MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT!

 Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

I wish you all great joy on this Christmas Eve. Sweet Cheeks will be here tonight for ham and scalloped potatoes.

We had a party at work yesterday that, happily, was not a pot luck. It was catered. We ate our little hearts out and then had a gift exchange that had us all laughing. We even got to leave early, and today is a paid holiday. I am happy to be with Franklin and Penelope who did not complain about not rising at 6 a.m.

A lovely young lady came by with her two daughters and accepted my offering of children's books and Christmas cookies. I baked several kinds.

Sweet Cheeks shocked me last weekend by telling me he does not like my homemade cookies. People rave about my cookies, I told him.

I don't like cookies with things in them, he said. 

This statement mystified me for a moment. Things? Butter? Eggs? Cockroaches? What things had he found in my cookies that offended him? 

It turned out he doesn't like bits of candies in cookies. He also doesn't care for chocolate cookies or sugar cookies. He does like oatmeal raisin cookies (he is not disturbed by the fact that raisins look like dead flies), and he likes peanut butter cookies as long as nothing is added to them, such as chocolate chips.

So I am about to whip up a batch of peanut butter cookies for my dear Sweet Cheeks. He had damn well better eat them and like them.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

IT'S ALL FUN & GAMES TILL SOMEBODY'S EYE GETS POKED OUT

 Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

Yesterday I passed an exam that allowed me to obtain the necessary credentials for my job. About half of us passed. I'm grateful to be one of them. The exam was quite difficult.

So I'm starting to return to holiday life. I've baked one kind of cookie, and I hope to bake a lot more Friday evening and Saturday. This evening I addressed Christmas cards, although I'm not sending as many as usual. 

I'm very happy to tell you that the folks in my new workplace are all polite and friendly––no shouts, threats, or harassment, and I'm certain that kind of behavior would not be tolerated. It's a delightful surprise after my last job.

Franklin and Penelope were shocked the first day I rose at 6 a.m. and left them on their own for the day, but they adjusted quickly. Their Auntie Maureen comes over every day to let them out and give them some attention. 

A reminder for jewelry lovers: Maureen makes adorable jewelry and sells it at 

Made with love earrings and more - Home | Facebook

You might need a gift for someone, or better yet, a gift for yourself, especially after you see what other people spring on you.

Almost every day I wear Christmas earrings made by Maureen.

I'll try to return to at least semi-regular blogging soon. I have a great story to tell about my recent mammogram, or boob squishing as I prefer to call it.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

I love this shot of Franklin and Penelope because she 
actually leaned over him and kissed him on the mouth.

STUDY TIME

 Dear Hearts,

My new job requires credentials I've never had before, so I need to study. If all goes well, I'll be with you again in a couple of weeks.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

TAKING CARE OF BUSINESS BUT NOT WORKING OVERTIME

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

Remember when Blogger told us that following blogs by email would end over the summer? It hasn't happened. Is it a way of lulling us into complacency and then suddenly slapping us with the loss? 

Do some of you who comment here have blogs that I'm not following? I look at profiles when they're available and don't always see a blog listed. If you follow/visit me, then I'd like to check out your blog. 

I continue to see that my comments don't always show up on your blogs, including when you don't have comment moderation enabled and I can see the comment before I depart. I swear I'm visiting you! Where do the comments go?

Do you have (American) Thanksgiving plans? I told Sweet Cheeks I will prepare a feast if he will join me. He accepted my invitation immediately, and I have already purchased most of the fixins.

A police officer knocked on my door last week. My son had to request that an officer accompany him so he could get more of his belongings from my garage. Everything went well. He is obeying the restraining order and has not disturbed my peace.

I received a summons for jury duty a while back. The first time I was to be there, I got in an accident on the interstate and had to call to explain why I hadn't arrived. The lovely lady who answered the phone for jury services told me it was okay and she would reschedule my service. The second time I was to be there, I dropped the hedge clippers on my foot the day before and had difficulty walking. The lovely lady rescheduled me for yesterday. On Friday I received a text and email telling me the court session was canceled and I did not need to appear. Hallelujah! 

Franklin's thyroid levels were checked again last week. The vet said they're spot on. With cooler temps, we're enjoying some long walks. Franklin no longer turns around to head for home after a short distance. Walking feels good, and it's good for us. 

