shows examples of the different roles that girls play in the school cliques. It also discusses the psychological manipulation involved in getting followers for the head girl (queen bee) and how she controls others into joining her in her bullying. This type of abuse may be more emotional and less obvious than what is seen by boys but can be just as damaging.

Some would argue that bullying is more common today but I would state that it’s possible that our definitions have changed, and that it is now recognized for what it is: physical and/or psychological abuse. And with that shift comes the ability to discuss it in the open and not sweep it under the rug as may have been done in the past.

Bullying is not a normal part of growing up. Certainly conflicts could occur and friendships can end. Kids will say mean things to and about each other. But bullying is a systematic victimization of children who are perceived as weak or different. This cannot be brushed off as kids being kids, and adults who do not take this seriously are perpetuating the problem.

Even if children can have a tendency to be mean, it is up to parents, teachers, and administrators to teach them the way to behave. A school is a place for learning—and not just the subjects that will be on standardized tests. No child should feel afraid to go to school. It is our duty as adults to protect our youngsters, not tacitly condoning abuse by saying it is normal and doing nothing to stop it.

Interestingly, it is often bullies themselves who are insecure and that is their way of feeling that they belong, by controlling others or asserting their dominance. Bullies frequently go on to develop criminal behaviors. The victims can have psychological scars that manifest as anxiety disorders or physical health issues well into adulthood. Again, this is a real issue and not an everyday part of growing up—or it certainly shouldn’t be.

If you have young people in your life, develop a good relationship with them. You might be the one they can trust and turn to when they are ready to talk. Learn to recognize signs that they might be victims, or even bullies themselves. Perhaps that moody teenager isn’t just going through some annoying phase; it’s possible something way more serious is happening.

Most of all, if someone confides in you, take it seriously. You may need to take action as well such as contacting the school. Some parents have decided that homeschooling is a viable option after witnessing what their children had been subjected to at school by their peers. Before you write this off as a drastic overreaction, I would refer you to any number of examples in recent years of suicides of victims of bullying. If removing a child from school is what is needed to keep her or him from becoming yet another statistic then I am all for it.

Adulthood means setting an example and being a positive role model for those around us—of all ages. We need to set the standard that abuse will not be tolerated. We must realize how scary it can be for kids to navigate their way through the social minefield of their peer group. Growing up is hard enough, even without any dramatic problems.

Consequences of bullying can get passed along to the next generation. We must all work together to end this cycle. What if we were so successful that “bully” was listed in the dictionary as an archaic term that went out of use in the early 21st century? The way to make that happen is to start now, with those around us.

I decided I needed a new activity. I wanted something that would give me physical exercise as well as an opportunity to meet people. And if I can do it outside then that’s a bonus. So I decided to get involved with the group in Bloomington that does hula hoop dancing.

This wasn’t a new idea for me. I bought a hoop a few years ago but when I took it home once for Thanksgiving, my mom took a liking to it and hung on to it. I felt I couldn’t deprive her of the hoop since she was having so much fun with it.

But this summer I decided to take it back, explaining that I really wanted to get involved with this group. Then I hit on a brilliant idea—I could just buy another hoop to give to my mom. This one has a rubber ducky pattern on it so she got a kick out of that. It only took me three years to come up with this practical solution.

The hoops used for this type of activity aren’t the ones we had as kids that could be purchased in a toy section of many stores. The serious hoop dancers mostly make their own out of various types of plastic pipe. They are then decorated with bright fun varieties of tape.

The beginner hoops are large and heavy and are easier for learning new moves due to the momentum factor. The bigger ones are also a great workout to use just by twirling it around your waist. That’s about all I can do at this point but want to learn more complicated techniques like the other kids.

It is fun to watch the people who have been hooping for years. They can do complicated dance routines with the hoop spinning around assorted body parts. They can flip them around in off-body tricks with amazing visual effects.

In fact, this group is not limited to hoops. There are people spinning, twirling, balancing, manipulating, and juggling all sorts of props. This encompasses what is called the flow arts. Why? For one, when you are watching a skilled performer then the movements seem to flow together seamlessly and it is fascinating to watch.

For another, when you achieve a certain level of competence, you can experience what psychologists call flow. This is when you are engrossed in an activity that is stimulating enough to keep your interest but at a level that is not too challenging. Some would call this an optimal state because you are relaxed yet alert.

So I wanted to get in on this action. I’ve started going to the group practice they hold in a park. It’s not a class but more an opportunity for this flow community to come together regularly and connect with each other. But as a beginner it’s hard to watch someone more advanced and just pick everything up by osmosis.

I thought it would behoove me to take a couple classes. The instructor said I seemed to be picking things up fairly quickly, and she felt confident that I wasn’t doing anything that could hurt myself. The next issue is finding space to practice.

Obviously this needs to happen outside, but I feel very conspicuous out in the open when I don’t know how to do anything yet. But how else will I get any better unless I practice? I just had to commit to the idea of looking foolish for a certain time if I really want to learn this hoop thing.

Besides, if you have a bright orange and silver hoop, how much are you really going to blend into the background anyway? I figure the best case scenario is that someone could come along who knows way more than I do and offer to help me with whatever move I’m struggling to master.

Learning a new skill is good for both brain and body. It keeps you from getting bored and gives you something interesting to talk about with others. You might even sell your friends on your idea and end up with a whole group dedicated to that purpose.

I encourage everyone out there to try something off the wall that intrigues you. You may not have to go public in a park to do it, but look around you for an activity you haven’t tried. Discover what gets you into that state of mind in which you’re really into what you’re doing. Find your flow.

I saw this contest in which you could win a house on the Ohio River in Vevay, IN. For $199 and an essay of not more than 200 words you would be in the running with the rest of the contenders. I thought this was just kooky enough for me to give it a try. At best, I might have a large home with a beautiful view. At worst it would give me something interesting to talk about.

I had a few concerns about submitting my entry. For one, if I did actually win, would I be able to afford the taxes, insurance, and utilities on such a large home? I can imagine how all those items taken together could easily be more than my current monthly expenses in my small apartment. And if I did end up moving to Vevay then I’d want to visit my friends in Bloomington periodically so there would be travel expenses.

Although the rules state that the winner is allowed to sell the home, I personally wouldn’t feel right about that. Plus why would I want to try to win a house if I don’t actually want the prize? (Maybe that’s not the best question as I’ve been known to try—and sometimes succeed—at winning things I’m not particularly excited about, just for the sake of being able to say I won something.)

But my main thought was that the entrance fee and the word limit correspond, making the essay worth one dollar per word. I started to think how expensive this really is; do I have enough confidence in my writing to place $1 value on each word? And if I don’t believe in myself, then how would I be able to convince the judges of the contest that I am the one who deserves the home?

Then I really started to ponder—what if we were to all treat our words so carefully, and viewed each of them as an investment, just as with this contest. I imagine we’d think twice about squandering our valuable words on idle chatter, gossip, or complaining. I certainly wouldn’t waste a bunch of money talking about the faults of other people, everyday irritations, or other minutiae.

In fact, what would be worthy of such expensive communication? Words of encouragement, used to build up a co-worker who is frustrated; speaking consolation to a family member who is hurting; telling a friend we are happy for them—extending love in various ways to those around us. Wouldn’t that be the best way to spend the expense of my words?

Yet we cannot refuse to share our words, despite the cost. Words are necessary for living in this world, whether they be written, verbal, or in some other form. We cannot have relationships with others without them. We may fail and waste our words, learning from our mistakes. But we must not hoard our precious treasure for ourselves alone. Where would we be if everyone operated this way?

This could also cause us to see the consequences of our actions, how what we do can cause a domino effect in the lives of those around us. We can become more mindful of how we can contribute to the happiness of other people. Even small gestures of kindness can have a profound effect for those with whom we interact. This can lead to ripples in the lives of friends of friends and so on.

In a similar vein as examining our words and our actions, we need to look at the material resources we have been given. What if I were to win the spatial river house? How could I then refuse to show hospitality to visitors? If I were given such a gift then I would hope it must follow that I would be eager to extend my blessings. Besides, it’s one thing to live alone in a tiny apartment but being by myself in a large home would just magnify any loneliness.

Remember: To whom much is given, much will be required. But we can’t let the apprehension of responsibility keep us from trying any number of ways to step beyond our comfort zones. We may lose the entrance fee to a writing contest—or worse yet, succumb to fear and never even try. Therefore we must run the race so as to win the prize. May each of us view our words, time, and resources as gifts to be shared freely with all.

Debt is so much a part of our culture that we forget that it’s a bad thing. We just accept that this is how things are for most people without stopping to think about how we can change the situation, at least in our own lives.

First I think I should make a distinction between different kinds of debt. Certain types of debt could be viewed as an investment, such as a mortgage or a student loan. The key here is to borrow only the bare minimum that is needed, and to choose with care what you’re buying. If it’s a house, have a reasonably good idea that it will go up in value (or that you can increase the worth of the home yourself).

For student loans, be sure you choose your field of study wisely, as one that will give you real skills to enable you to stand out in the job market. You can also decide whether it’s better to take more hours per semester to get finished faster, or else take fewer credit hours in order to work at the same time so as to borrow less. Remember that funding your social life is not the purpose of student loans.

A car loan could arguably be a necessity as you most likely need one to get to work. A loan could enable you to get a more reliable vehicle than you could purchase out of your savings at the moment. Then you don’t get into the trap of buying a cheap car every few years, probably one that you will have to spend more money on for repairs.

Even in these three situations you still need to think into the future about how long you will be paying this off. The monthly payment might be reasonable but do you really want to be beholden for several decades? Borrow less or else find a way to double your payment. And make sure the terms of your loan allows you to pay it off early without penalty. Then do just that.

Anything else and you shouldn’t go into debt to purchase it. Boats, second homes, RVs, vacations—if you can’t pay for these up front then you simply can’t afford them. If anything on this list appeals to you then think about saving up for it first. Then when the time comes around you might decide that you don’t really want to give up that large chunk of change you’ve accumulated.

Now let’s turn to that big ugly monster of credit cards. There is really nothing good about them. I know there are some cards that give you benefits for using them, and in theory if you pay everything off every month then you’ve come out ahead. But the temptation to overspend is too great. It’s just too easy to splurge with a credit card because it doesn’t seem like real money.

Motivational speaker Dave Ramsey suggests paying cash for everything and going into stores with a set amount of money. You then have to keep track of what you are putting in your cart because you don’t want to be that person who holds up the line because they overspent. More importantly, you are forced to stick to your budget.

Credit cards are a result of our want for instant gratification—we think we need something right now rather than working for it first. This also leads to a sense of entitlement; we think we deserve it. Our consumer-driven culture brainwashes us into believing that we need to buy all this stuff, and convinces us that we won’t fit in with everyone else if we don’t have it.

And don’t even think about going to one of those paycheck loan places. I’m not even sure how they are on the legal side of usury laws. Those places are a slimy pit that is almost impossible to climb out of. Even credit card debt, that it seems like everyone has these days, can have this effect. If you find yourself putting common items like groceries on a credit card then you must make some serious changes.

There are many financial counselors out there who can work with you in your particular situation to help you to get out of a cycle of paying off past expenses. It may not be easy to make those adjustments but I promise it is worth the peace of mind it will bring to your life as you take control of your finances.

I’m still trying to understand this whole crowdfunding phenomenon. If you’re not familiar with this term, it means asking a bunch of people for money for something you want (or perhaps need), probably through the use of various internet sites dedicated to this specific purpose.

Certainly there’s a long history of communities coming together to give material or financial support to individuals, such as wedding gifts, baby showers, or graduation presents. But I think the difference is that here we are talking about a voluntary contribution, usually at some sort of life milestone.

This is why when bridal registries first came out they were considered a breach of etiquette because you were essentially giving people a shopping list and telling them what to buy for you. The same argument was used against asking for money; it was considered crass—the equivalent of standing on the roadside with a sign asking for handouts.

Nobody really likes being asked directly for money—think of the dreaded office collection. I once worked in a place that had an “advisory committee” and you were expected to pay dues each month which would in turn go towards birthdays, welcome plants for new employees, retirement gifts, etc. It had gotten out of control and eventually people just stopped paying.

On the flip side, I suppose in a broad sense there’s no harm in asking, and honestly stating your need, as long as you don’t badger people into contributing. (I’m writing this as the local community radio station is having their fall fund drive. I haven’t pledged yet, despite being a regular listener, which I suppose makes me kind of a leech.)

Along with not guilting people into giving is demonstrating why something is of value. I don’t like panhandlers but I do appreciate the street entertainers all over Bloomington. From the Farmer’s Market to the Lotus music festival you will see everything from bagpipes, magicians, juggling, belly dancers, fire spinners, and people composing poetry on the spot. I appreciate their guts and can probably cough up a spare few dollars for their performances.

I also admire entrepreneurs with unique, and sometimes odd, ideas. I have a co-worker who is planning to quit her job next year and travel around, living in a van by herself, making hula hoops and selling them at festivals. She is going to start a blog and a GoFundMe account. I imagine I’ll find a way to contribute something so that I can live vicariously through her experiences.

(I’m totally not making this whole thing up. It’s this kind of stuff that causes me to say that I don’t write fiction because I don’t have to. Sometimes I think of myself as not a very interesting person because in Bloomington I’m up against some pretty stiff competition.)

I have a friend whose high school aged son has been selected into a program as a music ambassador and has the opportunity to travel to Europe. He is a dedicated and talented musician who has worked very hard at practicing his craft. I look forward to being able to contribute to the fund for him to be able to enjoy the honor he deserves.

I guess I don’t mind internet crowdfunding as much as it can be easier to pass if you’re not feeling compelled to fork over your money. It’s better than those obnoxious home parties you are invited to under the guise of friendship, and feel compelled by peer pressure to attend. Once there, you are subjected to a sales pitch for a bunch of overpriced stuff you don’t really want.

But then you probably feel guilty if you don’t buy something because after all, this is a personal acquaintance. As you might surmise, I intensely dislike this kind of thing. I feel like it’s a bait-and-switch ploy to blur the lines between a personal relationship and a business investor. At least these other situations are up front about what they are asking of you.

In conclusion, I’d say it’s ok to ask for something as long as you are clear about everything up front. After all, if you can get people to give you money, who am I to criticize? But always give someone the opportunity to say no, and respect their decision without questioning them or becoming offended. This will keep the channels of communication open for the future, when the next idea may resonate with a potential donor.

I think the moon is fascinating. I admit it; I’m a moon nerd. I love it when I get a chance to view it in its various stages, and I enjoy learning about facts and folklore. I even have an app on my iPad that shows what phase the moon is in on any given day.

Many people think the moon cycle starts on the full moon but it actually begins in the new moon phase, which is when you can’t see it. This is because the moon is actually up during the day; the rise and set times coincide with that of the sun so the moon is not visible to us.

When you start to see a small sliver in the early evening, right after the sun goes down, that is a waxing crescent. (Some traditions call this the new moon, and refer to the period with no visible moon as the dark moon.) Waxing is when it is getting bigger night after night until it reaches full, then it is waning until it comes back to the new moon phase.

The moon will be a crescent for about a week until it reaches the first quarter, which refers to the fact that the moon is a fourth of the way through it’s cycle. Sometimes people call this a half moon because you’re seeing half of the illuminated face. When it is between the quarter phase and full, it is called gibbous. (A friend often gets this wrong and refers to it humorously as a “giblet” or “gibbon” moon.)

Of course everyone knows what a full moon looks like. This phase is great because the moon is out the entire night so it’s the best time to schedule bonfire parties and the like. There is about a three-day window where the moon looks full. After that it is waning gibbous, then last quarter, waning crescent, and back to new.

The full moon closest to the Autumnal Equinox is called the Harvest Moon because the light enabled farmers to continue working uninterrupted into the night. The full moon after that, usually in October, is called the Hunter’s Moon. There are other names for full moons that can vary between different groups, whether European or Native American.

There is also the blue moon. In popular terminology, this is the second full moon in a calendar month. The moon cycle is 29.5 days so it is just a little bit shorter than our calendar month so sometimes there will be 13 full moons in a year which means two in one calendar month. Compare this to a black moon which would be two new moons in a month.

How can you tell if the moon is waxing or waning? I learned a cute phrase: “Dog comes, cat goes.” When it is waxing, the crescent looks like a “D” for dog but when waning, the curve resembles a “C” for cat. It’s easy to remember because dogs (generally) come when called but cats don’t.

You can also tell the phase by the time of night that you see it. A waxing crescent is up in the early part of the evening. The first quarter moon is in bed before midnight and a waxing gibbous is up until the wee hours of the morning. The waning gibbous moon won’t start to be visible until later in the evening, and the last quarter doesn’t get up until after midnight. If you see a thin waning crescent then it is in the hours before dawn.

Knowing the moon phases is helpful if you want to do any kind of stargazing. The annual Perseid meteor shower happened in mid-August, at the time of the waning crescent moon. This gave plenty of time through the night to see the shower. I regret not taking the time to make arrangements for viewing; I need to remind myself that doing interesting things is worth the inconvenience to get there.

There is all sorts of folklore out there about the moon, such as gardening according to the moon phases. This seems a bit too much like astrology for my taste but apparently my maternal grandmother followed these guidelines and did quite well. There are superstitions of the moon having an effect on human behavior but this has not been able to hold up to scientific scrutiny.

What we do know is that the moon is a really interesting thing to study. Read and learn about it, but most of all make the effort to get out there and look at it.

There’s yet another affliction endemic to our modern western culture of abundance—the Fear Of Missing Out, often abbreviated as FOMO.

This is usually presented as a problem with technology, such as smart phones that enable us to be connected at all times, as well as the reliance on social media, which has changed the ways in which we relate to one another. Specifically, we forget that we know the full picture of the ups and downs of our own life but we only see of others a hand-picked selection of what they choose to share.

I think it also manifests itself in the prevalence of overscheduling and feeling compelled to commit to everything. If “keeping up with the Joneses” has to do with material goods then FOMO has to do with how we spend our time and what activities we pick. We believe everyone else is out having a better time so we think we need to try to do it all to not be left behind in the dust of their exciting lives.

Imagine the scene: you are curled up at home with a good book and a cup of tea. You decide to peek at Facebook before you really dive in to your novel. (I want to be the voice yelling “Don’t do it!” just like you’d shout at someone about to open the creaky door in a scary movie. FOMO is fed by checking these types of sites.) You see the postings of your friends taking selfies during an evening on the town.

Wham! FOMO strikes. Your peace of mind is gone because you now feel inadequate. Your life just isn’t that exciting compared to others, or so you think. (As an avid reader, I would argue that this depends on what books you’ve checked out from the library.) The point is that what you were looking forward to now suddenly seems shabby and not good enough. You worry that you made the wrong choice.

It also seems FOMO is the motivator behind the people who spring from one activity to another. This month it’s rock climbing but previously it was tap dancing and before that it was origami. There’s certainly nothing wrong with trying new things and consequently deciding that something isn’t for you but I’m talking about people who bounce around like Tigger from Winnie-the-Pooh.

I can say these things and poke a little bit of fun because I’m one of them. I still think I’m inherently lazy and when the tough gets going I just switch to something else but the more I’ve investigated this FOMO concept I see myself in it. Today is a perfect example. As I sat down to write this article, I found myself surfing from one wave to another on the internet, looking for various types of fun classes I could take.

The theme for this past week has been that I need to simplify and not have so many obligations. Yesterday I had to eat a salad out of a measuring cup because all my bowls were dirty. I need to go to the grocery and do laundry, and I’m bummed out because I won’t be able to squeeze in a bike ride today. Yet somehow I think I have all this time to sign up for an aerial yoga class?!

