I never cut and paste or even send jokes on but this one is worth it!
The computer swallowed grandma.
Yes, honestly its true!
She pressed 'control' and 'enter'
And disappeared from view.
It devoured her completely,
The thought just makes me squirm.
She must have caught a virus
Or been eaten by a worm.
I've searched through the recycle bin
And files of every kind;
I've even used the Internet,
But nothing did I find.
In desperation, I asked Jeeves
My searches to refine.
The reply from him was negative,
Not a thing was found 'online.
'So, if inside your 'Inbox,'
My Grandma you should see,
Please 'Copy,''Scan' and 'Paste' herAnd send her back to me.
This is a tribute to all the Grandmas
who have been fearless and . .. . .
Learned to use the Computer......
WE are the greatest!!!
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
It's All in a Name, Or Is It?
When I started to write blogs and send essays to newspapers, for many personal reasons I desired anonymity – and still do. Hence, the use of a pen last name for me and an invented nickname for my husband. However, a hot discussion has come up today about the use of “Hubby” for my other half. During the last several years, I noticed many writers were using it, albeit my generation never did. I wanted to be up to date in my vocabulary and adopted it.
After reading my first blogs, my husband’s much older sister called me and told me the word irritated her so much that she found she could not read the anecdotes. “My brother is not the “Hubby” type she insisted. He sounds like a henpecked wimp, and he’s not.” Since lately she has begun to complain about everything, I ignored her criticism.
Today the discussion took on another turn. My blog readers Hubby’s age – and he is a few years older than me – just a few – don’t like the word. Women, near my kids’ age and younger, use it or don’t object to it. This is a predicament. Characters’ names are important, even in a humorous book. I am almost ready to send in my manuscript –or self-publish – and need to decide ASAP. Being a true Gemini, I can’t decide. All day I’ve been craving chocolate worried that the use of the name “Hubby” could cause my book to be rejected by editors or readers.
Since it involves his public image, I decided to ask my husband of 47 years what he thought. He looked up from his newspaper and gave me the standard cliché that has been used by every husband and/or hubby for generations. “I don’t care what you call me, as long as you don’t call me late for dinner.”
Now I turn to my readers, what do you think of the word “Hubby?” Is it demeaning, endearing, or irrelevant? I hope you are not Gemini’s like me!
After reading my first blogs, my husband’s much older sister called me and told me the word irritated her so much that she found she could not read the anecdotes. “My brother is not the “Hubby” type she insisted. He sounds like a henpecked wimp, and he’s not.” Since lately she has begun to complain about everything, I ignored her criticism.
Today the discussion took on another turn. My blog readers Hubby’s age – and he is a few years older than me – just a few – don’t like the word. Women, near my kids’ age and younger, use it or don’t object to it. This is a predicament. Characters’ names are important, even in a humorous book. I am almost ready to send in my manuscript –or self-publish – and need to decide ASAP. Being a true Gemini, I can’t decide. All day I’ve been craving chocolate worried that the use of the name “Hubby” could cause my book to be rejected by editors or readers.
Since it involves his public image, I decided to ask my husband of 47 years what he thought. He looked up from his newspaper and gave me the standard cliché that has been used by every husband and/or hubby for generations. “I don’t care what you call me, as long as you don’t call me late for dinner.”
Now I turn to my readers, what do you think of the word “Hubby?” Is it demeaning, endearing, or irrelevant? I hope you are not Gemini’s like me!
Monday, July 20, 2009
The Welcome Wagon
A dear friend moved to a brand new, adult community around the same time Hubby and I moved into a ten-year old, “seniorville.” So far, the main difference between buying a resale and buying in a new community is the way your neighbors greet you. Most of her neighbors were unpacking just like her, so she wasn’t flooded with high-caloric, home-baked goods as Hubby and I were. Therefore, if you want to keep your weight down, it is better to buy a new house in a new community.
Hubby’s a potential diabetic, watches himself 24/7, and has never understood my total lack of will power. He goes ballistic over my habit of putting left over desserts in the garbage disposal when company leaves. By now, he knows that if I don’t toss it, it will end up on my butt, so he no longer hits the ceiling when I get rid of the sweets.
However, I felt guilty about throwing out the homemade goods that were meant to welcome us to our new community – not that the gift givers would ever know it. Thus, you know who devoured the cakes one sliver at a time. Needless to say, the few pounds I lost while packing have returned. I have vowed if and when anyone new moves onto my block, I will greet them with a fresh veggie platter and diet dip.