If you decorate for Christmas, when do you set out your decorations? I usually decorate the day after Thanksgiving. I love the flashing of those pretty, little lights.

I hope you're having a great week.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

CAN'T YOU READ THE SIGN?

 

MORE OF HEY! WHATCHA DOIN'?

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

Let's continue: What are you reading? What are you watching? What are you working on around the house? What are you chastising yourself about because you haven't worked on it? What have you done that's fun or relaxing or enjoyable? Fill me in.

If you read my first Whatcha Doin' post, then you know what I'm reading.

I've been watching The Comey Rule, which consists of four episodes on Netflix. It's a Showtime production that aired not long before the 2020 election. I thought it was excellent. It was especially interesting to see how James Comey's descriptions of his meetings with Donald Trump compared with Trump's statements about their interactions. Comey is played by Jeff Daniels, while Brendan Gleason has the odious task of portraying Trump.

I would characterize Trump and his staffers as deliberately obtuse. I say deliberate because they seemed to have no interest in correct information or understanding how the government does business. Of course, Trump fired Comey from his post as FBI Director, to which he had been appointed by President Obama. He seemed to think it was Comey's job to support Trumpland and its lies rather than to be loyal to the American people and the constitution.

Andrew McCabe (played by Michael Kelly) became the acting director of the FBI following Comey's departure. Trump infamously fired McCabe the day before he was to retire.  I noticed he was back in the news recently because his wrongful termination lawsuit led to the reinstatement of his pension and other benefits. 

You know my work around the house has included cleaning out my closet. Now I'm partway through cleaning out the coat closet in the foyer. It looks so much better already. I don't know if I'll also get to the storage closet in the foyer. It might have to wait. I'm just plain getting tired of cleaning out closets.

I'm chastising myself––not too strongly––because I haven't made all the appointments I need to take care of before the job begins. But tomorrow is another day, and this afternoon, my hair is my priority.

Fun, relaxing, and enjoyable can all be applied to weekend visits with Sweet Cheeks. He no longer speaks of going home Saturday night. He simply stays. Recently as I lay in his arms, he said, Everything is good between us because we love each other.

That's pretty hard to beat.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

TWO MEN AND A LITTLE COW HUMOR

 With my friends at Two Men and A Little Farm, I can ponder such topics as, What do cows like to talk about when we can't hear them? and What do cows find humorous about people?

HEY! WHATCHA DOIN'?

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

My title comes from two recollections I had today. One is of a young woman I knew many years ago when I was an even younger woman. She was from Boston and told me how she hated it when Midwesterners replaced hi with hey.* I did not mention how it grated on my nerves when she said youse guys. The second is of a little girl who used to spend a lot of time with her grandparents next door.* When she spotted me she always called out, Hi! How are ya? 

So now I give you a hey and express a desire to know how you are and what's going on with you. What are you reading? What are you watching? What are you working on around the house? What are you chastising yourself about because you haven't worked on it? What have you done that's fun or relaxing or enjoyable? Fill me in.

To celebrate my job offer, I ordered a hardcover copy of Red Comet: The Short Life and Blazing Art of Sylvia Plath by Heather Clark. I did not realize I was getting a 1,000 page book, so for the next year when you ask what I'm reading, I'll probably answer Red Comet.

Plath is one of my two favorite poets. The other is Emily Dickinson. At page 140 in Red Comet, I'm thrilled by Clark's analysis of Plath's work, how it relates to her life, and how it changed as her skills and viewpoints developed. Clark uses a lot of quotations from letters and Plath's journals. I never noticed before that for all of Sylvia Plath's intelligence and fine education, she did not spell well, so (sic) turns up frequently. 

In her Prologue, I was thrilled to read Clark's goal: I hope to free Plath from the cultural baggage of the past fifty years and reposition her as one of the most important American writers of the twentieth century. . . . She ought to be remembered for her transcendent, trailblazing poems, not for gassing herself in her kitchen.

Loving Plath's poetry should not relegate one to a misogynistic concept of a suicide-loving cult. I find the relationship between Plath's life and her poetry of particular relevance because of the confessional aspect of her work, but she should not be read as merely confessional. There is so much more to her writing, and Plath herself said that she did not approve of what she called unformed cries from the heart.

