Poetry Tuesday: "This Paper Boat" by Ted Kooser

This Paper Boat

--Ted Kooser

Carefully placed upon the future,
it tips from the breeze and skims away,
frail thing of words, this valentine,
so far to sail. And if you find it
caught in the reeds, its message blurred,
the thought that you are holding it
a moment is enough for me.

Monday Morning Flowers!!!

Happy Monday!

I'd like to send a special thank you to Melissa at Getting My Ducks in a Row for featuring Bossy Betty as a blog she likes to follow! I felt so special and dressed in sequined finery all day long! You can check out her blog by clicking on that handy-dandy link I provided for you. She's a whiz at balancing four kids and life in general.

Betty believes every week should start with a flower delivery, so here's yours. Betty also believes each and every week should begin with a great deal of envy directed your way, so be sure to tell everyone you got flowers and ask if he/she did too. People like this. It's a good conversation starter.

A true friend is someone who thinks you are a good egg even though he knows you are slightly cracked.

--Bernard Melzer

A Checklist for the week ahead:

Do you have your brown bag of happiness packed for the week ahead?

Have you put an encouraging little note in it for yourself?

Have you looked in the mirror and smiled at the pretty person there?

Have you got all the good attitude you'll need for five or so days? (Stop looking in your candy stash! It's not in there!)

OK, then.

Let's get started on this week. Go get 'em, Gorgeous!

The Ice Queen Speaketh

Betty is an ice snob.

It's true.

Ice is an essential element in all of my hydration rituals. Just ask HOB who, 28 years ago, went into a 7-11 and came back with a can of Diet Pepsi.

That's right--just a can.

No ice in a cup.

Oh. Oh.

He didn't make that mistake again.

So profound is my ice snobbery that I have been known to refuse liquids if the shape and/or pebbling is off just a bit.

Also, it must taste tasteless. This is very important.

What is the epitome of perfect ice? Well, for those of you who live near a Sonic (I do not) you know that they have the PERFECT ice. Clear, pebbled, tasteless. (My sister lives near a Sonic. I have asked her to mail me some ice, but she keeps sending me water instead! What's the deal?)

Let us discuss those half moons that come out of most people's ice makers. Oh dear. Always a lady, Betty handles herself well in social situations in which drinks with these wedges of refrigerator odor are presented to her. A tight smile, a nod of the head, and a knowing look at HOB all add up to a signal to call it an early evening.

Ice cube trays with tap water? Let's be serious. Betty's Taste Buds rise up in disapproval.

This extra sensitivity has placed an extra burden upon Betty. For years I have had to lug frozen ice home from the store. Since I like to do everything BIG, this meant buying giant bags from giant stores. I had to get a deep freeze for the garage. Alas, there were some incidents of HORROR--going to the deep freeze and discovering we were out of ice.

Finally, Betty went out and got herself an ice maker. It was a risky move, knowing my sensibilities, but so far it is working out. I make about four bags every weekend. I am not crazy about the shape of the ice, nor the color (I prefer crystal clear) but I have discovered that by slamming a bag full of the ice down on the garage floor about four times can almost replicate the texture of Sonic ice.

I'll still buy bagged ice from time to time, but my ice maker allows me to reconnect with my pioneer ancestors who did not rely on stores or corporations. No, they got in there and went to work to tame this land and produce the necessities for their family and community.

When I hear the motor humming away, it's like the prairie wind in my ears.

When those ice modules drop from the metal plugs, it's the wheels of the Prairie Schooner on the hard-packed sod.

When I get a bag of ice out of the deep freeze, hold the Ziplock Freezer Bag with Double Zipper Technology above my head and slam it to the ground, I know my sweat and toil merely serve to bond me with my female ancestors who probably held just a whole lot of things above their heads to smash to the ground.

It feels good to be so grounded in solid, hard work.

My ice maker.

It only has ice for me.

Food Friday: Bossy Betty's Sandwich of Happiness and Bordering-on-Disturbing-but-Nevertheless-Intoxicating Bliss

You'll rise up and yell "Youch! That's good!" when you put those pretty little incisors of yours around this warm sandwich. It's a Betty Exclusive, written in Betty-Ease. Feel free to add, subtract and generally Make Your Will Known when you make it for yourself.

