HB to G3 + No Left Turns.

A bonus birthday envelope this week. I had filled this slot very early in the year and made a note to add an envelope. I am 99% sure that this is from Maggie. 

*****

Yesterday, when I was hoping that today would be drivel-free, I did not realize that I had chosen this day (randomly) quite a while ago to repost something that I have probably posted before. It is definitely not drivel. It is one of my all time favorite essays.

***

Every once in a while I like to post examples of writing that are so much better than my writing.

 I have posted this column before, but, I think it is worth posting again. The people lived in my neighborhood although I do not know exactly which house. (The DMPublic Library researchers found the address for me. 732 40th Street. It is very close to and also looks a lot like Halston's house. The son who wrote the article is a person of note - a Pulitzer Prize winning author. He's only 82 - and is still around. 

I pull this column out every few years and am reminded why I like it so much. On a daily basis, I avoid making left turns. And if I am riding in a car with Hunter, he will offer to take a right-turn-only route, just to honor/indulge my preferences.

A life without left turns 

Posted 6/15/2006 9:57 PM ET

E-mail | Print |

Enlarge Gartner family photo Carl Gartner in 1934.

By Michael Gartner

My father never drove a car.

Well, that's not quite right.

I should say I never saw him drive a car. He quit driving in 1927, when he was 25 years old, and the last car he drove was a 1926 Whippet.

"In those days," he told me when he was in his 90s, "to drive a car you had to do things with your hands, and do things with your feet, and look every which way, and I decided you could walk through life and enjoy it or drive through life and miss it."

At which point my mother, a sometimes salty Irishwoman, chimed in:

"Oh, bull——!" she said. "He hit a horse."

"Well," my father said, "there was that, too."

So my brother and I grew up in a household without a car. The neighbors all had cars — the Kollingses next door had a green 1941 Dodge, the VanLaninghams across the street a gray 1936 Plymouth, the Hopsons two doors down a black 1941 Ford — but we had none. My father, a newspaperman in Des Moines, would take the streetcar to work and, often as not, walk the 3 miles home. If he took the streetcar home, my mother and brother and I would walk the three blocks to the streetcar stop, meet him and walk home together.

Our 1950 Chevy

My brother, David, was born in 1935, and I was born in 1938, and sometimes, at dinner, we'd ask how come all the neighbors had cars but we had none. "No one in the family drives," my mother would explain, and that was that. But, sometimes, my father would say, "But as soon as one of you boys turns 16, we'll get one."

It was as if he wasn't sure which one of us would turn 16 first.

But, sure enough, my brother turned 16 before I did, so in 1951 my parents bought a used 1950 Chevrolet from a friend who ran the parts department at a Chevy dealership downtown. It was a four-door, white model, stick shift, fender skirts, loaded with everything, and, since my parents didn't drive, it more or less became my brother's car.

Having a car but not being able to drive didn't bother my father, but it didn't make sense to my mother. So in 1952, when she was 43 years old, she asked a friend to teach her to drive. She learned in a nearby cemetery, the place where I learned to drive the following year and where, a generation later, I took my two sons to practice driving. The cemetery probably was my father's idea. "Who can your mother hurt in the cemetery?" I remember him saying once.

For the next 45 years or so, until she was 90, my mother was the driver in the family. Neither she nor my father had any sense of direction, but he loaded up on maps — though they seldom left the city limits — and appointed himself navigator. It seemed to work.

The ritual walk to church

Still, they both continued to walk a lot. My mother was a devout Catholic, and my father an equally devout agnostic, an arrangement that didn't seem to bother either of them through their 75 years of marriage. (Yes, 75 years, and they were deeply in love the entire time.) He retired when he was 70, and nearly every morning for the next 20 years or so, he would walk with her the mile to St. Augustin's Church. She would walk down and sit in the front pew, and he would wait in the back until he saw which of the parish's two priests was on duty that morning. If it was the pastor, my father then would go out and take a 2-mile walk, meeting my mother at the end of the service and walking her home. If it was the assistant pastor, he'd take just a 1-mile walk and then head back to the church.

He called the priests "Father Fast" and "Father Slow."

After he retired, my father almost always accompanied my mother whenever she drove anywhere, even if he had no reason to go along. If she were going to the beauty parlor, he'd sit in the car and read, or go take a stroll or, if it was summer, have her keep the engine running so he could listen to the Cubs game on the radio. (In the evening, then, when I'd stop by, he'd explain: "The Cubs lost again. The millionaire on second base made a bad throw to the millionaire on first base, so the multimillionaire on third base scored.") If she were going to the grocery store, he would go along to carry the bags out — and to make sure she loaded up on ice cream.

As I said, he was always the navigator, and once, when he was 95 and she was 88 and still driving, he said to me, "Do you want to know the secret of a long life?" "I guess so," I said, knowing it probably would be something bizarre.

"No left turns," he said.

"What?" I asked.

"No left turns," he repeated. "Several years ago, your mother and I read an article that said most accidents that old people are in happen when they turn left in front of oncoming traffic. As you get older, your eyesight worsens, and you can lose your depth perception, it said. So your mother and I decided never again to make a left turn."

