Something about the winter months slows me to a stop. Not December, with its holly jolly and its fa-la-la, but January and February simply bring stagnation. Nowhere is this more apparent than in my blog. January is my personal quitting month.
The Iconic Post
Goodness knows I’ve thought about posting. I wanted to write a scathing piece on the overuse of the worthless word “iconic,” because it makes me shudder every time I hear it. If you like, you can follow this link to my Pinterest board devoted to the subject. My favorite pin is a Buzzfeed article called, “Top 75 Most Iconic Things Britney Spears did in 2014.” (To be fair, my daughter tells me they were being ironic. Don’t get me started on the overuse of irony.)
I came to my senses in time to nix the “Iconic” rant. It occurred to me that my readers might not care very much about the issue, and perhaps I was being a little small-minded. I gave it up, forgave every unimaginative TV news writer, and got on with my life, until last Sunday. Last Sunday, a radio reporter said the following sentence: “Monopoly is an iconic game with an iconic back-story,” and all the rage came back. What does that even mean, ‘iconic back-story’?
Dogs: Always a popular subject
I considered posting more about our dogs, because people click on cute dog pictures. We temporarily have two: Hobbes, the black lab who joined our household in November, and Ethel, an eight-year-old English shepherd whose owners spend the winter in Arizona, and couldn’t take her with them. Hobbes and Ethel have had their differences, though they mostly get along now. Today I watched them run around the back yard in what passes for exercise. Ethel squatted to do her business, and Hobbes was right there—to eat it—when she finished. Gah! His handsome black nose is never coming near me again.
Schools and school children have been on my mind. I’m horrified by the news out of Liberty, Missouri, of a twelve-year-old boy so brutally beaten by a bullying classmate that his jaw and skull were fractured. You can read about the incident here. His mother had previously sent a formal letter of complaint to the school administration about the aggressor, but it had not deterred him. “Of course not,” my oldest daughter said. “A letter like that is about as effective as a restraining order. Bullying is the kid version of domestic violence.” Huh.
Lately my son has told me hard stories about things people did in sixth and seventh grade to make his life a little more miserable. He didn’t complain at the time, but there were days when he came home from school and any little thing set him off. I’d like to think we would have been able to help him cope if he’d told us, but I’m not sure. In the fall he’ll be a freshman at a different high school in the district. What a great time for a fresh start.
The winter months at our house involve plenty of TV. One night my husband and I were watching Blue Bloods when he dozed off with his finger on the “previous channel” button of the remote. The channels flipped back and forth at random times, which was fine until the other channel became a show about The World’s Largest Bride. Very pleased with herself she was, too, wearing yards and yards (and yards, really) of white silk on her 550-pound frame. Friends, I TRIED to pry the remote out of my beloved’s hands, but he only gripped it harder. I had to settle for pressing his finger to get back to Danny, Jamie, and Thomas Magnum. Oh, and all the Reagan women, too.
A Fresh Start
I do have plans. Next week I’m scheduled to roam the countryside in search of the real Kansas. Also, I’ll revisit the Kansas City Library, sans wedding.
I can’t wait. I hear it’s iconic.