Storm Alert!!! STORM OF HISTORIC SIGNIFICANCE IS COMING!!!

Some snow is expected.   Later this afternoon, the storm is expected to start rolling into the Washington DC area, blanketing everything in view with several inches of the white stuff.  If that sounds like I'm understating the prospect, that's probably true.  I added the exclamation points in the title of this blogpost as a sort of statement of the ridiculous.  I never think a snow storm needs one exclamation point, much less three.  It's just snow.  It's just winter.  It's expected.  I grew up in the West and the headline that is floating across smartphones and broadcast television already is a bit much to my thinking.

It's not that I think I'm so tough and can take anything.  I just think that most of us will survive this storm.  Yes, it will be inconvenient.  I've already had to bail on a shift at C-Span.  They offered me a night or two of a hotel, but then I would have been stuck on Capitol Hill with no place to go and no way to get home.  Metro trains are canceling service and closing because of the storm.

It's just that I think I can stay home, work out, do personal projects and generally entertain myself for a few days.  There's enough food, water, cable TV and work at home to do to occupy me.... even if I take up blogging again.

But I have seen that a lot of people are panicked about being shut in with themselves.  Some people have a hard time being alone.  I'm not in favor of a solitary life, but I do think it's tolerable and in fact, I've often noted that I would rather be alone than wishing to be alone.

So here's a list of things I can more effectively do because I live alone:

I can stay up as late as I want without bothering anyone else.
By the same token, I can go to bed as early as I want without requesting permission.

I can leave a set of fingernail clippers around the house and know exactly where I left them.
I never have to wonder who took my fingernail clippers and left them sitting next to the couch?

I can spend the entire four days of being stuck inside my "cabin," doing spring cleaning and organizing, piling up boxes of stuff to take out to Goodwill or the dumpster, upon my release.

I can spend the entire four days of "stuck" making a huge mess that will rival the piles of snow expected outside my door, when I emerge.

I can always predict when the last roll of bathroom tissue will be run out.
I will have no one to go get me an extra roll of bathroom tissue, if I fail to plan.

I can order takeout delivery whenever I wish.
I can wait about a week for takeout delivery, if I decide to send out tomorrow, after the storm has done its worst.

Seriously, I think a storm is good.  The northeast coast has always been green and lovely.  I'm pleased to think that with a bit of snow this winter, we will retain that natural beauty after a bit of a struggle with nature.

Therefore... let it snow, let it snow, let it snow! 

Election Day and... Karen

There's something very bad about working seven days a week for seven months.  It isn't conducive to enjoying one's industry and doesn't lead to the pursuit of extra-curricular writing.  At least it didn't in my case.  It was almost unbearable, and yet there's a satisfaction at being able to survive waiting at the end.  Now that it IS over, we return to our regularly scheduled pursuit: the discussion of full-time enjoyment of humanity.

Why?  Because People ARE Candy and it's time I indulge.

This is Karen.  It's election day here in Northern Virginia, as it is everywhere in the United States and presumably, at a few other locations around the globe.

As we all know, it's been a nasty, vicious and particularly partisan year or two.  Lots of people are feeling very emotional about a lot of things and little of it is positive.  The campaigns have spent preposterous amounts of money to offend each of us to the point where almost no one has any good feelings about the political process.

Anyway back to Karen, who as you can see, is in Costco, which is where we met.  We met while waiting to get some lunch.

I was waiting in one of three lines and got tired of watching the woman in front of me grab the (large-ish) backside of the man who was buying her lunch.  Really, as if they were all by themselves instead of another human standing approximately 18 inches from those grabby hands?  I turned away to see what else could be more enjoyably looked at.  And there was Karen.

I smiled at her.  She smiled back.  I leaned in a tiny bit and said "Isn't it amazing?  For once in our lives, we seem to have gotten into the FAST line!"  She agreed and noted that for some reason, no one in the two (much longer) lines next to us seemed to have noticed our good fortune.

We chuckled about that and a few moments later, it was my turn at the counter.  I walked up, ordered my lunch and toddled off to the soda fountain.

I got myself a diet soda and went off to sit at one of Costco's white benches.  I sat down and then looked around.  It's an odd thing, finding friends in Costco lines.  It's only a tiny bit more personal than talking to strangers on a plane, because of course at any time, either party can get up and walk away.  But it's great practice for conversation, friendliness and engaging with one's fellow humans.

I'm ashamed to say that I've let my work, which is so much about people, overwhelm the rest of my life for the last 7 months.  I love meeting and talking with people, but after so much regularly scheduled, daily work-related interaction, I've come to cherish the times when it was not required.  I've let the personal pursuit of people-candy go by the wayside.  Today was my first day back as a social human.

(I know this because I did the same thing with a woman at the voting location and had a lovely time there, too, but one doesn't take pictures at voting locations.  Election photography is best left to professionals.) 

I looked back over my shoulder, caught the woman's eye and waved her over.   Very amiably she agreed to eat lunch with me.  What a great compliment, right?  That someone, a total stranger met only a few minutes before, would risk lunch with me?  I asked her name and offered my own.  She's friendly, you see, from a generation that values interaction with a friendly human of apparent good humor and reasonable mind above spending the time chewing on mass-produced pizza over whatever information is coming down the latest gizmo in the hand.

