Friday, July 29, 2011


Gentle Readers,

I had a bad reputation in high school. Supposedly I was a slut. I don't think I did nearly as much as a lot of girls. No sex till I was almost 18.

Have I told you this story before? I can't remember and I'm too tired and lazy to go back through my posts to look. Oh well, if you've seen this stuff before, then you can sit through it one more time, and if you haven't seen it, boy do I have a story for you.

I kind of liked to tease some boys and flirt with them, but I had one and only one serious (read sexual) relationship. However, by my senior year I could tell that rumors about me were getting out of control. Kids were saying some pretty nasty shit about me and to me. I was really confused.

And I was in high school when the double standard (boys are cool if they have sex but the girls who do it are nothing but sluts) was alive and well. I hope it's not as bad now. Why shouldn't a woman be able to enjoy sex without being tortured about it by other people?

Then after I graduated from high school and started college, I became pretty close friends with a very nice girl we'll call Schmoozeann. Schmoozeann had been pretty close friends with a girl from my high school we'll call Barrie, who supposedly was my best friend. It was Schmoozeann who finally told me that Barrie informed everyone that I was having an affair with a married man during senior year.

No wonder people freaking talked nasty about me! Not that it was any of their business, but I don't think much of men who cheat and it's not a good idea for women to grant them the opportunity. As one who has been cheated on, I can tell you that infidelity does not lead to anything good.

Barrie had pretty much disappeared after high school, but I was able to tell Schmoozeann what really happened.

It was Barrie who fucked a married man. Maybe telling people it was me helped ease her guilt, or maybe she liked the attention she received when she told her little tales.

Looking back on that time, however, I wish I had gone ahead and used my bad rep. I could have done the nasty with all sorts of good looking and interesting guys. No AIDS then. As long as we used birth control, very little to fear.

I could have gotten me some damn good sex and I missed the opportunity.

Shit! That's all I have to say: SHIT!

Infinities of love,


Thursday, July 28, 2011


Gentle Readers,

If I wore a bathing suit, I fear some good Samaritans would think I'm a whale and try to shove me into the ocean.

Because of course we have lots of oceans here in the Dakotas.

The thing is, though, I am never going to have a bod like that of Sandra at Absolutely Narcissism.

That fucking bitch is fucking hot very nice lady works very hard to maintain a lovely figure.

I used to be skinny, but not so skinny that I had no boobs. I had very nice boobs, according to a number of young men who attended my high school. I was even named Best Body in the school newspaper. I hope schools don't do shit like that anymore. It's really pretty cruel. I remained thin until everything went nuts in my marriage and I took an anti-depressant and gained a ginormous amount of weight, leaving me feeling that I am no longer me.

Off the anti-depressant, I did not lose an ounce. Well, occasionally I could tell I dropped a couple of pounds, but I would also gain them back immediately plus add at least one for good measure.

Then recently I decided to try NutriSystem. They were having a 50% off sale on your first shipment. My health insurance also knocks some money off the price.

The nice thing about NutriSystem is that you don't have to worry about portion control or weighing how much you're eating. The food is all pre-packaged.

The bad thing about NutriSystem is that quite a bit of the food tastes like the cardboard container it comes in, and I never get enough to eat.



At first, I had dreams about cinnamon rolls and other yummy foods. I felt pretty miserable.

Then I realized I could not eat NutriSystem 24/7 or I would go crazy and run to the nearest bakery, buy a large cake (the kind intended for a party where you'll serve 50 people), and eat the entire thing.

So now I take little NutriSystem breaks and have something like one of those little packets of cookies that has 100 calories or a Special K bar, which has 90 calories.

During the first three weeks I lost 11 pounds and that was about three weeks ago. I haven't weighed myself since then. I don't have a scale. But some pants that were too tight last summer now fit just fine.

However, no matter how much NutriSysteming or Jenny Craig or Weight Watchers I do, I am never going to look like Sandra.

But I admire her for her commitment to preparing for a fitness competition. Sandra, you inspire me. I'll try not to give up.

Infinities of love and pounds,


Wednesday, July 27, 2011


It was one year ago, during the afternoon, that you were forced to leave me forever.

It was the day after your thirteenth birthday.