This plays out socially when we see how people would rather interrupt the interaction they are currently having in order to investigate the one they might be able to have. The notification on the phone just might bring a better opportunity therefore it must be checked immediately, so the current mentality goes. In the worst scenario it is extremely dangerous as it leads to texting while driving.

And at best it is beyond rude to the original person. (I would love to invent a device that allows you to zap your companion when they do this while in your presence. Let’s hear it for good old-fashioned operant conditioning.) It also leads to competitiveness—who gets the most texts, followers, or likes—none of which is an accurate assessment of the quality of relationships.

As with any game, you can refuse to play. Don’t pick up the gauntlet that has been thrown down in front of you. Figure out what you want to do or what is best for you at any given time. Imagine you can hear the voice of your mother asking that classic question: “Why does it matter to you what everyone else is doing?!”

“Summertime and the livin’ is easy.” Apologies to George Gershwin but I am sick of this song. Maybe that’s because it’s an American standard and I listen to a lot of jazz shows. Or maybe it’s because there aren’t that many songs about summer so then I get tired of the few there are. (I guess that’s why they have to start the Christmas music in October because there are so many songs that need to be played ad nauseam.)

Besides, I’m not sure summertime is really that easy in Bloomington. I live on a main thoroughfare and I can’t sleep with the window open because of the motorcycles and sirens passing by my place, not to mention the drunk people coming home from parties or bars. Then there is the ever-present gauntlet of panhandlers in the downtown area which makes even a walk to the library a bit of a challenge.

The streets are filled with moving vans blocking your way and it’s not always easy to discern what is on the sidewalk to be moved, or what has been abandoned and is free for the taking. If you are particularly enterprising, with a lot of free time and a large truck, you could collect all the furniture and other items left on the curbs around town and sell them at a flea market.

That is, as long as you could get this stuff before it gets ruined from being discarded outside in the elements by the careless students. You could also take all the unopened canned goods that are simply thrown away and donate them to a food pantry. And rescue all the pets that are left behind to fend for themselves. I’m sure you have no doubt as to my opinion on all of this.

Coming down off my soapbox, I’ll now relate some of the good things about summer in Bloomington. Bike rides on the trails! If I do all three trails and back, including the commute from where I live, it’s over 16 miles. I did this three times in one week and I’m pretty sure I put more miles on the bike than on the car.

The Farmer’s Market is huge, and sellers come from all over to participate. There are food vendors and scheduled entertainment, as well as many impromptu buskers on the streets—musicians as well as other types of performers. Once a month there is the Fair of the Arts which includes handmade arts and crafts. This is the place to see and be seen.

There are three free concert series in three different parks: one on Friday nights, one on Sunday evenings, and one on Tuesdays at lunchtime. You will see a variety of dogs at these concerts as Bloomington is very canine friendly. Many restaurants will allow you to have your pet with you if you are eating outside. Bloomingfoods, the local food co-op, has a water dispenser outside the downtown store for furry friends.

I realize that my definition of “summer” may not apply to the real world today, as many schools have already started as I write this. (I would point out that technically summer lasts until the Autumnal Equinox, which is September 23rd this year.) To me, it’s summer until I can go outside at night without hosing myself down with insect spray. Maybe next year I’ll try a beekeepers suit.

But the best part of summer is having some unscheduled time. When I hear people say stuff like “summer is just so busy” then I’m pretty sure they have missed the point. If you don’t have time to play with sparklers, catch lightning bugs, spend an entire day on roller skates, or sip tea under a tree then you’re doing it wrong. Try scheduling something for “when it gets dark” and just leave it at that.

Remember, summer is a mindset. It doesn’t matter if your classes have started or if you have to go be an adult in an office all week. You may have to get creative, but you can still find a time and a place to do summer without completely shirking all your responsibilities. Think of whatever summer means to you and try to keep that with you all through the year.

I imagine adopting this kind of attitude will help make living a whole lot easier, no matter what month the calendar shows, what the outdoor thermometer says, or what song is playing on your radio.

There are many times I really wish I had a pet of some sort. I found myself talking to a tiny spider on my floor the other day. I was impressed with it as I had also seen it near the window, on the counter top, and on a wall. I figure that’s the equivalent of me walking all over the city of Bloomington.

I’ve decided I need to find someone who lives close to me with a dog but who is really busy or who doesn’t like to get outside and walk. I could offer to take the dog out for excursions and get the benefit of canine companionship. The dog would be happy to get exercise, and the owner would be glad to have one less chore on the to-do list.

As it is currently in my sad petless state, I try to communicate with the wild rabbits that I see about town when I’m out wandering around. I notice that passersby tend to give me odd looks and a wide berth as I stand there, instructing baby bunnies to be safe and stay out of the road. (They seem to listen and heed my words.)

I think we can learn a lot from animals. I was at the zoo recently and had a special moment with the walrus. It would swim up to the glass and look at me. I kind of thought it was trying to give me a smooch through the pane. Then it would go straight up to the surface of the water at which point it would flip over and swim on its back. It was very calming to watch the animal in this beautiful aquatic dance.

It dawned on me that this is what happens when a creature is in its natural environment. On land a walrus is blubbery and awkward, trying to hobble around on those flippers. But in the water it is sleek and graceful. I think there’s a lesson in here—when we are where we’re supposed to be then we flow without a struggle.

Along that same theme, I’ve heard it say that when we’re doing what’s a good fit for us—when we’re in our own sphere—then it isn’t some major undertaking. I’ve had people thank me before for a job I’ve done and I sometimes protest that I didn’t actually do anything. I am often confused by this and feel a need to correct them that really, it was nothing.

But then someone pointed out that why I felt like I didn’t do anything was because the task did not seem like work to me. The apparent effortlessness of it was a sure sign that I was doing what comes naturally; if it took a herculean effort then that would have been an indication that it wasn’t for me. That or I merely learned from my mom how to delegate and “supervise.”

When I was at the zoo I also learned that animals are smarter than humans because none of them paid $15.20 in admission plus $6 for parking in order to stand in the rain for the opportunity to watch me. They also didn’t have to wear a trash bag-like poncho or worry about slipping around in rubbery flip-flops. At least my camera is waterproof.

Animals can be astute in other ways. I was at someone’s house, and I was upset that particular day. The next thing I knew was that the adorable Golden Retriever who lives there was at my side, trying to put her toy in my lap. I thought this was so sweet and thanked the dog, then laughed, which lightened the mood.

It was as if the dog knew I needed to be comforted and did the best thing she could. She might not be able to offer words of advice or make me a cup of tea but she could give me something soft and cuddly that was of value to her. I think another lesson from this incident teaches us that help might come from unlikely places but we must be open to receive it.

Basically, animals are amazing. We need to make efforts at conservation to preserve their native habitats so that they will continue to be around. We should treat them with respect, which includes not eating them. Adopt a shelter pet and give a grateful animal a forever home. And feel free to talk to them; maybe one day they’ll answer back.

Whenever I find myself getting crabby and irritable it’s usually a sign I’m not retaining a sense of humor in the current situation. This may seem odd considering that I frequently inject humor into much of my writing, and I try to be funny in daily life. But making other people laugh is sometimes a different animal than being able to laugh at myself and my circumstances.

I feel like I’ve had several curve balls thrown at me lately. I started to wonder if maybe this would keep happening until I learned to take these occurrences less seriously. It was as if I was in an improvisational comedy scene, trying to buy shoes, and someone handed me a banana instead. And then I got a nectarine and I’m pretty sure a kumquat was in there as well.

To give a few examples, I recently wound up going to the zoo, in the rain, by myself. Earlier I was selling a household item to a friend and went out to where it was being stored only to find that it had been moved elsewhere. Other times I experienced a couple of incredibly awkward conversations which left me quite discombobulated.

(People often recommend yoga as an antidote if you’re feeling rattled. The only kind I can tolerate is a class in which I’m moving around a lot. If I have to try to sit still then I might as well be at home trying to get some writing done. Instead, I’ve found that music from the 1920s restores me to a good mood. My neighbors probably think I’m hosting a speakeasy.)

Today I went to the bike store to have a flat tire fixed. The guy asked if I wanted to wait, as it would take 15 minutes. Since I didn’t have enough forethought to bring my debit card, I had to walk home to get it, then go back to the shop. By the time I got home again I decided I didn’t need to go for a bike ride on the trail after all as I had already gotten my exercise by walking across town and back twice.

I picked up my new glasses and immediately knew the prescription wasn’t what I needed. I tried to convince them at the time but I was encouraged to give it a few days to let my eyes adjust. I did, and later spent several minutes on the phone persuading them that I really did need another appointment. I guess “I can’t see” just wasn’t specific enough.

Then there are periodic bouts with aggressive and unwelcome male attention. This is particularly baffling to me because one of the major themes in conversations with friends of mine is often suggestions of how I might try to get along with people better. I found some old journals of mine and “be nicer” has been a New Year’s Resolution of mine for about 30 years.

(In my defense, I think I’d rather come across as Grumpy Cat than unintentionally encourage someone I’m not interested in, as that seems insincere and manipulative. It seems to me better to be somewhat unpleasant up front to dissuade them, rather than have to turn into Stefanosaurus Rex to get them to leave me alone once they have become persistent and invasive.)

So I thought that if I already feel like I’m in a comedy sketch, then maybe I should react like I’m participating in one. I’ve been seeing references lately about how principles of improv can be applied to real world living. My brother has been taking improv theater classes, and he recommended Improv Wisdom: Don’t Prepare, Just Show Up (Patricia Ryan Madson).

From the title alone I know I’m going to enjoy it. I’m anticipating that it will give me some suggestions of how to lighten up and deal with things as they come rather than trying to control every outcome before anything even happens. I’m guessing the book will encourage me to look for possibilities of what could be, rather than getting upset because something isn’t the way I planned, predicted, or prepared.

Maybe I’ll consider taking an improv class in the future, or even getting involved in a performing group. After all, there’s nothing like potentially making a fool of yourself in front of an audience to help put minor mishaps from your day into proper perspective. And maybe it will help me to think on my feet when confronted with the unexpected, and view others as fellow improvisers.

I made a startling self-discovery recently. I’d been working through this series of exercises designed to help you break out of a rut of ingrained thought patterns. One of the tasks was to go to a local coffee shop and ask for a 10% discount. I dutifully followed the instructions, and was surprised that my request was granted. I walked home with a sense of accomplishment, tickled that I succeeded.

But by the time I got home I was disappointed—that I actually got the discount. I realized that not only did I expect to fail, I kind of hoped I would. Then I’d be off the hook for the rest of the assignments and wouldn’t have to do anything else because, you know, they don’t work anyway. I could then stay in my comfort zone with the way I’ve always done everything.

For all my preaching about thinking outside the box and trying new things, it looks like I need to take my own medicine. I talk a lot about how it can be fun to be bad at something and how it’s ok to fall flat on your face (metaphorically speaking). But I seem to have forgotten that it’s equally acceptable to get it right, win, or do something well.

These exercises were designed to help face the fear of failure but instead I learned about the fear of success. I imagine that’s harder to recognize because who really wants to admit that they’d prefer to crash and burn at something? I sure didn’t know I was prone to this until I realized that breezing through the one assignment would mean I wouldn’t have an excuse to get out of trying the other ones.

So what do we do with this amazing insight? For one, I’m guessing the key in this situation is the word fear—if it’s keeping us from stepping away from the ordinary, then that’s a problem. Fear can be so paralyzing, preventing us from doing anything. I imagine if we probe a little deeper then we’ll see that fearing success is still a form of fearing failure, but in disguise.

Think about it—if you’ve never done something before, and completely bomb, no big deal, right? But if you have a certain amount of achievement, especially right out of the gate, then the stakes are higher. You now have others noticing you and need to impress your audience. In other words, there are now expectations.

I recently started doing some stand-up comedy. The first time I just had fun with it. I was pleasantly surprised that I had several friends and co-workers show up. I also got a charge (and a $25 gift certificate) when I came in third place in the contest. I thought it was so awesome and was excited to think about when I could do it again.

But the next time I was nervous. Would I have as many supporters this week? Would those who came previously think I was as funny this time around? It’s probably good for me to address these fears early in the game because the comedy scene can be brutal and there will be much falling on backsides. Probably the best defense is visualizing myself wearing an emotional pillow to cushion the blow.

That would be better than what I’ve done in the past, which is to stop the moment I start to get good at anything. I always thought it was because I was too lazy to work hard enough to gain proficiency. But it might be that I’ve actually been sabotaging my chances of success because I’m afraid of disappointing myself or others by falling from a higher rung on the ladder. Quit while you’re ahead is a great motto for a poker game but not so much for real world living.

Stef’s Nugget Of Wisdom for the week: The only real failure is to stop trying at all. As long as you’re making an effort, then you’re succeeding. So just keep on keeping on. They say you learn more from your mistakes so if you mess up a lot then you might end up as the smartest person of your acquaintance.

Bonus Nugget: Most people probably find stories of your epic failures way more entertaining than those of your amazing achievements so you will likely have loads to talk about and a ready audience wherever you go. Just try to guess how I’ve figured that one out.

I don’t understand people who never want to go outside. I get squirreley if I’m cooped up indoors too long. Even in bad weather I eventually have to get out because it is so refreshing.

Why are some people so averse to going outside? Is it really that uncomfortable? To me putting up with a little weather is worth the benefit I get when I take the trouble to get outdoors. I find it healing for mind, soul, and body.

I get frustrated at church that we have all these beautiful grounds, yet after a service everyone is packed indoors in the noisy fellowship hall. Except for the kids on the playground. And my godparents who were old-school hippies back in the day who are out walking the trails with their dogs that they bring with them to every service. (The dogs wait in the car, just to clarify.)

I should mention that I’m not an outdoorsy adventure person. I couldn’t tell you the last time I went camping. Even though I love canoeing it’s been several years since I’ve paddled around on the water. So I’m not talking about high stakes here—just merely being outside.

Also for the record, I am a mosquito magnet. Even when doused in bug spray I will get attacked. The bites will bother me so much that I will scratch until I bruise and bleed. And yet I’d rather put up with that than stay inside because I see the benefits of being in nature.

Granted, it’s easier to be outside in the summer, unless you’re someone who doesn’t like heat or humidity. I enjoy getting all hot and sweaty, then coming home to get cleaned up and relax for the evening. I guess I feel if I get all dirty then I feel like I’ve really done something.

I’ve gone on a few hikes lately in the woods, getting covered with cobwebs from the trail. The first time I went there I was in a skirt and flip flops, because that’s just what I happened to have on. Still, I was able to do the whole trail. The next time I prepared a bit more and wore shorts and my mom’s old golf cleat sandals that I salvaged from the garage sale.

I’ve discovered that when I need to clear my mind then it’s the great outdoors to the rescue. If I need to think through a problem, or I’m stuck creatively, then nature is part of the solution. Usually I have a dedicated “thinking rock” close to where I live. The only real qualification is that it’s comfortable enough to sit on, and not in the middle of any kind of well-traveled path.

I’m glad I live close to downtown Bloomington and can walk where I need to go. I might only use my car a few times a week. It’s fun to have stripes on my feet as I get tan lines from my sandals. I’ve read that you only need to be outside about 15 minutes a day to get your daily recommendation of vitamin D. You can view getting out of the house as taking your medicine.

I am more relaxed and calm after I’ve been outside walking. Although I like exercise in general, I feel I get more benefit when doing it outdoors. Studies have shown that being around trees and other green space has the effect of lowering your blood pressure and overall stress levels. Fresh air really does help to clear your lungs.

Look for opportunities to enjoy nature—meet a friend in a park for a picnic. (Remember how much fun those were as a kid?) Do whatever you’re going to do, but take it outside. My brother-in-law has sunglass reading glasses so that he can read on the beach. Open the windows in your home and car. Have greenery around your house for insulation in all seasons.

Along with enjoying nature, we need to protect it to make sure it continues to be around. Reduce the amount of stuff you throw away. Recycle, even when it’s inconvenient. We need to take care of this gift we have been given by becoming more environmentally responsible.

I think it’s easier to appreciate the value of nature when we interact more with it. And once we do, we will want to care for it, which in turn will inspire us to get outside. It’s a positive feedback loop that will benefit everyone.

Living in Bloomington means many opportunities for interesting experiences. There are ethnic restaurants, a variety of music performances—and the chance to participate in research studies. I like the idea that I could contribute to science in a way that might be of use to someone in the future. The one project that caught my eye was brilliantly marketed, as it advertised that you would get your own “brain selfie” in the form of images from an MRI.

I had a nice walk over to the psychology building. One the way I passed the geology department and smiled as I thought of the jokes on Big Bang Theory to the effect that geology isn’t a real science. I mentioned this to the researcher and she said that she appreciated that they made fun of geology on the show because usually it’s psychology that ends up as the butt of jokes.

I’ve been trying to try things that are outside of my comfort zone and this one certainly walked the line. I approached this with curiosity and the anticipation that I might learn something. Once they got me all set up in the machine I had a momentary freakout but was pleased that it passed quickly as I remembered to breathe, and that I would leave with a handful of cash. Still, I was reminded of why I will never go on a caving trip again.

The first session involved me trying to look at some images and rate them according to pleasantness, while I periodically received a puff of air in my eye to make me blink. I was wearing goggles to record my eye blinks, which partially obscured my view of the screen. I also couldn’t wear my glasses so I couldn’t really see anything anyway. There was just way too much going on at one time.

During one of these scans, they stopped the experiment and quickly wheeled me out of the machine. I wasn’t quite sure what my reaction should be—did they see something terrible? Is the machine malfunctioning? It turned out the fire alarm in the building was going off, which I couldn’t hear because the scanner makes so much noise.

One of the last tests involved so much shaking and rattling that I thought of the rides at Kings Island, and why I’m OK with not having been there in probably two decades. I decided it wasn’t going to be a responsible night of going to the gym and eating leftovers but more likely a pizza-and-chocolate kind of evening, with a mind candy movie thrown in.

They give you a squeeze bulb that you can grab if you’re panicking and need to be released from the life-size tube of toothpaste they’ve put you in. I appreciated that option, and was pleased that I didn’t have to use it. I thought it would be great to have one of those in real life. That way if I’m in a social situation and start having a meltdown then I could grip that and somebody would come and rescue me.

I suggested that a teddy bear would be a good way to provide comfort for the patient during the testing. The technician wasn’t impressed as he didn’t like the idea of trying to deal with coordinating more stuff inside the machine. He did have a poster of the solar system on the outside of the scanner (“for the kids”), which I thought was appropriate since it does look like something out of a space movie. At least he does have some sense of humor.

Speaking of which, trying to make it fun can definitely help to reframe your experience of the whole test. I am the human pig-in-a-blanket (remember those from school lunches?) and my superpower is that I can remain absolutely still, earning me the praise of psychology researchers and MRI technicians! I’m inside a giant magnet; how cool is that?! If I had one of those at home I could stick an entire copy of War and Peace on my fridge—sideways!

In any case, nothing was getting inserted into or extracted from my body, I was fully clothed, and I didn’t have to worry about whether or not insurance was covering the procedure. And after all that, I can employ my go-to phrase when things start to go beyond the pale: I’m sure going to get plenty of mileage out of this story!

Mindfulness is one of those fancy trendy words that I hear a lot lately. Basically it means to pay attention to what you’re doing. This could range from focusing on enjoying the present moment and the people you’re with to making conscious decisions about what you do. Intentionality is another word that goes along with this concept.

