Those Progressive Insurance commercials featuring the young people who have bought their first homes and are becoming their parents make me laugh. I don’t know where they come up with their ideas, but whoever that is must follow me around, because they have me NAILED.

I like the most recent versions dealing with shopping. I mean, the man who wants to buy a shirt exactly like the one he is wearing could be me. I have already admitted that I purchased a sweater online from Target that I realized I already owned.

I personally laugh/cringe at the commercial in which that same man and the man supposedly hired to intervene are grocery shopping. At the end, the man goes over to give positive feedback to the manager about the expertise of the man in produce. The first time I saw that commercial, I was laughing all the way through his foibles until he got to that last part, where he talked to the manager.

BECAUSE THAT IS ME. I DO EXACTLY THAT.

The other day, I was doing my first Last Big Shop for Thanksgiving. (There are always multiple Thanksgiving shopping adventures that you SWEAR will be your last.) I had a cartful of items, so I elected not to self-check. I also had forgotten my cloth bags, which required me to pay the requisite 10 cents a bag for plastic. It was my lucky day, however, because I snared a cashier who had someone bagging groceries for him. The cashier had been called off the floor where he was stocking canned pumpkin and chicken broth to help out up front at the check stands. That explains why he was pretty crabby. I worked at Safeway in a former life, and so I understood.

The teenaged bagger, however, was NOT crabby. In fact, he was darnright cheerful. “Wow!” he said as he put my groceries in their respective bags. “It looks like you’re going to cook a GREAT Thanksgiving meal!” (He spoke with exclamation points!) I explained that I was simply contributing to the dinner. “Well, I can tell you are a great cook!” he said. “Don’t you just LOVE Thanksgiving?” he went on. “It’s all about the great food!”

I had been feeling a bit overwhelmed and grouchy when I walked up to the checkout stand, but by time I left, I was smiling broadly. That bagger changed my mood completely.

As I was heading out towards the exit, I noticed a man wearing a tie with a name badge that indicated he was the store manager. I mean, he was WALKING RIGHT TOWARDS ME. What could I do? I tried to stop myself. He looks busy, I told myself. He might not actually be the manager, I told myself. He’s seen the Progressive commercials, I told myself.

But I couldn’t help it. “Sir, are you the manager?” I asked. His brows furrowed as he prepared for the bitch he was expecting. “Yes,” he said tentatively. But he didn’t have to be nervous because I pointed to the young man and said that he was one of the most pleasant service people I had ever encountered and what a great job he was doing.

“Well, that’s wonderful to hear,” the manager said with a smile. “You know, today is his first day here. He arrived two hours early.”

And there you go. That young man changed my mood that day. It reminded me that I, too, can change people’s days by smiling and being friendly. I hope that young man has a wonderful future ahead of him.

Cheers!

People frequently ask me how I can write a blog nearly every day. Don’t you hate having to write that often?

The answer is no. I love to write. What makes it difficult is coming up with something interesting to say six days a week. I live a pretty quiet and uninteresting life. Sometimes I will come up with a idea in the middle of the night. Or maybe something will catch my eye at the grocery store. I like to tell myself that when I sit down that afternoon to write, I will quickly recall the idea and the words will flow from my fingers like ketchup from a bottle. What happens in real life is that I sit down and can’t for the life of me recall my brilliant idea.

So I recently decided I would write down my idea in a notebook even when I’m certain I will remember it. Because as much as the truth hurts, I don’t remember things like I used to. Or really at all. As I’ve aged, my brain is apparently beginning to look like Swiss cheese, except for my childhood telephone numbers.

So, when I got ready to write this blog, I recalled that I had written down a great idea I had for a post. I happily opened my notebook, and here is what I had written down:

Why do I do that thing that I hate?

What the hell, I thought to myself. What thing do I hate? I hate hypocrisy. I hate arrogance. I hate winter. I hate eggplant. I hate war. I hate the Las Vegas Raiders, but not as much as I used to when they were in Oakland.

But what exactly was it that I was thinking about when I suggested that idea to myself? I remember clearly writing down the idea. But I have no recollection to what I was referring. Clever ideas aren’t clever when you don’t remember what the clever idea was.