I'm also fascinated by Plath's life because I see her as an emblem of the 1950's young woman who has been shaped by views of what a woman's life should be, yet she wants more. Plath wanted to marry and have children and be a wonderful cook and keep a lovely home, and she wanted to be an artist; and it is very hard to be a wife and a mother and a housekeeper and a cook and a laundress and find the time and energy for artistry or anything else.

I also wanted and wanted and was weighed down by expectations. 

Red Comet is my family room book––the book I read when I'm in that room. In my bedroom, I read on my kindle. My current book is Joyce Maynard's latest novel: Count The Ways. I might end up liking it even more than my favorite Maynard book, Labor Day. When my eyes are tired or I want to have my hands and eyes free to embroider, then I listen to an Audible book. At the moment it's Wild by Cheryl Strayed, which thus far does not impress me. I saw the movie version long ago. It didn't impress me either, but I retained hope for the book. Oh, well.

More to come. So much more to come.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

*I remember the young woman from Boston because of the elaborate story she told me about her wealthy newspaper-owning family. I learned later than none of it was true.

**The grandparents moved away. I wasn't sorry to see the whole kit and caboodle go. I had once caught a glimpse of their kitchen and was shocked by the filth. After they left, I learned the entire house was in sad condition, with mold hanging like lace from the ceilings and fleas in the carpets. I hope the child's health wasn't damaged by the time she spent there. 

MY SWORD & SHIELD AT THE READY

 Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

I owe you all a huge apology for not writing to you in such a long time and not even publishing your most recent comments until today. I have been at war with an invader.

About two weeks ago, I realized my closet had been raided. I thought it was limited to a single aggressor who frolicked around my shoes and left his nasty calling card in a pair of yellow pumps. Then I noticed he had danced on top of a jewelry box with his mousy girlfriend.

As I vanquished closet detritus, I discovered he had brought his entire family along. At least I didn't have to see their ugly faces.

I'm not pleased that mice have been in my closet, and I find it odd that Franklin and Penelope didn't notice them; but it was a good opportunity for me to throw out old bank statements and other papers, and gifts of tchotchkes I never wanted. I took everything out of the closet, cleaned each shelf thoroughly, and added cotton balls soaked in vinegar. I'll replace the cotton balls regularly and if they don't keep the marauders at bay, then we'll have to hire an exterminator to figure out where they get in because I have no clue.

My closet is now gorgeous and spacious. I didn't take BEFORE pictures, but here's AFTER in its shining vinegarized glory:

Because I have accepted my fate as a woman of a certain age who no longer wears a heel higher than a quarter of an inch, many of my shoes can go, so now each shoe and slipper has its own cubby:

But we all know what happens after one area has been cleaned and organized. Now it's on to the closets in the foyer.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

I DIDN'T GO TO WORK ON MONDAY

 Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

By Friday last week, I was resigned to taking the job that's not a job. I was to be there Monday morning.

On Oct. 12th I had a promising interview for a real job. Following all of my responses to her questions, the interviewer said, PER-fict. After a few questions, she changed that to PER-fict. PER-fict. I was to hear the decision on my employment in 24-48 hours. After hearing nothing for four days, I contacted the recruiter by email and by voice mail message. Crickets.

I continued to apply for jobs and respond to company representatives who had seen my résumé online and wanted to talk to me.

Last week on Wednesday, I had a perfunctory telephone interview, which led to a request for me to take a lengthy assessment. Then came a request for me to view and listen to 30 minutes of information about the job and take part in a 60 minute video interview on Friday afternoon. 

Friday morning, I nearly blew off the interview. I knew they would not hire me. Then I decided, rather reluctantly, that it wouldn't hurt to go through with it, but I made no special efforts. I took a shower at the last minute; my hair was wet and uncombed. I wore a t-shirt and jeans. Instead of sitting at my dining room table with good lighting and an attractive background, I sat in a comfortable chair with my feet up.

At the conclusion of the interview, an offer was made. I accepted. 

It's a real job with real pay and real benefits that begin in the beginning.

In a few weeks, I start work.

I'm pleased and excited and look forward to kicking butt.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

THANKS, TEXAS

 I intended to write this post about a week ago, but I didn't get to it after the flying hedge clippers attacked my foot, which is much better now although I still can't bend my big toe, but what does it matter? I don't need to bend my big toe.