Distraction seems to be a common illness today. We are so used to being interrupted that we tend to dial in to whatever is shouting the loudest. We also prefer to think that multitasking is a virtue even though from what I’ve read it’s actually quite inefficient because you have to keep changing gears. It’s like we’ve all become preschoolers again with our short attention spans.

If we wander around on autopilot then we will end up being affected by every stimulus that crosses our path. That’s not to say we should barge around not regarding anything but ourselves but we do need discernment in deciding how to give our attention. If we are constantly putting out the immediate fires directly in front of us then we won’t move into the realm of planning to reach goals.

You need to paddle that canoe—don’t allow yourself to just drift downstream buffeted by the current. This may involve simplifying, like eliminating extra stuff, expenses, or activities. Even in a complicated game like chess there is a benefit to getting rid of extra pieces, if they are in bad positions that keep the other pieces from moving freely and impede your progress in the game.

For a real life example, if you find you don’t have time to go to the gym maybe you could incorporate exercise into your daily life. Park farther away and walk, or take the stairs instead of the elevator. I would never discourage someone from going to a gym but I think it is an interesting commentary on modern life that we exercise on a treadmill, going nowhere.

Impulsivity can be a block to long-term vision. If you nickel and dime yourself with your spending then you will probably wonder why you don’t have any money. If you constantly agree to commitments without thinking about it first then you might wonder where your time went. The other pitfall is wandering around doing the same things you’ve always done without checking your default settings.

This reminds me of the story about the woman who cuts the ham in half; the husband asks why and she says that’s what her mother did. He then asks his mother-in-law about this who replied this is what her mother did as well. He goes to the grandmother, determined to get to the bottom of the mystery and was told “I had a small pan.”

For years I kept a notebook in the car to write down the price and quantity every time I put gas in the car. I always did it because that’s just What You Do—at least in my family. Finally a friend asked why I did this when I never used the information for anything, and therefore it was a waste of time. This blew my mind to realize I really didn’t need to maintain the notes anymore.

On the other hand (literally!) I taught myself to use the computer mouse with my left hand. I thought this could stimulate the creative right side of my brain, as well as help stave off repetitive motion injuries to my right hand. The fact that so many people are amazed that I would do this, or even come up with the idea in the first place, proves my point about how we often don’t think to challenge how we do things.

I also think it’s interesting that the use of the phrase “I meant to do that” when we trip or drop something shows that we want to be viewed as people with intention. We must inherently believe that this is a good thing, even if we don’t always make the effort to put it into practice. I know I want to feel like I’m on a path of my own choosing and not overly prey to outside influences.

I’ve had an ongoing project of talking to people who have the kind of lives I would like for myself. I’ve found that they didn’t get there by accident. They made conscious choices, and also worked very hard, even things weren’t that much fun. They kept focused, with their eyes on the prize.

It’s summer. Maybe you think about swimming or cooking out. Or you might be more concerned with the chore of mowing or the threat of sunburn and mosquito bites. Perhaps you’re looking for something different to do this year—how about a summer reading program at the library?

Many might associate trips to the library with cooler weather during the school year. But when I was growing up we were there all the time as my whole family have always been avid readers. I walk to the library all the time in Bloomington and if I’m stuck inside for a while due to bad weather or being sick, usually the first place I go once I can get out is to the library.

Once I had a friend come over to play when my mom and I were leaving to go to the library and my friend mentioned she had never been there. We were surprised—how was such a thing possible?! My mom called her mom to make sure she could come with us because we knew how important it was to introduce her to this resource.

When my mom moved to Greenfield in 1962, one of the first questions she asked my dad was to make sure that Greenfield had a library. She served on the library board for many years and participated in getting the facility built on Broadway next to the high school in the 80s, at which point the library moved from the old Carnegie building.

This is where the restaurant Carnegie’s now resides. I am so tempted to sneak into their kitchen upstairs so that I can see the children’s section where I spent so much time as a kid. I used to try to make myself as small and quiet as possible in the hopes of being left there. Maybe not overnight, as that would have been scary, but just for a few hours until someone noticed I didn’t show up for dinner.

I also have the library to thank for the unique spelling of my nickname. When I was a precocious six-year-old, I decided I needed a library card in my own name. The head librarian had a good sense of humor because she agreed, under the condition that I could fit my name in the small space in the card in the back of the book. (This was in the Age of Paper when everything was done by hand.)

I practiced trying to get “Stephanie Haines” into such a small space but all I could fit was “Stef H.” She decided this was sufficient and I was issued my own card, which I used proudly. That is why even to this day I spell Stephanie with a “ph” and Stef with an “f.” It had led to much confusion over the years but the corresponding amusing story has made up for that.

As I got older, I appreciated that there was a section for college bound reading, which meant I didn’t have to hunt for classics because they were all there in one spot. I didn’t have to put together reading lists; I’d just go to that section and keep working my way through those shelves. But still one of the coolest things about the Hancock County library is the stuffed owl in the children’s section.

The library in Greenfield has grown each time it has moved, and it now provides countywide service of multi-media products. The Friends of the Library sale raises money for library programs, and gives you an opportunity to donate books, movies, and music that you no longer use. There are meeting rooms and programs for both children and adults. A library is truly an asset to any community.

My sister and brother-in-law got a chance to travel to Rwanda a few years ago on a Fulbright grant to set up the first national library in that country. They felt so honored to be chosen for the task. They understood the significance of a library to bring unity and healing to this country with such a tragic recent past. They were excited to participate in bringing an opportunity for learning to those who had never had access to free books.

My sister wrote a blog about their experiences (“A Blog Called Rwanda”) and this quote from Andrew Carnegie is prominently featured, which sums up why we need to support libraries: “There is not such a cradle of democracy upon the earth as the Free Public Library, this republic of letters, where neither rank, office, nor wealth receives the slightest consideration.”

I think we need to bring back the barter system. It seems like money makes things so complicated and at times it would be much easier if we could just trade goods and services. After all, this is how it used to be. You’d go to the doctor and bring produce from your garden. Someone would help you fix your roof and they get cheese and eggs.

There seems to be a fair amount of this sort of thing in Bloomington. Maybe it’s because there tend to be a lot of folks without much money but with free time and skills to offer. Perhaps there are many enterprising people who think outside the box to find a way to make things happen. I think this system has many advantages that we can investigate.

First, the value of the exchange is determined by the individuals and not an outside person. What is important to me might not be to you. This also works with the strengths and preferences of those involved. I’m a disaster in the kitchen so I would appreciate a home-cooked meal; you don’t like to get out in the hot sun so then I can work in your yard.

The woman who directed the storytelling show I was in is also a career counselor. She mentioned that she will do a session for various jobs around her house, as she knows that many who are in need of her services probably also don’t have a lot of funds to pay for it. And let me just say that after going over there a few times she can definitely use the cleaning help.

I decided this was a good deal. Even if her advice doesn’t pan out then I’m out a couple of hours of my time, taking nice walks over there, and getting exercise while I work. I am reminded why our grandparents didn’t have to go to gyms; they did physical labor. It’s nice to come home tired and feeling like I’ve actually done something.

It seems like this is a less risky investment than using my money that I can then save for paying bills. I also get to make a human connection in this process rather than have a faceless exchange of funds. All other things aside, I’m at least hanging out with someone who is an interesting person which gives me motivation to keep returning.

Additionally, it gets me to think in terms of how much something is worth to me—am I willing to set aside that time, relative to what I’m getting in return? I think this is a good habit to get into, even if you are using money. Translate the cost of an item into how many hours of work at your job it would take to buy this thing. Do you still want it as much now?

The barter system helps us to think more about what we value, and the real costs involved in obtaining what we want. I’ve read that we should pay for everything with cash because our spending seems more real to us than using credit or even debit cards. I would argue that the use of cash, and certainly credit, has driven our society to ever-increasing levels of materialism because we have substituted a symbol for the work required to obtain the purchase.

Trading goods and services drives home the point of how much you are actually “paying” for something, and in turn makes you slow down to really think about what you need, when you consider what you have to go through to get it. Maybe you’ll decide you need less, and can work fewer hours as a result—and have more time to spend with family and friends.

This sort of paradigm shift would be easiest among individuals or with small local businesses that would be more likely to work with you. (Yet another reason to eschew franchise establishments with their corporate policies.) If you’re a business owner, it makes financial sense to give payment from your own merchandise. An item that would run me $10 in your store doesn’t actually cost you that same amount so we both come out ahead.

If money is something that we’ve all agreed upon, then couldn’t we just as easily consent to some other way of doing things? Bartering may sound like a modern-day trend in kooky Bloomington, but I guarantee your ancestors a couple of generations back would feel right at home.

I was visiting my parents recently, helping them get ready for a garage sale. Mom and I were upstairs; she asked if I thought she should get rid of a group of stuffed animals. I explained that they are meant to be played with and get lonely when they are left in a corner by themselves. That got me to thinking about how we hang on to stuff we’re not using, or why we don’t use the things we have.

It seems to me that if it’s important enough to keep then its use should be a priority. Certainly I’ve carped frequently about people getting rid of stuff, and I do think if you’re not using something you should consider donating it somewhere. Use what you have or give it to someone who will appreciate it. But what I’m talking about here is the idea that an item is too good to use.

I should clarify that I’m not encouraging you to go out and buy expensive stuff—I would never urge someone to do something crazy like actually spend money—but I’m saying if you already have nice things, use them. If someone gives you a gift, they probably want to see you enjoy it and not let it sit on a shelf in a closet and be forgotten. I know I would.

This reminds me of my grandmother who, when you’d give her stuff, would say: “That’s too good to use; I’ll save it.” Finally at one point in exasperation my mom pointed out that she was in her 80s; what was she waiting for?! What indeed. In my opinion, if you’re in your 80s you deserve to drink champagne out of a silver goblet everyday at breakfast if you want.

Besides, if you wait too long before using something, you may have lost the opportunity. I’ve had things get ruined in storage such as clothes that become covered in mold and had to be thrown away. Other potential threats could be water damage or infection with mouse droppings. There’s also the possibility that you will have things stored at different places and forget to retrieve them.

I have some designer perfume that I’ve had since college—maybe since high school. I’m now 45. So in the past two or so decades I haven’t had an occasion special enough to use this stuff?! I can understand not wearing it when I’m going on a canoe trip but how about when I’ve gone to the opera, or at Christmas?

I recently went through my clothes and remembered I have two suits. I decided to get them dry cleaned and thought I’d wear them to church sometime instead of always throwing on my everyday clothes. They were both gifts so if I wear them then I can tell the givers how thankful I am for their generosity.

If it’s difficult to savor the good stuff on yourself, then consider sharing it with a friend. Have someone over for tea and use the porcelain teapot and cups. If you have these kinds of things but consider them too valuable for anything other than sitting in a display cabinet then perhaps they should be given to a museum—that way more people can appreciate them.

Lastly, I’d say this principle applies to us. We need to use our bodies—not just for exercise to stay healthy but also to live life. I’m certainly not some kind of risk junkie parachuting out of airplanes or anything, but I’m amazed at how often people are too scared to do much at all. Life involves a certain amount of uncertainty. You need to be reasonable and take precautions but beyond that you can’t shield yourself from every potential danger. Yes, wear a helmet when you go for a bike ride—but get off the couch.

The same goes for emotional harm. People hurt our feelings and we in turn are unkind to others. That’s not an excuse to go about like a bull in a china shop but just a comment about reality. I hope it’s also an encouragement to not shy away from opening up to others and to consider the benefits to be greater than the pitfalls.

I’ve read that even centuries-old violins need to be played periodically or they will deteriorate. They were not created to be on display; they were intended to be used to make music. I think this applies to the material things in our lives as well as to us. Use it or lose it.

I should start off by stating that I am at best an amateur historian, and know next to nothing about architecture. But maybe that’s to my advantage as my observations are seen through the lens of a layman rather than someone who has systematically studied this subject. I feel that the changing structure of homes over the past century or so shows a shift in lifestyle and accompanying values.

First there’s the mystery of why old houses had two front doors. One was the real front door, leading into the family living space, and the other brought you into the parlor. This was a more formal space for visitors who might not be intimate friends of the household. In this way people could be entertained without traipsing through the home. In the days before commercial funeral homes, this is where the viewing would take place and condolences given to relatives of the deceased.

There was still a vestige of this in the house I lived in growing up. It was built in the 70s and had only one front door, but we had a living room which was distinct from the family room. The family room was where we hung out, watched TV, listened to the stereo, and worked on projects (unless they were messy, at which point we were relegated to the basement).

The living room was seldom used, as it was for “company.” If relatives came over for Sunday dinner then this is where we sat afterwards. This was not a place where you played, sat on the floor, or ran around barefoot. Basically, it was kind of a drag as its use signaled a long boring afternoon listening to adults talk. It seemed to me like wasted space.

The most prominent aspect of old houses that is missing today is the front porch. Homes of the past had large porches that were used for socializing. This is where you would see your neighbors and talk to any passersby on the sidewalk. I have a friend who lives in a house from the 1920s. While parlors had disappeared by this era, it still retains the large front porch, which I’m pleased to say they use frequently. I once commented that I didn’t recognize the house without a group of people hanging out on the porch.

If people today even have porches they are often merely decorative as they are not big enough for sitting comfortably, and not wide enough to provide shelter from the rain, and certainly not built to accommodate the swing that every porch should have. It also seems that today the comfort of air conditioning often beats out the desire to connect with the neighborhood, which means there would be no one else out there to talk to anyway.

The house my dad grew up in was built in the mid-1890s, and as a kid it was always fun to visit “Nana’s house,” as it was so different from my own home. (It was from Nana that I learned about the parlor and the practical, if creepy, solution to the lack of funeral homes.) We would sit on the porch swing and play a game to try to guess the color of the next car that would drive by. She would let me pick first, and I’d choose my favorite colors—red, orange, yellow, silver. Then she would pick blue. It was amazing; she always won. One could observe that as this was the 70s, almost all cars were blue at that time. But I’m a fan of the “Nana-has-superpowers” theory.

Tying in with my lament about people not walking around anymore is my next point about garages. Garages were detached from the house, in the back, through an alley. People didn’t always use their cars everyday—if they even had one. Nowadays people drive long commutes to work and come home, put their car in the garage, go inside, and don’t talk to neighbors or anyone else. Modern houses look to me like three-car garages with a house attached as an afterthought. You can’t even see the front door as it’s eclipsed by the garage, but that doesn’t matter as nobody uses it anyway.

I’d encourage anyone who is considering building a house to think about these issues. For others, you may not be able to change the structure of your home but you can change how you use it. Hang out in your yard, take a walk—and talk to your neighbors.

I am so sick of staring at screens. I do not understand why they have to be so pervasive in every aspect of modern life. It’s like we have given up the right to take in what information we choose and the manner in which we consume it.

What bothers me is that I feel this fosters a passive way of taking in information. I get so annoyed when I click on what I think will be an article to read and instead it’s a video. I don’t want to sit through that; just give me a transcript that will cost me a fraction of the amount of time, not to mention that I’ll be more engaged if I’m actively reading.

I feel like this creates a culture of wanting to have stuff explained to us rather than reading and processing the information ourselves. I remember buying my computer years ago and getting ready to sign the contract. The sales clerk started explaining it to me, I assume to hurry things up. The irony was that this actually delayed everything because I had to wait for her to finish so that I could go over it myself—I am not going to sign a contract that I have not carefully read.

I also don’t like being forced into encountering things against my will. When I go to the gym there is this bank of TV screens in front of the rows of bikes, treadmills, and ellipticals. I don’t wear my glasses when I go in there because they’re big and heavy and I don’t really need to see if I’m on a stationary machine. So it really irritates me when I can still see the captions on the screens. For the record, if I can read something in the distance without my glasses, it’s really really big.

Maybe I don’t want to be inundated with sensationalistic news programs and trashy TV shows but I don’t seem to be given that choice—even when I’m deliberately muting one of my senses. (You may ask why I still belong to this gym. Several reasons: It’s cheap, I needed somewhere to go in the winter, they have free pizza once a month, and I have a contract that doesn’t end until next year.) I would object to being made to eat junk food against my will, and I consider this to be the mental and emotional equivalent.

Do we really have to be entertained everywhere we go? Restaurants, the bank, waiting rooms—they all have screens. Can we not be away from a TV for even a few minutes? Is it that we feel we need to be fed a constant stream of information because it’s too much trouble to actively seek it ourselves? Are we that passive that we can’t read a magazine in a waiting room or maybe compose our grocery list while we work out? Are we that afraid to be alone with our thoughts? Or are we terrified of trying to have an actual real life conversation with another person?

Then there’s the issue that much of what we are exposed to is marketing, creating a sense of dissatisfaction with our lives and convincing us that buying certain products is the solution. Do we really not see through this? We need to be on our guard against the barrage of advertising slung our way. Remember that television broadcasts are referred to as “programming.” Think about that for a long while.

Try going for a digital detox. Unplug from everything and see what happens. Take walks outside, play old-school board games, write letters by hand on physical paper. Patronize establishments that don’t have TVs and explain that the absence of screens is why you are there. If you are confronted by unwanted media, get really bold and ask for the intrusive stream to be shut off. You can legitimately say it’s for health reasons.

I remember encountering kids while growing up who weren’t allowed to watch TV or maybe the family didn’t even have one. I thought it was extreme at the time but now I understand the wisdom of this conviction. I also see how ahead of the time these parents were as this was in the 70s and 80s before it was as pervasive a problem as it is now.

And then there are the radical bumper stickers I remember from my 90s college days: Kill Your Television! Good advice for us all, at any time.

168. The number of hours in a week. We all get the same amount. What happens from there is up to us.

I get tired of hearing “everyone’s just so busy.” Why? Are these conscious choices to participate in activities that bring us joy or help us grow? Or have we drifted into this schedule because that’s what it’s like for those we know and so we just assume this is the way it has to be for us too?

Certainly, there are things we must do like work, household chores, and caring for children (and sometimes parents). Beyond that, we need to identify what is necessary and helpful for our physical, mental and emotional well-being and be diligent about making those activities a priority.

We all need friends and real human connection. If we are too busy to get together with people then I think that’s a problem. There are also people with the opposite situation, that of having constant superficial interactions that they never spend quality time with anyone. They’re like social hummingbirds, always flitting about from one social contact to another without ever really getting to know anyone or being known themselves.

If you want your social life to be more than empty calories then you will need to invest time in people, and this will take effort. How do you make time for this? You may have to get creative in order to make use of small pockets of opportunity—meet for lunch on your break, have someone over for tea when the kids are down for a nap, or go to the gym together.

You could invite others to share in your hobbies, like hosting a knit night. Or involve them in your projects and have people over to address postcards for a charity fundraiser instead of slogging through it yourself. You can even rope people in for your obligations, as long as you make it fun. I’ve had a good time helping friends prepare to move (although in one instance I did need to step outside as I was getting loopy from the oven cleaner).

Another thing that we need to carve out time for is pursuing our interests. This could be a hobby, a sport, a skill we are trying to learn, or reading about something that gets us excited. We need this mental stimulation and a chance to express what makes us unique individuals. I have found that when I don’t get to be creative then I become depressed.

The best situation is when we can allow ourselves to become lost in an engaging activity and really get into the flow of what we’re doing. The creativity pours out of us and everything just seems to gel together by itself without it feeling like work to us. I love it when I can become so engrossed in a project that I forget about the pizza in the oven until I smell that it’s burning. A total bummer for dinner but awesome for the mind.

