Category Archives: personal

Just Another Pedestrian Post

Saturday Running Commentary does not return this week. However, I took a fairly lengthy stroll with my schnoodle, Tabby, and I will write about that.

Regular readers (Hi, Rachel!) know I have not been feeling well lately. Felt like crap Wednesday. A little better Thursday, so took a walk with Tabby. It’s important to walk your dog. For one thing, they like to go for walks. Felt worse Friday (perhaps you read my blog post about it). Felt a little better today. Took a walk.

I went early, before things had warmed up much. Still, the sun was bright. I hoped for the best. I wore my crazy old lady hat. It has a wide brim for shade. I’ve been wearing this large kind of lined windbreaker with huge pockets lately. I got it for three bucks on the clearance rack at Wal-Mart some years ago. I mention it, because I put my prescription sunglasses in the pocket along with a couple of poop bags and the house keys. I didn’t used to lock the door when we went for a walk, but I feel times have changed.

I wanted my sunglasses right away. Some people just wear the sunglasses for a walk and deal with it when the sun goes behind a cloud. I’m kind of funny about that. I’d rather put up with the inconvenience of carrying around the glasses and changing them. I spent about half a block wondering if this makes me a truly weird person. Then I just enjoyed the walk.

We started down German Street and went for three blocks. Tabby stopped and sniffed at as many of the trees and posts as I would let her. I was indulgent, because, after all, the walk was for her entertainment, too. It was early enough that the side of the street we were on was quite shady. That will be a delightful thing in a few months. This morning it was cold. Too much traffic to cross the street easily, so I put up with it. Tabby didn’t seem to mind.

Eventually we turned down the little path that used to be a hydraulic canal. We love that path. It will be even nicer when the grass is green. As we turned onto a residential street, I noticed some crocuses and other flowers sprouting up in people’s yards. Wonderful sight! I reminded myself to check for my own crocuses when we got home.

Two dogs coming from the opposite direction across the street started barking at Tabby and pulling on their leashes. She was absorbed in sniffing a pole and ignored them. Their person pulled on the leashes and told them to behave. Tabby continued her important sniffing. A small group of people walking down the road seemed to be amused by the contretemps.

It was pleasantly warm in the sun as long as the wind wasn’t blowing. Unfortunately the breeze kept picking up and my ears got a little cold in my hat. Not bad enough for me to pull my hood up and really look like a crazy old lady, though.

When we got home I looked for crocuses. None, front or back! I was sad about that. Every year I think I will put down more bulbs in the fall and every fall I forget till the snow flies. Still, I usually get a few blooms from the original bulbs Steven and I planted our first fall in the house. Perhaps they will yet make an appearance. I’ll keep you posted.

A Sick Day with Georgette

Yesterday when I kind of combined Non-Sequitur Thursday with Lame Post Friday, I had thought I was going to find some good, blogworthy topic to write about on Friday (today). After all, I didn’t have to go to work. I had big plans of things to do. The sky was the limit!

Oh, man, I’ve been sick. It started Wednesday with extreme light-headedness. Then I didn’t feel so bad on Thursday, so I thought, “Oh, it’s just my spring allergies kicking in. I can rock this.” Then I woke up this morning and thought, “Oh, no.”

I actually did leave the house, determined to function in my ill-feeling state. After all, I’ve worked ten hour days with a screaming headache. I could have a couple of Mohawk Valley adventures while experiencing light-headedness, right? Not so much.

If any of you are currently expressing horror that I drove my vehicle in a lightheaded state, sorry. It wasn’t really that bad. I don’t think I was a danger to myself and others. I managed to run my errands, one of which was, I believe, blogworthy in the usual sense. However, I will not write about it now, for reasons that will become clear when I eventually do write about it. If anybody remembers the preceding sentence, and, quite frankly, I’m not counting on anybody continuing to read after the second paragraph.

Anyways, when I got home, the light-headedness kicked in full force. I couldn’t do anything by lie on the couch and read a Georgette Heyer book. For a little variety, I went up and laid down on the bed and read, then napped a little.