It was your legs.

You fell and you fell


into a deep black hole.

You couldn't climb out.

Not ever again.

And I thought that I would die.

Instead, every day I have to wake up and live without you.

It's not as hard as it was at first.

But it's still not easy.

After you died, I found a tuft of your soft, white fur on the dog bed where you had to sleep because you couldn't get in my bed anymore. I snatched it up and felt its sweetness against my cheek and I put it in an envelope. Then I searched for more tufts of fur that were white, and the fur of other colors, that tended to fall out more as individual hairs that would then gather on the floor. And I filled the envelope with those bits of you that were left.

The fur is my memento mori, all that I have left now, except for your collar, hanging in the dining room with the tags intact, your name tag in the shape of a heart because you are my heart. You are everything that is the best of me.

I will love you every single day for the rest of my life until we can be together again.

My Faulkner, My Beauty. Teller of all I needed to know.

Wait for me, please.

It was the night after he died that I met my beloved LegalMist. You can also meet her at this link:   God sends help in some form when we are most in need and that night he made LegalMist my angel. She discovered my blog that night and was writing comments on some posts. She had no idea that I was getting through the night by reading her comments on my cell phone, until I wrote back to her in the wee hours of the morning and told her what had happened. LegalMist may live very far away from me, but she is my home girl.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011


Gentle Readers,

We must welcome a new follower: Bouncin' Barb can be found bouncin' through life at I hope you read the post you can find by clicking on the link because it's very interesting and unusual and Barb seems to have fun trampolining away.

Welcome, welcome, welcome Bouncin' Barb!

Pssssst - Barb, let's get together and see what we can score. We're never too old.

I also recommend you read Cinderita's very thoughtful and intelligent post at
I wrote a ridiculously lengthy comment on this post and was not able to give Huggable Cinderita a good answer to her question. Perhaps you can do better than I did.

Now on to some very serious business:  My Dear Mrs. Tuna informed us recently that the ideal blog post is 200 - 300 words.

I can't tell someone to turn right at the corner in less than 500 words. I'm totally incapable of giving a simple answer to a simple question. In fact, I don't believe there's any such thing as a simple answer. Nuances of meaning and endless possibilities get in the way.

When I worked at the nursing home oh so long ago, one of the nursing assistants asked me what I was going to do with several cups of ice.

Put it down your pants, I responded.

Then I explained that I was actually taking it to put in the watcher pitcher of a man who was in isolation. We couldn't take the pitcher out of the room to refill it, but we could take ice in to add it.

The assistant's response to this was, There's no such thing as a yes or no answer to a question with you, is there?

I had to admit there is not. There's simply too much in the world that must be explained or pondered out loud before I answer a question.

I can't help it.

God made me this way.

Infinities of love,



Gentle Readers,

I hope you will read this post by the charming Cinderita because it's a lovely post and if you will read all the way to the end, you will discover that she actually mentions ME! Yes, MOI!

She claims my comments on her posts make her laugh. And you all know, I hope, that my goal in life -- even when I'm depressed -- is to make you laugh. I always say I'm the most cheerful depressed person you'll ever meet.

Infinities of love,


Monday, July 25, 2011


Gentle Readers,

I was in a grocery store recently and in the bread aisle, an older woman was talking on her cell phone very loudly, shouting I'M NOT ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE WHO'S GLUED TO MY PHONE LIKE THE REST OF AMERICA.

Mmmmmm o.k.Then would you please hang up and stop shouting? I could hear you from two aisles over, Madam.

Personally, I do not talk on my cell phone in public unless it's super important.

I think many of us could help stop noise pollution by waiting until we're at home to use the telephone.

Just a thought.

Infinities of love and silence,


Friday, July 22, 2011


Gentle Readers,

2010 Centennial Rose PatsyI have purchased a very nice collection of husbands. A while back I wrote about how I only collect loss. I was depressed that day. I have come to realize that I collect something, but it's not Hummel  figurines (think they're ugly), glass chickens (don't see the point), art work (have enough and can't afford a Frida Kahlo), or fancy dolls (also think they're ugly and don't see the point). The doll in this picture looks like she would come alive at night and murder me in my bed. Does she look pissed, or what?