Karen is an Army wife.  Her husband is retired now, but in those years of moving around to postings, she has learned a few things about making friends.  She has three daughters and eight grandchildren.  She didn't offer any great life lessons over lunch.  She didn't tell any great secrets about herself, her family or anything else.  But she did reinforce my belief that people are good and fun and infinitely preferable to sitting alone at lunch or with one's nose pressed to the screen of a tablet, smartphone or anything else electronic.

I won't bother to tell you how old she is, because she is older than she looks and entitled to the youthfulness that your mind bestows on her.   But to me, Karen was a sirens call to return to what I like.  Because People Are Candy.  And even more than budget-minded pizza, I like to gobble them up.

Sandy...

I'm reading this in my bedroom, watching a newscast, eating an oatmeal cookie.  The reporter on TV just proclaimed, "This is the calm before the storm."  I'm sure he's correct.

Yes, I prepared.  I've stocked up on food and water.  I've gassed up the car.  Have a little extra cash so that when the ATM's and cash registers aren't taking credit cards, I'll be still be okay.

I vacuumed.  Weird, how some women's minds turn to cleanliness, but... well, mine did.  (Apparently it doesn't take hell freezing over.)  A farmer friend gave me some great supplies from his fields; I stored them as best I could.  Dried some.

I've done my laundry.  Washed my dishes.  Stuffed my freezer with bottles of ice.  I have three flashlights; kitchen, bathroom and nightstand.  Lots and lots of batteries, too.

There is no doubt the power will go out.  I expect to wake up to darkness.  I'm betting power will already be off.  I have spare cellphone clocks that can be counted on to wake me up.  My toothbrush is charged.

They said I should unplug the appliances.  I'm not sure what that's about.  The neighbors taped their windows.  Another neighbor and his wife and I were discussing whether we really think that will help. I guess we decided it doesn't because none of us did.

A friend's husband told me he worries about me; I live at ground level.  That's true, I do.  But... I also live on ground level at the top of a hill.  On the other side of the interstate and down at the bottom of a couple of other hills... that's where the Potomac River is.   I could see it going down I-395 before it made it here.

So I'm feeling pretty good about this.  I have to go to work tomorrow.  I'm guessing I'll hop in the car, take 3-4 peanut butter sandwiches, a blanket and pillow and my hurricane gear (thanks ABC News!) and go to work in the afternoon.  I can't see showing up early, since I may not make it home in the evening.

I won't be checking in here but email will get through.  The cellphone should work for the first few days.  Power will definitely be out for several days, if not a full week.

About the only thing I haven't been able to find a work around on is... if you're looking for me on the street, I'll be the one having a very bad hair day.

Post-Sandy Update: the Super-Storm came through Washington.  Yawn.

A View To A Hill...

Congress has gone home for a few weeks.  They didn't finish "the People's Work," but off they went.  It happens every year in August.  The House refused to approve a resolution to recess, so the Senate returns with what's called a Pro Forma session: member or two opens for one minute and then brings the session to a close.  There's very little "pro" about it.

As I was finishing up my day, I walked down into the Senate Radio - Television Correspondents' Gallery.  It's a wonderful place, full of history and tradition and enthusiasm for carrying journalism to the world.  It's also a journalists' delight as a reading room.  A little bit of everything and one or two of everything.

Today, I spotted a commemorative issue of Politico on the coffee table.  One issue covered in colorful drawings and imagery of the upcoming Democratic Political Convention upcoming in Charlotte, North Carolina.  (No, I'm not going, but I've been before.  Lots of other work having to do with staying employed here in Washington to do whilst the parties... party, right?)

Barack Obama, Star of the Show, is featured on the cover.  Fair enough, right?  One issue of Politico with the Democratic Party's Commander in Chief, coming right up!

I picked it up and was talking with a staffer.  He thought (as I did) that the issue would be about Charlotte.  You know, "things to do when you're sick of chanting 'FOUR MORE YEARS, FOUR MORE YEARS' " ad infinitum.  But the issue is actually more of the daily send-up of political news, and a few interesting tidbits.  I thought "that's nice.  They're putting out special issues."

Not so.  Here's the flipside.

Equal time.  Even in the Senate R-TV Gallery.   Have a good weekend!

Had Enough Chips? Pretzels? Candy?

When I ask "what is enough" and what is bothering us so much, what am I basing these questions on? Let's start with the most obvious aspect of life where people in general, and Americans specifically, are clearly struggling to get satisfied.

Food. Weight. As a country, the United States is struggling with huge (no pun intended... this isn't funny) weight issues. I've likened our culture's appearance to kernels of corn boiling in hot fat and in response, *POPPING* out of our previous boundaries.

Yep, we're fat. The government says two-thirds of Americans are overweight; one third or more are obese. And worst of all, our generation next is coming up chubby, too.

We're busy stuffing things in our mouths, looking for satisfaction. Looking for "enough." Looking to fill a hole inside of us that aches for "a little something-something." But instead of "a little," we eat everything in sight.

Come on. We've all tried to tame that one before. We have a few chips; we want a few more. Even the chip industry knows we can't let things alone. "You can't have just one" was the slogan of the nation's most popular chips for more than a decade. We're not alone in our overindulgence. The American Institute of Baking (AIB) reports snacks are a growth industry, "business insights projects that the savory snack industry will grow to $10 billion by 2012." We're nothing if not predictable.

But was there ever satisfaction in a few chips? But worse, has making it to the bottom of the bag ever inspired anything other than guilt? The salty (and now added sweet) additions to the carbohydrate load make them tasty. The carbohydrates themselves make you quickly crave more after you finish the first few.