And, by the way, how about a brief shout out to Georgette Heyer? She pretty much invented the Regency Romance. Nobody before or since has done it as well. Oh, well, maybe Jane Austen. It is so cool to think that there was a time when people felt obligated to be civil. Judging from some of the stuff I read on Facebook or hear in the streets, that is emphatically no longer the case. That could be a topic for another blog post. When I’m feeling better.

Lame Non-Sequiturs

I saw on the news Tuesday morning (WKTV out of Utica, NY) that somebody had declared it No Complaints Tuesday. My rebellious nature immediately asserted itself.

I will naturally complain about anybody telling me not to complain. After all, we can help improve things by complaining about what’s wrong. And if we can’t change things we can relieve our feelings by expressing ourselves. I have a lot of intelligent, thoughtful, CERTAINLY NOT whiny complaints, and I am sure you do, too, gentle reader.

That is the cue for somebody to sniff, “I never complain. It doesn’t do you any good to complain. I look on the positive side always.” Well, if that is truly what you say, I bet a lot of your friends complain about you as soon as you leave the room.

I wrote the preceding Tuesday morning but decided to save it for Non-Sequitur Thursday. I actually continued my Tuesday in a non-complaining fashion, I think largely because I had gotten it out of my system with that silly diatribe.

So today is Non-Sequitur Thursday, but it is also my Friday — that is, Lame Post Friday — since I have tomorrow off. Score! I can be random, half-baked and none of it has to make any sense (I KNOW some of you are saying, “So what else is new?” and what an obvious thing to say. Find some new jokes!).

I intend to spend a good part of the weekend watching cheesy movies which I will write about for your entertainment. I have some waiting on my DVR especially for the purpose. I might also hit some local retail establishments in search of Easter goodies.

Hey, why is it there a moon on my watch (how’s that for a non-sequitur) (and a random observation)? It can’t mean p.m., because I have my watch set to military time (if you want to annoy some people, tell them it’s 16:48 when they ask you what time it is). It’s not that I’m such a gung ho, prior service kind of veteran (but feel free to call me Sgt Q). It’s that this way when I set my alarm for 3:30 or 5 I know it will ring in the morning. Just another little bit of security when I go to sleep at night that I’ll get up on time in the morning. Maybe the moon has always been there. Or maybe my watch is mooning me. Wise-ass Timex!

Well, that is over 400 words. I think that is plenty enough silliness for one day (is that half-baked philosophy?) (I know “plenty enough” is a tautology, but I like the sound of it). Time to get on with my weekend. Happy Thursday, everyone!

Dirty in the Works

Yesterday we started rehearsals for Dirty Work at the Crossroads, the play my husband Steven is directing for Ilion Little Theatre (ILT). Rehearsal was scheduled for seven o’clock. We arrived by 6:30 to set up the stage.

The stage was almost completely bare, the set from the last show having been taken down. Flats and lumber were piled up at the sides and back, because we aren’t sure what all we might need to build Steven’s set. Steven began placing chairs on the stage to indicate where some things are going to be.

“This is theatre magic,” I declared. “A minute ago they were just chairs. Now they’re a house, a river bank, a stump — OK, those are still just chairs.” The chairs were around an actual table — probably not the specific table we’ll ultimately use — that the Widow Lovelace serves tea on.

My remark struck me as very funny and I immediately decided to use it in the blog.

When I was in Harvey last year, I did not feel comfortable blogging about the rehearsal process itself. I felt somehow it should remain private, protected in a way. Some directors hold closed rehearsals — only essential personnel allowed in. That’s more usual in a professional or college setting. I’ve never known ILT rehearsals to be closed.

That said, I think I can say a little, in a general way, about our rehearsal last night. One observation I must make is, blocking rehearsals are boring.

Blocking, for anyone who doesn’t know, is movement on the stage. The director says, “You go here on this line,” and the actor writes it in his (or her) script. In pencil. Then they try it again. It isn’t so bad when you’re on the stage moving around and writing things down. Sitting in the audience watching can be deadly.

See, my big scenes aren’t till Act II. I was there last night to lend moral support for the first rehearsal. In view of that, I did not mention to anyone how boring I find blocking rehearsals. I hope nobody in the cast reads this blog. You guys aren’t boring! Don’t get upset! Oh, who am I kidding? Everybody doesn’t read my blog every day.

