A March Epitaph

Goodbye to you March, I'm not sorry to say
With your terrain so muddy, your skies so blase.
Of all 31 days of your drizzle and snow
Of your chill and your drabness I mind not let go.

Though today is as March-y as March ere could be
Tomorrow, I heard, it might e'en be fifty!
Now let April rains pour and let May skies be bright
I guess (all in all) that March turned out alright.

TIHL #5 How to Pay My Taxes

Why is it that no one ever teaches you how to pay your taxes in school? I would think it could easily be integrated into the curriculum of what my high school called "Personal and Family Life Sciences." (Or "Piffles" for short.) It wasn't that the stuff that we actually did learn in there was useless-I can totally see a situation in which I might have to sew up a beautifully crafted "stuff sack" on command, or perhaps come to the rescue of a whining egg baby. Heck, I might even have to whip up a few pancakes at some time or another. However, it seems that such a certainty as having to pay taxes at some point in the future would merit at least a class period or two. I don't know,maybe the people who write the curriculum are in cahoots with the folks down at H & R Block. Or maybe I am alone in my financial confusion, and this stuff is second nature to everyone else. (How is it that both my parents work in the field of finance and I can't even balance my checkbook?) I guess that's just my two cents worth...

Mamma Mia!

Would it be really loserly if I admitted that last night just may have been the highlight of my year so far? (If not of the year, certainly at least of my favorite month of March.) As some of you may recall, yesterday was the last of the three major holidays in March-"The Minnesota Orchestra Plays the Music of Abba" eve! It was definitely an event to be remembered.

The group I was with (my sister, one of my friends, and two of her friends) was by far the youngest collection of people you would have run across had you been fortunate enough to be in attendance at last night's event. We were also, I dare say, the most enthusiastic. I'm not sure how anyone can hear music such as we heard last night and not sing, dance and be merry. (However, I think that we may have frightened the people around us with our general zeal!) We tried our best not to treat the entire concert as a sing-along....

We were all in high spirits at intermission, and it seemed that the rest of the audience was as well. Encouraged by this enthusiasm, I offered to pay $5.00 to anyone who would assist me in getting as least 70% of the women who were in line for the restroom to sing along with us. We tried valiantly with Mamma Mia, but it was to no avail. Thinking we had perhaps chosen the wrong song, we tried again with Waterloo, but we again were met with defeat. We received many compliments on our vocal stylings, a few laughs, and a number of uncomfortable stares, but these women were apparently wound just a little too tight to try something so foolish. You can't say we didn't try. (Maybe I'll try again next weekend when the orchestra plays Mahler--although his melodies may not be quite as conducive to such a thing...)

Indeed, last night's concert will long stand out in my mind as a celebratory evening of amazing music. Maybe when I retire I can join an ABBA tribute band. Until then,
Thank you for the music,the songs I'm singing,
thanks for all the joy they're bringing
Who can live without it,
I'd ask in all honesty, what would life be?
Without a song or a dance
what are we?
So I say, thank you for the music, for giving it to me. :-)

TIHL #4 Chocolate is not necessarily the answer...

Warning: I have written about some fairly silly topics, but this one is the most ridiculous yet.

I have this magnet that says "Chocolate is the answer. Who cares what the question is?" I consider it to be a motto of sorts. Lately, however, it would seem that chocolate has not been on my side. (Well, its leftover calories are probably clinging somewhere around my sides, but that's not really what I meant.)

The first problem I've been having involves chocolate milk. (The kind you mix yourself out of Nesquick, not the kind that comes out of brown cows.) I think the absolute best part of a tall glass of chocolate milk is when you get to the bottom- you know, where all that gritty sugar that never quite mixed in has settled? Try as I might to contort my tongue in every way possible, I can never quite get that last little bit of goodness. Usually, in desperation, I end up tipping the glass upside down and trying to let gravity take over. Unfortunately, as a result of this last ditch effort,I have actually choked on chocolate milk grit two or three times in the past weeks. I'm taking a bit of a stab in the dark here, but I'm guessing that this problem is uniquely my own.