I think we need to be on guard against time wasters, things that suck us in and sap our energy. This stuff is what we do when we want to procrastinate until we have no motivation to do anything and then it’s almost time to go to bed so we might as well sit here and succumb to inertia. I’ve been known to play solitaire (the old fashioned kind, with a deck of cards) to relax for a few minutes in the evening and then two hours later I realized that if I were going to stay up that late anyway I could have done something of value, like finish one of these articles before the deadline.

An easy way to identify a black hole in your day is to see if it relates to the things you say you value. I talk a lot about how much writing means to me but if you look at how I actually spend my time then you’d think that watching Jane Austen movies is way higher on my list of priorities. Put your money where your mouth is and don’t fill up your schedule with junk food activities.

You may have to learn to say no a bit more often—but remember that this gives you the freedom to say yes to something else. Those 168 hours are yours to do with as you will. And if you mess up then you get another chance to get it right next week.

I read this article about a Japanese concept called wabi-sabi, which is the idea of intentionally appreciating things that are not perfect. I think this is difficult for us in our western culture, with it’s emphasis on consumerism. We have been conditioned from years of advertising to want shiny new stuff, and to expect uniformity in the food we eat, the clothes we wear, and the items we have in our homes.

But if we are honest with ourselves, it is often the unique that gives us the most pleasure, and frequently we have the most affection for what has stood the test of time. I think this is why marketers have to work so hard to convince us that we constantly need to buy new products. I think this idea includes appreciating what we already have and being thankful, rather than finding the flaws with everything and deciding we need something else.

I read once that Persian rug makers intentionally make a mistake when weaving so that the finished product won’t be flawless, and therefore presumably a source of pride for the craftsman. This really stuck with me because it told me that absolute perfection wasn’t their overall goal.

I had a sweater that was a hand-me-down from my dad. It wore out at the elbows and the sleeves were coming apart from the body. So I cut off the top and made it into a skirt. I love the idea of repurposing something so that I can continue using it. Interesting to note that I have not had the experience that many women report, that of going somewhere and finding someone else dressed like them.

As you might imagine, I have a soft spot in my heart for local independent restaurants. I know some people may find comfort in knowing just what to expect, such as in a franchise. But there is a whole block of ethnic places in Bloomington where I point to the menu and hope I’ll end up with something I like (meaning, a dish without meat or onions. I’ve not always been successful, but then I know what to avoid the next time.)

Giving people some slack goes along with this.  Allow others—and yourself—to be human.  One example is not jumping to conclusions when someone doesn’t behave the way we’d like them to.  I know I usually interpret others’ actions by what it would mean if I did it, and I’m often wrong. I saw a quote floating around on Facebook that I just love:  “Not my circus; not my monkeys.”  This means that we’re not responsible for everybody else, which means that we don’t have to keep track of everything they do wrong.  Nor do we have to try to change them.

[For the record, I’m not there yet.  I am the Imperial Empress of Assumptions and Grand Duchess of Trying to Fix Everybody Else, with substantial land holdings in Meddling in Their Business.]

Having said all that, obviously we need balance.  We should not endure abuse from others, or use it as an excuse ourselves to convince others that we have a right to treat them poorly.  I simply mean to encourage cultivation of acceptance for our differences and seeing how we can learn from—and help—each other.

I think that chess has actually helped me to learn how to deal with people better, as unlikely as this might seem. The irony here is that I started playing more because I was so frustrated at how behind the curve I feel I am with social interaction. I do these chess problems in which the computer gives you a snapshot of the board, and you decide the best move. Some I get right away, some it takes a few tries, and some I go over and over, unable to see the answer.

I’ve had puzzles that stumped me; I was sure I had tried all possible moves. Then I hit the solution button and realized there was something I didn’t see. I’ve discovered that this teaches me that there’s always another way of looking at things—even when I think I’ve exhausted all options, it’s likely there is something that I overlooked.

I imagine if I’m more gracious with others then they will be more likely to return the favor. I think this whole wabi-sabi concept is summed up in a quote from A. A. Milne, the creator of Winnie-the-Pooh: Weeds are flowers, too, once you get to know them.

I’ve been reading a lot lately about personality types and their differences. I’ve had discussions with friends about this, trying to figure out my 4-letter code from the Myers Briggs Type Indicator, or my title from the Keirsey Temperament Sorter.

I think the main thing I’ve learned is that it’s not so much of trying to nail down your personality into one particular description but more about identifying your strengths and figuring out how to put them to good use. I feel so many of my answers in these assessments could vary, depending on the situation. Without a context I have difficulty predicting how I would act. I also think it’s unlikely that everyone fits into one discrete category. If we look at traits or tendencies then I think we will have more serviceable information.

I think many times we experience anxiety and/or depression it is due to feeling like a square peg in a round hole. It is when we try to be something we’re not in order to fit in with a group of people that causes us stress. Certainly we are adaptable and can modify our behavior when needed. But I’m talking about when you have to suppress your personality for a long period and don’t have an outlet in which you can be yourself.

To use myself as an example, I’ve been feeling lately that I have been traumatizing all the introverts of my acquaintance with my intense personality. (Since this happens so often I wonder if I should list that as one of my hobbies.) I feel like this loud yellow duck with big weird feet, making a mess and splashing around all these swans who are trying to protect themselves from getting wet. Then I met someone who pointed out the obvious: I just need to meet more ducks. Luckily, as a fellow duck, she knows the way to the pond.

Compared to this woman, I felt like one of those little fuzzy ducklings you see on greeting cards. She, however, is a full-grown mallard. She was coordinating a storytelling show (called “Storyzilla,” if that’s any indication of her personality). I met with her twice in her home so that she could coach me to help draw forth my tale. I was nervous but I really wanted the chance to share my experiences. I was wondering if I’d have to be medicated in order to be calm enough to participate in the event.

But then I showed up for the rehearsal at the (metaphorical) duck pond. What does it have that I didn’t know I was missing, that makes it so attractive to ducks like me? A microphone. And a chance to use it. All of a sudden I was having fun. The actual show was even better; I was able to let out all that energy that in everyday life gets me branded as being too hyper—but in this situation I was considered an animated performer.

I’ve done a few activities like this before so it wasn’t completely new for me to be in front of an audience. What was unusual was how comfortable I felt in the moment. Other times I’d spoken in public had been more stressful and I didn’t really enjoy the experience until afterwards, looking back with a sense of accomplishment (and relief that it was over).

I think part of what made this such a great evening was discovering an appropriate venue to express aspects of my personality that I have felt a need to keep hidden lately. It was also eye-opening to meet people who weren’t overwhelmed by me. I think if I regularly got a chance to get up on stage and do my thing then I might be better able to fit in with normal society and not feel so much like a circus freak in my everyday life.

I’m not suggesting that everyone run out and sign up for some sort of opportunity to put themselves on display as an antidote to their problems. I realize many people would rather clean out the basement or do some other odious task to get out of a potential speaking engagement. But I do think if you’re feeling like a fish out of water (because maybe you’re a fish, not a duck) then you need to find an avenue where you can be a fish, and hang out with other fishes, in your own fish pool.

They say you can learn a lot from bad experiences. If so then I think I made a deposit in my knowledge bank as a result of the following story.

I was working at an office job, which was bad enough as I don’t like sitting, being trapped in front of a computer, or answering phones. But the emotional culture in this place was equally toxic to my personality type. There wasn’t any communication—everything was assumed or implied or you just kind of tried to figure it out but then never really knew if you got it right.

Then there was the guy I had to work with whom I dubbed Toad. I didn’t really like that at first because I felt it is insulting to Mr. Toad of Toad Hall from Wind in the Willows. But it fits both his revolting personal hygiene and repellent personality.  I never liked or trusted him from the beginning, and over time it dawned on me that among his other character flaws, Toad is a bully.

As just one example, he spent a lot of time and effort avoiding talking to clients.  He would direct me to take a message, then grill me about what they wanted, and/or listen to my side of the conversation and berate me for how I handled the call.  I couldn’t help but observe to myself that with a fraction of the amount of effort he put into evading the calls, he could have just talked to them himself.  It reminded me of the classic conversation between parents and children, about how in the amount of time they’ve spent arguing about cleaning their room they could have had it done.

The obvious question is why did I not speak to the owner about Toad?  One, the aforementioned custom in this workplace of never mentioning the elephant in the room, and two, since Toad’s position was much more important than mine I worried that I would have been viewed as the troublemaker.

I won’t go into every situation in which he harassed, badgered, intimidated, or degraded me, but the last incident was the most memorable.  He wanted me to lie for him and tell someone he was in a meeting when he wasn’t.  This may not seem like a big deal to many but it is to me as I value truthfulness.  So I told the customer that he was in the middle of something and unable to take the call.

As expected, he called me from the next room, having listened to what I said, and really gave me a hard time, saying that it sounded like he was blowing the guy off, which is exactly what was happening in this and other situations.  I said that I wasn’t going to lie.  He then threatened me with “if you can’t do your job then we’ll get someone in here who can” (which he didn’t have the authority to do, by the way). I said, “I’m really not trying to be difficult, but I’m not going to lie.”

I was glad that exchange with Toad took place over the phone because I was shaking, my voice was quavering, I was flushed, and I was sweating through several layers of clothing. But I realized that even if all that is happening when you stand up to a bully—you’re still standing up to a bully.

After this took place, I contacted someone about a job I was interested in. I heard back the same day, had an interview two days later, a job offer the day after that, and turned in my notice the following week. It is worth noting that I had been looking for another job the entire year I was there, but never got an interview anywhere. Yet as soon as this incident took place I had a new job almost immediately. It’s as if I learned what I needed to and once I acted on it then the way was paved for me to be able to move on and no longer remain stuck there.

The other coincidence was that around this time I had a conversation with someone about how I was looking for performance opportunities. He recommended I get in touch with a woman he knew who was putting together a storytelling show. I did so, and discovered she was still looking for people for her next event. The theme? Work. I had a new job and a chance to be on stage; a happy ending to this tale.

I think we can learn a lot from childrens’ books.  I suppose that’s one of the reasons that people write them in the first place, to instruct kids.  I am a big fan of Dr. Seuss as I find his stories have significance on various levels.  You can read them on the surface and look at the wacky pictures and be entertained.  Then you can also look a little closer and find a deeper meaning.

Sometimes I think the messages are easier to digest when they are given to us in a childrens’ story; they seem less threatening and confrontational.  If you know you’re reading something that’s supposed to be good for you then you could be concerned about what you are going to get out of it or even be primed to disagree.

But if you’re having fun, reading a cute tale, then the moral of the story might sneak up on you before you realize it.  It’s kind of like how you can trick your body into exercising by having fun–before you know it, you’ve burned off a couple hundred calories.

One of the Dr. Seuss stories that really got to me as a kid was The Zax.  There was a north-going Zax and a south-going Zax who got stuck in their tracks.  They met face to face, and neither would budge to either side to get around the other.  This meant neither Zax could continue the mission of making tracks.  They were so stubborn that they stayed there forever.  As the countryside changed, a freeway bypass was built around them because they were still there, unmoved, in a standoff.  The obvious analogy for us as adults is that extreme inflexibility leads to being stuck—complete stagnation—with your purpose in life coming to a grinding halt.

I really struggled with trying to wrap my child’s brain around this one.  If they couldn’t step to the right or the left, why couldn’t one of them leapfrog over the other?  Then if that would cause an argument as to who had to stoop down then they could do it twice, with each one having the chance to be the leaper.  (But then I guess they would have to do it three times, otherwise they’d be facing back the way they came.)

Or, if they grabbed each other’s waists they could do a swing dance kind of move around each other.  It wouldn’t be stepping to either side (they could plant their feet on the other side of the opposing Zax, keeping them in line with their own previous tracks).  Then they could flip around each other quickly and be on their merry way.  I suppose then there’s still the issue that they might end up facing the wrong direction even briefly which might be a problem.

But so what?  You’ve been making tracks all this time and you’re going to throw away all your work just because you have an obstacle?  What’s so wrong with a small step to the side, or a swing around that leaves you facing backward for a moment?  Personally I’d vote for the leapfrog as this would maintain the purity of the line more than the other options.  I wouldn’t mind being the one who was leapfrogged over if it meant I could reach my goal.  Let’s just say if you were standing between me and pizza, I wouldn’t have a problem even crawling between your feet. I guess it all depends on your priorities.

To this day I still puzzle about possible solutions to the Zax issue.  (Like, if they were particularly limber then how about if they each stood on their right legs, then they could lift the left one up and over the other Zax?  Nobody steps aside, no facing backward, no arguments about who has to be the bottom frog.  But this assumes a ballet background and I don’t know that much about Zax culture.)

I guess any of these suggestions would only work if both Zax were willing to compromise.  No matter how many crazy ideas one of them came up with, it all would be in vain if the other wouldn’t cooperate or even listen.  So the question we need to ask ourselves is, would we rather be right or further down the path toward our goal?  I certainly need to listen to my own advice—and remember to read such stories like these that point out the ridiculousness of terminal rigidity.

Why does everything have to revolve around food?  Yes, we need it to survive but food is here to serve us, not the other way around.

Some may say that you have to eat so why not do it while spending time with people?  You’re going to be having lunch so you might as well do it with a friend.  Family meals are often the only time everyone is together to catch up on each other’s lives.  I have fond memories of Sunday dinners with relatives, even if I wasn’t allowed to change into play clothes until after all the company left.

But why can’t we can’t get together to have a class, meeting, or activity without eating?  It’s as if we aren’t capable of having a conversation unless we have food in front of us.  Certainly there is nothing wrong with having people over for supper when you’re going to need to eat anyway, but it seems that events that otherwise have nothing to do with a meal get complicated when food gets involved.

A good example of this is a women’s retreat we were planning at church.  We were going to have a speaker, then a break for lunch, then continue the discussion in the afternoon.  A few days before the gathering, no one had signed up to bring food so the coordinator of the group was panicking, thinking that she would have to do it all herself.  The whole event ended up getting canceled, despite a suggestion of just skipping the luncheon and having the meeting in the afternoon.  I thought if we had planned it with only the speaker and discussion in the first place, without hassling with lunch, then it might have actually happened.

I’ve been in other groups in which almost the first order of business is to determine who is going to bring snacks—for an evening group that starts at 7 pm.  Didn’t you just eat dinner?!  As a non-snacker I get annoyed because I don’t feel like being roped in to buying items I’m not interested in eating.  If I am hungry then I eat a meal and I don’t want snacks.  If I’ve had dinner then I don’t need to snack.  I’m not sure why this is such a radical concept but when I say things like this people look at me like I’m from Neptune.

I recently read a book about our eating habits as Americans and how living in a land of abundance has shaped our eating tendencies.  We can now eat anytime we want with very little effort, due to fast food and prepackaged items.  We don’t eat because we’re hungry; we eat as a result of social cues—it’s dinnertime and that’s when we’re supposed to eat or we feel obligated to nibble on appetizers at the party to be polite.  Eating has become a habit rather than solely a biological need.  This mindless eating is particularly dangerous when you add television.  We tend to eat more when we’re paying attention to something else, rather than to what, and how much, we are putting into our mouths.

I wonder if we eat more empty calories today to make up for the emptiness we feel inside; we need comfort food because we are not comforted in our relationships.  Before we eat we should ask:  Am I truly hungry, or just bored and feeling empty because of a lack of nourishment in the form of human connection?  If we expect food to take the place of people then we are asking it to do something it can’t.  Eating satisfies the body but not the soul.

And if what you really want is companionship, then can’t that be accomplished without food?  Is spending time with someone not enough?  Again, there’s nothing wrong with eating together but it shouldn’t be a prerequisite for socialization.  This is especially true for those with food allergies or particular diets.  Are they to be excluded from events simply because they can’t eat the same things others do?  Should they show up to the party after dinner and miss half the fun?  Or come and not eat and feel awkward?

People should take precedence over food.  We may need to get a bit creative to find ways to get together without eating—maybe a game night or take a walk in the park.  I imagine we will find that if we focus on social connections then we won’t feel so compelled to constantly chow down on everything in sight.  Just some food for thought.

I knew I had been in a rut for a while and needed to take action to get out of it.  Often my solution is to look for something to read that will give me practical advice.  But when you look at a book about positivity and have a reaction that is somewhere on the continuum between skeptical and sarcastic, then you know it’s especially important that you read it.

I knew I wanted to choose carefully what I read because there are different approaches to positive thinking.  Some seem to encourage you to ignore your negative circumstances rather than deal with them directly, and others like to place blame, telling you that everything bad that ever happens to you is a result of your negative thinking.

But when I found Positivity by Barbara Frederickson I felt it was a very balanced book.  She acknowledges that there will always be negative elements in our lives, and in fact negativity has a stronger impact on us than positivity.  It is for this reason that her research has centered on trying to find what is needed to counteract the effect of negativity.

She found that a ratio of 3:1 of positive to negative emotions is the tipping point at which people will consider themselves happy and content.  To achieve this one must both seek out as well as take note of positive events, big or small, so that they don’t get buried under the weight of negativity.  It’s as if negativity is stickier in your brain whereas positivity tends to slide right out.

Another aspect to Frederickson’s research is cultivating connections between people.  These encounters do not always have to be in the form of deep conversations between old friends as I would have assumed.  Rather, she says that even a mini-moment with a stranger can have the result of increased positivity because it acknowledges our common humanity.

I must admit that when I read her book I wasn’t quite ready for it.  The exercises seemed a bit overwhelming and the assessment questionnaires only reinforced for me the difference between my current emotional state and where I wanted to be.  Clearly I needed more positivity and human connection but I had to find a way to work toward that goal without feeling like a failure right out of the gate.  Maybe I needed to set the bar a bit lower.

Then I found this book on gratitude (Thanks! by Robert Emmons).  One of the suggestions was to keep a gratitude journal.  This appeals to me because I love making lists.  I find that once I start coming up with things for which I am thankful then many others spring to mind.  I feel like this gives me an immediate result and therefore I can feel I have made some progress.

One theme of the book is that when we view the good things in our lives as gifts then we are even more appreciative of them. This also helps guard against an entitlement mentality and derive even more benefits from our thankfulness. The participants of a gratitude study reported less stress and better sleep; their friends and family noticed an increase in altruistic behavior.

Appreciating what you already have would also help protect against consumerism. Modern marketing is designed to make you dissatisfied with your current situation in the hopes of convincing you that you must buy something bigger, newer, or more expensive. But if you feel that what you own is adequate for your needs then you will have an immunity to this advertising tactic.

I’ve noticed that I have been expressing my gratitude toward others more frequently; I see the effect this has on others, and I can vouch for how it makes me feel when people tell me they appreciate what I’ve done. Even little things make a difference—my apartment complex recently replaced all the doormats with big new ones and I made a point of emailing the manager to thank her for a nice surprise. I have friends tell me how much they enjoy getting the short notes that I often drop in the mail.

Positivity and gratitude are two elements that go against the grain of our modern Western culture. It will take effort to develop these traits but like muscles, the more you use them the stronger they get. If you start small and do a little bit every day then over time you will reap the benefits of your efforts and see a change in your life as well as in those around you.

To all you perfectionists out there, I have a message for you:  Sometimes good enough is good enough.

Disclaimer:  I am not talking about slipshod work or substandard craftsmanship.  As my dad says, “You don’t want the optimist building the bridge.”  This concept does not apply to anything relating to medical care, safety, or treatment of others.  What I mean is that we often wait for the perfect set of circumstances before taking action, which can paralyze us.  We may couch this in terms of having standards but in reality it’s often an excuse for procrastination.

