Demands

    Today is the day for demands.

    My dog Winnie is demanding something from me. I don't know what. Food? Water? Open the door? Who knows. She's barking at me.

    The employer-provided insurance 'weight loss' app is demanding that I pay attention to it. Enter in my step count. Enter in what I ate today. Get on the scales. If I don't set up their nanny-state smart scales that automatically report my weight to "the man", I get reminder emails from "my coach". 

    My body is demanding that I breathe, but my stuffy nose won't let me. My overindulged stomach won't let me. Whose idea was a feasting holiday anyway?

    Dad wants me to drop everything to look for a manual for my chainsaw. Parker the cat wants in. Then out. Then in. Cookie the Cat wants fed. Bailey wants to play. It seems like everyone but me gets to make demands of me.

    When is it my turn?

Traditions

    Tradition carries a different weight depending on who is thinking about it.  For some, tradition is the lifeblood of family unity. It defines who the family is.  For others, not so much.

    My family has a few traditions. Thanksgiving Dinner is at my sister's house. WE watch the parade and the dog show if we are near the TV.  If Dad doesn't feel like traveling, my sister and her family bring the dinner to him.

    Christmas is at my Dad's house on Christmas Eve. It's a toss up whether we do presents before or after the meal. 

    The dinners are served around noon. I can't imagine waiting all day for dinner and I wouldn't want to spoil my appetite by snacking or, <gasp> eating lunch!  What gets served? The essentials:  turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, rolls, and home made noodles.  The noodles are the only dish to have some meaning behind them.  My grandmother on my Dad's side used to make them. It's nice to remember her on these special days. 

    All these things we do may be considered traditions but we are not defined by them. Maybe if we were we'd be a tighter knit family. Or just really high-strung and demanding. 

Twittering On the Edge

    The all-consuming topic in my life this week has been Twitter and it's probable demise. It seems silly to let a social media site have such an impact on my life, but Twitter is more than just a website.  It's a world-wide information center. And it's been the easiest way for me to make friends.

    I've enjoyed the ease with which I've made those friends. I've enjoyed the fact that they are all in one place. I've enjoyed that we can have fun, whether it be talking about pets, music, books, and pretty significantly, tv shows like the Golden Girls.

    Now it seems we are all preparing for the end. We've started accounts on other sites and we've started letting everyone know. If some of my favorite Twitter friends haven't mentioned other accounts, I start to worry that when Twitter ends I'll never see them (and their pets) again. 

    We all know endings. We've graduated high schools. Left jobs. Moved to new towns. But this is different. We aren't just ending, we're scattering like dandelion seeds blown across the yard by a strong wind.

    For now Twitter is still running, and some say it won't shut down. But for many of us, the idea of Twitter that we've lived with for years is over. New management, decisions based on whim instead of good business sense, massive reduction in force all mean that the Twitter we know is gone. And that means, like the dandelion in my yard, you can find pieces of me in other places on the Web. Mastodon, CounterSocial, Facebook, Instagram are just a few of my new haunts. Maybe I'll find my Twitter friends there.

It's a Last Nerve Day

    We've all had them. Those days when every little thing frustrates or irritates you. Today is one of those days for me.  Overnight, Cookie the cat scratched and rattled my bedroom door to wake me up to feed her. It seems her internal tummy clock has an alarm set to go off every three hours. Her scratching and rattling the door is very obnoxious. 

    Fast forward a few hours. I had just come back inside from doing some yard work and sat down. Along comes Parker the cat who scratches on the window incessantly wanting me to open the door and let him out. Then two minutes later, let him back inside. This prompted a loud and sharp scream from me. Frustration. 

    I can't forget Bailey the Pom-Chi. She wanted to play as soon as I got inside. Bouncing against my leg with a squeaky toy, she inspired another scream.

    I'm trying to be patient. To be calm. To take that deep breath everyone tells you to take when you get like this. So far, what I've done is eat a bunch of chocolate covered mini-donuts. I may have one nerve left, but at least it's well fed.

Precious Me Time

    Pre-Covid I used to go to the stores once a week, on Saturdays.  It would take a couple hours, which would leave less than 2 days away from the job for so-called "me time". Unfortunately, chores would then eat into that abbreviated "me time" as well. I know many would say any time away from the job is a great time and yes, that is true.  But you see, I'm a hermit.  I would be quite happy to never leave the house. I can't wait until I can retire from the job in 5 years and start my happy life of hermiting.  

    Why bring this up today?  Because the clocks turned back this past weekend and today was the first after-work grocery shopping trip. When I left the store it was already getting dark. I got home and brought most of the groceries in the house while darkness continued to chase the daylight away. Last week, I still had daylight, and as a result, I still felt like I had plenty of "me time" left before bedtime.  Tonight, I feel like I'm behind on everything and running out of time.

    It all boils down to time.  A human construct. We did that to ourselves and we pay the price for it.  When I'm a hermit in a few years, I'll be able to enjoy ignoring time. I'm counting down the days on my calendar at work.

Surprises at Any Age

    When I was a kid my life revolved around the television. I would plan out my whole week. I would turn the TV on as soon as I got up in the morning. My Dad would feel the need to tell me to do my chores.

    Having never grown up with a television, my Dad was a bit different. The TV wouldn't come on until afternoon, and he watched every Clint Eastwood, Charles Bronson, and John Wayne movie there was. Repeatedly.

    Fast forward to today.  Now it's my Dad who turns the televisions on when he gets up. And yes, I said "televisions". He has one in the kitchen and one in the living room. I'm sitting here at 10:30 AM with no television on. Just the sounds of my dog Winnie snoring and an occasional bark from Dora, my outside dog. 

    If you had told me or my Dad 30 years ago that this would be us today, neither one of us would've believed it. So, observation of the day:  You are never who you think you are. 

New Beginnings Again

 Greetings,

I'm Miranda Allen. Once upon a time, many years ago, I had a blog called Even Par Round. It might still be out there somewhere. I drifted away from blogging when the shorter, quicker Twitter format emerged. As we've all heard, Twitter is undergoing some massive changes and unfortunately, it may not stick around. Does anyone really think it's going to survive?  So, I thought I would return to blogging. Maybe I'll stick with it.