"What?" I said again. "No left turns," he said. "Think about it. Three rights are the same as a left, and that's a lot safer. So we always make three rights."

"You're kidding!" I said, and I turned to my mother for support. "No," she said, "your father is right. We make three rights. It works."

But then she added: "Except when your father loses count."

I was driving at the time, and I almost drove off the road as I started laughing. "Loses count?" I asked. "Yes," my father admitted, "that sometimes happens. But it's not a problem. You just make seven rights, and you're okay again."

I couldn't resist. "Do you ever go for 11?" I asked.

"No," he said. "If we miss it at seven, we just come home and call it a bad day. Besides, nothing in life is so important it can't be put off another day or another week."

My mother was never in an accident, but one evening she handed me her car keys and said she had decided to quit driving. That was in 1999, when she was 90. She lived four more years, until 2003. My father died the next year, at 102. They both died in the bungalow they had moved into in 1937 and bought a few years later for $3,000. (Sixty years later, my brother and I paid $8,000 to have a shower put in the tiny bathroom — the house had never had one. My father would have died then and there if he knew the shower cost nearly three times what he paid for the house.) He continued to walk daily — he had me get him a treadmill when he was 101 because he was afraid he'd fall on the icy sidewalks but wanted to keep exercising — and he was of sound mind and sound body until the moment he died.

A happy life

One September afternoon in 2004, he and my son went with me when I had to give a talk in a neighboring town, and it was clear to all three of us that he was wearing out, though we had the usual wide-ranging conversation about politics and newspapers and things in the news. A few weeks earlier, he had told my son, "You know, Mike, the first hundred years are a lot easier than the second hundred." At one point in our drive that Saturday, he said, "You know, I'm probably not going to live much longer." "You're probably right," I said. "Why would you say that?" he countered, somewhat irritated. "Because you're 102 years old," I said. "Yes," he said, "you're right." He stayed in bed all the next day. That night, I suggested to my son and daughter that we sit up with him through the night. He appreciated it, he said, though at one point, apparently seeing us look gloomy, he said: "I would like to make an announcement. No one in this room is dead yet." 

An hour or so later, he spoke his last words:

"I want you to know," he said, clearly and lucidly, "that I am in no pain. I am very comfortable. And I have had as happy a life as anyone on this earth could ever have."

A short time later, he died.

I miss him a lot, and I think about him a lot. I've wondered now and then how it was that my family and I were so lucky that he lived so long.

I can't figure out if it was because he walked through life.

Or because he quit taking left turns.

Michael Gartner has been editor of newspapers large and small and president of NBC News. In 1997, he won the Pulitzer Prize for editorial writing.

***
There is another (heart-breaking) column by Michael Gartner about losing a son.

Link to another Gartner column 

HB to G3 from Smash (famous people)

Soooo pretty - from Smash.

That O-R-G is genius.

I am having this weird feeling that I already posted this and talked about how long it took me to figure out the *stay safe* on the card. 

*****

It's a shame to have this lame daily add-on linked to such fine calligraphy. But, I am trusting that Smash will not take it personally. We can call it - going from the sublime to the ridiculous.

Recently in posts about some famous Iowans I pondered why people pay attention to where famous people come from. It's probably a lizard brain function. I feel a tremendous kinship with my ancestor's countries as well as places I have lived. There must be some kind of lizard comfort experience kinship.

I found this information on a website that has plugged in tons of famous people and you can do a search for people from any town, or from any state. You can also search for a date and find well-known people who were also born on that date. Once you are at a state - you can refine your search for just the singers or the politicians or whatever. 

The (huge) downside is that they have included a ton of people who are YouTube and TikToc *celebrities* so there are a TON of people whose fame might be short-lived. I imagine they have not included all the famous artists from all time. And while Ralph Lauren is on their list, Halston is not. I imagine it's hard to find every single person who has ever been famous. I believe there is a similar site that has just birthdays of artists - applied artists, painters, sculptors, etc. I'm not even tempted to search for it. 

The link takes you to famous people born in Chicago. 

We will try for something less drivel-ous tomorrow.

https://www.famousbirthdays.com/city/chicago-il.html
 

Extra post - regular daily post is below this one.

 How to write in a book.

Janna needs to write in a book and wondered how to do it without penciling in guide lines.

Before I show the steps I use, I'm going to add my thoughts on how to warn the client that it is nerve wracking to write in books and prepare them for what will happen if there is a mistake. I explain these things:

1. Many calligraphers refuse to take on these kinds of jobs because they do not like the stress.

2. I only do them if the client understands that we will have to agree on a backup plan if there is any unforeseen issue.

3. If there is an accident -- even if it is my mistake - I will not replace the book. I will cover it up creatively and beautifully.

There are many ways to cover up mistakes. 

If the paper is awful, I propose that I write on a friendly paper and then adhere it to the page - as one would do with a book plate. Clients often like the look of a bookplate. You can layer a decorative paper to make a border.