So for a progress report on Dirty Work at the Crossroads, I say: so far so good. One rehearsal down and it went pretty well. Further reports as events warrant. Till we get a little closer to production. Then this blog might become All Dirty Works All The Time. As always, I hope you’ll stay tuned.

Melancholy Musings Will Have To Do

I guess I thought that I could write about my depression once and never mention it again.

As I consider the misconception, I believe it is not that unrealistic after all. I went for almost two years writing every day about my life and never mentioned my depression till recently. That’s pretty circumspect, especially for me.

Lately I have been comforting myself with the thought that I am a high functioning depressant. I make it to work every day and even manage to do a few things outside work. I think there are actually a lot of us high functioning depressants out there. We keep our depression a deep, dark, shameful secret.

Now I’m out of the depressant closet (I hope no gay people are offended that I use their closet metaphor). I have exposed my mental flaws for all to see. I know, some of you are sitting there saying, “Oh, Cindy, we saw them all along. There are a lot. Physical flaws, too, don’t get me started.” You know who you are.

At this point in writing my rough draft, I was assailed by the thought that it is probably very boring to read about somebody else’s depression. It is not till much later, as I type this in, that I think, “So what? I’m ALWAYS afraid my blog posts are going to be boring. I can only write what I can write.”

The fact is, very little has changed since Wrist to Forehead Sunday (yesterday) when I had no Mohawk Valley adventures to write about. One small change: I was in a TERRIBLE Monday funk. It dissipated somewhat as the day wore on and seems to be completely leaving after a gruesome workout at Curves followed by a shower and cup of coffee at home.

So, funk gone, write the damn post, right? Well, I have a rehearsal to go to (preview of coming attractions). I’ve got time to hit publish. I’m going to call this a Middle-Aged Musings Monday and drive on. Hope to see you on Tuesday.

Sorry, Readers

It’s another Wrist to Forehead Sunday. I don’t have a post written. I don’t have any ideas of what to write a post about. I don’t even have any humorous remarks about Why I Can’t Write a Post Today.

I almost had Wrist to Forehead Saturday. I took out an old spiral notebook and wrote a sentence. And crossed it out. I wrote another couple of sentences and crossed them out. I frowned. Started another sentence. Forced myself to write… each… word… Then when I was folding laundry I came up with the St. Baldrick’s Day idea. Saved!

I walked with my schnoodle Tabby to the post office to mail postcards yesterday morning, thinking that would be worth a post. My husband Steven joined us for another walk this afternoon. The highlight of today’s walk was the memorial for Ape, the police dog who gave his life protecting his human partner from the killer. At least, I don’t know if highlight is the right word. But I don’t feel I can write a blog post about that, or indeed, say anything else about the tragedy today.

Yesterday I had a couple of opportunities for Mohawk Valley adventures, in addition to our post office jaunt, but alas, nothing blogworthy ensued. I didn’t even watch a cheesy horror movie, although a couple good-sounding choices await on my DVR.

So boo hoo for me. And boo hoo for you the reader, as I blather on about these things. Oh well, I guess the blogosphere can survive one more stupid post from yours truly. Ah, here’s something apropos. In the old notebook I was writing in yesterday, I found a crumpled piece of paper with the following quote:

Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometime courage is a quiet voice at the end of the day saying, “I will try again tomorrow.”

I guess what I do doesn’t take a plethora of courage, but, yes, I will try again tomorrow. Hope to see you then.

Lame Hair Anyways

My original headline was “I Might Be Bald,” but in fact, I don’t think there is a “might” about it: I intend to BE bald! This isn’t exactly a lame post either, but I missed Lame Post Friday (made a post, not too lame), and I like this headline better. So enough about that, on with the post.

Sometime in June, I intend to participate in a St. Baldrick’s Day event. St. Baldrick’s Foundation is an organization dedicated to raising money for children’s cancer. They have events in which participants get their heads shaved after hitting up friends, family and acquaintances for donations. They say it’s like a walkathon only without the blisters.