The thing is, if you collect stuff, then you have to dust it, and I don't like to dust. What I have to dust now is plenty, and even if I wear gloves, touching cleaning products or dirt gives me itchy hives on my hands. Why, a few nights ago I was putting laundry in the washer and I got a little tiny bit of detergent on my hand, and it was the mild detergent I have to use because anything else gives me a rash all over from my clothes. Even though I rinsed off the detergent immediately, within minutes I had hives. I took antihistamines and rubbed hydrocortisone cream on my hands, but by morning, both hands still hivey and the left one, which had actually had the detergent on it was swollen. Took hours to get them better.

And of course this is the time of year that I am the feeding ground for all the mosquitoes in the world.

Well, so anyhoo, I am collecting husbands. There's Rad at the AT&T store, who takes care of all my telephone, television, and computer needs, and I have two at the credit union. They're both nice looking and polite and I've finally gotten them to call me Lola instead of Ms. Plotnik. Plotnik is not my last name, so I never understood why they called me that anyway, but now they're all Hi Lola when I go in the credit union. They are named Bouvier and Spaniel. msn office buddy

And now I have added two house husbands to my collection - Bono and The Edge.

This morning they mowed the lawn, weed whipped, edged (of course), and removed all the vines and debris from the garage roof. And they didn't even put the stuff from the garage roof out front for the yard waste people to pick up. THEY TOOK IT AWAY WITH THEM! Oh my God, I am so in love.MSN in love Mood Display Pictures

Two days ago they replaced my two cracked windows.

I adore these men.

Purchasing these husbands has not been all that expensive. Best of all, they don't bitch and complain. I don't have to do their laundry, and I don't give a damn whose bed they're in at night as long as it's not mine.

There wouldn't be enough room left for the dogs.

I love my husbands, every blessed one. And if they ever misbehave, there's no divorce agony.

I shall simply replace them.msn linux buddy

Infinities of love,


Thursday, July 21, 2011


Gentle Readers,

Now I know where to find Cinderita. Simply go to, a.k.a. The Adventures of Cinderita. She's cute as a button and seems to have infinities of love, just like your Lola.

Welcome, welcome, welcome Cinderita!

I'm afraid (sigh) that this is the final day of Annafest. I have only two more Anna Quindlen books to recommend. She has also written others (seven non-fiction), but I admit I have not read them -- yet.

The first is not my favorite. It's called Rise And Shine. It's not as great as the other Quindlen novels I've read. It's not bad. Nothing is wrong with it. I just like the others better. Bridget is a social worker with an older sister named Meghan who is kind of a Katie Couric when Katie Couric was on The Today Show. Their relationship is kinda complicated, like sisterly relationships tend to be, and eventually there's a tragedy and I was just looking through the book because I can't remember everything that happens and I think I need to re-read it because it's probably a lot better than I remember it being. Sometimes I forget things, even when they are wonderful. Like orgasms. I have forgotten orgasms because it's been so darn long. Maybe I need a vibrator? I'll have to ask Favorite Young Man to take me shopping for one. Now that would be hilarious. I can just here his Little Chick laughing now.

Next, we have Quindlen's latest, which is Every Last One, and I am telling you By God if you don't read this book then I don't know what in the hell is wrong with you. This book is fantabulously amazing. Start by reading the dedication: For my children, who saved my life

Well, there you go right there. Anna Quindlen is simply that kind of person. She LOVES her children. She's won all kinds of awards and she's super popular, but she LOVES LOVES her children. I really admire that about her.

Anyhoo, the book is about the Latham family. Mom, Dad, and three kids: a gorgeous daughter in high school and twin sons, one of whom is athletic and popular and the other is kind of troubled. DO NOT TURN THE PAGES AND LOOK AHEAD WHILE READING THIS BOOK. I HEREBY LOLA ORDER YOU. Please, it's extremely important that you allow events to unfold as Quindlen wrote them. And yes, there's a tragedy in here too. And it will shock the hell out of you. It did not make me cry, not even a tear or two, but I am very, very moved by this book and the feelings it conjures up.

It's beautifully written and as quindlenesque as you can get. You simply must read this book. Do not wait. And then tell me how much you love it and how tragic and moving it is and how fears that you might keep deep down inside of you are released.