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

I often feel embarrassed by Florida. I don't consider myself a Floridian because I wasn't born here and didn't grow up here so I don't have Florida in my blood, but I have lived here since 2009. Therefore, in some way I'm part of Florida. I'm the crazy radical socialist snowflake libtard feminazi side of Florida, and sometimes I think I'm the only one playing that role.

Florida politics make me want to say no, run away, and tell someone. But each time I get the feeling that it can't get worse in Florida, Texas tends to come along to distract the world from my state and its inherent dumbness. We have Ron DeSantis, but they have Greg Abbott. We have Marco Rubio, but they have Ted Cruz. Hahahahaha! Does it get any worse than Ted Cruz?

Recently I rejoiced in Texas drawing attention with headlines that announced 

Texas School Administrator to Teachers: Teach “Opposing” Sides of the Holocaust

Gina Peddy,  executive director for curriculum and instruction for the Carroll Independent school district, made the announcement Oct. 8 at a training meeting for elementary school teachers to assist them in complying with Texas House Bill 3979, signed into law Sept. 1 by Gov. Abbott.

The bill––an important example of legislators deciding what students are taught in place of educators doing so––bans educators from exploring disputed issues in the realms of history, society, and politics. If controversial issues do come up, then teachers are to “explore such issues from diverse and contending perspectives without giving deference to any one perspective.”

Everything we learned in our history classes has an opposing side. The brave colonists fought the tyranny of the British and yada yada yada we have the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution and George Washington and Benjamin Franklin, et al. 

Colonies = Good       England = Bad   

So if the subject should happen to come up, and it shouldn't because it has an opposing side, then the kids must learn 

Colonies = Bad          England = Good

The people of The Great State of Texas are going to love that one.

Slavery is certainly a controversial issue because it will most likely lead to the pesky topic of racism. After Black History Month in February, instead of Women's History Month in March, in Texas it should be Slavery Hall of Fame Month. Who were the greatest plantation owners? 

And those kids had better be taught about good ole President Thomas Jefferson and the many children he had with Sally Hemings, who no doubt loved Massa Jefferson so much that she was delighted to be his sex slave.

Then the teachers can move on to 

George Floyd = Bad   Derek Chauvin = Good

Reading a book about World War II and the brave Allies might be countered with Mein Kampf, in which a woke Hitler explains the need for German expansion and how awful those nasty Jews are.

A subset of World War II is the Holocaust, and the opposing side of the Holocaust is Holocaust denial. Teachers, be ready to hand out those adorable Camp Auschwitz t-shirts along with the book that argues The Diary of Anne Frank is a hoax.

Teaching students the opposing side of the Holocaust is to teach them that Hitler had valid claims and, therefore, prepare their minds to believe that Donald Trump's lies and the lies of Steve Bannon and Alex Jones, et al., are rational, justifiable points.

And that is simply not true.

Good luck, Children of Texas. You're gonna need it.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

NEXT YOU'LL BE CALLING ME MITCHELL

 Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

I invoked Mitchell in my title because those of us who know and love Mitchell understand he's a wee bit accident prone. 

I had a little accident of my own a few days ago. I was removing some of the lower stems and fronds* from the large philodendron in my backyard because Franklin likes to hide under it when he attempts to stay out all night. I can't go to bed with my man out of the house. At 3 a.m. he'd probably change his mind and want to come in, which would lead to barking that would wake up everyone within 100 miles or so and I'd have to drag my sorry ass out of bed.

**

The big hedge clippers and I tried to cut through an especially sturdy stem and whoosh! The clippers rebelled and jumped out of my hands. If it had been a movie, they would have somersaulted in the air and landed blades down sunk in the ground right next to my feet. I don't know about you, but I don't live in a movie; therefore, the clippers landed with a thud on my right foot. I'm happy to say it was the handles and not the blades.

It hurt like a sonovabitch. I lowered my head and in my mind said terrible, nasty words. I didn't want to react in front of Franklin and Penelope because I knew they would be frightened if I yelled.

I limped to the garage, put away the clippers, and limped toward the house as I realized something wet was coming out of my foot. I had a cut on my big toe. I cleaned and bandaged it. It's healing. My foot is still swollen and very sore. I think my big toe is broken so I taped it to its sister toe and iced it regularly.

I've stayed in place as much as possible this week. I might be able to put on a shoe tomorrow, or at least a sandal.