Usually when I mention my intention, somebody says, “Oh, you’re going to donate your hair?” No, they don’t make wigs. In fact, the last time I was growing my hair out, I checked out one of the wig making web sites, and it turned out they didn’t want grey hair. I got it cut that afternoon. I tell people that this is more along the lines of a solidarity thing: you lost your hair to cancer? I’ll be bald, too!

I think it’s a beautiful thing. I’m not saying I’ll be beautiful, but then again, maybe I will. Perhaps by then I will have learned to include photos in my blog and my readers can be the judge.

I went to the St. Baldrick’s Foundation website, www.StBaldricks.org, and looked at some possibilities. I liked one at the North Syracuse VFW June 16. My sister who lives in Liverpool would probably accompany me to that one, although I believe she would keep her hair. However, that’s Father’s Day, and I may have Dad plans. Then I saw one at Richfield Springs Community Center on June 2.

One may wonder why I do not try to participate in one at Utica College March 27. Closer in distance and time! As it happens, I’m in a play at Ilion Little Theatre in May. The director (my husband, in fact), would prefer I had hair at that time.

I will share more about my bald intentions when I have actually signed up for an event. In the meantime, I thought I’d put it out there. For one thing, the more I say I’m going to do it, the less wiggle room I have to back out. Me back out? Never! We’re going to have a bald Mohawk Valley Girl! Stay tuned!

Not Exactly a Lame Post

This post may strike some as lame, or at least not up to whatever standard of entertainment I have set, but I don’t feel I can call it a lame post, because the subject matter is… not lame.

Last week I wrote very briefly that a bad event had taken place in Herkimer, NY. In fact, it was still going on as I wrote. Briefly, a man had set fire to the house where he had an apartment then went on a shooting rampage. Well, the event is now over (perpetrator dead along with a police dog), and the Mohawk Valley begins the healing process. As part of that process, some wonderful people have organized the Love and Compassion Benefit for victims and their families, including victims of the fire as well as of the shootings.

I get a tear in my eye when I think about this, because I think, THIS is what people are like. Real people, most people, come together after a tragedy and try to help. Most people do not take guns and shoot other people. No, I don’t have any official statistics on this, but here’s what I see: one guy set a fire and shot people. Lots and lots of people are trying to help during the aftermath.

The benefit will be Sunday, March 24. It was originally to run from noon to five, but has been extended to eight. It was originally to be held only at the American Legion in Mohawk, but they have moved the Silent Auction to Francesca’s in Ilion. The auction will run from noon to 5:30, with drawings beginning at six. Admission to the auction is free, then you purchase tickets of course. Admission at the Legion is $10 and includes refreshments and entertainment. There will be a heated tent to handle the overflow.

When I saw the event shared on Facebook, I emailed one of the organizers and asked if they would like one of my afghans for the auction. I dropped it off this afternoon after work. I had thought to write my blog post about the adventure of driving through unfamiliar streets in Ilion (it was a little adventuresome), but after writing about the benefit, I think I’ll leave it at that.

According the the Event posted on Facebook, 740 people are going to the benefit. Really, that’s just the people that saw it on Facebook and hit “Going.” I think the place is going to be mobbed, and I think that that is just wonderful.

One Cheese, Two Cheese, RATS!

When I closed yesterday I thought I might take today to come up with a rating system for my cheesy movie reviews. A Facebook friend suggested servings of cheese. I had thought maybe kinds of cheese — this one’s cheddar, that one’s Velveeta. That strikes me as rather qualitative and subjective. Then again, who cares about that? They’re my reviews, and any review is perforce subjective. Then again, not everybody likes the same kind of cheese.

For example, when I think “cheddar” I think dry, aged, classy, substantial, delicious. Others might think, can’t have it without crackers, gets lumpy when it melts, I’d rather have American. For another example, I find Cheez Whiz a delicious treat, whereas cheese snobs find it unbearably tacky and I daresay many refuse to try it. Hmmm. That one’s kind of a metaphor for the sort of movies I like.

But now I’m thinking, if I have to explain what I mean when I rate a movie “cheddar,” I may as well leave off the cheddar and just explain. Which is pretty much what I do now. I say, “Worth a watch,” or, “Good if you want a stupid movie to make fun of.” I don’t know that I’ve ever used it in the blog, but my ultimate pan of a movie is “It needs robot heads.”