Quite some time ago, Someone I Love was ill and an oncologist told me he thought she had cancer. There were tests to run to find out for sure. Well, thank God, she did not have cancer. But while I waited for the tests I was so fucking scared I could hardly stand it. I told a friend that I was afraid Someone I Love would die young, and he asked why, and I said, Because she's too good for this world. He assured me that it wasn't true, and of course, Someone I Love is still eating math problems like M&Ms.  Every Last One draws that old fear out of me and parades it around and makes me think about how I love my children, who saved my life.

This isn't a favorite topic of conversation for me, but let's just imagine that a man who has been married for a long time tells his wife that he's in love with someone else. And he wants to leave his wife and marry the woman because he believes he should raise her son. And the wife calls her young adult son who lives in another town and he drives to his parents' home and he confronts his father about the whole damn thing. Dad won't talk about it and he gets angry, but the wife is eternally grateful to her son for taking on such a heart-wrenching, difficult task and trying to help her.

Please, read Every Last One. You will appreciate your loved ones more than ever.

Infinities of love and Anna,


Wednesday, July 20, 2011


Gentle Readers,

We must welcome two new followers. The first is the fair Cinderita. I sent her a message to ask if she has a blog because I couldn't find one associated with her. If you have a blog, Cinderita, you can count on me to laud and magnify you here.

The second new follower is


I feel very silly, but somehow I signed up to follow my own blog. I don't know how to get out of it other than blocking myself, and I don't want to block ME. I love ME! Somebody please tell me how to get out of being my own follower, or maybe I should just stay since I love myself so much. Oh decisions, decisions.

Also, yesterday when I wrote about Black and BlueI should have pointed out the excellence of Quindlen's technique. Did you notice how effectively she uses language and repetition in the two small sections I quoted? In addition, there is a made for TV movie of Black and Blue, but as with the movie of One True Thing, it doesn't capture the spirit of the novel and they changed the end.

Now on this, the third day of Annafest, we have Blessings and already my lip is trembling, the tears are in the corners of my eyes, and in another minute or two I'll start the ugly cry. Yes, this is the Anna Quindlen novel that reduces your Lola to tears.

Skip Cuddy lives and works at Blessings, the beautiful estate owned by the elderly well-known grouch Lydia Blessing. Skip has had one darned hard life, but it hasn't made him a hard person -- certainly not hard like Lydia Blessing.

And it's a good thing Skip Cuddy is so kind-hearted because one morning he leaves his room at Blessings and steps outside to get to work mowing the lawn or whatever he has to do that day, and what does he find but a cardboard box -- a cardboard box with a baby in it. Skip takes care of the baby just as well as any good daddy would take care of his little girl. He names her Faith, and eventually Faith becomes the link that bonds Skip and Lydia Blessing. 

For a while.

Obviously, I can't tell you why Blessings makes me sob. I'd give away too much of the story. Just believe me that if you read this book, you'll have a good cry. It's the kind of cry that mixes sadness and happiness and you won't be sorry you read a book by Anna Quindlen -- not ever. 

Cinderita, if you'd like to get to know WOMEN: WE SHALL OVERCOME better, I recommend reading 

I like to concentrate on issues that are important to women (but I don't all the time), and many of the books and movies I review focus on women (but not always). This is definitely not a for women only blog. I welcome your comments. I usually don't spend a week writing about one author as I am this week with Anna Quindlen, but I love Anna so much I decided she deserves her own week. It's really more fun, though, to write about how bad my gas is, how tiny a certain man's penis is, the things that annoy me or the things I love, interesting or unusual issues, and my dogs.

I adore my dogs the way other people adore their toddlers. I hope you love dogs too, but if you don't, it's o.k. Just don't ever fucking criticize MY dogs.

Infinities of love and Anna,


Tuesday, July 19, 2011


Gentle Readers,

On this, the second day of Annafest, we move on to the Anna Quindlen novel that scares the crap out of me:

Black and Blue

The first time my husband hit me I was nineteen years old. One sentence and I'm lost. One sentence and I can hear his voice in my head, that butterscotch-syrup voice that made goose bumps rise on my arms, when I was young, that turned all of my skin warm and alive with a sibilant S, the drawling vowels, its shocking fricatives. It always sounded like a whisper, the way he talked, the intimacy of it, the way the words seemed to go into your guts, your head, your heart.

