It's my job to come up with words each week. It's become almost a habit, but I've wondered what I'll do when the words don't come, as I suspect will happen at some point. So far, though, I've been able to find something to say. Or maybe nothing to say, but the words have been there nonetheless. Over the last few days, I've pondered words and how our lives are filled with a plethora of them — on the news, at the dinner table, work and home, online, through texts, on the phone, social media, billboards, message boards and hashtags.
The Winter Olympics are waning. Competition officially ends Feb. 25. Sigh. It's been a good (sleigh) ride. If you're like me, the Winter Games provide opportunities to develop an interest in and become an expert on sports not typically televised during prime time. Let's start with curling, which as far as I can decipher has nothing to do with anything curly, especially hair. It involves large round granite disks called stones that slide across the ice toward a target.
Football is a big deal at my house. I live with a bunch of guys who love the game. My daughter married a guy who loves the game. It only makes sense I'd be pulled into the gridiron mix. As such, I've contemplated certain intricacies about the game. Not the rules or playing strategies or scoring methods, but the really important stuff. For instance: Why is it called football? The ball doesn't look anything like a foot. Maybe a large, rounded pointy toe — if your creativity allows you such a transmutation, but certainly not a whole foot.
I grew up in the era of classic, they-don't-make-them-like-that-anymore television shows. Of course, this is my opinion. But who can argue with the iconic status of "The Brady Bunch," "Little House on the Prairie," "The Carol Burnett Show," "The Love Boat" and "Fantasy Island?" (The last two so much different than what shows with those titles might be today!) It was a television era of "Happy Days." Literally.
There is too much guilt in the world. Still, I have a propensity to make myself more of it. Lately, I've been feeling guilty about holidays. Days that are supposed to be celebrations filled with joy and fun fill me with dread and anxiety. I bet I'm not alone. Holidays often catch me off guard. I'm busy living my simple and ho-ho hum life when — bang! It's a national holiday, the kids are off school and I was supposed to bake a cake.
The other day I found myself in a quandary. I was in need of cupcakes, but the pantry was without a box of cake mix. I didn't want to go to the store so was left with but one option — to bake from scratch. I'm not a baker. Mostly because I lack a penchant for measuring and exact oven temperatures. But when your kid needs cupcakes, you deliver cupcakes — in this case, from scratch. I didn't think much of it. Until a few days later when I related the experience to a few friends. They all had the same reaction — disbelief and shock.
We've known each other for more than 30 years, and I'm still learning new things about him. This weekend it was all about scented candles. Most of us enjoy the aroma of a nice scented candle. I do. I guess I didn't realize he did. I never really thought about it. As chief procurement officer of my domicile, I typically choose the scent to which we subject our sniffers.
Do-it-yourselfers will attest to two universal truths — projects beget projects and the outcomes are often funny if you are willing to laugh at yourself or others. Both phenomena happen to me all the time. Recently at our house it involved stickers.
It's no secret: Technology is changing the way we do things. I don't trust myself to get dressed in the morning before checking my weather apps — I have three. And I'm not sure how I survived prior to having the find my family app at my fingertips.