So the big question is, when are you going to stop looking in the fridge for "enough"? And where can you look next?

What Ails Us?

I've been giving a lot of thought to something lately. I've come up with an answer and I want to talk it through with you. First off, let's define the question.

When I ask "what ails us," what I'm really asking is what is ailing the U.S., our society, our country and us as individuals. What ails the U.S.?

I think it's the same question that's bothered me for a long time. When I say I'm formulating an answer, I don't mean to imply that I'm so insightful that I know everything about American culture. I am actually saying that I'm so very average and totally un-special that I'm bothered by the same things that are bothering the rest of the country. And I have mentioned the idea I have before on this blog.

I think it's a question of "enough."


I've told you before that someone asked me this question at lunch, years ago. A person who was wise beyond his years and looking at me clearly (and yet gently) enough to understand what he was seeing asked me, "What is enough for you, Marti? What is it going to take? What will be enough for you? And will you know it when you see it within your grasp?"

What a great question! I'm so glad it was put to me right then. I didn't have the answer at that time. I'm not sure I do now, although I know that many things I couldn't get enough of then are no longer troubling to me now.

So I want to start a dialogue here about our culture and the word "enough." Different aspects, subjects and theories. I want your thoughts, ideas and opinions, too. Consider it my own little research project. Topic: What is Enough?

An Artful (Broken) Heart

I had my heart broken tonight. It wasn't by a person. It wasn't over a lost job. It was over this:
If you've ever loved and lost, then you know how I feel. This is an Emile Vernon oil painting that was at an auction. It's a particularly good one, because it doesn't just show the usual "pretty women" that he did so famously, but this painting seems to have an actual plot behind it: two bar maids whispering about a traveler with well-worn shoes. I bid briefly, but realized I had to walk away because I didn't have my life in order to provide the appropriate setting for this piece of art.

I'm going to remember this loss for a long time. There aren't a lot of things I truly covet and I'm sure there will be other paintings that I love in the future. But this one is a reminder that I need to work a little harder to focus my life and be able to provide a place for so much beauty.

Maybe this was what I needed to motivate me to move beyond my 40-45 weekly hours job, a job hunt, a website in development and a bunch of craft projects that so far aren't moving on Etsy.com, because as Scarlet O'Hara would have put it, "As God is my witness, I'll never be artless again." Or something like that.

Steve Jobs: 1955 – 2011

The news that Steve Jobs died on October 5, 2011 lit up the cyber-sphere like very few things in recent history. Seriously, I've covered the deaths of former American presidents whose passing got less interest. I hope that is a testament to the way he lived.

I never interviewed Mr. Jobs. That should be clear upfront. Having covered politics and hurricanes for most of my adult life, there were always people far more prepared than me for questioning Apple's CEO. I can respect that. But like a lot of the Americans posting endlessly on Facebook.com and Twitter.com (which appeared to shut down for a time under the load) I greatly admired his passion.

Have you noticed that in every photograph of him posted around the web, he's engaged? He might not be exactly smiling, but he is there, in that moment, focused on whatever he's doing. That is a mark of true genius, in my mind.

Tonight, I saw it best explained in an article on Mashable.com, where the writer had interviewed him multiple times, over the years. If you want to read more about that, here's your chance. Because I want to move the conversation forward.

People seem very concerned that this country has lost a visionary. Yes, that's true. But we don't need to feel we've lost our vision. I think the best way to honor Steve Jobs is to do as he did: embrace the universe of possibilities every day.

I started my little website a year ago. It's in rebuild right now and I'm grateful for a couple of very talented web developers who have gone the distance with me in decision-making and design. These two Americans have made web development into an entirely different experience than what I went through 16 months ago, working with a New Delhi team that I came to refer to, both generally and specifically, as "Pirate." I hope in another six months, when I start to rethink, they'll come with me on the second journey. (A third? I'm hoping not because at that point, I'd like the site to need so many customizations that we have to take our friendship to the level of "just friends.")

I often tease my friends and coworkers that I'm going to "take over the world" with my darling little web project. I'm only halfway kidding and those that know me well with confirm that.
I don't expect to remake my industry. I don't expect to change the way people listen to music. Or shop for cars. Or feed their children.

What I'd like to do is enhance the way people understand the world and the opportunities that people in my industry are given... and take for themselves. I can only spend the amount of time (and money... ugh, the money!) on my little web project because I am passionate about it. I'm passionate about journalism and journalists and helping people re-ignite an industry and a group of workers that have taken some hard knocks in recent years. Otherwise, with my very limited television reporter's attention span, I would have wandered off long ago. But Steve Jobs, with the way he changed computer use and the way he pushed his limits, led the way.

I hope you're passionate, too, because if you haven't seen the news lately, time is limited. Eat dessert, love deeply, wear your favorite clothes and live your own life. Steve Jobs certainly did.

My Economic Solution

I've been thinking about the economy lately. Which puts me in the same boat, bin and bag check as 98.9% of the rest of Americans, right?

At first, I was somewhat depressed. You can get that way, looking at the numbers. But you shouldn't. Why not? I'm so glad you asked.

First off, you shouldn't be depressed because on your worst day (ruling out a death in your immediate family) living in this country, you are still better off than more than 95% of the rest of the world. Truly.

Still panicking? Why? Worried about India? So was I until I hired an Indian team to build my website. Did you know they have 174 "festival days" every year. Can you really get behind that type of work ethic in a modern economy? After a few months of working with them, I stopped seriously considering India as a competitor.