The second incident involved a baking-related quandary. I really REALLY thought that my already scrumptious Rice Krispie (TM) bars could be improved if I could only add a drizzling of chocolate on top. Since I've never met a chocolate I couldn't melt, I thought that substituting a Hershey's bar for a few chocolate chips would be of little consequence. Apparently, I was in error. I would make the post hoc analysis that Hershey's bars have so many preservatives that they are fully indestructible, because the offending bar went from completely formed and solid to burned/vaporized in a matter of about 15 seconds. Needless to say, the Rice Krispie bars ending up remaining in their natural state. (In contrast, the kitchen smelled completely unnatural for the next several hours.) I guess we can't all be Betty Crocker.

It might be time for chocolate and I to do a bit of redefining in our relationship. In light of this new evidence, I would be a fool to continue professing that chocolate is the answer to all life's connundrums. But I think I'll keep my magnet, just in case. :-)

TIHL #3 How To Celebrate St. Patrick's Day

I might have been a bit too optimistic in one of my earlier blog entries when I hypothesized that St. Patrick's Day was sure to be "a shining beacon in the midst of March." St. Pat's day started off well enough-I woke up to sunlight, blue skies, and a wonderfully adorable St. Patrick's Day gift from my parents. ( This gift, in case you were wondering, included green carnations, green socks, some nail decals in the shape of shamrocks, and a little ceramic coin with a "Luck O' The Irish" wish upon it.) So, adorably and festively clad in the aforementioned gifts (well, I didn't actually wear the carnations), as well as a green shirt that says "Everyone loves an Irish girl," I set off to work on my independent study project, which I have heretofore been ignoring.

Since I was having little success concentrating at my house, I decided to move my efforts elsewhere, namely Caribou coffee. It was apparent that the Luck O' the Irish was with me as I ordered my drink, because they gave me a Chai Tea Latte with a veritable mountain of whipped cream (which is what I wanted) instead of a plain Chai Tea (which I had reluctantly ordered, since it has WAY fewer calories.) Never one to complain, I resigned myself to the fact that I would simply have to drink the less healthy beverage. In conjunction with the chocolate chunk cookie I had ordered, this drink supplied adequate brain power to independently study for at least two hours before the Sunrise leprechaun came to escort me to work.

St. Patrick's Day festivities abounded at Sunrise! I walked in to find residents drinking green beer and eating green-sprinkled cookies, having quite a grand old time. I may have joined them, had I not been assured that I was going out for my own festivities in just a couple of hours. It is a humbling thought that perhaps many of these octogenarians ended up having a cooler St. Patrick's Day than I did!

You know that old saying, "The best laid plans always run amok"? Well, I guess I'm not sure that my plans for the evening were exactly the best laid, but I'm fairly certain that they did not originally include staying home all night and working on my independent study. However, this is exactly what I ended up doing. Never one to let a holiday pass without some sort of musical recognition, I did accompany myself on the guitar for a couple choruses of "O Danny Boy" and "When Irish Eyes are Smiling." (Ok, if you must know, I also sang a short rendition of "Sweet Rosie O'Grady".) It was only after this little concert that I felt compelled to make up for my lack of green beer consumption with a glass of red wine...

My St. Patrick's Day might have been complete in its lameness at that point, but as it turned out, I received a phone call just as I was getting ready for bed. One of the friends I had planned on going out with had been so busy performing her civic duty (namely, calling the Edina police on various St. Patrick's day revelers who were in violation of the city parking ordinances) that she just hadn't had time to make it out on the town. This made me feel slightly better, for at least I was bored on account of a noble cause. (???) I guess now would be the time to start planning for next year...

"Spring" Break

It would just figure that the only substantial snowfall all season would occur on the first day of Spring Break. I'm not going to complain too much, because I actually prefer the dazzling whiteness of fresh knee-deep snow to the dingy grayness that March is so famous for. In fact, this little blizzard afforded me a number of opportunities that I mightn't have otherwise had.

First, I got to see our postman slide backwards down the street in his little mail truck. (It was probably a bit upsetting to him at the time, but I sure got a kick out of it!) In fact, I am laughing out loud now as I recall seeing him go flying by my window, back end going hither and yon. Hopefully he'll be able to laugh about it sooner or later.