If I end up writing in the book, I always do the job when I am home alone. I get all the preliminary work done the day before. I turn off the phone. I do not do it when I am tired. I write the words a couple times on practice paper. And then I write in the book. I do not like to do the preliminary work and then do the writing the same day - because they are two different kinds of brain work. I like to do the lettering when I have a clear head. It is possible to do it with people in the house, but you have to tell them to be very quiet and not make any loud noises that might startle you. 

Depending on the client and the size of the job - sometimes I tell them that I will just do it for free. They always argue - but if I am not in the mood to feel the stress - sometimes, I insist on doing it for free - and that relieves the stress entirely. I never had more than one write-in-a-book job per year. So, it is hard to feel really skilled at something that you hardly ever do. But, it is nice to help people who just want something pretty. I often showed them samples of really pretty lettering using Pigma Microns. They were usually thrilled -- and there wasn't any need to use pen and ink. 

1

The yellow paper is going to be a mat around the area to be lettered upon.

The mat should be slightly larger than the actual page.

2

This shows the page turned.

It also shows that the mat needs to be taped with Post-It tape 

so that it will not shift when you do the lettering.

3

There are marks to show the edge of the page on which the lettering will be done.

4

Pencil the perimeter of the page.

Pencil the wording, including the base lines.

Photo 7 shows darker baselines.

I darkened them just for the photos - so you would know they were there.

Pencil a rectangle which will become an opening to accommodate the words to be written.

5

The X is to show where you will cut.

You will not cut the opening in the mat because a cut edge is not smooth 

and it can grab your hand 

while you are lettering.

6

Using an Xacto knife - cut the X.

I am compulsive, so I use a bone folder to score the folds.

7

This shows the top triangle folded up.

If you want, you may fold all four triangle flaps towards the front.

You will then fold them to the back as shown in the next photo.

Notice the base lines along the left and right edge.

8

You need to crease those folds so that they are very flat.

A lighter weight paper is best for the mat

so that there is no bulk and nothing that will grab your hand.

9

The green paper needs a fold, so it is smooth and not *grabby*

10

The green paper is used as your guide - instead of penciled lines.

You do not need to letter the descenders as you letter the lines.

Just leave them off - and add them after you have completed the line.

Be on the lookout for any ascenders and descenders that will overlap.

Resolve that issue on your preliminaries.

11

Hold the guard sheet (guide) in place with Post-It tape.

Post-It tape is one of my favorite tools. 

If you do not have any, you can use other kinds of tape.

Masking tape works. Press it on your clothes a couple times to make it less sticky.

12

IMHO, an essential part of writing in a book is creating a larger surface that is flat so that you are not trying to write off the edge of the book.

This photo shows a stack of paper and a tablet on top - to show that I kept adding things 

until it was the right height.

I like to use books rather than stacks of paper - and try to find a book that is the same depth. 

You do not want things that might slip and slide

13

Close up of the built up area at the bottom.

Sometimes I build up the area to the right as well.

I do that if the writing is going to go over - closer to right side of the page.

That happens when you are writing on family tree pages.

You do not want your hand to fall off the edge on the right.

This was hard to shoot by myself, but shows how I like to have a level surface under my arm.

Good luck --

Random insert - to Nanski (Letters from a mom)

 That really lame post I mentioned yesterday is not here. It will show up tomorrow. I try to check the dates on the scheduled posts once in a while to make sure I have not skipped a date. And - wow - the 13th was empty. So, I grabbed a random envelope from the folder of Apr or May exchange envelopes. I bought another sheet of these stamps because I had so much fun with them. 

I am really annoyed with myself that I did not add orange gel marker hearts. Grrrrrr. There are only two things on the lettering and I try to do at least three things.

***

Today's off topic addition is a link to a recent NYTimes article that is getting a lot of re-posts, so maybe you have already seen it. It certainly resonated with me. Deeply. 

Ever since The Bridges of Madison County, I have wanted to leave *something* for my kids to read after I *take the west-bound.* In the book/movie - the mom has an affair and writes about it. Eeewww. That is the last thing any kid wants to read. But, I still like the idea of leaving something. This mom left an incredible stack of mail. I'm thinking that whatever I leave should be in envelopes. 

Here is the link -- and I also copied and pasted it for people (you know who you are) who do not want to click through the hoops to get into the NYTimes for free. It's early in the month. The NYT usually lets people read a few articles for free.

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/05/28/style/modern-love-she-put-her-unspent-love-in-a-cardboard-box.html

She Put Her Unspent Love in a Cardboard Box

And for more than two decades, her daughter has been taking it out.

By Genevieve Kingston

Published May 28, 2021

In the back of my closet is a small cardboard chest with brass handles and latches that has followed me to every new address; it’s the first thing I find a place for as the moving truck pulls away. An old sticker on the bottom says it was purchased at Ross for $26.99. The only remaining contents are three wrapped presents marked in my mother’s tidy cursive: “Engagement,” “Wedding” and “First Baby.”

My mother, who put her business degree to use running a small nutritional beverage company with my father in Santa Rosa, Calif., while raising my older brother and me, was always prepared. By day she made marketing slogans, distribution strategies, five-year plans. By night: bubble baths, pillow forts, bedtime stories.