China is what really worries you, right? Have you looked at their numbers and size? Ok, they're huge. But consider this: the U.S. economy is roughly 2.5 times the size of theirs. They're huge, they're coming, but they've got a long way to go. We're experiencing the same level of panic that our grandparents did in worrying about "the Rooskies" in the 1940's and 50's. Inhale. Exhale.

There is enough for them to be successful, too. It's ok. We don't have to clobber them to still have life pretty good.

Now as it relates to the rest of the economy, I have this thought: a sizable amount of the problem with the economy is that we, as Americans, don't have faith in it. We can't afford more government, but cutting our spending will cause an implosion as the nation's (and world's) biggest employer cuts faster than our already overwhelmed employment programs could possibly absorb.

What can we afford? Most of us don't want to spend more. We're saving every penny we've got. Americans are desperately trying to unload debt. We're just having a freak-a-zoid meltdown moment in our national courage level. How do we turn that around?

We're going to have to get tough. And perhaps while we don't want to pay more taxes or spend more money, perhaps its time to do that.

On behalf of those of us who don't want to pay more taxes, how about if we take another positive action? Perhaps if we gave something to someone in need? Since most of us feel like a dollar taxed is a dollar lost to the machine, how about if we take a step forward in consumer confidence, go around the taxing-spending-welfare machine that this country has become and we summon up our courage and faith in the economy to spend something on behalf of our fellow man?

I don't like giving money to people with signs up and their hands out at freeway exits. First off, I'm usually alone in my car and it concerns me to open my purse and my window to a total stranger who looks very different from me and well, somewhat desperate and dirty. I have no idea if he'll spend it on something that he truly needs... or drink it. So I try to make sure that he drinks it. I offer bottled water. If the person is truly needy, he's very grateful for some fresh water. If he's not, then he better act like he is or the guy in the car behind me won't give him a dime.

But how about if each of us bought that person a t-shirt or jacket? We would spend a little more than a bottle of water, but offer something that person truly needs. And more important than an actual t-shirt or coat (in the bigger sense, obviously) we'd circulate the dollars. We'd boost the economy without wasting any money sending the dollars into the expensive to operate government machine, right?

I'm not saying go out and buy someone an expensive coat. Just what you can reasonably afford. What you can freely give. If it comes from Macy's, Walmart or Goodwill, I'm not the person to say. And if you truly can't afford it, then God bless you, keep the money to buy yourself a warm coat. I'm just saying, circulate the money. Skip the government and help your fellow human. And maybe we'll finally start to veer towards easing up on the level of agony we see on the streets.

I'm pretty sure this isn't anywhere close to "The Solution." But I don't see anyone else offering anything better at the moment. (Maybe later this week?) Of course, if you have a better or other solution, I think we're all open to it. Give it up now.

My Other Mother

One of the kindest, dearest people in my life died this weekend. I've known she would go soon, but it still catches me with such a tight, hard knot of pain that I'm almost unable bear it.

This is Doris Roberson, mother of three, wife of the late Marvin Roberson. Marv died last year and left his beloved Doris to soldier on without him. She made it just 11 months.

She was a wonderful woman. I met her as a result of her daughter, my college best friend, Echo. Echo told me from the start to "call her Mom, everybody does." And sure enough, Doris became a second, sort of "Other Mother" to me.

She was, as many of her generation, a stay-at-home Mom. She had to be, because Marv worked as the trainer for the football team at Brigham Young University. Which means during football season, and often during the build-up to it, she was Mother, Father, Drill-Sergeant and trainer to the Roberson team. She brought her daughters up with a sense of decorum and her son up to respect ladies with such sensitivities.

But she was also very much her own person. She was a member of a book club that was better read than most people these days. When computers became popular, she was on them like white on rice. She loved life and as it progressed, she went with it.

She had a great laugh, a wonderful smile and a satisfying way of saying "oh, Marti." This photo shows how I see her in my mind: her eyes gleeful, with the lashes turned in "upside down smiles" that form because someone is an unusually happy soul.

She also had a calming sense of stillness that seems lacking in the current milieu. (She would love my using that word.) She cheered on my career, calmed my wildly beating heart when I thought it would break and whenever I was in town, would make time to go to lunch in order to ask what I thought about various events and turns in national and world politics. She had questions that showed a keen insight, particularly for someone taking life at her own pace in Provo, Utah.

I remember one day a few years ago when I came home after a long business trip. I had been reporting in New Orleans about a hurricane that I waited three days for, only to see it veer to the north around my location. It fizzled as a story for me. But as I arrived home, there was a phone message:

"Marti, this is.... well, this is Your Mom. Call me when you get a minute and tell me what you're up to."

I called her back that time and every time. I have no regrets about that. Except that there will be no more long phone calls. No more "call Mom for advice and long talks." No more "sit with Mom over a long lunch."

I mourn Doris Roberson. She was lovely. She was beloved. I am better for having known her and so deeply saddened at her loss. The only thing I find comforting is that she left such a great legacy of her heart and soul to her daughters. And I'm fortunate to have been counted as one of them.

The Moo, The Mouth and Me...

So I've mentioned here before that I struggle with drinking water. There's a tussle going on between me and municipal water systems everywhere. I can't drink tap water treated by municipal systems. If I drink it, my mouth peels and I get an assortment of other symptoms. I've checked all the way from Los Angeles to Washington, DC, with the same results.