This, of course, is a reference to Mystery Science Theatre 3000, in which a guy and two robots make fun of cheesy movies. Delicious show. I think if a movie needs robot heads, it’s not just cheesy, it’s dull. I did find one movie so dull even robot heads couldn’t get me through it. The next time I find myself without a feature on a Saturday afternoon, I may attempt it again and write about it.

Where does that leave us? One cheese, two cheeses, Rats! I never should have watched this movie! But am I rating how cheesy a movie is, how good it is, or how enjoyable? I think I’m better off sticking to my descriptions.

So now I’ve wasted a whole blog post deciding to just keep doing what I’m doing. Maybe I should have saved this one for Lame Post Friday.

Add a Robotized Dead Brother

Spoiler Alert! Actually, I’m not sure how much I’ll actually spoil, but I’m used to putting these in now.

I DVR’d The Awful Dr. Orloff with high hopes. Full disclosure: as I currently write this (in my new spiral notebook while on a break at work), I don’t quite remember the doctor’s name or if he was Awful or Horrible or some other adjective. The description said something about using his robotized dead brother to kill women in order to keep his wife beautiful. Kidnapping and/or killing women in order to make or keep another woman beautiful is, of course, a staple of the cheesy horror genre. Add a robotized dead brother and what’s not to like?

I had a bad moment at the beginning of the movie when I realized it was in French with subtitles. For one thing, foreign films have that cachet — ooh, it’s European, it must be classy! More importantly, I was not at all sure I could knit and read subtitles at the same time. I might drop a stitch and I never know what to do when that happens (I’m not that good at knitting). So I had to make more of an effort at this movie, especially when the subtitles and the background blended together. I persevered though, because lately it seems cheesy movies are hard to come by.

This one starts right out looking like a cheesy horror movie should, on an eerie, darkened street, with a beautiful but not very classy woman fleeing in terror from… it could only be the robotized dead brother. That cadaverous gait! Those wide, unseeing eyes! I’d run, too! He catches her, kills her and carries her away, in view of witnesses.

The time is probably the late 1800s: flickering street lamps, horse-drawn carriages. Of course, movies are known to play fast and loose with period. If anyone says, “Here we are in the year blahblah,” I missed it. At least the atmosphere is good, and I think a mad scientist plays better in a period piece.

Soon we meet the hero and heroine, a detective and an opera singer who have fallen in love. When he is assigned the case of the mysterious killer, the newspapers have a field day printing headlines about how he’s dallying with his girlfriend instead of solving the case. So, no intrepid girl reporter, much to my disappointment. No reporters at all, actually, just headlines. Sorry, journalism.

The mad scientist, it turns out, doesn’t know how to transfer the beauty from his murder victims to his deformed daughter — not wife as I was sure it said in the description (I couldn’t get back to the description on digital cable and check). He just keeps trying different experiments. There’s one boob shot when he slices a woman open. Oh, these French films!

The robotized dead guy, by the way, is not not a common or garden dead brother. He was executed for murders including parricide. I thought they guillotined convicts in France. At least, they did on some Frankenstein movies I saw (and wrote blog posts about). I guess I shouldn’t take those as historic fact. No matter, he was a bad man before he was dead and robotized and he’s a bad robotized dead guy now.

That doesn’t stop the mad scientist’s assistant from feeling sorry for him. At least, I don’t know if she’s an assistant. She’s a beautiful woman the mad scientist broke out of prison by making it look like she was dead. I guess she liked him well enough before, but now she thinks he’s mad as well as evil.

The detective’s girlfriend gets to be intrepid, going undercover to try to catch the killer. She’s not completely stupid about it, either. It’s not her fault her detective boyfriend fails to read the note she sends him because he thinks it’s from some random crazy woman. Oh well, it makes for more suspense.

It’s actually a pretty good movie. You just need a large capacity crane to suspend your disbelief. As cheesy entertainment, I say it is worth a watch. Once again, I think I need a rating system, like thumbs up or three stars. Maybe I could discuss a few possibilities on Non-Sequitur Thursday.