She and I had the same February birthday. Each year my parents arranged elaborate parties. She once spent a week making a school of origami fish to swim through tissue paper seaweed across the ceiling of our dining room.

When I was 3, she learned she had advanced breast cancer and immediately began to prepare by researching every available treatment: conventional, alternative, Hail Mary. She flooded her body with chemotherapy and carrot juice.

Each day, she would sit for hours at our long oval dining table, her straight dark hair tied back, surrounded by piles of paper, studying dense, technical paragraphs.

“Medical research,” my father said as he shepherded me from the room.

She was always looking for a way to survive.

When I was 7, the materials on the dining table began to change. Wrapping paper and ribbons took the place of her highlighted pages as her arms worked busily under the dark fuzz of her shorn head. Scissors swished through gift wrap. Paper creased under her fingers. Ribbon cut to length with one snip. Knots came together with a tiny creak. Swish, crease, snip, creak.

She had begun assembling two gift boxes: one for my brother and one for me.

There was a rhythm in the room. She bent closer and closer to write the labels as her vision began to fail, a result of the cancer having spread to her brain.

Inside, she packed presents and letters for the milestones of our lives she would miss — driver’s license, graduation and every birthday until the age of 30. When the boxes were full, my father carried them up to our rooms. She died 10 days before our shared birthday.

That morning, when I turned 12 and she would have turned 49, I woke up early. The box sat three steps from the foot of my bed. Just as my mother had shown me, I lifted the latches and opened it.

Neat rows of brightly wrapped presents glowed like the spring tulips that were just coming up in the front yard. I opened the package marked “12th Birthday” and found a little ring with an amethyst at its center. A white card curling around the present read: “I always wanted a birthstone ring when I was a little girl. Your Granny finally bought me one and I loved it more than I can say. I hope you like it, too. Happy birthday, darling girl! Love, your Mommy.”

I slid the ring on and traced her writing with my fingertip. Her words, written to bridge the gap between us, cut through space and time.

When I got my first period and couldn’t bring myself to talk to my father about it, a four-page letter from my mother (marked “First Period”) laid out practical advice: “Take time to make friends with yourself. Take time to learn what interests you, what your opinions and feelings are, find your own sense of the world and which values you hold most dear.” As I read, I wanted to fall through the white, lightly textured page and into her arms.

“Please try not to lose yourself,” it continued. “These are challenging years. Call on me for help when you feel confused.”

On the morning of my high school graduation, a strand of pearls made a sound like a maraca as I drew them from the box. Her note read: “There seemed to be a tradition in my family that when girls graduated from high school, they received a string of pearls. Well, my string of pearls never arrived.”

That’s because my mother, bound for adventure, skipped her senior year, and bought herself these pearls when she finished business school. She wanted me to know there was more than one path to walk through the world, and that I deserved to be celebrated. I wore the pearls that afternoon as I crossed the football field to accept my diploma.

Year after year, my mother traveled forward in time to meet me, always in the guise of a little package with a pink ribbon and a little white notecard: “Happy 15th!” “Happy 16th!” “Congratulations on your driver’s license!” “You’re a college girl!” “Happy 21st!” “Happy birthday, darling girl! Love, your Mommy.”

Each time I opened the box, I could, for the briefest moment, inhabit a shared reality, something she imagined for us many years ago. It was like a half-remembered scent, the first notes of a familiar song, each time, a tiny glimpse of her.

When I was a child, opening the next package felt like a treasure hunt. As I grew older, it began to feel like something far more fundamental, like air or community, something like prayer. Her messages met me like guideposts in a dark forest; if her words couldn’t point the way, at least they offered the comfort of knowing someone had been there before.

A decade after I lost my mother, my father followed suddenly. She had spent years preparing her exit, but with him I blinked, and he was gone. The morning of his memorial, the box stared back at me with nothing to say. There was no letter for this.

I tried to conjure her voice but couldn’t. My father left no clues or letters. The only parenting I would have, from 22 on, was in the box.

When I hit 30, the nearly empty box sat in my Brooklyn apartment, clashing with the furniture. Only those three packages remained: Engagement, Wedding, First Baby. They sat in their shiny cardboard and pink ribbon, expectant, waiting.

The problem was, I didn’t know if any of those things would happen. I didn’t know if I would choose them.

I had been living with someone for three years. I didn’t know if I ever wanted to get married, but I was in a committed, loving relationship, and whatever advice my mother had about committed, loving relationships, I wanted it. Now.

I felt 12 again, and rebellious, as I pulled out the thick envelope marked “Engagement.” My fingertips felt cold as I opened it. It read: “My dearest little girl, of course you aren’t so little anymore as you read this but, you are little as I write. You are only 7 and I am facing the terrible sadness that you will be growing up without me.”

With the smooth pages crinkled in my grip, I found her hopes for what my marriage might look like.

“A true marriage is a marriage of what is most sacred in both of you. One must have an ease about both giving and receiving, a capacity for forgiveness for oneself as well as for the other, a personal sense of balance that is not dependent on the balance of the other, a kind of loving detachment.”

I didn’t know if I was capable of loving detachment. There was no detachment in the love that made the box, and no detachment in the love that opened it.