I don't like this. Having grown up on a farm where Mom and Dad raised a lot of the food we ate and encouraged vast amounts of self-sufficiency. But here I am, all grown-up and I'm at the opposite end of the spectrum. Not self-sufficient.Not in drinking water. Not in growing food or anything else that I know of, to be honest.

But the bottled water issue looms large. Because not only can I not drink tap water, I can't drink anything but DISTILLED tap water. Buying, paying for, dragging home and drinking distilled water has become the most annoying household chore I regularly take care of, but at least I thought I had the issue handled.

Except lately the inside of the mouth seems to be sensitive again. So maybe the tap water problem is a symptom, but not the problem?

I've decided to try drinking organic milk. Maybe the hormones and steroids used in milk and beef production are affecting me. So today I bought $20 worth of organic milk. For my twenty-spot, I didn't get as much milk as I wish, but I did buy enough for two weeks, so that I could give it a substantial try-out and get all the dairy production chemicals out of my system.

I don't like that it's come to this, but... well, if this little test of mine works, then I guess then I get to decide: organic milk or organic water?

Dear Congress...

And by "Congress," I mean everyone elected to serve the public in the U.S. Capitol.

As this week drags on, please remember that we're not going to remember the "tit for tat" of this week if you screw it up. We won't remember who got what or said what or offered what in six months. It's our nature, as the American public, to be both forgiving and forgetful in relation to a lot of things.

If you mess up on this one, we're going to be blanket-full-on-whup-@$$ angry for a very long time. At you and him. But unless we see some agreement soon, it's mostly on you. I don't mean to say I know which proposal to do what is best. I see it's "rock and hard place." I've got the idea that a lot of compromising is in order. Neither side will end up with a clear win. None of us are going to be completely happy and heaven knows we're likely to be poorer. But if you don't do something, the downside will be huge, lasting and unforgivable.

I mean if you don't get this done (and preferably immediately) we're going to remember exactly where you sat while this happened. And you won't be sitting there in the future. Because we'll be reminded every time we go to the grocery store. We'll be reminded every time we make a mortgage payment... and that'll be the lucky ones. We'll remember every time we look at our children. We'll feel it all the more when we're the grandparents of the next poorer generation.

I suggest you get off the party line and get to it. Whatever that does or doesn't mean, it boils down to this: it's time to make a deal. It's time to find some common ground. I don't have the answer because I'm not in the discussions, but I know pettiness when I see it.

So get in that chamber and get to work. Please don't come out, don't come home and don't look for sympathy until your job is done.

Celebrating July 4, 2011

I celebrated the Fourth of July a little early. Here's how I did it:

That's right; I cut up a credit card.

Nothing to get excited about. This was my "spare" American Express card. I still have another one. I closed this account because I don't need two and spreading credit around like that isn't healthy for my credit rating.

Do you want to know what American Express' response was? They immediately doubled the credit limit on the one I didn't close. Yeah. Helpful, aren't they?

Obviously I don't have "problem credit." I pay off my monthly credit card bills in full. I never carry a balance and I don't want to go down that road.

So I invite you to join me. What's in YOUR wallet? Maybe it should be a little less? And look what I found online:

Bold letters and small mirrors, tastefully decorated in discarded American extravagance.
Perfect for any home or office! Have a good weekend!

Cold Advice... for the Brave

I have a bit of a cold... just now. It's a spring-time cold, common enough here in Washington, DC. It seems to pop up every time I take off the gloves on the Metro and start grabbing up every passing germ.

If you were around these parts two winters ago, you may remember my foray into odd "home cures" for head colds. I thought I should put out a comprehensive list of every one of these homeopathic efforts, their side effects and results, starting with the most recent effort. Just in case you need it.

By the way, the picture above reminds me of a coworker at one of the places I freelance. The company is moving this coming week, and everyone has to clear out their desk for the move. Today, she discovered a roll of T-P in the back of a drawer, or as some would call it "ghetto sneeze lockers," dating back to before the company bought tissues for cold and allergy sufferers.

Glass of tomato juice with a teaspoon of cayenne pepper. This was my mother's suggestion, via the neighbor's husband who lives down the way. (Yep, we're country folk!) The side effect was a little burn in the upper chest that wasn't nearly as bad as anticipated. The results seemed to be positive. The next morning, I no longer had a sore throat. Might have worked, too, if I hadn't missed out on sleep the next night. Relapsed. Drinking more. And why not? They say that the capsaicin in the peppers (the stuff that makes them fiery hot!) causes a metabolic rise and may help with digestion. I liked this thought well enough that I'm considering drinking it from now on. I've certainly had worse habits.

Five thousand milligrams of Vitamin C at first notice and 2 thousand an hour every hour thereafter for the first 24 hours. This cure came from a California friend who said that this level of Vitamin C, being ascorbic acid, would propose to "burn any germs out of the system." The side effects of this are widely believed to be a little case of stomach upset. My particular stomach holds up pretty well under this type of assault. I added this one to this week's head cold attack as I regularly do when I have a cold "just in case."

Onion tea, made by adding a thick slice of onion to an innocent and otherwise sweet smelling cup of tea. I got this one from Merle, an African American man who bumped me in the drugstore line in Southeast Washington two winters ago while I waited to pay for my Tami flu. He suggested I drink the tea, pull on the covers and "sweat it out." What did I have to lose? I went home, gave it a shot and voila! Next morning, I felt 95% better. Had another cup of the smelly stuff and went on my way. No side affects whatsoever.