Fran is married to Bobby Benedetto. They have a son named Robert. Fran has to escape. 

But how do you run away from a cop?

I can hear his voice now, so persuasive, so low and yet somehow so strong, making me understand once again that I'm all wrong. Frannie, Frannie, Fran, he says. That's how he begins. Frannie, Frannie, Fran. The first time I wasn't your husband yet. You were already twenty, because it was the weekend after we went to City Island for your birthday. And I didn't hit you. You know I didn't hit you. You see, Fran, this is what you do. You twist things. You always twist things.

I always relate to Anna Quindlen's characters. How can Fran stay? But how can she go? How can she stay away once she's gone?

I'm having a really hard time right now. I can't take care of a house all by myself and I can't afford to pay someone else to do everything that needs to be done. But I have no place else to go. I've already gone and I had no choice. Fran is left with choices:

1. Incredibly difficult, as in damn near impossible.

2. Eventual death at her husband's hands.

Infinities of love and Anna,


Monday, July 18, 2011


Gentle Readers,

I fear I shall not do Anna Quindlen justice today because I am in such a pissy mood, but I'll try in spite of everything that's wrong.

Let us begin by traveling back in time to Anna Quindlen's first two novels:

Object Lessons


One True Thing

I find both novels very moving, but it's evident (to me, at least), that while Object Lessons is an excellent first novel, One True Thing comes from a novelist who has really developed her craft.

In Object Lessons, young Maggie Scanlan comes of age while dealing with a controlling grandfather, a put upon grandmother who is extremely concerned with how things look, a perpetually pregnant mom, a father who is trying to squirm out from under his dad's thumb, and "friends."

Maggie is living through the summer of losing her best friend. Haven't so many of us been through that? I had a best friend from sixth through eighth grade and in ninth grade, all of a sudden she wasn't my friend anymore. I made other friends during ninth grade and when we moved on to high school for tenth grade, they had all dumped me. I had no one with whom to eat lunch, so I often wandered the school alone during lunch time, ducking into hallways and behind lockers, trying not to be seen.

Anna Quindlen does a great job of capturing how difficult and confusing life is for Maggie Scanlan.

In One True Thing, an adult daughter is expected to stay at home and be her mother's caregiver when the family learns Mom has cancer. Ellen Gulden resents giving up her life in New York, her job, her everything, but she does it to please her pompous ass father and learns a great deal about her mother, who makes their mother/daughter time a moment of bonding.

But the good times really do last only a moment before Kate Gulden is so ill that she's able to do very little.

I can also relate to this novel very well because I gave up everything for a pompous ass and now it's too late for me.

One True Thing was made into a movie, which I don't recommend even though it stars Meryl Streep as Kate, Renee Zellweger as Ellen, and William Hurt as Pompous Ass. The movie does not capture the spirit of the novel and the end is changed, which really messes the whole thing up. Blah blah blah

Happy Reading, and I hope I'll be a little more cheerful tomorrow.

Infinities of love and words,


Sunday, July 17, 2011


Gentle Readers,

I hereby declare this week to be


a celebration of the novelary talents of the amazingingly marvelous Anna Quindlen.

Ms. Quindlen is a Pulitzer Prize winner for her commentary. She is a wife; she is a mom. 

In fact, as far as I'm concerned, Anna Quindlen is all things.

I loved it when she and George Will took turns writing the last page of commentary in Newsweek. I didn't care much about what George had to say, but seeing George made me look forward even more to Anna's return the following week. I frequently saved her columns from the magazine and left them on Someone I Love's bed for her to read when she came home on breaks from school. Someone I Love and I then had lovely discussions about what our beloved Anna had to say because she said it so well and we always agreed with her and we often learned something new from her.

But during Annafest I want to focus on Quindlen's novels because I know you will want to read them. I am so convinced of it that I think taking a Quindlen novel into the bathroom will allow Sandra of Absolutely Narcissism to become so immersed in reading whilst on her throne that the cat at the door will not even bother her and she will leave the bathroom singing the praises of Anna Quindlen because she, Sandra that is, will have had a great poop.