“I’m so sorry to be leaving you. Please forgive me. I know a box of letters and tokens can’t begin to take my place, but I wanted so badly to do something to ease your way through the future. Love, your Mommy.”

For 20 years I have pulled mothering from the box, but I don’t know if the next 20 will include the milestones she planned for me. I often wish I could lift the latches, jump inside and ask her which path I should walk and how I will recognize it. I want to ask if the life I’m carving for myself looks anything like she would have hoped. But I know this time travel only works one way.

After I read the engagement letter, I put it back with its unopened package and closed the box. Those three final secrets will remain secrets, for now. Maybe I’ll open them tomorrow, or in 10 years, or 20.

There’s comfort in knowing there’s a little left in the box. My mother’s gifts, her letters, are a constant reminder that I have already been given what every child, what every human, needs: I have been fiercely, extravagantly, wildly loved.

From Edvard to Lauren --- (sifting + pre-obit)

This is the third one in a row where I asked for images of mail.

I've know Edvard for several years and this was his first time doing the exchange. I didn't participate in the exchange that month so I asked Lauren to send me an image. I was curious to see what Edvard created. Lauren and I are wondering if there is a message behind the collage. That's part of the fun of collages - they might mean something or they might not.

****

During my endless project of sifting through things, I have sifted through my blogs. I use blogs as a filing system and I have 21 blogs. A few of them are public. Several are still in *draft* form, which means I can review the posts and when they are ready to go public, I can put them out there with one simple click. I need to delete and combine some of the blogs. In the end, I'll have Pushing the Envelopes, one blog for each of my three kids, the recipe blog, and then my *archive of thoughts.* 

The archive will have my *goodbye* message. It's like an obituary written by me. I actually wrote one in 2015 and during the sifting, I reviewed what I had to say 6 years ago and I was surprised that I still felt the same way. The only editing that I will do is a reference to my kids. I implied that they should not have an actual funeral because they have a tendency to *disagree.* I feel like now that they are in their 30s and 40s, they've matured, so they can probably get along fine. Although, I'm guessing they will organize a Zoom since they tend to be many miles apart, literally. 

The rest of my farewell post was/is really sweet. I explain that I want an online service of some sort because my blog friends are as important to me as my in-person family and friends. I hope you are feeling the warm fuzzies. I could get all mushy - and mention the really lovely snail mail and email that people send - but, I'm not a mushy type. I'll just say thank you.

It was so nice of all y'all to stick with me through the doldrums.

Brace yourself -- tomorrow we will have one of the lamest posts - E.V.E.R.

****

The PartyTime/Anything Goes exemplars are going to be posted on the 17th.

I just found about 6 legitimate comments (and 4 spams) waiting for moderation.

<sigh> seems like regular checking of my spam for comments is beyond my capabilities.

 

From MicB to CathyO and Lauren - (doldrums)

MicB is a new exchanger - and her dragon flies are quite lovely.

I liked this one too. I even bought some of those stamps - hoping they will get me revved up again.

 ****

Just so you know -- my doldrums disappeared in May - but there are still some posts that will refer to them.

****

O.T.D. (off-topic drivel)

My new hobby is looking up words that I use - but then I wonder if I'm actually using them correctly. Yesterday I mentioned having doldrums and I wondered if I knew exactly what a doldrum was/is. The first definition was:

a state or period of inactivity, stagnation, or depression.

I don't think I am depressed but I'd say inactivity and stagnation hits the nail on the head.

There is another definition that I had never heard of:

The Intertropical Convergence Zone, known by sailors as the doldrums or the calms because of its monotonous windless weather, is the area where the northeast and the southeast trade winds converge. It encircles Earth near the thermal equator though its specific position varies seasonally.

That was interesting - so I clicked a few more times and found out all kinds of interesting stuff, including this:

The Doldrums holds a distinct place in maritime history, having developed a reputation as a potentially deadly zone which could strand ships for weeks on end, causing them to run out of food and drinking water. In those days, with supplies running low, and scurvy setting in, delirium,  starvation and cabin fever could all set in – and getting through this mysterious patch of Atlantic Ocean quickly wasn’t just a matter of first or last place, but life and death.

Link to an article about the doldrums

Apparently, there are seven things we all need to know about the doldrums. I only need to know one. Stay away from sailing around the equator. That will be very easy for me.

From Ming to Patty. ---- (Taco John's)

 Back in April, I was not on any of the lists - so I had some exchangers send me some photos of their mail. This is one that Ming did for Patty.

***

Off-topic drivel for the day.

Now it is May. The 19th. I wrote 5 blurbs early this morning. Then I addressed some envelopes (a job). Then I went to Taco John's. I haven't had TJ in at least 6 weeks. I just did a search and see that I have 7 or 8 posts mentioning Taco Johns. My kids ate tacos and I was capable of making them - but for some reason we all preferred Taco John's to mine. 