There is a business in Bloomington that makes cookies.  They offer late-night delivery and also have a mobile truck that sells their wares on the streets outside the downtown bars.  I think this is brilliant, not only because they found a niche, but also because they took an idea and ran with it—I imagine they started a successful business before they had any reason to believe they couldn’t.

I have a friend who told me that she had the same idea many years before, but never got around to it because she thought her recipes weren’t yet perfected and everything wasn’t exactly lined up.  She said she tasted their cookies and they are not as good as hers—but they opened a business and she didn’t.  She may have a superior product but no one will know that if she doesn’t step out of her comfort zone.  Lesson learned.

This principle can be applied to social situations as well.  I have begun to realize that participating in activities means putting up with a certain level of inconvenience.  Events won’t always take place when or where I wish, and I may have to get creative in order for the logistics to work out.  I may have to eat at odd times or bring clothes to change into.  But oftentimes the benefits gained from whatever I did far outweigh the minor hurdles I had to overcome to get there.

My brother has a saying, “fix it in the mix,” which refers to sound recording and the act of using what you have and editing mistakes afterward.  I think this quip to myself a lot.  If I’m making a skirt, I could let it sit there for a month until I have time to put in a nice hem.  Or, I could slap some masking tape on it and go to the dance.  Often I find that whatever quick solution I used works just fine, and if it doesn’t, and it bugs me enough to redo it, then at least I’ve been wearing the skirt for a couple weeks in the meantime.

Obviously you need some sort of a plan that relates somewhat to your overall goal.  (For that matter, you need to figure out what it is you are trying to do in the first place.)  You can’t just go at things haphazardly.  But at some point you need to get moving and you probably know when that is, and when you’re using perfectionism as an excuse to remain inert on the couch with a remote in one hand and a bag of chips in the other.

Start small if you have to but take action—it’s easier to change directions once you’re already in motion.  If you’ve ever tried to turn the steering wheel of a car when it is parked then you know this.  I’m assuming that the phrase “it’s hard to hit a moving target” comes from the idea that if someone is trying to get you, then you are less likely to get hit by being in transit than by remaining still.  We can extrapolate this to mean that you are less likely to be struck down with defeat when you are on a path toward some plan.  Also, include a healthy dash of make it up as you go along.

I can imagine the objections.  Some may say that I am advocating mediocrity with my plea to accept the less than ideal.  But I would counter that this is the antidote to averageness.  This may sound paradoxical but stay with me.  Often we stay stuck because we are waiting for our situations to improve enough for us to take steps toward making our lives better.  If we reverse that equation, then we can take the initiative to act now, and improvement will follow.  Kind of like how people want to wait until they lose weight before going to the gym instead of the other way around.

Rather than saying “I’m going to try to improve my life when (the kids are grown, I finish school, the seasons change), instead replace the “when” with “now” and see what a difference it makes.

A lot of people in our country today suffer from affluenza.  As you might surmise, this word is a mashup of affluence and influenza, and it has characteristics of both.

In colloquial terms, this is known as “Keeping up with the Joneses.”  In sociology, it’s called conspicuous consumption.  Your status and worth is shown by the amount and expense of the stuff you have.  If your neighbors have something, then you have to one-up them to show who’s on top.  This creates a self-perpetuating cycle that can quickly get overwhelming and out of control.  The good news is that you can stop the cycle and decide you’re not going to play anymore.

What are some escape routes?  You don’t have to take dramatic action like the guy I read about recently who lives in a renovated dumpster.  (I thought it would be really fun to do something radical like this, then write about it.  At the very least it would give my parents loads to talk about.)

First, instead of buying more, think about using what you already have either by fixing or repurposing it.  There’s a whole movement in Bloomington that is all about using old things in new ways.  They even have a style exhibition every year, complete with runway models:  The Trashion/Refashion Show.  A local boutique that sells creations from otherwise throwaway items is named Discardia.

Next, get rid of stuff.  Lots and lots of it.  Release yourself from the bonds of stuffocation (you know, being suffocated by your stuff.)  What better way to celebrate spring?  If this task is too daunting, have me come over and help you.  Clutter runs from me in fear.

Once you clear some space, you’ll be able to better appreciate what you do have.  Many times it seems people will buy new items because they didn’t realize they already had something they needed.  Cutting down on the overall mass will enable you to recognize that you do have much of what you want.  Oftentimes you’ll find things you have forgotten about so it’s like going shopping without spending money.  From that point on, make a policy that for every new object you bring in, two must go.  This will help keep the piles from accumulating.

Also, a smaller home not only means more money saved on rent or mortgage payments but also more incentive to keep the inventory to a minimum, as there’s not much room for stashing it away.  If you have so much stuff that you have a separate storage unit then you probably don’t even need all of it, as it doesn’t rate high enough on the importance meter to live with you in your home.  And less square footage takes a lot less time to clean.

Then you can have the satisfaction to know that you are using what you have and aren’t hanging on to a bunch of extra items that you don’t want, need, or use.  It’s a very liberating feeling.  I think we hang on to material things because it makes us feel in control but actually it’s just proof of our insecurity.  Once you get past this then you can appreciate simple joys, such as are found in nature—flora, fauna, and everything in between.

Now that you’re not spending all your money stockpiling possessions, you can use your dollars to go out and experience life.  I’ve read that people score higher on happiness ratings when they use their funds to participate in activities and create memories, rather than accumulating material goods.  I think we often default to buying stuff because it’s easier.  Creating friendships and making social plans takes work but the payoff is worth the energy expended.

Another factor that is rated higher on happiness assessments is investing in people.  This could come in the form of charitable giving, whether money or physical items.  It can also be expressed by volunteering time, which also has the added bonus of connecting with people.  Charity doesn’t have to be toward those you don’t know—treating friends also creates a positive feedback loop whereby you feel good for doing good which motivates you to do more good.

What you do with your money is more important than how much you have.  Overall satisfaction with life does not directly correlate with dollar figures; twice as much money doesn’t mean double the happiness.  Remember the old adage:  How much money does it take to make you happy?  Just a little bit more….

A quote from St. Ambrose of Milan:  The things which we cannot take with us are not ours.  Or to put it in a more humorous, folksy manner—you never see a U-Haul at a funeral.

I’m used to seeing articles floating around on the internet with sensationalistic titles that often don’t live up to the hype so I’m usually skeptical when I click on a link. But I am glad I took a chance recently as I read one that completely blew me away. It was about the real cause of addiction, and that it’s not what you think.

This article cited a study in which rats were allowed to choose between plain water and water with cocaine; they kept frequenting the cocaine-laced water until they died of overdose. The article stated that this study was often presented as evidence of the deadliness of drugs and the danger of chemical dependency.

But later, another researcher thought something was missing from this study—he wondered what would happen if the rats were in a different environment from the original study, where they were kept isolated in stark cages. He devised his own experiment in which he offered the rats both plain and cocaine-laced water, but this time the rats were in cages together with other rats and with access to interesting toys.

The rats tried both bottles; they were probably curious at first.  But how the rest of the experiment played out is astonishing: The rats with companions and activities didn’t get dependent on cocaine. These rats did not die of overdose. This was a complete contrast with the isolated rats who were alone and unhappy and succumbed to addiction.  

Then he experimented to see what would happen if he took rats that were already hooked on cocaine and put them into a healthy environment with toys and other rats.  Even with continued access to the drug, those rats were able to eventually overcome their addiction within the context of activity and socialization. With these positive things in their lives, the rats just weren’t interested in substance abuse anymore.

The conclusion of the author was that the opposite of addiction isn’t sobriety; it’s human connection.  Having a social network kept the rats from getting addicted in the first place, and even those who were dependent were able to live healthy lives once they had a stimulating and supportive environment.

I could see someone joking that they wished they were part of that study, with unlimited access to cocaine. But this made me really sad when I read it; I felt sorry for the poor little rats. All they needed to keep from killing themselves were a few hobbies and some friends to share them with? Yet we see this all around us. Or we would see it if we allowed ourselves to.

The line from this article that really stood out to me is this:  “It’s not you; it’s your cage.” What cages are we in? What cages have we put ourselves in or allowed to be built up around us? Perhaps we thought that the purpose of the cage was to protect ourselves from getting hurt by creating a buffer zone between us and other people.

But isolation isn’t the solution. In fact, it may be the start of a downward spiral. The more you wall yourself off the more you open yourself up to some kind of addiction or at the very least some unhealthy habits. We often think of drugs and alcohol in this case but other behaviors can become addictions, like gambling or video games.

We need to build bridges, not towers. To stay mentally and physically healthy we must cultivate real human connections. I think cultivate is a good word because it is a lot like gardening; relationships take work and patience but the harvest is amazing. Stretch your comfort zone just a little bit. Start small and invite someone out for coffee just to get to know who they are.

Reach out to those around you who may need a listening ear. If you knew someone was hungry you’d probably feed them—but all around us people are starving socially. Maybe you can visit an elderly person who doesn’t ask for help for fear of being a burden. You could be an adult presence in the life of a teen. Perhaps you’re a family who could include a single person for Sunday dinner.

If you feel awkward remember that others are probably just as nervous as you are. Yet I imagine they will appreciate your overtures, even if they can’t immediately communicate it to you or even accept your invitation right away. Thinking of someone and including them in your plans sends a powerful message that they matter and that their presence in your life is important. Let’s all look for ways to break out of our cages and to help others do the same.

In my women’s writing group, we are given a choice of prompts to get us started with a piece that we could share in the next meeting. One of them that spoke to me is “What needs to be thawed in your life?”

I thought this was appropriate for many reasons. For one, it’s winter and everything could use a little thawing, as far as I’m concerned. For another, I feel that I have been trying to take more risks lately and reach outside of my comfort zone and this could be representative of my desire to melt away some of the fear in my life.

I decided to write about chipping away at the icebergs of assumptions that I have allowed to accumulate in my world. I thought it was an accurate analogy because icebergs stand in the way of where we want to go. Also, the part that you can’t see is often bigger than the part that’s visible and I think this explains a lot—we may try to reform a certain behavior but the mindsets that are behind it are usually the problem, despite not being as obvious at first glance.

I frequently assume the worst; if I issue an invitation and don’t hear back from someone then I tend to think that they’re avoiding me, I’ve done something wrong, or they think I’m boring. But I’ve noticed that as I’ve cracked the door to the possibility that I might be wrong, that it might have nothing to do with me, then often it has been the case that some benign reason was behind the silence—their phone died or they didn’t have internet connection over the weekend and therefore were unable to respond.

Along with this project of attacking these attitudes, I’ve also decided to seek out people whom I admire, who have elements in their lives that I want to emulate. These aspects could be a rich social life, or fulfilling work that they enjoy, or stimulating hobbies. I thought I’d invite such people out for coffee and see if they have any advice to offer. The fascinating part is that sometimes I get more than I originally asked for.

I got together with someone who has her own freelance business. We discussed how she was able to make this happen, and I was excited to hear her talk about how everything came together toward this end. Then we got into more personal subjects. I should note here that I’ve always envied her; she’s beautiful and talented, doing work she enjoys, and seems to have so many friends.

I mentioned to her that I always felt left out by a clique of our mutual acquaintance, and before I had a chance to express admiration at how she was accepted by them, she confided that she felt on the fringe of that particular group, that the ringleader didn’t really like her because she was an artist and didn’t really fit in with the intellectual flavor of the rest of that crowd. She said she would often remain silent when everyone was together because she didn’t feel she had anything to bring to the table. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

This meeting reminded me of the Dr. Seuss story What Was I Afraid Of? which was known colloquially in my family as “The Pale Green Pants With Nobody Inside Them.” If you’re not familiar with this tale, the gist of it is a boy encounters a spooky pair of slacks when he goes out; he gets increasingly anxious about leaving the house, knowing that he will cross paths with the trousers. Then he suddenly encounters them in a place where he can’t escape and screams in terror. The pants shrivel into a pile and begin to cry—it turns out they were just as scared of him as he was of them.

This isn’t a perfect analogy because my friend isn’t a levitating pair of Grinch-green leggings, but the point is that I made assumptions about her that turned out to be completely untrue. She also has some social anxieties. She sometimes feels left out. She might feel awkward among some people. So she might experience some of the same things that I do? What does it all mean? Maybe that we’re not so different after all. Maybe I’m not the outcast I thought I was. Maybe there’s hope for me after all.

And maybe one big chunk of iceberg just floated away.

A friend invited me to attend the chili cook-off at her apartment building in which she was the defending champion. (Alas, she lost the title this year.) This got me to thinking yet again about how cooking is like magic to me—an elusive skill that I have not yet obtained.

My favorite cookbook remains to this day the Starving Student’s Cookbook. The recipes are simple, including only a few ingredients each, and they also use basic cookware, mostly one pot or pan. There was one I used to make back in college with a marinade for chicken that involved soy sauce and a can of orange pop.

I also have 365 Ways to Cook Pasta which has given me a few gems. But it also gave me the recipe that caused the Great Meatloaf Fiasco of ’97, after which my friends converted to vegetarianism. (They claimed the juxtaposition of the two events to be unrelated.) I guess I should have been suspicious of a meatloaf recipe from a pasta cookbook but I was a trusting soul.

Then there was my dabbling in raw foods. If you’re not familiar with this, there is an entire movement dedicated to the idea that cooking food is unnatural and destroys the nutrients. They contend that as much as possible, vegetables and fruits should be eaten raw. They also eschew bread and pasta although raw sprouted grains are acceptable.

I was determined that this would be the lifestyle for me since I couldn’t cook anyway. But after trying this for one weekend I was crying for pizza by Sunday night. It took me fifteen minutes to eat three bites of a raw yam loaf. I may have had jaws of steel from all the chewing but I just couldn’t handle it. I also got a juicer about this time that I did use quite a bit until I felt I had consumed my lifetime quota of carrot juice.

Let’s just say I take a lot of vitamins. If someone invented a pill so that I could get all my nutrition without having to eat, I’d buy cases of the stuff. As long as it’s not like the gum in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory that made Violet turn into a giant blueberry that had to be squeezed back to her normal size. (Come to think of it, the Oompa Loompas are orange. I wonder if they have had too much carrot juice.)

People have tried to help me over the years but they know what they’re dealing with. A friend sent me a recipe and specified removal of the bay leaves when the dish was done, suspecting that I didn’t realize they were not to be left in for eating. Mom sent me something and the direction was to pour the mixture into a “pan with sides,” knowing that if she didn’t clarify then I’d think “pizza pan” and end up with a mess all over the oven.

I’ve achieved a modicum of success with a slow cooker. I think the fact that I dump everything in together then leave it alone for several hours increases my chances of success as the less handling by me, the better. My cooker and I have become good friends. In fact, we might even be going steady.

I would like to say that I grasp the concept of making beverages better than food, as demonstrated by my penchant for tea. But then I’m reminded of when I used to brew beer and wanted to make a pepper porter. Not really grasping the significance of the disparity between teaspoons and tablespoons, I simply grabbed a spoon and threw in what ended up being several times more cayenne powder than the recipe called for.

This stuff was so spicy that people told me to stop bringing it to parties. I had a friend who could eat jalapenos out of a jar but wouldn’t touch this stuff. I, however, thought the drink was the magic elixir—it gave me a feeling of euphoria. My friends were convinced I was having some kind of reaction to all the pepper. I think it was shortly afterwards that I gave all my home brewing supplies to a friend. Everyone was relieved.

I recently joined a gym that advertises free pizza once a month. Mixed messages? Perhaps. But I’m OK with it as I will definitely get my money’s worth, even if I never use the machines. It’s also in the same strip mall with my favorite Chinese take-out place (that has free hot tea). It will be like one-stop shopping every time I go to work out!

As the popular winter song says, “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.” So what better time to talk about hot tea?

As a tea enthusiast in a nation of coffee drinkers, I often feel like an oddball for preferring tea. This is especially so as I not only drink hot tea in all seasons, but I also do not drink iced tea. This type of tea is much more familiar to Americans even though it only came into being in the early 20th century, which is quite recent in the history of tea. Tea is the most frequently consumed beverage worldwide, yet iced tea is virtually unknown outside of the U.S.

I welcome opportunities to raise awareness about this neglected beverage, and perhaps even inspire future tea consumers with what tea means to me. There’s something about a good cup of hot tea that makes everything just a little bit better. Tea contains theanine, which is an amino acid that can help calm one’s nerves.

(In all fairness, it does also contain caffeine, although I’ve found that tea does not affect me in the extreme way that coffee does. Still, I have started decaffeinating tea—you can get much of the caffeine out by pouring enough hot water over the tea to wet the leaves and then waiting about a minute. Pour this off and steep the tea normally. You will preserve the flavor but get rid of most of the caffeine that was released with the first contact with the hot water.)

I’ve started going back to a women’s writing group, and it’s interesting that tea is very much a part of the group’s routine. There are references to making a cup of tea and getting comfortable in your spot to start writing. It’s possible that tea is popular there because it’s easy to have a carafe of hot water and a buffet of tea bags, rather than making coffee and having to clean out pots afterward. But I think there is a general perception of tea as a civilizing beverage. Certainly the English would agree with me, as it is very much a part of their culture and their perception of themselves as the leaders of civil behavior and the inventors of afternoon tea.

So maybe I’ve motivated you enough to want to make a foray into the world of tea. Where do you start? Maybe you don’t know oolong from oobleck. (The former being a kind of tea; the latter was the troublesome ooze featured in the Dr. Seuss classic Bartholomew and the Oobleck.)

There are all sorts of special accouterments for steeping loose tea. There are tea balls, tea sacks, and special pots with infuser baskets. But before you make an investment in any special apparatus, you might try different tea bags to pinpoint what you like.

I think tea is often overlooked because it is misunderstood. If all you’ve had are a few generic tea bags dunked in a lukewarm mug you heated up in the microwave then no wonder you haven’t felt a need to investigate further. It’s important to pour the water over the tea rather than add a tea bag to hot water. There’s probably some principle of physics as to why this works better but I don’t know what it is; you’ll just have to trust me that this is the way to do it.

As far as brands go, Bigelow is an American company that has been run by the same family for three generations. They also have a tea plantation near Charleston. They are known for their popular Constant Comment, an excellent spiced tea.

If you care for something from across the pond, Twinings has even more history. They’ve been owned by the same family for 300 years. They have also been in the same location in London all that time; after the city was bombed in WWII the Twinings family set up tables in the rubble of their shop within hours after the attack so that they could show that business would continue as usual. (Remember, the British are the same people who gave us “Keep Calm and Carry On.”)

A word about herbal teas. They’re not really tea. Tea is a specific plant—Camellia Sinensis. If it doesn’t have this plant in it then it is not tea. That’s not to say that you shouldn’t have these herbal drinks; there are many that may have medicinal benefits, and it’s nice to have a completely caffeine-free alternative. But this type of beverage shouldn’t be called tea. Technically, it would be an infusion, or a tisane if you want to really show you are in the know. And if you’re looking for a variety of tasty herbal choices then Celestial Seasonings is the way to go.

That’s enough for Tea 101. I will leave you to discover the truth of this ancient Chinese proverb: Better to be deprived of food for three days than tea for one.

It’s that time of year: The whirlwind of holiday activity is over, there is an abundance of inclement weather, and you’re feeling downright crummy. I give you “Stef’s Tips for Combating the Winter Blues.”

First, you need a good soundtrack. I really enjoy music from the 1920s, and I’ve been listening to the legendary Bessie Smith a lot lately. She did a rendition of the blues classic “‘Taint Nobody’s Bizness if I Do.” (Do what, you ask? I don’t know; it’s not my business.)