Second, I was able to become intimately acquainted with my local Honda dealer, who informed me that no matter how well-intentioned I was, he could not just print me out a key to my friend's car. I tried explaining to him that I only wanted to move it off the snow emergency route, but he was unimpressed. Did, I not, he asked, understand that that plan had already tried by every scheming car thief and his brother?! Harrumph. Some people would have to ruin it for everyone.

Third, since Daphne (my car) told me she wasn't at all sure she could make it out of our driveway, I decided to clean my room. For some reason, I always seem to find a lot of candy in my room when I clean. I hate to have all those little tiny pieces of candy cluttering up my clean room, so usually I just eat them all. I think I ate about 14 Hershey's kisses, a sucker, and a box of Nerds. I always knew that cleaning was bad for my health. In another moment of inspiration, I also almost, ALMOST put THE red shirt in the Goodwill box. It's getting a bit worn, and frankly, a bit small. (I'm certain this is just because it has been through the dryer so many times.) Wouldn't it be nice of me to share the power of the red shirt with a less fortunate soul who NEVER gets asked out by the strangest men imaginable? In the end, I just couldn't part with it. I'll probably have to wear it for the picture that will go inside my book jacket. I'd better stop cleaning my room so I don't have to eat all that messy candy...

TIHL #2 When To Give Up

It might be said that I am a persistent person when it comes to romance, or the hope thereof. When I say persistent, I mean this in the way that your alarm clock persistently refuses to cease existence no matter how many times you hit the snooze button. Maybe I even mean this in the way that California persistently clings to the mainland of our country despite enormous tectonic pressure to go and join Hawaii. While I'm sure that this persistence will serve me well in the future, right now it seems to cause me nothing but problems.

I seem to fall for guys very quickly. I have significantly more trouble in the area of picking myself back up. Once a guy has convinced me that he is worthy of my affections, there is little he can do to change my ridiculously positive opinion of him. "Oh, he's just acting like a jerk because he's really upset over the death of his pet sea monkey. " "I"m sure he just forgot that he was mid-sentence in a conversation with me when he walked away. He would never be rude on purpose." When sentences like these come out of my mouth, could someone just please hit me over the head with a two-by-four? You could accompany that with the gentle reminder that sometimes, it's just time to give up.

I think I'm slowly learning that giving up does not always imply failure. For instance, giving up on your 3-pound Chipotle burrito when you are completely and utterly stuffed may actually be of some benefit to you. In the same way, giving up on the hope of a relationship with whomever you may be currently into before your heart gets attacked with a potato masher may also serve you well in the long run. I'm really going to try to take my own advice.

In the wise words of the cheesy old pop tune I heard while I was working out this morning, "Be young, be foolish, but be happy." I think I've got the foolish part down. And you know what? I am happy. If you're reading this, you most likely play a significant part in that happiness. Cheers to the best friends I could hope for, cheers to the hope of good things to come, and cheers to you, California. We'll get there. :-)

My Life as a Concierge

I LOVE my job at Sunrise Assisted Living. Sure, it can get a little slow in the evenings once everyone turns in for bed around 5:30, but I couldn't imagine a better part-time job. I tend to experience so many of life's more meaningful moments when I'm at work. I have received comments ranging from death threats ("I'm going to kill you!!!! Tell your mother.") to fervent declarations of love ("And the truth of it is, I love you! And that's a fact."). I have formed friendships with people four times my age and made more 911 calls than I can count on one hand. I've chased escapees down the street, sang songs from the 1920s at the top of my lungs, and had conversations that wouldn't make sense to anyone who didn't have dementia. I wish that you could all meet the people I see every weekend, because they have taught me so much about the world, about life, and about love. Here are just a few short stories about some of the most interesting characters:

One lady stopped me tonight with a "Hey Babe, what's up?" When I told her I was just bringing some dishes back to the kitchen, she informed me that she was, in fact, working with the Secret Service. When I asked her what she was doing exactly, she said "I can't tell you! That's why it's called the Secret Service!" This same delightful woman also takes great joy in recounting the tale of how she pitched for the St. Louis Cardinals, but they kicked her off because she was a girl. Another favorite story of hers always goes exactly like this. "I had a wonderful husband. He was a dentist. He'd have given me the moon if I asked. In fact, he took me to the moon once! And you don't know how big the moon is until you've stood on it." What a fabulous way for her to remember her husband. Somehow, I don't think he would be offended that she doesn't even remember his name.