The funny thing about this particular "cure," is that no matter how hard you try to get someone else to try this, they will avoid it at all costs. I mean they would rather suffer the pains of a nasty cold than drink a stinking cup of tea? And the tea smells worse than it tastes. It's actually pretty easy to drink, particularly if your nose is stuffed up and you can't smell.

Zicam, up the nose. Yes, yes, I know the government yanked the stuff of the market, but thank heavens I was already stocked up on the stuff because it knocks my colds out like nothing else ever has. You can take your zinc lozenges, but I want my zinc in my nose, where it does me good. What's that smell?

Chicken soup and orange juice in liberal doses. This is my "always effort" in making my world more hospitable during a cold. I boil a chicken, add chopped carrots, onions and celery. And then I make the result into something edible: chicken noodle soup, chicken and rice, chicken and gravy with mashed potatoes or chicken and dumplings are the top picks. I try to avoid more than one day of any particular "chicken and - - - -." I think the steam filling the apartment helps my throat and sinuses and since I'm usually a bit "carb-deprived" as a general rule, it adds a little extra energy to the recovery.

(The following cures that friends have suggested that I've never tried but you might like, if you're suffering)

Echinacea herbal tea (recent studies showed echinacea is not effective in fighting colds or influenza)

Shot of tequila (the Los Angeles contingent of friends suggesting a favorite cure, but for what??)

Jalapenos (huh?)

Whiskey and lemon, warmed and tossed down (DC friends, with a fresh spin on the booze angle)

Jalapeno peppers (Ah, apparently they are "chock full" of Vitamin C; however, by this point, so am I!)

Zinc! (Yes, that's a good idea. I think it was in the Zicam)

Vodka mixed with the tomato juice and cayenne (I'm thinking at this point that some sweet friends thought I was looking for drink recipes as opposed to head cold cures at this point, but they were determined to be helpful!)

So this is your list. Choose your poison in the future. And leave me word of any of your own home cures below, please? I'll be sitting here nursing my glass of very spicy tomato juice.

Will You Be Wanting Popsicles with Your Pizza?

I have a very busy life. Just in case you didn't know that, it's true. Very busy.
I work weekends at a weird little government gig. I just started a second contractor position at another company. I have a website that is doing well enough that I need to have it redesigned and rebuilt in the next several months in order for it to continue to grow and expand. (Er, not to be confused with making money or covering its costs. NO to either on that question!) These three things alone poke big holes in my day, not to mention my bank account.

Yessirree, I'm busy for about 16 to 18 hours out of every day.

Oh, and I work out like a nutcase to make sure that I am healthy enough for all this insanity. Yes, I am busy.

But I also like financial health. My mother commented recently (in that dotty-random-outburst-at-a-party-given-by-their-daughter way that old ladies acquire in their seventies) that "Marti's cheap." I'll admit when she made that comment combined with one other, what I really wanted was to excuse myself for a check of her bathroom cabinet to see if she was off her meds. Or if I could borrow a few. Ugh.

Anyway, whether I am or am not cheap doesn't matter. I know a lot of people who are worried about money these days. And here's my tip for what YOU can do about it.

Do something extra. Do. Something. Extra. Why? To make money for yourself, of course! And not just for your life currently, which no doubt sucks every nickel out of your pocket, but for your future financial health. (If you're in debt, obviously, then use the money to pay down the debt first. I'm not in debt, therefore, I save.) And the best news is it doesn't have to be big.

For instance in the last year, I was contacted by an online group about writing for them. For several months toward the end of 2010 and in early 2011, I did their online writing. It only required a couple of hours per week. But in fact, I had so much of writing work that I couldn't do it all when combined at the time with my weekend job, website operation and making a full-time job of looking for a full-time job, right? Right. So I hired someone else to do a little of the writing. I passed one subject that I knew little about to a favorite friend who herself wanted to pick up some supplemental funds every month.

That work agreement ended a few months ago and in the newly restored "glut" of time, my mind cast about again for what else I could do to make money. I didn't have to look far. I went to auctions with a couple of guy friends and considered re-selling things I could buy there. I pondered putting up a website to do more online writing. (Still mulling that one over) Heck, I even considered taking a waitress job and pouring coffee at some breakfast diner. Perhaps. (That mental journey didn't go very far) I ruled that one out. Kind of fast, matter of fact.

What I came up with instead was expanding on a favorite hobby, adding some extra knowledge (that's called "value added") that I had gained years back, putting in a little financial outlay to buy supplies and getting busy on it. Altogether, that's hobby+added value knowledge+cash investment+sweat equity.

To that end, I now have a living room that is... unlivable at the moment. It's been a small, bearable bit of a downside as large amounts of fabric and quilt batting started piling up. Some weird smelly things are stashed in the front closet. And an etsy account awaits which already amuses me and I hope to start filling later this week.

I make this "extra" suggestion knowing that some of you will say "Oh, I'm already so busy doing such-and-such. I really can't take on anything new." I think you should reconsider. What I'm talking about isn't converting YOUR living room into a sewing workshop with a huge mess of fabrics, fluff and stuff strewn everywhere. (That seems to be my personal passion and only within the abilities of those of us that live alone.) But you can do something. You can find something. Skip any "collecting aluminum cans" ideas. You'll lose money on the price of gas, driving to and from the recycling center. You want something you can do along your life's regular circuit with a small bit of extra effort.