A blurb on the back of her earliest novels states: "At the heart of all these novels, beneath the facade of dramatic events that appear to be the driving force behind them, lies Anna Quindlen's true mission: the exploration of changing identity."

But in my considered opinion, this blurb simplifies Quindlen's novels in a similar fashion to critics who say that Jane Austen's novels are about marriage.

On the surface, yes, Austen writes about marriage, but she does so much more. She writes about a woman's sometimes desperate need to marry, about the fears and failures women experience when they have no hope of marrying or they are left widows and the estate is entailed, and about the freedom the economically independent woman has. No one boils down a character and can make us understand the character completely in fewer words than Jane Austen can.

Likewise, there is so much to be explored about Anna Quindlen.

There's plenty of summer left. Tune in this week and I hope you'll choose the Quindlen novel that interests you the most and get busy reading and feeling fascinated and engaged by her writing and her characters.

More Annafest tomorrow, starting with her first novels.

Infinities of love and Anna,


Saturday, July 16, 2011


Gentle Readers,

Do I have news for you!

Someone I Love has done more genealogical research and discovered that my dad's paternal grandparents were first cousins who married. Now, I realize that it used to be fairly common for cousins to get it on, but it also sorta kinda makes us the product of


It's also yet another way that we are similar to British royalty because for the longest time they were very big on marrying their cousins. Victoria and Albert? First cousins. 

The marrying cousins thing really didn't start to come to an end until, let's see, I think it was George V and Queen Mary who said their children could choose the people they wanted to marry -- as long as it wasn't Wallis Simpson. 

Anybody but Wallis Simpson.

Infinities of love,


Thursday, July 14, 2011


Gentle Readers,

Long, long ago, when I became pregnant with Someone I Love, a lovely woman at church whispered a joke to me that she thought was quite naughty: You know how to keep from getting pregnant again? Take two aspirin and clamp them together between your knees.

I guess it worked because I never had another baby, thank you Jesus.

But man, my legs got tired.

I'm telling you this silly story because also a long time ago in another city in a different state, I worked in a nursing home. I'm sure everyone I took care of there has been dead and gone for a good long time now, and not because I killed them. Time has done its work on them.

Anyhoo, we had this patient who kept her thighs clamped together so tightly all the time that we couldn't even wash her yoohoo in the shower. We had to cath her one night and getting her legs apart was a nightmare for all of us. She was screaming as we slowly pried her open, feeling that our hands and arms might break before her legs did.

Other women we had to cath, no prob. Women are accustomed to spreading them. Most women have had sex and had babies, and it's pretty difficult to engage in either one of those activities with your thighs clamped together.

This patient had been married and had a child; thus, I'm pretty sure her legs weren't always closed like that. So I asked her why she held her thighs together.

She said, I don't know. Just habit, I guess.

What did you do when you went to the gynecologist? I then queried.

She said, What's a guy . . .  What?

I looked at an older nurse and she told me that most of the women we had in our care had never seen a gynecologist, never had a pap test, never a mammogram, never any specialized care that many of us women now take for granted.

So I write this to you now because the thought of keeping your legs closed that tightly if you want to avoid sex might never have occurred to you and perhaps the idea will be of some assistance to you and will greatly strengthen your thigh muscles I want to remind you to be grateful when you get your boobs smooshed and find out you don't have cancer or should you have it, grateful you found out before you had a tumor the size of a third boob. When you spread your legs, sometimes you can do it for a really good reason, like making sure you don't have cervical cancer.

And please be sure to prepare your daughters for their first experience with the gyno. A speculum can be quite a shock even if you have some idea of what to expect. When I saw my OB/GYN the first time I was pregnant, oi! was I dumb! It's too embarrassing to share that I took off my clothes as commanded and sat in a chair instead of getting up on the table and covering myself with the sheet because I didn't know what in the heck was going on what happened that day, but I'm sure all the nurses were laughing at me.

Another important something that our ladies in the nursing home didn't know: Wipe your butt from front to back. Older people tend to wipe from back to front, pushing feces into the yoohoo, and risking an unpleasant and uncomfortable infection. Many of our ladies had UTIs constantly, even though we tried to keep them clean and we poured cranberry juice down them.