So, there was an offer on the receipt to do a survey. And the young lady at the drive-thru was really very nice, so I figured I'd fill out the survey while I was drinking my noon coffee. I thought it was really unusual -- at the end - after the multiple choices - where they ask you to describe your experience - and it said "....in at least 3 sentences." That struck me funny.... at least 3 sentences. What if I only had two sentences of comments? So I went ahead and wrote 5 or 6 sentences. I told them that of all the different locations that I frequent, it is always the best. I complimented them on being so consistent. And I mentioned that the young lady at the drive through was really nice. They asked for my email, so I put that in, too.

Around 5 pm, I got an email from the manager of the store asking for my address so she could send me some TJ Bucks as a thank you for such a nice review. And she said she would tell Bianca that she'd done a good job today.

Well, now that I have a name - you can be sure I am going to drop a pretty envelope in the mail for Bianca. I wish I had some of those Mexican food stamps. Or Cinco de Mayo.

I like the idea of taking the name of someone who made your shopping experience enjoyable and sending them a fancy envelope with a thank you. 

Lily pads from Rebecca. ----- (ninny)

Scroll down to the post below this one if you want a link to a petition to fire Lovejoy.

I added it around noon yesterday.

***

 This is another card and envelope that is so much better in person. And the frosting on the cake is her very pretty penmanship. Hopefully I will get my stuff organized and post a sample of the penmanship.

****

In the meantime, I will resume the conversation in my head about whether or not I am a ninny. I had to look up the definition. It was succinct. It said: a foolish person. Am I foolish. Maybe not all the time, but I assure you, I do some very foolish things from time to time or maybe every day.

This pops up on the 9th. As I typed the word *ninny* on the 7th, I had two more ideas - to get my 5 posts written for the day. Then, on the 8th, I saw that I already had enough words, so I didn't add anything. 

By the time I opened this post to add to it, I had forgotten the two additional things I had to say about celebrities and ninnies. Obviously, it was the blurb on the 8th about pages falling out of your *book-brain*

I'm not going to get too worked up about it. There is at least one new article per week explaining why none of us are fully functioning any more. Too much information.

<sigh>

Maybe something rant-worthy will happen today.

Reminder: I am not the one who feels like ranting. I am simply looking out for the people who have mentioned that they actually enjoy the rants. I guess we could do a post on that -- why would someone enjoy my ranting?

Fire Lovejoy petition

 Here is your next opportunity to participate in pro-USPS activities:

https://secure.actblue.com/donate/fire-dejoy-bloom?action_id=53377996&akid=28059.8370618.qtKgKG&ar=1&rd=1&refcode=dpaa&refcode2=28059_8370618_qtKgKG

It is a petition to sign.

Here is a bonus envelope because I like to have an envelope on every single post.

It was an experimental one that went out on Saturday. I love those stamps -- but needed something with more oomph. There is a whole series that will be posted in August or Sept. I'm happy to report that I have gotten caught up.

To Leslie from ?? (Partytime font)

 I generally have only two guesses on who the DSM postmarked envelopes to Leslie are. It's possible she mails envelopes to herself. This one could be from either Patty or Janet - or maybe someone else. The style of lettering on the *iowa* reminds me of the exemplar I have that is called Partytime. It's one of my favorites for beginners because you have a few very basic shapes and then you get to find lots of variations for each letter. 

***

The BigHelpfulBrother painted a word picture for me. He described his 70s as being a book and the binding has worn out so that some of the pages are loose - and once in a while a page falls out and gets lost. That's how I feel, too. 

HB to G3 - (Celebrities)

I love this little booklet that CathyO enclosed for Mr Wilson's 70th birthday. The envelope is also perfect for an aging DeadHead.

***

I set a goal of filling up 5 posts every morning before I get on with my day. It is currently 9 am and I think this is only number 3. I know some of you prefer ranting to pondering - so here is something that I feel like ranting about.

Why do people pay so much attention to celebrities? I'm aware that they bring a lot of it on themselves just  to promote their careers, They hire people to make sure they get a lot of publicity. But, why are we interested?

Something about my two previous posts about Halston and Jason Momoa made me uncomfortable. I think it is so weird to pay attention to people based on where they came from. Obviously, I need to fill my daily posts and I really do love the mail and the messages that I get from people. I just don't want to look like a ninny who's spending time on celebrity drivel.

Technically, I think I am somewhat of a ninny. I'm not proud of that. But, I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm a serious underachiever. And to be honest --I think underachieving is under rated. A week or so after I wrote this I had to come back and edit my remark. It seems that Naomi dropping out of the French Open has stirred up a lot of conversation. Some people are pointing out that the insanity of competing at the highest levels (in sports - but it might as well be anywhere) might be detrimental to one's well being.

So - maybe underachieving (in moderation) is fine. 

Shamrocks from Janet. - (Halston, the Iowan)

I loved this design and stole it -- my version will pop up one of these days. I also love the card. 

And speaking of famous Iowans, this is way off topic, but, at least it is not any more of my whining.

Yesterday I jabbered about Jason Momoa and said that I only found one post about him even though I thought I had written about him several times. The mention I found was from 2014 when I was posting an envelope that had a photo of Halston. I wrote that the three most famous men from Iowa were: Grant Wood, Halston, and Jason. Three most famous women: Sister Corita Kent, designer of the very first Love stamp. Mildred Day, inventor of Rice Krispie Treats, and twins (so they count as one) Ann Landers and Abigail Van Buren, the advice columnists. I need to delete the twins and find a more contemporary person.