What will you get out of it? I expect to end up with is enough cash to cover my costs, my annual IRA donation and maybe buy a few popsicles this summer.

Personally, I like popsicles. Don't want popsicles? You might make a few extra mortgage payments. You could put some money in a fund to pay for a few extra textbooks for a favorite college student. You could take the hubs out for pizza once a month and probably afford to pay for a gym to work it off again. Whatever you want, including debt, IRA, popsicles or pizza after taxes.

I'm not saying you're not already working harder than ever, but you probably can squeak something else in, which might help you shake out better at the end of the year. And with a little extra moola, who knows what you could do, right? Maybe you'll only make enough dough for the pizza (or in my case popsicles), but we all prefer life with pizza and popsicles rather than without, right?

So what are your solutions to making a little extra money for the pizza/popsicles of your life?

(Disclaimer: all photos today were chosen with abject weirdness in mind and may or may not have actual relevance to the subject. But... I do like popsicles.)

Cake. C-A-K-E. CAKE!!!!

It's my birthday again this coming week. I thought it was a good time for us to talk about The Cake.

I've been eating The Cake for a long time. I make it for my birthday every year, as I have since I was 16 and found the original recipe in one of the Salt Lake City newspapers. I try not to eat it in between. (Otherwise too many people find out about it and they whine. A lot. "When are you going to make us another cake, Marti." Bah. Whiners. Never.)

The Cake has changed since I was sixteen. The recipe has evolved. It's de-evolved. And then re-evolved and "gone foodie." And even then, it varies greatly.

There's "The Picnic Cake" which is pretty similar to "The Church Party cake." (Cool Whip. Ugh. "I'll just have a sliver. I brought this for you, anyway, right?" Right.)

There's a "Marti Doesn't know the Oven Cake" version. (See the darkly browned sides and bottom? Yeah. No!)

Also a "My Friend's Kids Are Diving In Cake" version. (There's something wonderfully "Dr. Seuss" about this particular shot, don't you think?)

There is "Dinner with College BFF and Hubs Who Are Also Foodies Cake" and as well as a "Dinner with People Who Will Eat ANYTHING" (my grade school pals in March) version.

It was spectacular watching them eat The Cake because, well, it was just so darned great to see them all again. I love a good "Happily Ever After," so having a whole room of them was swell. Just swell.

There is "Houseguests Feel The Love Cake," as modeled here by Greg. Still in his jammies. He was leaving the next day. Very little of this cake ever goes to waist. Er, waste. Freudian.

This was the "Best Family I Ever Shacked Up With Cake" version (long story involving short-term housing) which was very well received. Great lighting, eh? As if their household had some sort of inner light.

This was one of my favorites: "The Cake with Beloved College Roommate" who, after figuring out what leaving me alone in her kitchen on my birthday would mean, regularly left me alone in her kitchen on my birthday. Suh-weet!

When I started to write this post, I thought I would fit some metaphor of life into this blog. But as I got into writing it, turned out it I just like posting pictures of The Cake. Other than that, the subject of my birth is about as deep as, well, The Cake, but without the whipped cream and berries.

HELP! I've Fallen and I Can't Get Up!

I have a bit of conundrum right now and I thought I should get your advice. I'm in a sort of "Chinese Finger Trap" in my world, and struggling to get out.

A few posts back, I mentioned I was given a "second chance," and felt deeply touched by the generosity of it.

Here's where it landed me: I've become involved in a professional project where I am expected to produce something (which I very much want to produce), but so far, am unable to offer the expected results.

I should state upfront that the people who gave me this chance have been continually patient and helpful and supportive. Every question has been answered with a generosity of spirit that I've rarely seen. These people are kindness itself to me.

Part of the conundrum is that the more patient they are with my efforts, the more determined I become to succeed and the harder I try. But so far, success eludes me. Seriously, I've not been so frustrated with something in a very long time.

It's a bit like this:

I feel caught in a vise from which I desperately want to escape into the ease of reporting I've previously enjoyed. But instead, I struggle, study and practice for hours, and am trying harder than I have tried, or ever had to try, in the course of my career. And yet... I sort of stink at it.

In a "Chinese Finger Trap," the answer is to relax and let go. But so far, I've found myself unable to do that and the harder I try, whether to study or work harder or even to "let go," the more strained and painful my product seems to become. Which is not helpful.

I've often been told that one of the best parts of my work in journalism was that I made it look effortless. I've always inwardly laughed because my "effortless delivery" came from studying the material to internalize it. And then would I relax. I could relax and effortlessly talk about what I knew because I had done the due diligence and I did know it.

This latest isn't coming easily. It isn't coming with study. It hasn't arrived after hours of struggling. And not only am I frustrated, but so are those who have been so generous with their own time and efforts to help me. So...

Suggestions?

Alongside All that Fur...

The visit to Utah went well. The fur coats kept arriving, removed from the hallway in front of my apartment by an obliging neighbor until I could return home to open the boxes and air out the furs. Many of them need copious amounts of air.

They are interesting furs. Some are exactly as described: thick, luxurious and pretty in a "formerly alive" sort of way. Not something I want to sit around and "pet," but they're attractive. One felt damp; it traveled from the UK, so perhaps it came by that naturally. One is yellow; not white, as advertised. Most are more than 20 years old (with one about 70, I believe... my mother was four when that fur came to be) and all are intriguing.