O.K. Now you can go off and make sure you wipe your butt correctly -- everybody except Sandra at Absolutely Narcissism, who is the most constipated person on Earth and loves to write about it. She has no need to wipe.

Poor, poor Sandra, whose constipation issues give her more readers than God has.

Infinities of love,


Tuesday, July 12, 2011


Gentle Readers,

I've been hearing some people on the news yipping in a very loud and obnoxious manner about children on airplanes. Some of them want children banned from first class; some want children banned from airplanes all together. A restaurant in Florida has banned children younger than six.

I haven't heard any mention of how old children would have to be in order to fly. Is six the magic age? Or 12? Or perhaps even 18?

I heard one particularly unpleasant fellow griping about how he shouldn't have to put up with somebody's crying kid when he's paid for his seat.

Well, I have news for you, buddy. You should stuff a sock in it and bite the bullet and learn some patience. You should "put up with somebody's crying kid" for the same reason I put up with you when you're drunk and boisterous on the plane, laughing too loudly with your buddies who are seated three or four aisles away and I'm in the middle, wanting to nap or read. I prefer children to YOU.

I fly first class, and all I expect when I get on a plane is that I will be treated decently. Obviously, children should not be running up and down the aisles of a plane. It's dangerous, and if it happens, then the flight attendants should deal with it.

But sighing, whining, rolling your eyes, more whining -- it's all just as bad if not worse than a crying child because you should know better.

Before Someone I Love was two years old, she flew from the West coast to the East and back several times. We always purchased a seat for her, where she took a load off in her FAA approved car seat. Most of the time she fell asleep or was content to look at a cloth book about a soft bunny.

But occasionally Someone I Love cried. She couldn't help it. She was just as uncomfortable as everybody else who has been crowded onto a plane and longs to escape as soon as possible. I have also cried on a plane because of an extremely rude flight attendant who harassed me. Should I be banned from flying?

What did you expect us to do when we needed to travel? Drive from Seattle to New York and back? Leaving my children behind on such trips was not an option. We did the best we could. Case closed.

Now suck it up, cry babies, and face facts. You have no more right to ban children from airplanes than I have to duct tape your mouth shut, no matter how much I long to do so.

Infinities of love,


Monday, July 11, 2011


Yes, Gentle Readers, I know it was not the United States that prosecuted Casey Anthony -- it was the state of Florida.

But now it seems as if an awful lot of people in the United States want to persecute this young woman.

I was concerned from the beginning that Casey Anthony couldn't get a fair trial. The case was too well known, it generated a great deal of negative energy, and it was pretty obvious that she was guilty of something.

I did not watch the trial every minute of every day, but I followed parts of it each day that it was on TV. When it came down to the closing arguments, I felt convinced that the jury should vote Not Guilty. She is, of course, guilty of lying, and she was found guilty on those counts.

But I think the State of Florida made a major mistake when they charged her with first degree murder. First degree murder (please correct me if I'm wrong LegalMist) means that the perpetrator intends to commit murder and plans the murder in advance. It's not a crime of passion.

I've been hearing and reading hundreds of comments that Casey Anthony should have been found guilty and there was no justice for her daughter.

Well, if that's the case, tell me, please, when and how she intended to murder her daughter AND when and how she carried out her intention AND when and how her daughter's body ended up where it was.

You have no answers because there aren't any. Thus, Not Guilty. It was the only reasonable response.

If she had been found guilty, would it really have brought about some form of justice for her child? Executing Casey Anthony or even sending her to prison forever would not restore life to that little girl.

As for child endangerment, I think she could have been found Guilty on that count because she did not report her daughter missing. The jury thought otherwise. Another Not Guilty.

Manslaughter: I don't think she could have been found guilty because there really wasn't any evidence. Again, Not Guilty.

This is the United States of America, and the jury has spoken. Casey Anthony should not be threatened or harmed in any way, but she will be, and for the rest of her life, she will be known as that mom who got away with murder. She will not have one minute of peace. I think those of you who are so hell-bent on punishing her will have to accept that she is going to be punished for all eternity.