Anyhow, if you watched that dreadful (IMHO) series about Halston on Netflix, they referred to his upbringing in Indiana - which was only partly right. He moved to Indiana when he was 14 and then to Chicago after high school. But *everyone* in Des Moines knows that he grew up here and that his grandma took him to lunch at the Younkers Tea Room. It was a classic 1930-40s tea room on an upper floor of the nicest department store. Ladies would have lunch and models would walk through showing the latest styles to entice the ladies into shopping after lunch. That contact with fashion probably had some influence. The film shows him picking up chicken feathers and making a hat to cheer his mom up. I'm thinking he would have needed some inspiration - to be interested in designing hats as a youngster.

When I arrived in Des Moines (1969) the inspirational tea room was still there - and remained for quite a while in all its original splendor. It was like a time warp. Then it was closed for a while, then there was a fire - but it has been beautifully restored and is available for events. And, I'm not sure how long this link will work. But the house Halston lived in sold recently. 

https://www.realtor.com/realestateandhomes-detail/3402-School-St_Des-Moines_IA_50311_M73270-56342

This is the envelope from the Nov 15, 2014 post.

It is from a series of envelopes done by Smash, Finnbadger, CathyO and me - with birds on heads.

If you do a search for *bird on head* it is a very fun series.

St. Patrick mail from Chuck and Lynne -- (famous Iowan)

Chuck's adorable troll. It makes me want to do a troll calendar.

And below, Lynne's envelope has some nice stamping that didn't photograph very well.

So, yesterday I said there would be a fun topic today: breaking news about Jason Momoa. I thought I had mentioned him numerous times on the blog and did a search, but only one post popped up. So, now you get to hear my Jason Momoa story and apologies if this is a repeat.

You may recognize him from Game of Thrones or Aquaman. His father is Hawaiian and his mother is Iowan. He grew up in Des Moines and he played roller hockey at the same place my boys played. My boys were a bit younger, but the older one was good enough to play on teams that included a range of ages. My little Hunter (7 years younger than Jason) was even recruited to play goalie once in a while when a team needed a goalie. He would have been 10 or 11 - playing against 13-18 yr olds. It's hard to find goalies and Hunter was a very good goalie, because if he wanted to play with older brother and his friends, he had to be goalie. I recently saw an article that said that kids who have older siblings often end up being better athletes - by virtue of *playing up.*

I remember seeing Jason out on the rink - and he was a bit of a wild man -- but also, the most attractive teenager of the lot. He had *the look.* I remember one of the coaches asking me if Hunter could play goalie for an older team and assuring me that Hunter would be fine. I remember being skeptical, but little boys think they are invincible. So, I let him play which is the only reason I would have seen Jason playing. Normally, mom's are more than happy to drop teenagers off and leave. 

Anyhow, it's been fun to watch a local guy do so well. Somebody had to follow in the footsteps of Stallone and Arnold - so it might as well be Jason. There are a lot of stories online that make him look like he has maintained a sense of normalcy and appreciates down to earth stuff. So, his new venture is a program on the Discovery channel. It sounds like a feel good series - about people who make stuff. 

Interviews with people who make things by hand are almost always interesting and inspirational.

Here's part of the blurb about the new show:

The series will document the Aquaman star as he travels across the United States to meet extraordinary people who are blazing their respective paths — including motorcycle fabricators, craftsmen, musicians and athletes — and making a difference in their industry.

Through “engaging with those who share his love and passion for the craft,” Momoa will explore “not just their unique trade or skill, but a deeper way of seeing the world through their eyes,” according to a release from Discovery. “It is a journey of intention — an endless quest with purpose and celebrating those who make a difference in the world around them.”

 

A favorite from Leslie --- (pondering)

 I really love this one. It is a handmade envelope and it looks like wallpaper - vinyl wallpaper. It has a lot of texture and it might have been painted black. If there was a description of how she made it - I have managed to let the note inside go into hiding. Leslie spends a lot of time in her studio -- so - if you are inspired to try things that look like her stuff - plan on putting in the hours.

***

In addition to people who were enjoying the ISU story, several people have mentioned that they look forward to the rants. It occurred to me that when I read a daily suggestion for how to be more stoic, it tempers my ranting. And I keep seeing more and more references to the huge *fad* that stoicism is becoming. It seems to be following the fad-ish-ness of the Konmari method of tidying up. Most of us artist types don't like to look like we are fad-followers. But, the stoics would probably tell me to not get caught up with those kinds of thoughts. Everything goes in waves - and this one will pass - and then come around again later.

Maybe snail mail will become a fad. I'm certainly seeing a lot more workshops on mail art and decorating envelopes. Part of me wishes that I had jumped on the virtual teaching bandwagon. Heaven knows - I have  a couple thousand ideas I could offer. But, it's probably better for the youngsters to launch their teaching careers. I think I am too distracted to be a proper teacher. 

