multi-hyphenated-me

the hyphens that define my life

The Listicle September 23, 2014

Today a Facebook friend posted that her new least favorite word is listicle. Do you know this word?  I did not until I Googled it and learned that (I quote and or paraphrase Wikipedia) listicle, in journalism and blogging, is a short-form of writing that uses list as its thematic structure, but is fleshed with sufficient copy to be published as an article. A typical listicle will prominently feature  a cardinal number in its title, such as “10 Ways to Warm Up Your Bedroom in Winter,” “The 5 Most Badass Presidents of All-Time,” or “25 Hairstyles of the Last Hundred Years,” with subsequent subheadings within the text itself reflecting this schema.  The word listicle is a portmanteau derived from list and article. Ack!  Another word I don’t know! What is a Portmanteau?  This one Facebook post took me on an unplanned research journey today.  A portmanteau are two words and sounds morphed into one word, for example, smoke + fog = smog; motor + hotel = motel.  Electric Company didn’t teach me portmanteaux and Schoolhouse Rock only ventured as far as compound words. Praise be for Wikipedia, social media and the internet!

We all know these articles called listicles, the internet and magazines are filled with them but did you know they had a name?  Did you know they were listicles?  I’m not sure why my friend finds this word as her new least favorite.  The word doesn’t offend me as I often get suckered into reading listicles by their title alone and, ultimately,  enjoy reading listicles.  Though I don’t mind the word listicle, yet, for reading material, listicles lack depth and fail to deliver more than their title implies. As a blogger, I should be more listicle saavy, alas I am not.

On Monday this week, I received a work email inquiring about potential opportunities at the company.  Nothing unusual, as a recruiter, this email is typical fodder for my day.  What was unusual was the email was written and sent from Kathmandu, Nepal, at base camp, while the author prepared to climb Mount Everest.  This was an exciting an motivating start to my week, how exciting!  Tonight, as I sit here and contemplate listicles, I wonder what the hell am I doing with my life?  Here I am, blogging nonsensically about randomness and I have to question why. Knowing my friend, I may have touched on why she doesn’t care for the word listicle.  Maybe The Secret Life of Walter Mitty that’s playing in the background is seeping into my pores and challenging me to bust out of my comfort zone.

Perhaps I need to write a listicle on “10 Ways To Be More Adventurous”, “Top 5 Heart Desires”, “Journal Instead of Blogging – 3 Reasons Why”, or “Find Out 20 Things You Should Be Doing To Capture the Quintessence of Life” (ok, that has strong Walter Mitty influence). I could listicle on listicles.  I could wax poetic or bust a rhyme on listicle, but the only words I can think of that rhyme with listicle is article (duh), popsicle, bicycle (uni and tri varieties as well), icicle and testicle. At least, these are the first words that entered my brain, let’s not analyze what that means.

I’ve written listicle eighteen times and the word is beginning to grow on me yet, as a writing style, needs an adventure as muse.

 

Advertisements
 

Yogi Love September 17, 2014

Back to school germs have got the best of me this week.  Or maybe it was the filth and grime I breathed in while cleaning out three kids bedrooms and closets this weekend (we’ve only lived here a year, HOW do they accumulate so much dirt?).  Whatever the cause, I have been suffering since Sunday.  It’s only Wednesday, not that long, but too long when you’re me.  Or when you are you.  Ain’t nobody got time to be sick.  Our plates our full, our lives continue whether we are sick or well, and we have to either keep up or check out.

Today I finally “called in” sick.  It is hard to call in sick when you work from home.  Earlier this week, I shuffled along in my sweats and slippers and worked with my head on my desk and used tissues littering the floor.  Pretty.  Today, though, I hit a new low and had to call in to check out and take a midday nap.  I woke refreshed and marginally recovered and went back to work, shuffling back out to my desk in my slippers, kicking tissues out of the way.

There are probably many factors to my recovery upswing, including time, ibuprofen and acetaminophen, and sleep, but I am attributing my overall feeling-betterness to Yogi Tea.  Not just any Yogi Tea, specifically Cold Season, Throat Coat, Echinacea Immune Support and Deep Breathe organic herbal teas.  This collection of teas contains common and atypical ingredients from cinnamon, astragalaus, eucalyptus, yarrow flower, peppermint, mullein, cardamom seed, thyme leaf, wild cherry bark, slippery elm bark and tulsi leaf.  A wild combination  that work.  I don’t promote many products, if any, but these Yogi Teas get my full endorsement.