If I were Casey Anthony, I would do whatever it takes to move to another country and start over with a new name. I hope I would also seek the help of mental health professionals because it's obvious that something is not right with that young lady. She lives in some alternate bizarro universe in which telling lie after lie -- even when your daughter has vanished -- is acceptable; and naming someone as the nanny who kidnapped your daughter is fine; and having some sort of culpability in the death of your child is not a problem.

The entire Anthony family needs our prayers, not our condemnation. Leave it to them to condemn themselves and allow the case to rest where it belongs -- in the hands of God.

Infinities of love and prayer,


Sunday, July 10, 2011



1. Your mom never taught you to make tuna hot dish or jello salad because she was sure you were destined for better things.

2. You played the cello in the school orchestra even though it meant you had to part your knees like Moses was about to enter your Red Sea.

3. The name of your college started with a "C," but it was Columbia, not Concordia.

4. Relatives say you are too smart for your own good..

5. When the women went to make coffee after the service, you always begged off, saying you didn't know how. 

6.You are a registered Democrat.

7. You have to read the liturgy from the Lutheran Book of Worship.

8. You deny your Norwegian-ness.

9. It doesn't bother you at all to admit you can't stand your in-laws.

10. You live in New York, won't visit your relatives in the Midwest, call yourself a shiksa and your husband a putz.

***** Note: Lose half your Lap Points if you sneak into a local Lutheran church on Christmas Eve to sing Silent Night during the passing of the peace or you arrive at 6 a.m. on Easter morning and a tear comes to your eye at the scent of the lilies.

Saturday, July 2, 2011


Excuse me, Gentle Readers, and for once, it's not because I farted.

I want to talk to you, you, you over there on the left, you wearing the bikini and you really should have waxed, and all of Slovenia: I'm taking a brief vacay from the blog. I won't be gone long. I promise. I know Slovenia depends on me for their entertainment.

I need to spend time improving my invitation to William and Harry. I took the informal approach with the first draft, thinking it would get their attention, but I don't know if it's such a good idea. I need to ponder, meditate, and all that, before I decide on the perfect invitation to the royal cousins. NO, they aren't cousins, dumb ass. They're brothers. If you read my blog you'd know they are my kids' cousins.

While I'm gone, please consider giving some earlier posts of mine a chance. You might try








By the by, I watched Barney's Version, relatively new to DVD. Watch it; don't watch it. It's up to you. I'm tired of Paul Giamatti's hangdog look. However, Minnie Driver is a revelation in hilarity as -- dare I say it? -- a JAP. Being a LAP myself (Lutheran American Princess), I'm wary of these stereotypes.

Infinities of love and independence,


P.S. My Dear Mrs. Tuna, Please do not read "And Summer Will Not Come Again." The dog died. It happens every fucking time.

Friday, July 1, 2011


Gentle Readers,

I've been trying to think of the best way to let William and Harry know that Someone I Love and Favorite Young Man are their new-found relatives and I been thinkin' of writing a note, somethin' like this:

Dear Will and Harry,

Good news! You are related to the handsome and talented Favorite Young Man and the beautiful and talented Someone I Love. They are Spencer ginger-heads just like you, Harry.

We'd sure like to get to know you.

So the next time you visit America, or Canada, it don't really matter, why don'tcha take a little side trip and visit the Dakotas? We'll put on a dinner for you after the service at the Lutheran church, complete with tuna hot dish and jello salad in the appropriate color to go with the church year. If you don't get here till Advent, then you'll get blueberries in your jello, but we'll have to use frozen because fresh would cost a fortune if they were even available.

Will, please bring the little woman. We hope she'll be preggers so we can have Aunt Gertie at church rub her belly and tell you if it's a girl or a boy. Aunt Gertie has been wrong only once in 20 years of belly rubbing. Harry, why don't you bring that good looking Pippa? We think it would be great if you two brothers who are such close buddies married sisters and Favorite Young Woman is off the market for you, Harry, now that we know we're related.

We seen the cousins gettin' married thing before and it don't lead to nothin' good, but we won't say a word about how it used to be a common thing with your royal granny's family.


Someone I Love and Favorite Young Man's Mama

P.S. You all can call me Auntie Lola.