There are several married couples at Sunrise, but one in particular serves as my great model of what I hope to have someday. They are both well into their 90s, and they are still in love. Neither of them can walk, the wife can't hear, and the husband can't see, but just watching them interact often brings tears to my eyes. Last weekend they were snuggling on the couch (holding hands of course) when the wife started singing, "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine...." Her husband looked at her and asked, in a teasing voice, "I am?" She look at him and said, "well, yeah!" When I asked them how they had met, they looked at each other and said, "I don't remember....We've known each other since we were teenagers!" Wow. They will celebrate their 70th wedding anniversary this year.

Another lady who I just love wins the prize for the resident I have had to chase down the street the most times. The other night I went to visit her right before I left since she hadn't been by the front desk in a couple of weeks. It was obvious to me that she didn't really know who I was, but she did know that she was happy to see me. She started to cry as I began asking her how she was doing. When I asked her why she was crying, she looked at me and said through her tears, "You have the most perfect teeth!" I almost cried on the way home just thinking about how beautiful and how sad she looked. Someone once told me, "People with dementia will never remember your name, but they will always remember who has been kind to them." I hope I don't miss too many opportunities to share a smile with someone who needs it.

Addendum

I KNEW I had to be missing a third major holiday in March, and indeed, I was. On March 24th and 25th, our very own Minnesota orchestra will interpret the music of none other than ABBA!!! A good time is sure to be had by all. Who's coming with me?

TIHL #1: How to Beat March

So we have arrived at the second day of March, which always seems to me to be the most utterly depressing month of the year. Try as I might to remain cheerful, this spiteful month always goes Chuck Norris on me and kicks me when I'm down. There's something about the ever-present mile deep cloud haze and the dirty sand covering that seems to suck the life out of anything that could be beautiful. This year, I solemnly avow, will be different. I am already compiling a list of things to look forward to.

Of course, there is always St. Patrick's Day. Although I don't really like beer, and the thought of drinking GREEN beer is enough to make me want to lose the 46 Girl Scout cookies that I just ate to appease my chocolate craving, there is something slightly festive about leprechauns and buttons that say "Kiss Me, I'm Irish." (I'm not, but my very name means "A girl from the Emerald Isle"-Don't you think I could apply for an exception?) Yep, March 17th is certain to be a shining beacon in the midst of March.

Second of all, there is Spring Break. Although I do not currently have any travel plans on the horizon, it will be nice to lock myself in the library all day to work on the independent study that I have, to this point, been pretending does not exist. I'm almost sure that if I click my heels together three times and say "There's no place like Ferguson", the whole thing will just go away.

As any good essay writer knows, I should really be proceeding on to my "third of all." In the absence of any more major holidays to anticipate, I am going to recommend this to myself. Think of three things to be happy about every day in March. Think of two things to complain about. Add them together and say to yourself "Great Scott, I'm still coming out ahead for the day!" Here are my happy things for today: 1) The ever-elusive/fictional janitors in the music building finally swept all of the dust bunnies out of the Ferguson stairwell. 2) Said janitors have still not seen fit to mop up the hot chocolate I spilled roughly a month and a half ago when I misjudged the angle of the corner. 3) I got to the spend 1 1/2 hours admiring some of the most beautiful scenery in the Minneapolis area. (You all know how gorgeous eastern Richfield is ;--))

So to you, March, I say, no, rather shout, "TAKE THAT!" I'm going to win this year. I hope you do too. :-)

Well, you've gotta start somewhere...

I'm going to write a book someday. I really am. I already have the title-"The Red Shirt Chronicles and Other Disasters-The Things I Haven't Learned." Since writing a book seems like a bit of stretch for someone who has thus far produced only odes, limericks, "meeting minutes", songs of unrequited love, and SOAP notes, I decided a blog might be a good next step to take in order to achieve literary super-stardom. I'm not convinced that this blog will end up containing any actual wisdom (Notice I have entitled it "The Things I HAVEN'T learned...), but I do hope to entertain and hopefully slightly amuse the future readers of my best-seller. So without further ado, I give you....