My throat was sore and raw from lovely postnasal drip.  Once cup of throat comfort tea and the effect was noticeably better.  I rotate through the collection each day, enjoying a good, hot cup of tea with a purpose.  My chest congested, Breathe Deep, to the rescue.

As day 4 of my malady comes to an end, I can breathe, I can hear, my body and head ache less and my cough is sporadic.  My voice is still pretty haggard and my energy is low but, as stated earlier, I’m on the upswing.

Before you find yourself combatting back to school germs or the affects of wild dust bunnies, I highly recommend you stock up on Yogi Teas – Cold Season, Breathe Deep, Echinacea Immune Support and Throat Coat.

This concludes my old lady illness gripes and product promotional tour. [cough] [sneeze] I need a cup o’ Yogi Tea.

Disclaimer:  This is not a paid endorsement, no animals were injured in the writing of this promotion, and my only goal is to be well.

I hope the same for you, be well.

 

 

 

Oh Joy! September 15, 2014

Talking about our problems is our greatest addiction. 

Break the habit.

Talk about your joys. ~ Rita Schiano

Today’s joy in two words:  Beer Bread.

Last week, my husband came home from having lunch out at the local gastropub and reported they are no longer making or serving beer bread with their soup.  He was sad, almost devastated.  He loved that bread.

I make bread occasionally but dismissed his bread mourning because I am working hard to drop 20 pounds and bread is not part of my program.  Using the My Fitness Pal app and website (www.myfitnesspal.com), I log my food intake and cardio exercise with the hope that I’m burning more than I’m taking in.  Also, along with my co-workers, I’ve joined the Whole Life Challenge (www.wholelifechallenge), a team based approach to improving your whole life through a point based system related to diet, exercise, mobilization, water, supplement and lifestyle.  With my co-workers, we are playing with the goal of being the biggest loser at the end of eight weeks.  Motivation enough for me.

On Sunday, I woke up with cold symptoms, that were noticeable but manageable.  Today, I woke up congested with a fiery sore throat.  Must be back to school season.  Great. Chicken vegetable soup to the rescue.  Comfort food that keeps my diet on track.  Since I’m sick, I’m weak.  I opened the fridge and noticed a bottle of an IPA we don’t like, taking up space and I get the idea to make my husband happy and make beer bread.

Beer bread is so easy – why haven’t I made this before?  Here’s the recipe I used:

3 cups self-rising flour

1/3 c. sugar

12 oz bottle of beer

Grease pan.  350 degree oven. Mix all ingredients together.  Put dough into pan.  I let the dough sit for 30 minutes to double in size for a lighter loaf.   Bake for 45 minutes.  Crust is crunchy, chewy inside.  Serve warm.

My house smelled fantastic while the bread was baking.

Chicken soup is always good, paired with beer bread it is a belly full.  Not what I needed but my man and boys loved it.  I did too.

My five Whole Life Challenge nutrition points were sacrificed today for the sake of beer bread (and butter and strawberry jam).  However, my overall caloric intake and 2.5 mile walk kept me where I need to be so I’m happy with the sacrifice.  Somebody had to eat it.

While we’re talking about the joys in our lives, let’s talk about making jam. I love making jam, eating jam and giving jam as gifts. Recently, word has gotten out and my top secret jam recipe has been unveiled – I follow the recipe on the box of pectin.  Shocker!  I do make some wild variations, but, when it comes to basic jam, I keep it simple and follow directions.

Find joy in your life – make some bread, make some jam, eat some jam and bread. Your family will love you. Then be sure to get out, get your body moving and exercise.

 

 

 

 

Be Still My Heart September 12, 2014

My heart has had a rough week.

Learning of my friend’s cancer diagnosis and 9/11 memorials would be enough for most, but no, God knows I’m capable of carrying big, heavy crosses.  That’s why I have so many children, they keep my heart pounding.

Early in the week, I stood outside of our temporary elementary school (our actual school is under complete renovation) waiting for our fourth and fifth graders release.  Our 10 year old fifth grader reached me first with a warning that his younger brother got in big trouble today.  I throw my head back, looking at the sky, and moan FUUUUUUU—-

I’m interrupted.  A fellow 4th grade classmate is telling his mom how my son and another boy (oh good, we’re not in this alone) got in big trouble.  Great, we’re gossip fodder.