Once people are paying for a class, there is an obligation to provide some value. Fur shur -- I'm not on that wavelength any more. (pause to make grimace faces at myself) Right now, I am feeling like this is a really lame blurb - and my readers deserve more. Although this is free. So - I remind myself that I should stop obsessing and just do my daily pondering. 

Oh, gosh. 

I stopped obsessing for a moment

and

voila

just like that - something fun popped into my head...

...for tomorrow.

From Smash to Viola. --- (ISU Chapter 6)

 My favorite part of this one is the detail on the left stroke of the V.

***

Chapter 6

Another movie that I thought was very clever, although I have not seen it recently, so I have no idea if it has withstood the test of time...is Innerspace. It's the one where Dennis Quaid volunteers to be miniaturized and then he is accidentally injected into Martin Short and the two of them have to work things out. 

One idea for the ending of my movie is that we figure out how to communicate with the aliens that are already here, in our electronics, our toasters, our brains, and everywhere. Obviously, I am not a screen writer or an actual author. I feel like someone who has those skills could come up with a better ending. Stephen King probably could. If we are going to communicate on a phlogiston level with the aliens we will have to cultivate our Carrie-style communication. And I don't want to scare you or anything, but, I have inadvertently caused things to happen just by thinking about them. I guess Matilda would be a better example. 

If anyone has any suggestions for a really good ending, please share. I think that this topic has run its course. Although, I did get enough favorable response to the topic that it made me wonder if readers like a serial rather than my daily random silliness. I did think of a serial topic that will start on July 2nd and it took me all the way to July 15 or 16.

Once again -- it would be nifty if there was an actual author out there who liked this story and could make it into something. I'd like to get a wee bit of credit - and maybe just enough compensation to take my grand tour where I pop in and visit with each and every reader who invites me for a cup of coffee. Amanda Palmer does that. If you don't know who she is -- look her up. I had never heard of her and stumbled across her book and really enjoyed it.

Leslie - (ISU story - Chapter 5)

I forgot to show the back of the envelope from Leslie.

And then, George got a bonus mailing from Leslie because she saw this writing on IG and wanted to give it a try.

It took me quite a while to figure out that the insert says Happy Easter.

once you know it says Easter -- it is so obvious.

***

Dang. I think I forgot what Chapter 5 is about. I was going to delay Chapter 5 for several days. I started writing this blurb a few times with silly excuses for why I had to delay Chapter 5 and then I realized that I was just being a jerk. I take full responsibility for having a certain amount of jerkiness in my personality. But, not enough to intentionally keep you hanging in suspense. 

I implied that I was going to reveal what the original substance of all other substances is. Technically, I think I can do that. But first we have to agree that all the stuff that is not literally *stuff* is just as *real* as the literal stuff. Maybe we are talking about tangible and intangible. I'm sure you get the point. 

An example would be *feelings.* Are feelings *real*? Yup. Is your imagination *real*? Yup. And there is a ton of other stuff besides feelings and imagination that is real - but not exactly tangible. So, since we have absolute proof and agreement that all the stuff that we have (whether tangible or intangible) exists - we should be able to discern from whence it all came.

At this point, prepare yourself for being annoyed with me. 

Everything is made up of phlogiston. 

Now, hang on a minute. I know all y'all are thinking that phlogiston is some silly thing they thought up in the 1660s and it was a guess and it was wrong. People keep making educated guesses, but nobody is ever going to figure e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g out. *They* all agree that the more they know, the more they DON"T know.

So that's the point. Aliens have been letting us think we are making discoveries. Balderdash. People think they have created Artificial Intelligence. Balderdash. Aliens just let us think that to keep us distracted.

I promise you -- if you just say "Phlogiston!" every time to need an answer to an unanswerable question, you'll be fine. Maybe that isn't the correct spelling for that stuff that is the source of all stuff. But, it doesn't matter. The name for that *stuff* would be in some alien language that is not on our radar so to speak.

This is a lousy ending to the fantastic movie that I have had in my head. I have another idea that I rather like and will share it tomorrow.

Tune in tomorrow for Chapter 6.

 

June Exchange - Sign-up

June and July sign ups will have the last of the quilt stamps.
These stamps were uber fun to use. Although, I can't say that the results ever made my A-list.
On this one, I do like the way the second stamp fit into the name. That was unplanned.

 

To participate in the June exchange email me by the 4th and the lists will be sent on June 5th (or 6th at the latest)

Please send your info - in the following format. 

It is so helpful when I can copy and paste, rather than reformat your information, or find your email.

Add (CARDS) after your name if you wish to exchange handmade cards.

Add (Birthday) at the bottom, if June is your birthday month.

Add (2 Lists) at the bottom, if you are willing to be on 2 lists - if I need to add people to make the lists come out even.

Jane Smith (CARDS)

123 Oak Street

Ames, Iowa 50010

jsmith@gmail.com

(Birthday) (2 Lists)

Send the above info to me at:

jmwilson411-at-yahoo-dot-com

Additional information about how the exchange works is on the tab that says *envelope EXCHANGE rules*

Or if you have questions - just email.