She also gifted us with “Gimme a Pigfoot and a Bottle of Beer.” The trick here is to listen to songs about drinking without consuming alcohol yourself, as a depressant combined with long winter evenings when you’re already feeling down to begin with is a phenomenally bad idea.

I find it striking how listening to the blues can make you feel better. But if you have more of a jazz bent, I recommend Miles Davis’ album “Kind of Blue,” which I feel goes well with the month of January and several cups of hot tea.

Next, you need to build your nest. This needs to be your designated space where you feel a sense of relaxation, well-being, and belonging. As Sheldon from Big Bang Theory would say, “That’s my spot.”

I like to cuddle up in a fuzzy wrap. I have one that is gray that reminds me of mouse fur. Then I can snack on nibblin’ cheese. (This is defined as a cheese you buy in the fancy section that’s good enough to eat by itself.) Or if you have something brown, you could pretend you’re a bear and open a jar of nuts. Whatever works.

I have found that nothing improves my mood like reading Erma Bombeck. I have been a fan of her writing for over 30 years and it never gets old; I still find myself laughing out loud. And you have to love someone who got her start by writing a column for a newspaper.

A fun, uplifting movie is also a mood enhancer. You may have to look a bit harder for this kind of film these days but they’re still out there. Even through high school I was not allowed to go to a movie on a school night so to this day when I watch something at home on a weeknight I feel like I’m really getting away with something, which makes me smile.

It’s comforting to have a batch of something going in a slow cooker. I feel better when I know there is hot food waiting for me that was put together with very little inconvenience to myself. I made experimental shrimp and grits on New Year’s Day. It turned out surprisingly well which was nice considering I had a generous amount leftover.

Animals have been scientifically proven to help one’s mood. Unfortunately I can’t have real pets, due to allergies and apartment living. But I’ve developed a reputation among my friends for having a penchant for goats, so there are frequent posts to my Facebook page that feature goats talking, frolicking, or otherwise getting into trouble.

Once you’ve had some time taking care of yourself, you need to remember those who may need some help. Maybe you can take groceries or a home-cooked meal to a neighbor who has difficulty getting out. Or work a jigsaw puzzle with a friend who just needs some company.

Even little kindnesses can make a difference in the lives of those around you: Open a door for someone, let the person behind you in line check out before you, smile and make eye contact with those you pass so that they will feel noticed and know that they matter.

Thank those who are in your life and tell them how much they mean to you. A hand-written note means so much and takes only minutes to compose. Keeping a notebook of things for which you are thankful is a way to record all the good things in your life instead of focusing on the bad.

Then there’s always the attitude of “If life gives you lemons, then make lemonade.” (Although as Grumpy Cat points out, if life doesn’t also give you sugar and water then your lemonade is going to be pretty awful.) But at this time of year the saying might be better expressed as: If life gives you snow, then make a snowman!

I’ve decided my life has gotten way too serious lately. This may come as a surprise to anyone who knows me as I have an oddball personality coupled with a lot of extra energy and (I think) generally come across as a fun person. But I’ve realized it’s been a while since I’ve played.

Played what? An instrument? Tennis? A card game? No, none of these things—nothing with an intended result or rules or a score—just play for the sake of play. What’s the point, you may ask? The point is that there is no point. It’s not a means to an end of accomplishing some goal.

As adults we’ve lost a lot of this and now we’re imposing that on our kids. Everything has to be measured and evaluated and has to conform to some sort of specific outcome. I’m not talking about academic standards; of course we need those to see how effective our educational methods are. You know how to do the math problem or you don’t; if you don’t then you need to learn. But outside of school they need to play.

Play is not organized sports, dance lessons, or chess club. Those things are all good as they teach skills like how to work together as a team, physical coordination, and problem solving skills. The kind of play I’m talking about is taking a box, some string, glue, foil, and paperclips and using them to make a spaceship for exploring Neptune. It’s making up a game with a squished volleyball, a variety of sticks, and a cracked flowerpot. Play is hopping down the sidewalk in a random manner because you can only land on certain colors or shapes.

But how can adults teach kids how to play when we have forgotten ourselves? Actually, I’d argue that we don’t even have to teach kids how to play—it comes naturally to children; we just need to get out of their way. Of course there needs to be some grown ups around to make sure nothing dangerous happens but otherwise hands off.

I sometimes volunteer at WonderLab, which is a science museum in Bloomington. This is a delightful haven for children of all ages—they have a serpent named William Snakespeare, and a newt named Cleese (for all you Monty Python fans). And there is an entire room dedicated to bubbles. Pause for a moment and let the awesomeness of that concept sink into your soul.

This place is all about letting kids explore. Adults are there to monitor that everyone is safe and maybe give general guidance about how an exhibit works but not to say “This is how to do it” because we know that’s a big killer to open-ended exploration.

Besides, how do we know what a kid wants to get out of it? Maybe you know the principles of engineering, that you need a solid base of blocks in order to build the next layer to make a log cabin. But maybe that’s not what she’s trying to do. Perhaps she wants to test the limits of gravity and see how high she can build it before it falls over. That’s probably more fun than a house of blocks that sits there and does nothing. Believe me, she has plenty of years before her to figure out why things won’t work. Leave her alone for now. Go have a pumpkin spice latte and come back in an hour—we’re busy playing.

I imagine what really needs to happen is for adults to learn from children how to play. (A hint for all you grown ups out there—play isn’t watching TV or surfing the Internet. That’s wasting time and being boring.)

I’ve noticed adults always want to ask what you do for work; nobody asks what you do for fun. Wouldn’t that be a more interesting answer and give more of an idea of what the other person is like? I wonder if they don’t ask this of others because they’re afraid of being asked this themselves and not having anything to say in response.

I should clarify that I’m not encouraging irresponsibility; obviously you need to fulfill your obligations since you are an adult. If anything this bolsters my argument that kids need to play as there will be plenty of time in the future for doing laundry, mowing the lawn, and filing tax returns. But just because you have these things on your to do list doesn’t mean you can’t make time for some good old-fashioned goofing around.

A good way to start is by playing with your own children, or someone else’s. You can also recruit some fun-loving acquaintances and throw a theme party. It doesn’t have to involve elaborate historical costumes—I remember a friend once told me about a plaid party she went to. Someone took the trouble to make a plaid lasagna—they used a combination of regular and spinach noodles to weave the top of the dish, with the red sauce showing through from underneath to complete the pattern.

And just the other day I read about a group of bored coworkers who recreated famous works of art using only items found in their office. (I wonder where that workplace is located, and whether or not they are hiring.)

The point is to use your imagination and do something different than what you’re already doing. Pretend you hear the voice of your mother giving that time-honored command: Go outside and play!

People have commented over the years that I tend to be lucky. I’ve wondered why this might be, and then I read an article recently that I think explains a lot.

First off, I should explain that I’m not talking about gambling.  I am not going to tell you how to pick winning lottery tickets, nor will I endorse any other form of gambling.  For one, I’m very frugal so if I pay money I want to make reasonably sure I’m getting something in return. The closest I come to gambling is ordering stuff off the internet.  Besides, the fact that there are organizations to help people overcome gambling addictions tells me that it’s something I don’t want to get mixed up with.

Next, I’m not talking about some new-agey law of attraction whereby you think you can manipulate the universe into giving you what you want.  I’m also not talking about horseshoes, rabbit feet or any other “luck charms” that are treated as magic amulets.

What I mean when I say luck isn’t actually luck at all—instead it is the result of specific, deliberate actions. The cool part of this means that you can learn these things too and put them into practice in your life.

A researcher named Richard Wiseman set about to study luck. He wondered if “lucky” people differed in their behaviors and attitudes from others. He took two groups of people: those who considered themselves lucky, and those who did not. He gave them the task of counting pictures in a newspaper. In large type—in an ad that took up half a page—was this: “Stop counting. There are 43 photographs in this newspaper.” The lucky people saw it and stopped counting; the unlucky ones somehow missed it and continued the tedious task.

Wiseman summed up that he thought the unlucky people were so focused on one particular goal that they overlooked other opportunities. He also felt the lucky group was able to create situations for fortunate events, and that they reinforced their expectations of luck through positive attitudes. Unlucky people tended to be stuck in the same habits and routines, leaving little opening for new experiences that are crucial for lucky breaks to occur.

For my part, I’m known for winning tickets to performances from the local classical music station. (I’m so used to listening to this station, and the announcer’s voice is so familiar to me, that I was once in line at a play and heard the conversation of the people behind me.  I turned around and exclaimed “I know that voice!”  He smiled, as I’m sure he gets that a lot.)

The first thing to keep in mind to creating your own luck is to pay attention to the world around you. I am now so conditioned to listen for the words, “I have a pair of tickets…” that I’ve been dialing the phone before he finishes the sentence, “…that I’ll be giving away later this hour.” Oops. There have also been occasions when I’m so enthusiastic about trying to win that I’ve called in for tickets and didn’t know what the performance was until after I actually won them.

So you must notice the opportunity, then you have to act on it. Often some boldness helps too. One of the great things about Bloomington is all the free stuff given away to students to entice them to a local business. I have no problem walking up to a table that is advertising free cookies to ask if I can have one. In these cases I do disclose that I’m not a student but as often as not, the answer will be that they have plenty and are happy to give me one. And if they don’t, then the worst thing that happens is that I’m cookieless. I was cookieless before I asked so it’s not really a dramatic change of circumstances.

I think it’s a matter of getting away from thinking that this won’t work, or saying I can’t do that—rather than asking why, ask why not? You might go to a few free shows and have some good stories to tell. Best of all, you’ll know that you can cultivate the behaviors to make these occurrences more frequent so that you too can join the ranks of the lucky.

(PS: This week I won lunch, complete with limousine ride, for my office from a different radio station. When a coworker asked with curiosity how I managed this, I replied simply that I entered the contest—I went to the website and completed the form to try to win. Who knows, maybe I was the only person who even submitted an entry this past week. I don’t really care; I’m just happy to get a free meal!)

My life has been all about Jane Austen these last few weeks.  I won tickets to the production of Pride and Prejudice at the IU Theatre.  It was an exceptional performance, and it rekindled my interest in All Things Jane.

I discovered a few movie adaptations that I had somehow missed in recent years; I had to go back and read the corresponding novels so that I could grouse about how much they deviated from the books.  I’ve decided that anyone wanting to make a film of any of Jane’s works should be required to gain the blessing of the Jane Austen Society or maybe a majority vote from the netizens of The Republic of Pemberly website.

(Lest you think Janites are lacking in sense of humor, I should mention that the Jane Austen Festival of Louisville wanted to break the Guinness World Record for “Largest gathering of people dressed in Regency costumes.”  The fact that this even exists as a category makes me so happy.  And I will also direct you to search YouTube for the “Jane Austen Fight Club.”)

Next, I had opera tickets and had to issue 30 invites before finding someone to accompany me.  I was discouraged by this, but in talking it over with someone who has a “glass is half full” mentality, she expressed her admiration that I knew 30 people to ask in the first place.

I ended up going with a friend of a friend whom I didn’t really know; he had asked me to go see Pride and Prejudice with him.  I said I wouldn’t mind seeing it again but the only day he was available, I was not.  I thought asking him to the opera would be a nice consolation prize for the play not working out, not to mention that I really needed someone to go.

I was pleasantly surprised.  The whole evening reminded me of something out of one of Jane’s novels.  There was a nice exchange of conversation, with each of us making an effort to be agreeable.  The fact that he is a man who reads—and likes—Jane Austen was a bonus.  (The opera itself was a little too strange and modern though.)

There’s more.  The following Saturday I went to an evening of 19th century contra dances.  Contra dance is the modern evolution of the English country dances that were done in the Regency period and before.  This group doesn’t often do historic dances as they are not as lively as the modern versions so some dancers complain that they are boring.  

Today we sit in front of computers all day so when we go to a dance we want to move.  But back in the day, a dance was the only opportunity to interact with the opposite sex, so they didn’t mind some standing around.  (It could be argued that young people today also don’t socialize with the opposite sex, as a result of being glued to electronic devices.)

I noticed that throughout the course of the evening I focused more on people than on dancing.  I had delightful conversations, and discussed opportunities for reenactments with historical costumes and dancing.  I had dressed up a bit more than usual since I knew I wasn’t coming for a workout, and I found this led to a more genteel and graceful style of dancing.  Having a couple of guys in tailcoats added to the effect.

I’ve decided our world would be a better place, and we would be better people, if we incorporated a little more Jane into our daily lives.  I’m not suggesting that we recreate Regency society as there were plenty of things that need to be left in the past.  But we have the benefit of hindsight to pick and choose what is beneficial and helpful.

I think I’m going to start peppering my speech with Janeisms.  Instead of “whatever” I could respond with “It does not signify.”  Rather than being “totally annoyed” I would be “greatly vexed,” and in place of a smiley face emoticon, I could respond with “I am excessively diverted.”

I wonder if Jane were alive today, if she would like me.  I sure hope so.  I think we’d have a lot in common to talk about and many activities we could share.  But she would probably be confused by my penchant for yoga pants and flip flops
.
I think the reason her novels are still so popular today is the timelessness of her characters.  We all know people like the ones she has created.  She describes them so well, and the things they say are so believable that we can relate them to our family, neighbors, colleagues, and friends.

What would Jane say if asked about her current popularity—the vast number of movies, sequel novels, mysteries, biographies, and parodies?  I think you’d get a text stating simply:  LOL!  🙂

I’m one of those people who actually likes to exercise; getting me to sit still is more of a challenge. I find that the answer to many problems is some sort of physical activity. (I bet you’re wondering: “How’s that ‘sitting-in-front-of-a-computer-writing’ thing working out for you?”)

There’s a yoga studio located a short walk from my home (through a small park, no less). This place caters to the student crowd; I felt a bit old going in there, especially once it dawned on me that my leggings could be older than the instructor. But I’m generally able to keep up with the rest of the group, even in the hot classes. And I do mean hot—like 90-100 degrees.

But after a few months of yoga I decided I wanted to be outside more often, rather than packed in a sultry room amongst a bunch of sweaty co-eds. I enjoy walking as much as possible but I also felt I needed something a bit more intense. I love hiking in the woods but having to drive for 20 minutes in order to do this seemed a bit contradictory. I’ve dabbled in jogging but since I can run only marginally faster than I walk it didn’t seem worth it considering the extra wear and tear on my body.

Then a friend was leaving to go overseas for a year and let me have custody of his bike. This guy is a bean pole so I thought this was good testimony for cycling as a good way to stay in shape. (He’s also a mathematician, or as I call him, the “Mathemagician.” Read that again—it’s not a typo. I can’t take credit for making that up; it’s from the Phantom Tollbooth. You can check it out of the library from the children’s section. And while you’re there you can visit the owl.)

In all fairness, I’m not exactly a brick house myself and so far as I know no one has ever written a tribute to my body type. I guess “Skinny Little White Girl” isn’t a very catchy song title. Let’s just say I understand why they make specially padded cycling shorts.

Biking is huge in Bloomington, with such events as the Little 500 and Hilly Hundred. It can be intimidating going into a cycle shop as an average civilian. I once went into one, asking about purchasing a 10-speed. This is what we called them when I was a kid, when this kind of bike was the hot new thing. I was informed that as most bicycles now have at least this many gears, it is properly referred to as a “road bike.” (Duh. Where else am I going to ride it, my bathroom?)

I discovered that my pants were floppy enough at the bottom to risk getting caught in the chain so I had to tuck my pant legs into my socks, making me look like a complete dork. And my only pair of sneakers are Grinch-green. Add to this whole ensemble my new glasses which I feel cause me to resemble a giant cartoon insect. Overall I felt pretty conspicuous but if I can manage to get stared at in Bloomington then I must be doing something right. I figured I’d be in good company with some of the local characters such as the guy who rides around on a recumbent bike with a parrot on the back.

I had forgotten how long it had been since I had ridden in traffic. I had to remember to use some sort of hand gestures when turning. I wondered if I’d be coordinated enough to brake, signal, and turn at the same time. Spoiler alert: I’m not.

I felt much better once I was on the B-Line Trail. This goes all the way to the south end of Bloomington where it runs into the Rail Trail, which in turn meets up with the Clear Creek Trail. (And the hip bone is connected to the thigh bone, but that’s not really relevant to my story.)

By the end of the ride my behind was completely sore, my back ached from hunching over the handlebars, my wrists hurt from holding them in one position, and my hands were vibrating the entire evening as a consequence of the gravel on one trail.

But all that was forgotten when recalling the stunning array of autumn colors I encountered. This reminded me that outdoor exercise is good for both mind and body and is well worth the effort. And the excursion confirmed my belief that the most beautiful place in the world to be in the fall is southern Indiana.

Usually you see tributes to dads around Father’s Day. But since today is my dad’s birthday, I thought this would be a good time to share some stories that demonstrate what I’ve learned from him.

First of all, he has always stressed the importance of uncompromising honesty. Consider this tale:

Dad has a very analytical brain and therefore has always been very good at card playing. While I’ve grown up playing euchre, apparently I’m not good enough to play with the family unless they’re really desperate for a fourth player or we’re teaching beginners, like cousins who aren’t from Indiana. Dad thinks I slow up the game; he doesn’t understand that I can’t remember every card that each person has played. To give further ammunition to his belief that this should not be a difficult task, he points out that euchre doesn’t even use the entire pack of cards, which then leads to the comment that Stef isn’t playing with a full deck, which in turn restores Dad to good humor.

But the best euchre story happened when Dad was asked to substitute in his mother’s group. There he was, playing with Nana’s friends and getting clobbered. We’ve already established that he can remember what cards have been played. He posed the problem to Nana later, stating that during one round, one of his opponents didn’t have a strong hand, yet she “went alone” and was able to win the points. He explained how the odds of her accomplishing this were extremely unlikely, given what was in her hand. Nana let him stew about this for a while before enlightening him: “Tom, they cheat!” I guess it speaks well of Dad that he does not expect dishonest behavior in others, and therefore it did not even occur to him as a possibility. It probably didn’t make getting snookered at cards by a bunch of little old ladies any more palatable, though.

(Speaking of Nana, as children, my Dad and his sister would be responsible for doing the dishes. Apparently at one point Dad got it into his head that this was “women’s work,” and therefore he should be exempt. He expressed this sentiment to Nana. No one ever told me exactly what happened next; it was simply stated that he was “promptly corrected.” Interesting that to this day, loading and unloading the dishwasher seems to be Dad’s domain.)

Dad has always offered good advice on a variety of subjects, but mostly his diagnosis of any dilemma I would present could be boiled down to one of three mistakes on my part: (1) I do not play golf. (2) I did not go to Purdue. (3) I do not eat enough fiber.

Dad has always been willing to step up to help when necessary. Usually Mom was the one to dress up at Halloween to answer the door, but one year she was out of town so Dad took up the candy-distributing mantle. He found a dress shirt, cummerbund, bow tie, fangs, and I added white makeup and red lips for a complete Dracula look. Dad really got into it, so much so that when he realized we were running out of candy he jumped into the car to obtain more. Apparently he forgot what he looked like because he didn’t understand why people were giving him strange looks at the drugstore.

Dad also exhibits a well-developed sense of humor:
The most enduring of family pranks started when Mom made a very eye-catching knit cap for Dad out of bright gold yarn, complete with a large black pom-pom on top, black and gold being Purdue colors. The sole purpose of this hat was to poke fun at Dad and his Purdue obsession. Alas, the joke was on her because he wore it everywhere, all the time. I would have friends tell me they saw my Dad downtown, taking a walk; they recognized him because of the unique cap.

