Sit a Spell

         I used to love Spelling Bees.  Now the only ones I hear about are the national ones, where kids spell words like the one Norman Rockwell painted, called “Cousin Reginald Spells Peloponnesus.”

          But I have another complaint about spelling. It’s that there is no good way to spell certain things, without spelling something else. For example:

            1.      If you garden, you can be called a gardener. If you act, you can be        called an actor. But what if you sew?  Aha!  No one wants to be described as a sewer, especially in print.

            2.     As a writer, I often alert publications that this is a multiple submission. But when another writer asked me if I submit multiple-ly, I realized the only spelling of this could be multiply, and that means something else entirely. (And I do try to avoid multiplying.)

3.     Let’s say you accidentally got a cut on your finger and now you’re going to put medicine on it and a bandage.  You don’t want the one that stings, so you say to your spouse, “I want the less sting-y one.” Again, that would probably be spelled stingy, and now we’re totally off topic. 

4.     What if you’re doing a big assembly line to wrap toys for a charity? One person can be the wrapper (but that means something else), another the taper? Nope; a taper is a candle, or a verb for slimming one's pant legs. Tapist? Tape Specialist? Tape Manager? Better sign up to stick the bows on.  Oh, wait. A bower is also something else. So is a boxer.

And don't even get me started on the words "singer" and "flower."

HOWEVER, no such problems exist in my books—check ‘em out here.

Dust to, er, Compost?

           St. Bob and I have decided we’re going to live for a very long time. However, we want to have all our affairs in order to keep our kids from having a paperwork nightmare. So we’ve drawn up our will, a trust, and our burial plans.

          We had our eldest son go through the house with us and write down everything of value. He then made a spread sheet and sent it to the other three kids, so they could write their names beside cherished items.

          Ha! Nobody even checked one box. Nobody wants our stuff, and it’s the same with most of our friends. Kids today have more modern taste and our things look frumpy to them.

          And now we’ve hit a snag with our burial plans. Nicole wants to turn me into compost! I’m serious. There are companies that do this. (What do they call it—Mompost?)

          Our daughter, ever the sustainable/locally sourced/environmentally healthy person plans to sprinkle me over her yard. Mind you, someday another person will buy that home, dig me up, throw me into a trash can, and take me to the dump. Well, at least I’ll get to travel.

But what if she has a cat or a dog… oh,  nevermind.                                                             

Put off your plans (or at least don't share them with your kids), put up your feet, subscribe to this blog, and read my books.

Dancing with Joni

        Yep, it’s that time of year when I do my interpretive dance at the local hardware store.

          You already know I love to garden. So this is when I go to the nursery section and load up on huge bags of soil, potted plants and flats of flowers.

          However, to do this I must place them on a wheeled platform called a flatbed. It has a handle, which other shoppers use to navigate up and down the aisles.

          I use the handle as a dance partner, apparently.  So help me, I cannot get the thing to go straight. Back and forth it swerves, like we’re doing a tango or a salsa or maybe the jitterbug.

          And I blame hula.  Seriously, my mother signed me up for hula lessons as a child. Not ballet, something which would have helped my dyspraxia and lack of coordination. Nope, hula it was.

          Mind you, I lived in the snowy Rocky Mountains, causing St. Bob, when he heard about this blunderous enrollment, to say, “When would you ever use it?”

          I’ll tell you when. Every Spring, at the hardware store.

          Thankfully I don’t need to push a cart of any kind in my Youtube Mom videos. Check ‘em out here. And be sure to subscribe to this blog, for weekly reports!

How to Beat Murphy's Law

         You know about Murphy. He’s he one with The Law. Or maybe it’s a she. Maybe she came up with the law, and then, fittingly, was never acknowledged as a woman, her own law in force again.

          Murphy’s Law comes into my life whenever I look like a wreck. I’ve been gardening or painting or simply shlubbing around and I decide to run a quick errand.

 
          Invariably this is when I’ll see five people I know. Even if the supermarket only has five other shoppers in it, I will know them all. And they will look as if they’re on their way to a wedding.             

Or a coronation. 

         So if this ever happens to you, here’s the way to beat Murphy’s Law. When they say, “Oh hi, Joni (only insert your name here),” You say, “You know, I get mistaken for her all the time!  But I’m not Joni. Joni would never be out in public like this. I must be her evil twin or her doppelganger.”

          You’re welcome.

          An even better solution is to stay home. Reading my books.

10 Ways You Know You're Getting Old

1.      You see a tiny old woman shopping in the supermarket, and as you get closer you notice she is humming along to the store’s music, which is “Superstition.”

2.     You’re out with your husband and several cashiers say, “You guys are so cute.”

3.     You’re scrolling through the photos on your phone, and a younger woman says proudly, “Look at you, taking pictures with your phone!"

4.    You’re watching Jeopardy! and have no idea what they’re talking about in the “Pop Culture” category.

5.     You’re watching Jeopardy!

6.    You have holiday-themed earrings.

7.     You think about how you’re going to get up if you get down.

8.    You don’t think of your peers for tech help; you think, “Who’s young?” 

9.    You gripe about the side effects in ads for medication.

10.            You read lists like this, to see if you’re old.

But you can feel young again by watching my Youtube Mom videos-- right here.