I'm sorry I'm behind on responding to your kind comments and reading your blog posts. I have catching up to do and will do it as long as I can stay away from flying hedge clippers. For now, though, we're headed to bed.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

 *I have no idea if they're called stems and fronds but I don't know what else to call them.

**I took this photo in much wetter times. It's dry in the yard now and the weather is beautiful––sunny, blue skies, highs about 80 and lows around 70.

LOOKING UP

 Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

Years ago, Sweet Cheeks got me some shelves for my office supplies (he knew that shelves and a steel front door were the way to this woman's heart). Recently, I piled books on them in addition to the pens and papers and staplers and paper clips. Saturday afternoon I moved the shelves so I could clean up a vast accumulation of dog hair and this happened:

It was too much. I had already been disappointed by the job that isn't a job. The collapse of the shelves frightened Franklin, who hightailed it outside and refused to come in.

It was a nice afternoon and I was in no rush to deal with the reality of repairs and picking up, so Penelope and I joined Franklin outside.

We enjoyed the sun.

Penelope listened to birds overhead.

I looked up at the trees.

When we went inside, I checked my phone and found an email from a recruiter who thought I was a good match for a certain job. She asked some questions; I answered some questions. We made an appointment for an initial phone interview. This job is a real job with better pay and benefits that begin on the first day. I'll let you know what happens. Some other opportunities are also promising and I have not turned down the job that isn't a job. It pays and might lead to a real job with the company.

Because it is autumn, Sweet Cheeks' annual rage against the University of West Virginia's football coach is in full swing (SC grew up in West Virginia and attended WVU). Last Saturday, WVU lost by 4 points at the last minute. SC arrived morose. He cheered up after some affectionate embraces. About midnight he said, Well, I think I'll head home now.

But he didn't leave the recliner in which he rested, and a few minutes later, I heard a gentle snore. Soon he made the move to the chair next to mine and asked for a pillow and blanket. He finished out the night in my bed, where he stayed till 9 a.m. He often talks of not sleeping well at home (he sleeps on the floor, which I do not understand). I am glad when he leaves my home satisfied and well rested.

Yesterday, however, West Virginia lost by a lot. Really a lot, in a game they should have won easily, according to my Sweet Cheeks, and it is all because the football coach does not do what my Sweet Cheeks says he should do, which has something to do with a quarterback. He arrived grumpy. I had started picking up the mess on the floor and much of it was spread across the dining room table. I reneged on my offer to prepare tender chicken with the seasoned rice he loves and requested dinner out. He didn't want to go someplace to wait and stand in line and it would be too much trouble and this and that. I made a reservation online and off we went and were seated immediately. His mood improved.

He dozed off in the recliner when we returned. After he awoke, we had a snack and then enjoyed a gymnastics exhibition in bed. He fell asleep in the bed afterward and stayed asleep till 10 a.m., when he went home happy. 

I was pleased this evening because it was cool enough for Franklin and me to have our first walk in months that exceeded the trip around the block we sometimes make in the heat. I chatted with the parents of a Greyhound and a Shiba Inu while Franklin and the dogs exchanged butt sniffs.

Franklin walked happily and easily and not once did he turn around to request we go home.

Yes, things are looking up.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

from the inside of a Bark Box

THANK YOU

 Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

Thank you for the support you give me regularly, and especially now, regarding my son. Your comments are kind and they help me a lot.

If I could bake for each and every one of you, I would give you chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven and still warm, soft and gooey, and I'd pour a big glass of milk for you to enjoy with the cookies.

I am feeling rather sorry for myself. About an hour ago I learned that the job is probably not a real job. Yes, it exists and it pays, but it is not with the company itself, and therefore, is without the company benefits package. To be hired with the company, one must be "good enough" on the job. No promise exists about this happening with a certain time frame. It might be a few months and it might be never.

I guess I'll start looking again tomorrow. I haven't said I won't take the job, so if I don't find a real job with a real company, then I can still take this third-party job to make a few dollars. 

I always try to visit your blog posts a second time to see if you've responded to comments because it's nice to have a conversation. I have just finished my second visit to a number of blogs only to find that my comments are not there. I know I wrote the comments. I know they were published (if you don't moderate comments). So I don't know where they went. Anyfranklin, if you think I'm not visiting your blog, then think again. I'm trying.

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug