It would probably surprise many people who know me (or then, maybe it wouldn’t) that one of the highlights of my life was waltzing to the Dr. Zhivago movie’s “Lara’s Theme” with a homeless guy on the sidewalk in downtown Santa Cruz serenaded by a space-alien-costumed accordion player named The Great Morgani. The homeless guy had asked me to dance and it would have been rude to decline. Plus, the opportunity to embarrass your two college-age sons? Oh, yeah.
Both my husband and I enjoy reading science fiction although Olof’s preferred focus is outer space while mine involves beauty and weight loss articles in women’s magazines, which are especially bountiful this time of year. I love this stuff. The sheer creativity! The total illogic! The charming lunacy! All of the advice in these magazines is, of course, attributed vaguely to “science,” “research,” or “experts.”
I was recently reading a fairy tale to my tiny grandchildren …..
My husband is having an emotional affair. There, I’ve said it. Actually, if we’re being perfectly honest, it’s THREE emotional affairs and they’re all with cooking show honeys. I will refer to them as the Southern Sweetie, the Pioneer Person, and the Italian Temptress.
When I was visiting my son at his college fraternity house a few years back, we were looking at the yearly group photos of members from previous decades on the wall, and my son was expressing disbelief that anyone could have thought those hair styles, glasses, and clothes could possibly be flattering. I said, “In another 30 years, some other guy is going to be standing in this spot saying the same thing about you.” He looked positively stricken.
I’ve lived in my house for decades but 2013 was the year we reclaimed the front yard. Over the years, the front yard had really been the kids’ domain. We had big trees with rope bridges going between them, tree forts, tents and plenty of flat play space. Adults went out there at their own risk.
Two weeks before Christmas, my recently retired engineer husband suffered an uncharacteristic attack of nostalgia and announced he was going to make his family’s holiday cookie recipes for the kids, his sibs and nieces, and even the neighbors. I guess man cannot live by Erlangian Distributions alone. Frankly, this put terror in my heart. As my Thanksgiving column about my pie-making fiasco made clear, I am not a baker. Cookies are a lot easier than piecrusts but if Olof, who has never baked anything ever, was counting on me for guidance, this could be a disaster.
Recently, a friend invited me to go with her for a reading by her psychic. The friend swears by this psychic-cum-tarot-card reader and insists that she would never make a major move in her life without consulting this woman.
Imagining Amazon delivery drones in La JollaAmazon CEO Jeff Bezos recently announced that within four to five years, Amazon packages weighing five pounds or less and being delivered less than 10 miles from a distribution center could be delivered aerially by drones, all within 30 minutes of ordering. Even Bezos conceded that there were definitely kinks to work out with the new vehicles, like making sure they didn’t land on someone’s head.
I don’t think anyone would argue with me when I say that the gift-giving season can get totally out of hand. For years now, I have required the kids and spouses to submit gift preferences for themselves and the grandchildren by EOT (End of Thanksgiving). I figure that if I’m going to spend all that money and all that time to buy and wrap, it should be something the recipient actually wants. I go off-list from time to time if it’s something I really think they’d like or if not, can easily return.