Now they've been joined by... a wedding dress. And not just any wedding dress, but... well, you take a look. Here it is:



If it were featured in a catalog, this is one possible description:

"This vintage candlelight white bridal gown is hand-made of yards and yards of the finest silk duppioni fabric with a fitted bodice and features a round neckline, mutton sleeves gathered to a fitted lower sleeve, set off by lace embroidered with seed pearls at the wrist. The view from the back sets off the bride's tiny waist with a full, multi-tiered bustle bedecked with handmade (from the same silk fabric) roses."

To put it more succinctly, it's ugly, out of style and even when it was in style, it just wouldn't do. It's also a size 6 (4?), so this description applies in more ways than one.

What's it doing in my closet? When I told "Mum" about the fur coats (which are reproducing in that closet and now number 11) she said she had a wedding dress to donate to my various projects. So I returned from Utah with a wedding dress, but no husband.

Mother tries so hard, but alas, that "Abra-ca-dabrah!" thing doesn't work. (Whew!)

But the dress has had a side effect. Just looking at it makes me happy, once again, that I am single.

(Editor's note: this dress was made by my mother, at the express and explicit direction of a bride who wore it, alas, to her "FIRST" wedding. Which says it all, don't you agree?)

8 Fur Coats... or Why My Folks Are Waiting at the Airport

People who ask "when did you last visited your parents" often get the Stink Eye from me. I don't like their inquisitive tone as I am a person who has long believed in asking but not answering personal questions. It's the nature of my profession and I follow that tradition religiously.

And I remind them that people who don't have steady income streams are wise in not spending small bits of discretionary income on elective long distance trips.

"Bad choices and lack of discipline are the things that have put this country where it is," I say loftily, "which is painted into a corner."

My parents understand my fiscal theories. Who do you think taught me the dratted frugality that has kept me out of trouble for all these months?

So while I've had a lot of time on my hands in the last couple of years, I haven't spent much of it in airports. Or Western states.

But last week, I got news that means I will soon have MORE discretionary funds and LESS discretionary time. In fact, I'll work a lot of 7 day weeks. Sounds about right. It never rains, but it pours.

And after digesting this news for a bit, I suddenly thought "Ah, well, perhaps I'll use this time to go visit the folks."

Except that somewhere between here and there, I bought 8 fur coats. (Maybe 9 by 24 hours from now, but that one won't figure in)

It sounds like a bad movie title, doesn't it? "Eight Fur Coats." I bet I could write that movie's plot and script in an airport over the next weekend. And it'd fit right in with the rest of my life. But let me explain.

I had this idea for something I wanted to make. Have you noticed that I don't do things in small ways? Perhaps you don't recall the year I decided to import and sell pet iguanas as Christmas gifts out of my second bedroom in Omaha? The time I went to an auction and came home with jewelry so substantial that I was forced into a sit-down with an insurance agent? (yawn) Or even a couple of years ago when I bought "a few cigar boxes" at a yard sale and then went back for the rest of them the next day? (Yes, I do have 223 cigar boxes in a storage locker in Los Angeles. Why do you ask?)

The point is, when I get an idea that I want to toy with, I go long. I go large. I go admittedly... overboard. I don't do "small."

Now I had this idea and needed some fur. I looked on ebay.com.

There's a certain charm to the photo above, don't you agree? The pose alone was worth the price. It was my first purchase: a 1940's muskrat cape. The price was incredibly low (70 years old... ya think?) and it reminded me of an episode of The Beverly Hillbillies with someone named "Rudy Vallee" who wore a muskrat coat, in keeping with the college boy fashion of the era. Shoot, the auction itself was entertaining than most other things. Of course I bought it!

Then I bought this long-haired mahogany mink. Isn't that the prettiest thing you've seen in awhile? It's coming all the way from the UK and is the coat for which I paid the highest price.

I think it as the way the light hit it from the side. I had this image of myself, floating down a long staircase, bathed in candlelight.

Ha! No I didn't. I don't intend to wear any of these. And if you're environmentally sensitive, please know that no minks (which are nasty mean-tempered rodents, by the way) were killed in the making of my craft project. These rodents are LONG DEAD. I'm buying a lot of used fur, so you may feel free to view this as my own personal "recycling project."

(If that doesn't make you feel better, keep in mind, I grew up on a farm. They're all rodents to me, including the bunnies I cuddled, raised and ate as a child. That's right. I'm not vegan.)

To be honest, in many of these cases, I consider that I'm doing the world a favor, dissecting some of the most unattractive coats imaginable. Seriously, this is an UG-LEE coat.

Anyway, I bought. And bought. And bought. Until I felt quite certain I could have a lot of fun with my project. A lot of variety to keep my interest going. Variety is the spice of life, right? Altogether, I've spent about $330, including insurance and shipping.

It's been fun. Only one problem. About the time I got over the rush of "new job!" and realized I was going to be seriously busy for the first time in a long time, I realized I should go visit the folks next week. Except that I have eight fur coats rolling in my door, most expect to arrive next week.

I also don't want the neighbors to suspect anything.

So far, all they've seen coming and going are things in Goodwill bags and large packages of tofu and salad from Costco. The poverty period has been interesting but I haven't been rolling in the dough. Or furs. Until now.

And now I'm going to be rolling in fur. (I'm considering a "cash and furs scene" like the one in "Indecent Proposal" for my movie script. Yes?)

So please, give it some thought. I could use a suggestion or three. What to do about a week of fur coat deliveries in absentia?