Wait, I thought to myself, why, if he’s in so much trouble, didn’t I get a phone call report or summons to the office?

I asked my son to tell me what happened quick before his brother reached us.  Something, something something, he kicked a ball and hit a window.

Cha-ching.  Now I see dollar signs.  Grrrrreat.

Our youngest catches up with us and is calm and cool.  No concerns, no issues, hurray school’s out.  I’m strung out enough at this point to not wait for him to get around to the confession.  I said, “So I hear you got in trouble today.” Shrugs his shoulders, “No, no trouble.”

His brother looks at me, raises his eyebrows and shakes his head no.

“Really,” I asked, “You didn’t get in trouble for kicking a ball at the window.”

“What?!”  he shouts “[my friend] kicked the ball at the window while he was trying to hit me. I was climbing up on the fire escape and was almost on the roof!”

“What were you doing on the fire escape?”

“[My teacher] gave me permission to go out on the fire escape to get a ball, she didn’t know I would climb so high.”  He disclaimed that he didn’t get in trouble for climbing on the fire escape, just for climbing to the top.  Brilliant.  His friend didn’t get in trouble for hitting the window either.

“Just get in the car.”

I really thought that would be the heart-stopper of the week.  No such luck.

My oldest son came home today and said the kid he typically walks home with wasn’t at school today.  “Oh,” I said, “did you walk home alone?” He asks if he can talk to me in the other room and we walk from the kitchen to the living room.  “Remember that strawberry-blond girl you pointed out to me last year,” he questioned looking sheepish.  “She lives down the street and we walked home together.  I got her Kik.”   “Cool,” I played it off like I meant it.

I am not ready for this.  Everybody just slow down.

My collegiate daughter texted me that she saw a video of a woman giving birth today.  She wrote, “You will not be getting grandkids from me.”

Fine, no surprise there.  School is your bae (before anything else), let’s keep it that way.

My 10 year old is the only one that didn’t tread heavily on my heart this week.  Gold star.

 

 

 

 

 

 

13 Years Ago, Today September 11, 2014

Filed under: Life — multihyphenatedme @ 8:39 pm
Tags: , , , ,

Today, 9/11.

I read several articles, saw many photographs and watched a few videos related to the terrorist attacks thirteen years ago.

Many things affected me then, and affected me today.

Six moments of silence were observed this morning in New York City:

8:46 when the North Tower was hit

9:03 when the South Tower was hit

9:37 when the Pentagon was hit

9:59 when the South Tower collapsed

10:03 when the hijacked plane crashed in Pennsylvania

10:28 when the North Tower collapsed.

In total, 2,977 victims from 90 countries.  Not included in the number of casualties are the 6,294 that were treated for injuries.

3 additional people died from exposure to dust.

1,140 responders have been diagnosed with cancer.

1,400 9/11 rescue workers have died since the attacks, responding to the scene months after the attacks.

11 unborn babies died on 9/11. The numerical relationship is not lost on me.

Nor do these numbers include the deaths of the 17 hijacking terrorists.  [insert scream] [insert multiple expletives] [insert tears]

Horrific.  Tragic.  Senseless.

My words fall short.

Tonight at dinner, our family observed a moment of silence for those lost, those suffering and their families.

One hundred and ninety words in, I too will be silent.

 

 

 

Family Meal September 10, 2014

Filed under: Family — multihyphenatedme @ 9:39 pm
Tags: , , , ,

A friend recently commented that our family focuses on meals, instead of just getting something to eat.  A true statement, I’m a three square kinda gal.  I love when my family gathers around the table to share a meal. We’re a good combination, I love to cook, the kids are growing and are eating machines and my husband just loves food. Family meals, at any meal, are my favorite time of day.

Thanks to the internet, I found these family meal facts interesting –

Family dinners are more important than play, story time and other family events in the development of vocabulary of younger children. (Harvard Research, 1996)

Frequent family meals are associated with a lower risk of smoking, drinking and using drugs; with a lower incidence of depressive symptoms and suicidal thoughts; and with better grades in 11 to 18 year olds. (Archives of Pediatrics and Adolescent Medicine, 2004)

Adolescent girls who have frequent family meals, and a positive atmosphere during those meals, are less likely to have eating disorders. (University of Minnesota, 2004)

Kids who eat most often with their parents are 40% more likely to say they get mainly A’s and B’s in school than kids who have two or fewer family dinners a week. (National Center on Addiction and Substance Abuse at Columbia University)

Well….