Hubby’s a potential diabetic, watches himself 24/7, and has never understood my total lack of will power. He goes ballistic over my habit of putting left over desserts in the garbage disposal when company leaves. By now, he knows that if I don’t toss it, it will end up on my butt, so he no longer hits the ceiling when I get rid of the sweets.
However, I felt guilty about throwing out the homemade goods that were meant to welcome us to our new community – not that the gift givers would ever know it. Thus, you know who devoured the cakes one sliver at a time. Needless to say, the few pounds I lost while packing have returned. I have vowed if and when anyone new moves onto my block, I will greet them with a fresh veggie platter and diet dip.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Decorating Disaster
When we were first married, Hubby and I shopped for our furniture together. It was quickly obvious to me that we had different taste. We compromised on all choices. I was a new bride and enjoyed the experience of having my new husband take part in the decorating of our home. As each individual piece of furniture arrived, I was anything but ecstatic. Our living room was a hodgepodge of colors and styles that did not jell. Even the word "eclectic" was not suitable. My mother told me it was my fault. “What do men know about decorating?” she asked. “Besides, they forget what they picked two minutes after you leave the store.”
“The salesperson was a man,” I said.
“So? See what a mess he made of it. Men just know how to sell. Do you know any man that can match his socks to his pants?”
I could not argue with her on that point. My father wore white socks with everything and I was already coordinating my husband’s clothes.
Every time I vacuumed, I didn’t care if something was nicked. Silently, when my oversized aunt sat on the sofa, I hoped it would collapse. I fanaticized about painting the wood on the buffet a color I liked.
When we moved to Florida 35 years ago, a new friend gave me great advice. “The person who cleans is the one who must love the furniture. If not, you’ll get no pride when you finish your house work.” I listened and left Hubby home while I shopped for new living room furniture. He was busy starting a new business and was visibly relieved when I only consulted him when I was down to two or three choices that I loved. This time the finished product was one I adored.
Then we moved a few months ago, and my perfect furnishings looked vey imperfect in my new surroundings. Since you know who has time on his hands, guess who is shopping with me for new furniture. It has been almost 50 years since we last did this, and do you know what? NOTHING has changed. Hubby still has strong opinions on what we need and where we should buy, and I am compromising my views or just giving in as I did years ago – with the same results. The new items are arriving and instead of being ecstatic, I am down in the dumps.
I told him I have no choice but to change our house rules unless he lets me make the decisions on all the rest of the things we need. Since he loves everything we are getting, he will have to take over the dusting and vacuuming (my jobs), and I will take care of the outside – his responsibility. I love the gardens and the flowers that surround our retirement paradise, especially since our development’s fees include all ourside maintenance.
Hubby told me to go back to shopping solo and let him know when I’m down to two choices. He knows a good deal – when it comes to maintaining our home.
.
“The salesperson was a man,” I said.
“So? See what a mess he made of it. Men just know how to sell. Do you know any man that can match his socks to his pants?”
I could not argue with her on that point. My father wore white socks with everything and I was already coordinating my husband’s clothes.
Every time I vacuumed, I didn’t care if something was nicked. Silently, when my oversized aunt sat on the sofa, I hoped it would collapse. I fanaticized about painting the wood on the buffet a color I liked.
When we moved to Florida 35 years ago, a new friend gave me great advice. “The person who cleans is the one who must love the furniture. If not, you’ll get no pride when you finish your house work.” I listened and left Hubby home while I shopped for new living room furniture. He was busy starting a new business and was visibly relieved when I only consulted him when I was down to two or three choices that I loved. This time the finished product was one I adored.
Then we moved a few months ago, and my perfect furnishings looked vey imperfect in my new surroundings. Since you know who has time on his hands, guess who is shopping with me for new furniture. It has been almost 50 years since we last did this, and do you know what? NOTHING has changed. Hubby still has strong opinions on what we need and where we should buy, and I am compromising my views or just giving in as I did years ago – with the same results. The new items are arriving and instead of being ecstatic, I am down in the dumps.
I told him I have no choice but to change our house rules unless he lets me make the decisions on all the rest of the things we need. Since he loves everything we are getting, he will have to take over the dusting and vacuuming (my jobs), and I will take care of the outside – his responsibility. I love the gardens and the flowers that surround our retirement paradise, especially since our development’s fees include all ourside maintenance.
Hubby told me to go back to shopping solo and let him know when I’m down to two choices. He knows a good deal – when it comes to maintaining our home.
.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)