I thought about this recently when I decided I needed to sharpen one of my well-used and well-loved knives. I have a small knife sharpener that I have kept in the same place in the pantry for 10 years or more. I walked to where I have kept that sharpener all these years, and it wasn’t there. And then I remember thinking last summer that it really wasn’t in a great place, and I should move it to __________ because that would make much more sense. Except I can’t remember where __________ is. Therefore, my knife sharpener is missing in action.

I’m not the only one in my family who has made this type of tactical error. Many years ago, my sister Bec had a little remote control that she kept in a pencil container alongside her pencils. One day, she decided that was a silly place to keep the remote control. Like me, she put the remote control in a much more “sensible” spot. Except the remote control has been missing since that very moment because she can’t for the life of her remember where she put it.

It’s her very own version of why do I do the thing that I hate.

I spent yesterday getting ready for today. My stepmother — who passed away suddenly a few weeks ago — is being interred at Fort Logan National Cemetery this morning. I offered to host a luncheon following the service, something I am happy to do. However, I learned that the week of Thanksgiving is not necessarily the week to plan an additional gathering. The grocery store was crazy yesterday morning, but I got enough ingredients for my lunch, plus some ingredients for my Thanksgiving responsibilities. I had pretty good luck finding things, except for Jimmy Dean sausage. I managed to grab a couple of the store brand breakfast sausages for my mother’s famous dressing, one of my contributions.

I spent the remainder of the day cleaning and preparing the house for guests. I will admit that I also did a bit of Christmas decorating, including putting up a teeny-tiny tree in my kitchen…..

After all, we need a little Christmas.

Now I come to the time when I explain the title of the blog: I am taking the remainder of the week off to prepare for, and enjoy, Thanksgiving. Smell the roses, so to speak. I will return on Monday.

Happy Thanksgiving to all my friends and family and other readers.

My sister Jen FaceTimed me the other day with Winston on her lap. “He got groomed today,” she said. I commented on how beautiful he was, and how fluffy his ears were. “He really doesn’t like going to the groomer,” Jen pointed out.

The next day, she sent me this photo…..

She found Winston hiding under the bed in one of the guest rooms.

“He hid about the same time that we left for the groomer yesterday,” Jen explained.

I’m pretty sure Winston is smarter than me. And his ears really are fluffy.

Have a great weekend.

Mr. Welles hit the nail on the head. It sounds like he disliked travel almost as much as me. Bill and I personify his words. Bill is bored and I am terrorized by every little dip the plane makes. I don’t think I have ever taken a plane ride where I haven’t been convinced that the engines don’t sound exactly right. Like I know how jet engines sound.

We are flying today back to our Denver home, where we will spend the holidays with our Denver kids and grandkids. Nana’s Whimsies will return in a couple of days.

My daughter-in-law Jll always tells me that of all the grandparents, I’m the most technically competent. That’s setting a pretty low bar, I assure you. It’s true I am able to text. I read books on Kindle. I rely on the Apple navigation system to get me from Point A to Point B. I understand the concept of streaming. All of the above are true AS LONG AS NO CHANGES ARE MADE TO THE PROCESS,

But by its very nature, technology is in constant change. Whereas Generation X, Y, and Z-ers are probably so excited when Apple comes out with an update because it means that their phones are going to do new, very cool things that will enable them to improve their lives. I, on the other hand, get sweaty palms and start grinding my teeth the minute Apple notifies me that there is an update. While it may be life-changing for most, for me it just means I’m going to have to figure out how to flip the camera on my iPad while talking on Facebook following its most recent update. I still haven’t learned how to answer a call when I’m on another call, so flipping the phone might be challenging.

For the past month or so, I have been in a particularly difficult technological situation with Dish at its very center. It started when they had a fight with Channel 9 in Denver, and took their ball and bat and went home. They knocked them off their roster, that is.