Though three to four family meals per week is recommend, we have family meals five to seven nights a week and there have been some grade issues with the teenagers in our house.  Dang it!  A good meal isn’t the be all end all to good grades? Apparently kids still have to study, want to learn, pay attention and do their homework.

I am convinced the boys have bottomless pits for stomachs, my husband claims their before bedtime snacks are a growing boy thing.  My husband will reminisce about the amount of food he remembers eating while growing up – whole roast chicken or a whole pizza, eat boxes of cereal and gallons of milk, and on and on.  Not an eating disorder but enormous amounts of food….times 3.

Our youngest happens to be the chattiest of the bunch.  I wonder if the correlation between vocabulary development and family dinner also has anything to do with birth order.  We had a full table by the time he joined the party!

Our family meals are always fun and happy.  That’s a bold-faced lie.  We are a family with lots of moods and personalities and likes and dislikes with places to be and people to see.  Sometimes are meals are rushed, fast and furious.  Sometimes somebody is mad at someone or just mad at the world. We all have our favorite foods and foods we would rather not eat.  Schedules make it tough, but meal planning helps. Manners are learned at our table. No TV, no phones, no games, just an opportunity to sit down and eat, talk and connect.

We try.  We gather.  We talk.  We eat. We clean up together.  Our ritual works for us.  Our tradition, our practice, of eating meals together is engrained in who we are as a family.

In honor of National Bacon Day, we had BLTA’s (A for Avocado) for dinner tonight.  Not fancy, but the homegrown tomatoes were delicious (except the boys wouldn’t know, they don’t like tomatoes).

 

Be well my friend September 9, 2014

At the northwest corner, where the road met the state route, stood a four bedroom, two bathroom bluish-grayish farmhouse and a big, old white barn. In the house lived a family, the parents with a son, the oldest, and two daughters.  The youngest daughter was a mischievous child with brown hair, brown eyes and a strong willed spirit that took her on many adventures  and got her into plenty of trouble.

The summers of her elementary school years were spent playing jump rope, football with the few neighborhood boys and girls, and playing school (as nutty as that sounds, so many girls spend their summers playing school, when they couldn’t wait for the school year to end).  The kids drank Kool-Aid by the gallon and ate popsicles wear cut-offs while swinging on either the tire swing or rope swing that hung from the Black Walnut and Northern Catalpa trees in the neighbor’s yard.

When life was moving by too slowly, the girl and her friends would smash large Catalpa worms, spraying green caterpillar goo on each other.  Or, without permission, the kids would swim in the ponds located in the quarry behind the neighborhood, taking care to pull the leaches off of one another after a quick dip in the cool water.  Or, if trapped in the house, reading her older sister’s diary was always thrilling. The kids felt like they owned the world, that is, until the older siblings got involved.

The girl’s brother once turned the farm rooster loose in the yard.  He chased the rooster and the rooster, wings spread, standing tall, chased the girl and her friend.  The girl and her friend ended up cowering on top of the picnic table as her brother, close to ten years older, kept the rooster near as he mimicked an old Ritz Cracker commercial starring Andy Griffith (of the Andy Griffith Show, you know, with Don Knotts and Opie and Aunt Bee). In the commercial, Andy Griffith said, “Everything tastes better on a Ritz Cracker.”  In real life, the crazed brother and that frightening rooster ran around the table chanting in a wicked witch voice “You girls would taste GREAT on a burnt Ritz Cracker.”  The girl and her friend paid back the brother when he was stuck babysitting during a sleepover.  The girls were rummaging through the bathroom looking for makeup to try on and accidently broke the mercurial thermometer.  The brother was convinced he was going to die from mercury poisoning.

The girl grew into a teenager, into a woman, a wife, a mom and a grandmother.  The girl and her friend separated near the end of their elementary years as the friend moved away. By the Power of Facebook, the friends reunited in the past few years.

The girl is my oldest friend. The above story was conjured up from pasted together fragments of my memory and may or may not be true.  What is sadly true is that I learned yesterday that my friend has breast cancer.  She spent today being tested to see if the cancer had metastasized anywhere else in her body.  Thoughts of her filled my mind today.  Be well my friend.