After several years Mom had finally had enough and put it in the bottom of the bag of clothes to be donated to charity. Somehow Dad chanced to look in the bag and retrieved the cap, wondering how it could have gotten in there in the first place. Just when Mom thought she was rid of it forever, out it came again the next season. She finally just gave up and accepted that she was to blame for creating that particular monster (the hat, just to clarify).

Finally, I must attribute my penchant for storytelling to Dad as this trait clearly comes from him. Thanks Dad, and Happy Birthday!

Homecoming. That’s what I often think of in October. Many people associate that word with school sporting events, but I think about all the fall festivals and activities that only happen at this time of the year. Maybe this is due to growing up in Indiana, which is the most beautiful place in the world to be in autumn.

I have always found fall to be my favorite season, with all its accouterments: apple cider, bonfires, pumpkins, scarecrows, hayrides, barn dances, and most of all, those vibrant and dazzling leaves. It is interesting that all of these things are associated with the farm, the harvest, and rural living. This could be because of Indiana’s agricultural history, but I also think it is because ultimately, we are all from the country, living on the land.

This goes back to the concept of where you live as opposed to where you are from. I live in Bloomington but I am from Greenfield. You can change where you live but not where you’re from. And one thing that defines where I am from is the annual Riley Festival.

(So much so that I didn’t hear the term elephant ear until I was in college. I remember getting snippy with someone about this because I thought they were putting me on by trying to convince me the pastry was called something silly like an elephant ear. My attitude was: “It’s called a lion’s paw; everybody knows that—the Lion’s Club sells them every year.”)

What is the Riley Festival? A celebration of Greenfield culture, a homecoming, a birthday party for our very own poet. I remember getting excited as a kid; there was so much to look forward to—marching in the parade of flowers, watching the “grown up” parade, the entertainment, beauty queens, crowds and booths. It marks the official start of autumn; when I leave for work even now as an adult on a brisk October morning, I know exactly what Riley meant with “The Frost is on the Pumpkin;” I get it.

On the morning of the parade of flowers, Mom would go out and pick some marigolds from the yard and put a paper towel around them, then a baggie, then some foil. After all, they were going to be in a locker all morning, plus had to withstand handling by a grade-school kid.

I was always envious of the kids who would have these fancy store-bought flowers in all these exotic colors; I couldn’t understand why I had boring old marigolds that everybody had in their yard. “Exactly,” Mom would say, “These are flowers that grow in our area, that are currently in bloom. They go with the season.” I didn’t understand the value in that at the time but I do now; I get it.

I remember one year I really wanted to get into the Riley spirit; I was always into old costumes and playing dress up. I brought with me a sunbonnet that my grandmother gave me. I was putting it on before the parade of flowers when a couple of other girls started in on me, making fun of me for dressing like someone from Little House on the Prairie. I was so embarrassed from their ridicule that I took it off. Later on I was more ashamed of myself for taking it off. I wonder if those girls ever got it.

We would parade to the statue, clutching our flowers, some more careful than the others (I was one of the careful ones, because I got it.) We would walk up to the statue that was as tall as the courthouse and hand our flowers to a grown up who would have to get on a ladder to get the flowers all the way to the top because the statue was so tall.

It’s funny; I was there a few years ago at the statue for the parade of flowers, and I didn’t need a ladder. The base only came up to my shoulder, and the actual statue didn’t reach to the top of the courthouse. How can that be? Did the statue shrink, did it sink into the ground, did it melt from years of standing in the rain?

So there I was, on the other side of the statue, receiving the flowers instead of giving them. Before I was the child as a recipient of what the festival had to offer; now I can be the adult giving back, able to play a part in making the festival happen so that the next generation can continue to enjoy this tradition.

I’ve come full circle; I’m back where I started, yet in a different place. And that can only happen when you come back home, to where you’re from, to Greenfield.

It’s amazing how easy it is to live a simple lifestyle when you’re a cheapskate to begin with.

To use a very old expression, I can squeeze the buffalo until it bellows.  (If you don’t have great-great grandparents around to ask what this means, I’ll explain.  Way back when, nickels used to feature a buffalo on one side of the coin.  Therefore, someone who was really tight with money would be squeezing the nickel with so much force that the otherwise inanimate buffalo would cry out.)

I am happy to report that I can bring my own large travel coffee mug to Bloomingfoods, the local food co-op, where I am charged $1.34 for a refill.  This satisfies not only my penchant to reduce and reuse, but also my frugal nature as the refill price is less than that of a single cup of coffee. Then I can wander up and down the B-Line trail and take in the unusual sights of the colorful characters that populate that path.  This provides hours of amusement, not to mention exercise.

With that much free entertainment practically right outside my door, why would I need a TV?  For one, I try to be particular about what I watch.  Besides, my heart was broken when Northern Exposure got canceled in the mid-1990s so the less said about that the better.

For the record, lest you think me an ascetic, I do watch movies on my laptop that I check out from the library.  So let’s talk about libraries.  They’re amazing.  I can go get stuff for free, read or watch my selections, then bring them back and get more stuff, without having to buy or store everything myself?!

And the Hancock County Public Library is particularly cool because of that stuffed owl.  What, you didn’t know there is an owl at the library?  I don’t even live there and I know about the owl!  It’s in the children’s department.  Go visit it this week.  (The Monroe County library doesn’t have an owl but there’s a restaurant down the street that features a wooden owl sculpture in the outdoor seating area so I still get to pay homage to an owl.)

Moving on.  I’m not sure that I’ve ever actually purchased trash bags.  I use plastic grocery bags because I just don’t generate that much trash, since I’m only one person who also happens to be into recycling.  And now that everyone knows I collect bags, I have way more than I use up with trash.  I’ve discovered how you can cut these bags into strips and make them into plastic yarn (“plarn”) that I can then crochet into other things, like a yoga mat bag.  (As one very left-brained friend astutely put it, “So you’re going to take plastic bags and make them into other plastic bags?”)

As a result of all this, I’ve gotten quite a reputation amongst my circle of friends.  At a recent workday at church, I made a big deal of pointing out that I would not be stuck with some tedious indoor task like polishing the silver.  

It serves me right for opening my big mouth because the subject of the attic came up, and how it could only be tamed by someone who would show no mercy when it came to culling the herd, so to speak.  I was selected as the one with enough fortitude for the job.  I feel I now have this legendary mystique that follows me like a train.

But one thing you can’t get rid of—duct tape.  This is the skinflint fix-all solution. I saw a kid with a flashlight taped to the middle of his bicycle handlebars. (He had used some other kind of tape but it’s a start.)  I felt an affinity for this kid—why spend money on a fancy bike light, that you’d have to wait to buy until your parents take you to the store, when you can solve the problem right then and there, enabling you to extend your evening ride?

I think we thrifty people must by nature be more creative in finding ways to stretch our resources so it seems like we’d be good to have around for our efficiency.  Maybe I could start a consulting business:  Ask A Penny Pincher. And out of respect for all the other chintzy people out there, my advice would be free.

It’s not easy being green.  I know this phrase has become trite over the years but I’m old enough to remember when Kermit the Frog said it for the first time.  Of course lately it is used to illustrate how difficult it is to be environmentally conscious, and as with many topics I have a story about that.

l wanted to get ice cream.  The problem is that I really like chocolate malts, and they’re served in a styrofoam cup with a plastic spoon.  Two bad things to throw away.  Boo. A couple scoops in a sugar cone is much greener; I would just discard the wrapper around the cone, plus maybe a paper napkin.

But here’s the deal:  I’ve often doubted my cone-eating prowess and I now have confirmation that I’m just not that coordinated.

One thing to keep in mind is that generally people prefer ice cream when it’s hot outside.  But if you have something that’s frozen, and the outside temperature is in the 80s then it tends to melt.  Like, really quickly.  I do know that much about physics. I feel there is a smaller window of opportunity when consuming an ice cream cone, compared with other frozen confections.

I guess they didn’t hear me when I ordered two scoops; I ended up with three. (I kind of wondered why it was so expensive.)  I’m certainly not complaining at having an abundance of lactose but it did present an additional handicap of having more than I expected, when even a normal amount was challenging enough to eat within the given time and temperature parameters.

Scene:  Me with ginormous ice cream cone, trying to remove myself from the hot parking lot to find some green space to savor my treat.  I am trying to coordinate walking and licking in a circular pattern around the cone so that the dessert does not drip down to my elbows and get wasted.

I guess this configuration of factors just wasn’t humorous enough because then it started raining. And my nose was running. I had to eat this thing so fast I could barely taste it which is sort of the opposite point of having ice cream in the first place. It occurred to me that an afternoon outing for some sugary goodness shouldn’t be stressful. I felt sure I would end up featured on one of those internet memes with the caption: “You’re doing it wrong.”

But what are my options? I guess I could take the styrofoam bowl and recycle it later, assuming that the recycling place accepts styrofoam. Do I bring my own bowl and try to convince them to fill it, health codes aside? Should I wait until it’s cold enough to wear a coat to get ice cream, at which point I would most likely drip it on my gloves and then have to wash them? Or do I only get ice cream from the grocery store—while more economical, I do miss out on the opportunity to support a local business. Then there’s this issue of the carton disposal, unless I get the huge tub in the reusable container (which is pretty cool since it has a handle).

(I bet you’re wondering what happens when I try to order a pizza. Actually that’s pretty straightforward—order pizza, consume, recycle box. Notice I did not include the step of “finish leftovers” because there usually aren’t any.)

If I were to cease my treks to the local ice cream stand, deciding that the drama that accompanies cones was not worth the hassle then I would not have stories like these to tell. I guess I would have to find something else to write about because “I recycled a bowl” just isn’t that interesting.

But the fact remains that even if you are inadequately dressed for the cold rain, and you have fluid running out of your nasal cavity, and your forearms are sticky with a signature homemade flavor, and you’re trying to not get hit by a car while all this is happening—you’re still eating ice cream. Outside. On a summer day. And that’s a good thing, and a happy ending to any story.

A friend asked me if I would be willing to share some of my dating experiences and be a guest writer on her blog. She explained that I came to mind because she felt the perspectives of the twenty- and thirty-something crowd were pretty well covered, but she was curious about the view of someone in the over-forty demographic.  (I wanted to tell her to stop using that particular f-word but we were at church so I was afraid my statement would turn a few heads.)

Besides, what do I know about living in my forties, much less dating in them?  Sure, I was born before 1970 but I’m definitely not your typical forty-something.  Plus I had to think of whether or not I’d actually been on a real date in my forties yet.  But I have to admit to my share of romantic disasters already in my forties so I guess that should count for something.

I suppose she approached me because she somehow assumed that my biological age would give me insight and wisdom that I could pass along to inspire the younger generation. Instead, she got this:

I have a very robust inner third-grader.  My i3G generally serves me well; it’s kind of like having an internal fun magnet.  It reminds me of the mystery of how my dad can make open parking spaces magically appear in front of him, and my mom has a sixth sense of when there’s a sale in the vicinity.

Maybe my dating life would be more successful if I put my i3G on the case.  I really think I was a lot smarter when I was about eight.  The younger version of myself wouldn’t put up with some of the things that I do now, things that we are taught as adults to accept.  For one, my i3G wouldn’t go out with someone “just to be nice,” even when not interested in the other person.  She also wouldn’t spend an excessive amount of time worrying about her appearance or trying to be cool.

And let’s talk about cooties.  Your i3G knows they’re real.  When the thought “that person has cooties” goes through your mind, it means that something is creepy—a boundary has been crossed and things are not right.  The adult world might tell you that you are jumping to conclusions and that you need to override that sentiment.  But your i3G knows that things are amiss—listen to her!

Dates:  Most of the stuff that’s considered part of the standard repertoire for dates is somewhere on a continuum between stressful and boring—certainly not anything fun that brings out the best in each of you.  Or maybe the fun activities don’t bring out the best in my date, in which case I’d like to know that, as it would be a whole lot more helpful in getting to know someone than some contrived, artificial situation.

Here’s a quick checklist for anyone wanting to take me out:  Does it involve roller skates, bubble wrap, ice cream, animals, or bluegrass music?  Count me in.  A big no: overpriced pretentious food, excessive air conditioning, shopping, or anybody asking me, “And now what exactly is it that you do?” in a snotty tone of voice.  I’ll make sure I need to stay home and clean the bathroom that night.

What about gifts?  You got me flowers to show me how you feel about me.  They died within the week.  Not really, I think, what you were trying to convey.  But you found me a heart-shaped rock when you were out hiking?  This tells me you were thinking about me even when I wasn’t there.  If you catch me a frog, we’re in business. (Especially if it’s a talking frog.  No, not one that turns into Prince Charming.  I mean a real talking frog.  That would be pretty neat.)

We should address another adult concept—the dreaded Friendzone.  Kids aren’t really concerned about this.  “So you don’t wanna be my girlfriend?”  Pause.  “Ok, how ‘bout we climb trees instead?”  And suddenly everything is all good again.

I think I’ll approach dating with my i3G at the helm.  At the very least, I’ll have fun and end up with some good stories.  And maybe I’ll find someone out there with his own i3G—and no cooties.

In August, the Haines family made the annual foray into the rustic bliss of Carp Lake, Michigan. We stayed in a cabin right on Paradise lake. (I should explain that the lake is called Paradise Lake, but the town is Carp Lake; they didn’t want a name so attractive that it would make people actually want to move there.) The owners of the cabin live next door with Moose, an aptly named chocolate Lab.

I wanted to share my newest artistic endeavor, poi spinning. This is a traditional Maori exercise/art form that has gotten quite trendy here in recent years. I had practice poi that I made out of obnoxious orange yarn and tennis balls, and I explained that once I got good, then I would buy the ones you can light on fire. Everyone looked at me like they were waiting for the rest of the story. It’s really sad when you can talk about dipping kevlar wick in kerosene, setting it on fire, and spinning it around your body, and still not get a rise out of your family.

A trip to Mackinac Island was compulsory, and my sister somehow managed to get soaked on the ferry ride both to and from the island. Of course this is my ideal place as there are no cars; you get around by foot, bicycle, or the pinnacle of all transport, The Horse. I rented a bicycle and rode around the circumference of the island, turning the seat orange from the dye in my Fabulous Orange Pants.

And now for the Patchwork Palace. This is a turn-of-the-last-century vacation home with decor that is best described as eclectic. One could spend an hour looking at a room without being able to take in all of the knick-knacks, dust catchers, and souvenirs. I thought this was an excellent test for me to stretch my comfort zones, as I consider throw pillows on a couch to be clutter.

But one could appreciate the multiple pots, pans, and utensils in the kitchen; if you needed something, just look around and grab it from the ceiling or wall. I still had to improvise; I made hot tea in a saucepan, and had to use a fork to get the bag out as they did not have a “teabag fisher-outer.” (What are these really called? Teabag tongs??)

There were about a dozen plastic wine glasses (cups?), which came in handy in telling each other’s drinks apart. I was chosen as the wine sommelier at the party we gave for various relatives, friends, and anyone else who felt like showing up. Even Moose made an appearance; I think he wanted to hang out with us at the campfire but Mom wouldn’t let me give him a s’more.

There was only one shower in this place, which was so small that even I had trouble turning around. Mom decided to take matters into her own hands, and rigged up a nozzle to the upstairs bathtub. She was then able to wash her hair by getting onto her hands and knees in the bathtub, to which I said, “Mom, just say NO to crack!” I was glad I was able to recover enough to dance at the annual Sugar Hill contra dance weekend.

Who knew staying in a messy house could be such fun?!

“Spend the weekend with an oxymoron!”  is how Potato Run dance weekend is advertised by the Louisville Contra Dancers.  I thought it was just an excuse to decorate the fliers and the dance hall with Mr. and Ms. Potato Heads.  But apparently there is a creek called Potato Run in the Leavenworth area of southern Indiana.  As you might imagine, potatoes are a theme at the meals:  a potato bar Friday night, potato soup for lunch Saturday, and potato skins Saturday night.  Surprisingly, no hash browns for breakfast Sunday.  I guess they didn’t want to be too predictable.

One of the cool things about the contra scene is that they are often amenable to exchanging work for the price of admission, which is how I was able to attend.  Of course I wasn’t much help in the food prep area but it quickly became obvious that I could rule in the dish room.  Along with the other volunteers, we got an efficient bucket-brigade-type routine going that served us well.  Tips to endear yourself to a dishwasher:  Scrape your plate.  Put your dishes to presoak in the tub of soapy water.  Don’t be the last person to bring in your stuff, after we have finished doing dishes for 60 people.  Contra dancers are known to be quite tolerant but pull a stunt like that and you might end up being “asked” to clean the bathrooms at the end of the weekend.

Accents seemed to be a theme for this weekend.  I rode with a friend from the Bloomington group who is originally from New York City.  One really cool guy for whom we had a birthday cake had a speech impediment that made him difficult to understand.  Of course there were a variety of Southern drawls from the attendees hailing from south of the Ohio.  Then there was the Englishman who played the autoharp at the campfire after the dances as we sang 1960s protest songs.

Most interestingly, one of the chefs had an Irish accent.  I ended up talking to his sister-in-law who informed me that he did not have this accent before he went to seminary.  (He did not become a priest, preferring instead to feed people physically rather than spiritually.)  I suggested it was an affectation to impress people, like some of my college friends who would pretend to be British to meet girls.  She insisted that it was some organic change in his brain, because (she said) if you woke him up in the middle of the night he would still sound like that.  I speculated to myself what would have happened if the man were Orthodox and went to St. Tikhon’s seminary; would he come out sounding Russian?

One had the option to camp in a tent but I was afraid it would be too wet on Friday and too cold on Saturday (it turned out to be neither).  The accommodations were cabins with 26 beds in each but at least they weren’t bunk beds, and my cabin was only half full (or half empty).  I feel ashamed to even consider calling this camping when my brother is an Eagle Scout.  But at least there was no cell phone reception so I didn’t have to worry about being awakened by someone’s phone.

As you may have gathered, the whole contra culture sees itself as a community.  It is perfectly acceptable to sit down to eat with people you don’t know and join in the conversation.  If you walk into a group and say that you need duct tape for your shoes (so you can slide better when you dance) you’ll be told, “It’s under the seat in the red car just over there.  It’s unlocked.”  Add to that the element of Southern hospitality, and you are not just offered beer at the campfire, but, Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey.

The dancing Friday was not as good as I had hoped.  Attendance was down from last year, and other dance weekends with a conflicting schedule were cited as the cause.  The Lexington group was holding a waltz weekend; everyone I talked to agreed we would be bored to tears if all we got to do all weekend was waltz.  There was also a huge dance weekend in Huntsville, Alabama, and someone who was a regular fixture at the local dance had apparently flown to St. Croix for a week to attend a dance camp there.

Although the temperature Saturday was cooler, the dancing was hotter as we had some last minute additions.  I was happy for this opportunity to dance off the two trips I made to the pasta bar (alfredo and pesto sauces!)  By Sunday I was ready to go home and wash everything that now smelled of campfire.  I’m happy to report I only found one tick (on my sleeping bag, before I put it into the car).  My other souvenirs are about half a dozen new Facebook friends, and a severe case of dishpan hands.

The Spirit of Vincennes Rendezvous is an historical reenactment that takes place annually on Memorial Day weekend.  Although the emphasis is on the late 18^th century, they allow costumes from about 1750 to around 1815.  This is the period in which the majority of battles took place in this region, in various configurations, between the French, British, Indians, and anyone else who happened to be around.  And let’s not forget the Colonists (later known as “Americans,” not to be confused with the Americans who were already here), who might have sided with any or none of the above parties.