I complained about this earlier, and got lots of suggestions dealing with installing antenna. I’m familiar with that concept, because we have an antenna at our AZ home. When we first bought the house in 2010, that’s all we had for a few months. An antenna generally works great, except for the fact that you have to be present to watch the show. I love my DVR so much I would invite it to Thanksgiving dinner if it was human. Nevertheless, when we got to AZ a month ago, I turned on my television, pressed the source button to the antenna, and nothing happened. Apparently, wind conditions over the summer made my antenna unhappy. We eventually got it worked out so that we can watch the programs live. And somehow, some way, I’m able to access Dish Anywhere using the Fire Stick that Bill bought last year. The thing is, I have no idea how it works. I know what to do to get to Dish Anywhere, but I don’t know why. As long as it’s working, I don’t have to know why.

When I bought my current computer a year or so ago, I couldn’t figure out how to transfer my Microsoft Word software to this computer. What the heck, I thought. I just bought it again: Microsoft 365. Once I figured out that it was internet-based, it has worked pretty well for me, particularly since my life doesn’t involve a lot of Word documents. However, Sunday afternoon, Bill asked me if I could type something for him. Oops, I mean keyboard something for him. When I went to get onto Microsoft 365, I could no longer do so. I don’t know why, but I assume they have improved the application, and everybody but me is happy about it. I am not happy, because I can’t figure out how to make it work.

I know technology is King, but I wish it could be just a bit static. But then I haven’t even figured out Tik Tok.

I’ve always heard that you shouldn’t go to bed angry at your spouse or other loved one. Kissing and making up prior to sleeping is such a great idea. Unfortunately, it’s another great idea that I have foregone many times in my life. I know why they (whomever “they” are) give that advice, but the reality is that at bedtime, I’m generally still mad as hell, and as such, I am in no place to forgive and forget. In fact, if I said I was sorry when I’m still angry, I would lay awake all night long thinking about how angry I still am and how mad I am that I gave in and said I was sorry when I didn’t have a regretful bone in my body, at least not right then.

I wish I wasn’t so stubborn. I’m fully aware that during any given night, either Bill or I could croak in our sleep. If I was the croaker, it would be Bill who would be left regretting not saying he was sorry. I would be in Purgatory figuring out how I can let Bill know that even though I was mad, I still loved him. If I, however, was the croakee, I would be left to regret my anger. Except I’m so stubborn that I probably would be mad as hell at him for croaking before we could resolve our differences, better known as Bill telling me I was right.

On the last Sunday in what the Catholic Church calls ordinary time, we-the-Catholic-Mass-attenders are treated to my least favorite gospel. It is, of course, the gospel in which Jesus tells his friends that even as they sit and sip wine and eat hummus and gefilte fish, it will all end some day. God made the world, and he can take it away any time he chooses. For the past 2,000 years or so, God hasn’t so chosen, and for that I am grateful. But I know that I’m not getting out of this world alive, even if I outlive the End of the World.

I have never liked movies that deal with the end of the world. Apocalypse movies scare the hell out of me. I tried watching the new television program La Brea for about 10 minutes, until I realized it was about a giant hole opening up in L.A. and sending people to a primeval land that exists below the earth. Frankly, as many Californians as are moving to both of my home towns, I’m surprised there was anyone left in L.A. to fall into a hole at all.

Every time I hear one of those predictions from Bible interpreters or so-called prophets that the world is going to end on July 18, 2027 (I made up that date, by the way; no prophesies happening here), it freaks me out. I am comforted, however, when I hear that Jesus went on to tell them that no one but God knows the day and the time.

So there, Nostradamus. And I’m probably going to go to bed mad at Bill a time or two more before the world ends.

It’s gonna be a hell of a holiday and it’s only just begun
The whole world is decorating and it’s only November one
They’re carving the pumpkins, they’re hanging the lights
They’re stuffing the turkey, they’re pouring the wine
Already singing Auld Lang Syne
It’s a hell of a holiday

Pistol Annies

As I have mentioned about a bajillion times, Bill and I, along with my sister Jen and her pooch Winston, will come back to AZ on Christmas Day. That means that any holiday decorations I have put up in our Denver house have to come down on Christmas Eve. Because Christmas decorations are my favorite things in the Whole Wide World, I decided to put up our little Christmas tree early here at our desert house. That way I can enjoy the lights for the remaining few days we are here. It also means when we walk back into our AZ house on Christmas Day, there will be a cheerful little tree waiting for us.

My tree makes me smile…..