I’ve been to the Rendezvous before, as a lover of history and costumes, but not of loud noises, like muskets, cannons, and bagpipes.  With a pair of earplugs and a sense of adventure, I was able to stretch my comfort zone and actually watch the battle.

Speaking of which, everybody looks better in 18^th century clothing.  I had plenty of opportunities to admire the men in their striking regimentals.  I can tell I’m still learning how to use the digital camera as I know I took way more pictures than necessary of the hot guys in kilts.  I got a chuckle out of the clergy in period dress—I couldn’t quite see how they were in costume—take off that floppy collar and lengthen the skirt on the cassock and it’s Fr. Peter Jon’s casual wear.  He could probably win a costume contest by just showing up.

I had to admire the Brits in red; quite the eye candy.  Not sure what that says about me—sorry George, the other team looks better.  Probably the only time in history when the English had better teeth than the Americans.

It was amazing to me the women who played the part of soldiers in the reenactment—sure, it would be fun to slug whiskey before the battle, but why would you want to be firing a cannon when you could be in a corset and panniers, fanning yourself in the shade?  Not that those in women’s clothes were doing that; they mostly just looked frumpy.  I guess this is historically accurate as they would have been frontier housewives—I suppose I can’t expect ball gowns during the day.

Apparently I can’t expect them at the ball either.  I should mention that the “ball” turned out to be a very simple contra dance, outside in the wet grass.  But the mosquito bites I earned by going barefoot were worthy souvenirs from dancing with uniformed officers.  We may be known for our diversity, but even the Bloomington contra dance can’t compete with that.

After a whirlwind tour of the house, the family left for a vacation in the Florida Keys.  I wandered around trying to acclimate myself to what would be my surroundings for the next fortnight.  I was continually startled by the lights that come on automatically when I entered a room or opened a closet.  I guess that’s what I get for staying in the house of an engineer.

I was amazed that this huge, well-stocked kitchen did not have curry, cumin, or olive oil.  That pretty much eliminates everything I know how to cook—all three dishes.  Yet any normal person would have been thrilled to stay there, what with the flat screen TV, Wii, and wireless connection.  I was just excited to have a private yard to try to learn to ride my unicycle.  But after two days I had purple shins and chafed inner thighs, yet was no closer to enlightenment.

Scenario:  You’re a vegetarian.  You are house sitting for someone whom you know to be a hunter.  Advice:  Don’t poke around in the freezer in the garage.  At least in the kitchen refrigerator were foodstuffs I could eat.  I was slowly, but surely, working my way through that family-sized bag of baby spinach.  Funny how in my American Sign Language classes they used to say I resembled Olive Oyl.  I was now morphing into Popeye.  I was glad to report that I was learning to cook and eat things that I wouldn’t ordinarily have bought for myself—until I had to bury the evidence of my experimental cooking disaster.

Things got better from there.  I enjoyed Ocean’s Eleven, still not understanding that whole fascination with George Clooney thing.  Still, if he showed up at my door I guess I’d let him take me out for ice cream or something.  Another movie highlight involved watching Braveheart while drinking a Guinness and trying to ignore Mel Gibson’s Peter Frampton hairstyle.  I later posted on Facebook that I was tired of watching several movies in a row with graphic depictions of 18th century medical practices.  Someone asked which ones.  I started the list:  amputations, leeches—then he clarified, “Which movies?”  Oh.

After all this sitting around, I needed some exercise, especially since I realized my butt was too large to sit on their kiddie swing.  I found the Cardinal Greenway, which is the longest contiguous rail trail in Indiana—a total of 27 miles.  With markers every half mile, it was a convenient way to know exactly how far I was running, which is something I have difficulty measuring when I run at home through various paths.  Even running during a weekday, I passed many joggers, walkers, and bikers.  Good to know Bloomington isn’t the only place into fitness.

The highlight of my stay was definitely Molly, a conveniently hard-of-hearing Weimaraner.  She also snores, has restless legs syndrome, and is abundantly flatulent.  I developed a soft heart for her when she jumped on the bed one night; I yelled at her to get off.  Since she wouldn’t budge, I tried to push her off, at which time I realized she was shaking, from fear of the thunderstorm.  Sometimes it’s nice to be cuddled up with a warm dog on a stormy night, until you remember what gross thing she was eating earlier in the day.  Apparently a byproduct of living in the country is finding a decomposed carcass in the driveway.

As a fun outing, I met up with my parents at the horse track, Hoosier Park.  Since I thought I would just be housesitting, I had only packed clothes for running or lounging.  My Mom had to bring me something appropriate to borrow for the evening.  I had to apologize to them, as I had gotten a nasty blister from running, and the only bandage I could find in the house had Batman on it, and it completely clashed with my change of clothes.

As much as I enjoyed my time away, I was looking forward to being home where everything is two steps away from everything else and I can make a good cup of tea.  It would also be a relief to be away from the dry wind that blows across the plains of Central Indiana, and return to the wooded humidity of Bloomington.  Then again, my friends don’t have a mold problem in their bathroom.

Knowing that a family with three kids would soon be returning, I made sure I didn’t eat the last box of Spiderman Mac & Cheese.  Even I sometimes have a modicum of self control.  Before I left, I created a Ms. Potato Head to guard the mail and welcome them home.  I’ll leave you with a quote from what became my favorite wine from my friends’ collection:  “No one remembers exactly where the hippo came from.”

Every year, the Indy contra dance group does a demonstration at the Indianapolis State Fair in an attempt to get new members.  The general consensus is that it has had a minimal impact on recruitment, but everyone has so much fun that it continues to be an annual event.  As a perk for dancing, I got a free ticket to the Fair.  I met up with Mom and Dad where we parked at the Deaf school.  I was hoping to drop in on my friends in the American Sign Language program, but they had apparently moved the classes to a different building.

I had only been to the Fair once before, and I’d forgotten how big it is (and hot, and dusty, and crowded).  We had the best time at the pioneer village; Mom and Dad were able to share some memories about How Things Were Back Then.  We enjoyed old-time music and various craft and machinery demonstrations.

By the time the contra dance started I was a hot, sweaty mess from walking around all day.  Then again, that’s how these people are used to seeing me, as I reach this state after two dances anyway.  Sure enough, few people from the crowd joined us, but just as predictably, we all had a great time dancing.  Had to find some way to work off all those deep-fried treats!

The next event was the Blues, Brews, and BBQ fest at Bean Blossom.  This is not to be confused with the annual Bluegrass Festival that happens every June.  Dad and I attended that on Father’s Day weekend while Mom counted her lucky stars that her dulcimer group had a performance commitment.

We wandered around and marveled at the number of contestants entering the BBQ contest—I had no idea that competitive barbecuing was such a hot thing.  Speaking of hot, Mom got a sample of ribs that she could really appreciate.  I kept encouraging her to investigate how to get involved as a judge—what could be better than getting paid to eat?  Our favorite contestant name:  Monty Pigthon and the Holy Grill.

But ribs weren’t the only free samples, as they were distributing some smokeless tobacco products to those users over 18 (yes, Mom had to show her ID to get some.  Interestingly, I did not have to show my ID to get a beer.)  It was around this time that Mom and I became aware that we were the only women there without tattoos.

We enjoyed the music, and several of the bands were quite entertaining.  But then there were those who apparently think an increase in volume makes up for a lack of talent.  I should point out that this is an outdoor festival, with us sitting some distance from the stage, to give you an idea of the scope of the problem.  We wandered around and looked at tie-dyed merchandise and cheesy flashing jewelry.

Labor Day weekend saw us heading up north to Carp Lake to visit Aunt Dorothy.  We upheld several traditions, including Friday night fish at Bob’s and shopping in Harbor Springs.  We also visited Charlevoix and were able to sit outside for lunch, watching the bridge open to let the boats pass through.  I enjoyed sleeping on the porch of the cottage, where I could watch the moon reflect off Paradise Lake.

Then time for the annual bridge walk, where half of the Mackinac Bridge is designated for foot traffic.  Dad drove us to St. Ignace, where we started the walk back, which took less time than driving over in the first place.  It was crowded, but the view was spectacular, especially as the fog lifted while we were on the Mighty Mac.  I have my official certificate as a memoir.  I also have a few souvenirs from eating ice cream at every meal in the form of snug waistbands.

It’s always nice when one person’s trash is another’s treasure—and so I eagerly accepted Mom’s plea to take her place in the annual Greenfield Spelling Bee.  Mom and Dad had hoped to surprise Tom Cone with my presence, but he was well aware beforehand that I was competing.  You just can’t have any secrets in Greenfield.

This was a fun community event, with much good-natured joking.  My team was solidly in the middle, and admitted that we had a much better time once we were out of the running.  The last two teams went back and forth so many times that finally Tom Cone had to break out the folder marked with a skull and crossbones.

The end of summer could be marked by the Lotus World Music & Arts Festival in Bloomington.  Mom and Dad and I started out in one of the parks for the daytime festivities, mostly geared toward kids, but I assured Mom that if the wanted to make a mask to wear in the parade they would let her.

We got to hear a band from West Africa, while Dad marveled at the number, and extent of, weird people.  “Do they all live in Bloomington, or commute in from somewhere else?”  I pointed out that these were just the folks who were out during the day.  After all, this is part of the spectacle of the festival.

As the festivities wound down in the park, there was a parade to the down area, where the evening events take place.  It was led by a New Orleans-style jazz band, but front and center were stilt walkers in fantastical costumes—one had a dragonfly costume, and the other appeared to be astride a horse.  They also had a companion without stilts who looked and acted like a bird, complete with chirping.

Unfortunately the Lotus magic wore off early this year, as the rain started and did not let up the whole evening.  This mean the bigger, longer, crazier parade that was to take place later got canceled.  We did get to see an amazing old-time band at an inside venue, and a gaggle of gypsies in a tent before the pervasive humidity and cooler temperatures encouraged us to cut the evening short.

No, we don’t have tree growing out of our courthouse!  I have to answer that question about once a month when asked where I’m from.  It’s interesting to me that people confuse where you live and where you’re from—I’m from Greenfield; I live in Bloomington.  I can change where I live, but I will always be from Greenfield.  And wherever you’re from, you will be influenced by that culture, one way or the other.

Now before I hear any objections that Greenfield doesn’t have a culture, I would argue that every place has some kind of unique culture.  Take, for example, the wet tenderloin.  I just took it for granted that everyone knew what this was; I didn’t realize it’s a Greenfield thing, which apparently mystifies people who aren’t from here.  It’s really not that difficult to figure out; tenderloin patty; dip it in gravy.  I don’t eat meat and I know this!

Obviously nothing defines local culture more than Riley Days.  You have to forgive me; I realize it’s the Riley Festival now but I’m old school—when I was growing up; it was Riley Days, just like in my world it’s still Deer Creek Music Center and the Hoosier Dome.

Here’s another one—I never heard the term elephant ear until I was in college.  I remember getting into an argument with someone about this because I thought they were putting me on by trying to convince me it was called something silly like an elephant ear just to see if I would believe it.  My attitude was:  “It’s called a lion’s paw, everybody knows that; the Lion’s club sells them at Riley Days in Greenfield.”

You know you’re from Greenfield if you can recite Little Orphant Annie by heart without ever having made a conscious decision to memorize it.  Not only did your teachers have your brother and sister in school, but your father and aunt as well.

How about this?  I would go over to my friend Darcy Durbin’s house, and if I got in trouble over there, I’d get reprimanded by her parents Russ and Diana; I’m sure there was more than once I got grounded by them!  I would even tell my parents I got grounded by them because if I didn’t then I knew I’d be in even more trouble by someone!

Darcy’s grandparents were also my “adopted” grandparents, along with countless others; I didn’t really know them by their legal names, so when someone would refer to Bert and Edna Bradley, I’d have to do a mental scan and think, “Oh, right, Mamoo & Papoo!”  As a kid, when I’d see the window dedicated to them at Bradley church, I couldn’t understand why it didn’t say Mamoo & Papoo; after all, those were their real names!

Greenfield people are practical people.  Apparently when my grandmother, Mildred Haines, had replaced the carpet in the living room, she was so pleased that she exclaimed, “I should have done this 20 years ago!”  My grandfather, Delbert Haines, looked over his paper and stated, “Yes, but by now it would be all worn out!”

It was also his idea of a good joke, one year during Riley Days, to put a sign out on their front lawn, which sat right on US 40, that proclaimed “Free Breakfast!”, at which point he left for work and let my grandmother deal with the hungry people coming to the door.

But my grandmother was also a quick thinker.  As she never learned to drive, I often drove her places when I was in high school and college.  Since she knew many people, she would often have people come up to talk to her that just couldn’t remember.  She would then say, “This is my granddaughter Stephanie,” at which point the person would introduce themselves to me, Nana would get their name and everybody was saved some embarrassment.  I hate to blow the secret for anyone who was the recipient of this exchange, but there it is!

There have been a lot of changes in Greenfield since I grew up; new businesses and buildings.  One thing that always confuses me is that now you don’t know when spring officially starts anymore.  I see some confused looks—you know what I mean—back in the day, spring was officially here when the Dairy Queen opened; now that it’s open year-round then you’ve lost that whole rhythm-of-the-seasons-of-the-earth thing.

One thing Greenfield taught me is the importance in getting involved in your community, especially if you want to see things happen; you know, part of that philosophy of “Think globally; act locally.”  I was in grade school when I was annoyed that there was no sidewalk going from Sherwood Hills, where I lived, to the park.  This of course meant I was not allowed to ride my bike to the park.  If you’re a kid and can’t ride your bike to the park, well, something needs to be done.

My class wrote letters to the editor on this matter, stressing the importance of the access to the park that would be increased by this sidewalk, and the number of people who would benefit from it.  Within the next year, the sidewalk was complete, thus allowing countless kids to go to the park and get out of their parents hair.

I think the value of growing up in Greenfield can be made clear by contrasting the culture of Greenfield with that of Bloomington.  My parents find it infinitely hilarious that I thought I was so liberal until I went to school at IU and discovered just how conservative I actually am.  Here’s a good example:  I’m sitting around listening to everyone talk:

“Man, our civil liberties are under attack,” “That’s just so uncool about the government surveillance and all this profiling.”  Finally I’d had enough:  “Everybody, just stop talking; just listen to me because I have something to say.  You don’t know what you’re talking about.  Let me just tell you that this isn’t anything compared to what I’m used to, growing up in Greenfield; you don’t know what it’s like to get a speeding ticket and your parents already know by the time you get home!  If you think getting screened at the airport is a big deal then you should come home with me for Thanksgiving!  I’d much rather have the government reading my email than my parents reading my mind, which is what happens when you’re from Greenfield!”

I found a button that I gave to my Mom that I think perfectly sums up the dichotomy of living in Bloomington, while still being influenced by my Greenfield upbringing:  “Question authority, but not your Mother!”  It is definitely a rude awakening when you realize that the advice you give people is verbatim what your parents have been telling you for over three decades.

So, here’s an idea for all you parents out there who are concerned with your kids wanting to get tattoos, piercings, hair colors that don’t occur in nature—you know, whatever it is so that they can stand out and be different.  Send them someplace all liberal so that the only way they can stand out is by being really conservative!  That’s some reverse psychology!

It’s funny because the Democrats and Republicans in Greenfield really aren’t all that different from each other, compared to the gap that separates them in Bloomington.  I’ve been talking to people before and thought, “Wow, you really think that!”  I’ve been told that the solution to all my problems would be to have my aura balanced.  I replied, “My Dad thinks I just need to eat more fiber.”  I’m just so used to being though of as not a very interesting person because in Bloomington I’m up against some pretty stiff competition!

As an example, we just had the Lotus World Music & Arts Festival, which included musical acts from all over the world, and visitors from everywhere else as well.  My favorite act was, surprisingly, a marching band that led the street parade and included people on stilts; their costumes were a combination of Moulin Rouge meets Cabaret meets the Rocky Horror Picture Show; craziness!

As much as I like living in Bloomington, I fully realize that any job you are fortunate enough to obtain in Bloomington could be done elsewhere with half the education, and you’d make twice as much!

So back to Riley Days.  A celebration of Greenfield culture, a homecoming, a birthday party for our very own poet.  I remember getting excited as a kid; there was so much to look forward to—marching in the parade of flowers, watching the “grown up” parade, the entertainment, beauty queens, crowds and booths—I can actually remember when we used to have carnival rides—that was a long time ago!  It marks the official start of autumn; when I leave for work even now as an adult on a brisk October morning, I know exactly what Riley meant with “The Frost is on the Pumpkin;” I get it.

On the morning of the parade of flowers, my Mom would go out and pick some marigolds from the yard and put a paper towel around them, then a baggie, then some foil.  After all, they were going to be in a locker all morning, plus had to withstand handling by a grade school kid.

I was always envious of the kids who would have these fancy store-bought flowers in all these exotic colors; I couldn’t understand why I had boring old marigolds that everybody had in their yard.  “Exactly,” Mom would say, “These are flowers that grow in our area, that are currently in bloom.  They go with the season.”  I didn’t understand the value in that at the time; I do now; I get it.

I remember one year I really wanted to get into the Riley spirit; I was always into old costumes and playing dress up.  I brought with me a sunbonnet that my grandmother gave me.  I was putting it on before the parade of flowers when a couple of other girls started in on me, making fun of me for dressing like someone from Little House on the Prairie.  I was so embarrassed from their ridicule that I took it off.  Later on I was more ashamed of myself for the fact that I did take it off.  I wonder if those girls ever got it.

We would parade to the statue, clutching our flowers, some more careful than the others (I was one of the careful ones, because I “got it.”)  We would walk up to the statue that was as tall as the courthouse and hand our flowers to a grown up who would have to get on a ladder to get the flowers all the way to the top because the statue was so tall.

It’s funny; I was there yesterday at the statue for the parade of flowers, and I didn’t need a ladder.  The base only came up to my shoulder, and the actual statue didn’t reach to the top of the courthouse.  How can that be?  Did the statue shrink; did it sink into the ground; did it melt from years of standing in the rain?

That reminds me of another discovery.  When I was a kid, I had a box of dress up clothes; my friends and I would spend hours in the basement making different costumes from this endless box of possibilities; we would have tea parties and balls and act out fairy tales.  Years later I came across the box; I was excited to look inside and revive those memories.  But it was strange; I couldn’t find the fancy lady dress, or the ball gown, or the fairy godmother—all I could see were a bunch of dusty, water-stained old curtains that smelled like the basement.  I know—I guess Mom must have sold the nice dresses in the garage sale and used the box for storage for other things—I’m sure that’s what happened.

So here I am, now, on the other side of the statue, receiving the flowers instead of giving them.  Kind of scary to think that now *I’m* the adult supervision!  And at this breakfast; I’m the speaker, rather than an observer.  Before I was the child as a recipient of what the festival had to offer; now I’m the adult giving back, playing a part in making the festival happen so that the next generation can continue to enjoy this tradition.

I’ve come full circle; I’m back where I started, yet in a different place.  And that can only happen when you come home, to where you’re from, to Greenfield.

The Porch Swing is WFHB’s weekly program featuring local storytelling.  In this episode, I suffer a painful wardrobe mishap in the name of bad 80’s fashion.  Here is “The Bodysuit”:

 

Here is my speech from the Mayor’s Breakfast, part of the annual Riley Festival in Greenfield.