Betty no longer eats the proud, territorial bird known as the chicken, so you'll note everything here is veg. In fact, I made this for my vegans and they loved it. You can make it with fake chicken, with real chicken, with shredded tires. I believe anything coated with mayonnaise/veganaise, mixed with toasted pine nuts and slapped in a grill tastes good.

Here we go:

Bossy Betty's Sandwich of Happiness and Bordering-on-Disturbing-but-Nevertheless-Intoxicating Bliss

1 1/2 cups chopped chicken substitute. (I use Trader Joes "chicken" strips, and fry them just a bit)

Blob of Veganaise/Mayonnaise

Half Blob of prepared mustard

2 cloves of garlic (I use the frozen cubes from Trader Joes)

Curry to taste

Quarter cup or so of toasted pine nuts (I toast mine in the toaster over.)

Some chopped onion

Some chopped red pepper

About 1 or 2 TB of lemon juice.

Mix all this magic together.

Prepare two slices of sourdough bread by slathering (don't you just love that word?) one side of both pieces with Earth Balance or butter.

Flip over one piece of bread (am I going too fast here?) and put the filling on.

Slap on the upper piece (butter side out) and place in grill like a George Foremen.

(Got a panini maker? OH! I am jealous! Use it!)

Your inner Paula Dean will tell you when it's done. (Your inner Paula Dean will also urge you to slip a stick of butter in the sandwich and then deep fat fry it. Resist this.)

Have a Happy Friday! Betty Adores You!

Naming Children The Stress-Free Way

May I introduce my daughter, Astedysi?

Thanks to all the sweet Betty Fans who commented on my post yesterday. I have no intention of backing off from forcing words upon you without pity or shame. I'm like the wart that won't go away when it comes to blogging. I plan to become just a regular feature in your lives and pretty soon, only a trained professional will notice the unsightly but benign growth and suggest it be removed.

My first comment yesterday was indeed from a Chinese spammer. How sweet of him to drop in. For those of you who don't read Chinese (let's get on that this weekend, shall we?) apparently this person was offering his kind services for something that had to do with sex and breasts. HOB found this out when he clicked on it and pushed some sort of translating button. Unfortunately, he did this while at work. I suggested he take some cookies and Cokes for the friendly computer/moral police who will most likely show up in his office today.

Spammers have been finding my site a lot lately, so this morning I put in Word Verification on my comment thingamajig. This means my commenters will need to take an extra step to post their brilliant comments.

Let us approach this with a positive attitude and think of it as just strengthening those mental synapses that will eventually come in handy later in life. While others are wandering around in the grocery store wondering just why the heck they are there, thanks to your work with Word Verification, you'll already be in the air freshener department sniffing away, trying to decide between Cherry Morning or Vanilla Sunrise. (The fact that later in the afternoon you try to snack on these very same air fresheners simply means that you did not comment enough.)

I was working with my class on blogs one day and told one of my students that whatever word came up in Word Verification, she had to promise me she would name her future child that name. It was something like Butterwillow which is brilliant! I got very excited! I put it with her last name of Rodriguez and said it loudly about twenty times! (It was weird that she dropped the class later that very day. Scheduling conflict, probably. It happens more than you think it would.)

So, for those of you who are willing and able, please push the comment button and tell me just what the name of your next real and/or imaginary child will be. Personally, I think this is a great way to choose a name for your offspring. It takes all the drama/family hysteria/personal responsibility out of it.

When the child comes to you years later and wants to know just WHY you named him Putridad, you can just shrug your shoulders and say, "Hey, it's what came up on the screen when it was time. Now hand your Mama her air freshener and a spoon, won't you? It's time to read my Bossy Betty for the day."

On the Occasion of my 400th Post

My most faithful reader.

(I suspect she may have ulterior motives.)

When I started this blog, (in October 2008) I was sure that my followers would be in the hundreds within a matter of a few weeks. Readers? Oh, I'd have 'em--no problem. I told both my book clubs, my friends, my co-workers, and my relatives, even acquaintances I ran into in the the grocery store. I was sure, absolutely SURE that everyone would want to come and read every little thought I had. After all, many of these people were the ones who were always urging me to write down my stories. They were my biggest supporters. Surely they would tune in.

Boy, did I get a big ol' life lesson.

Apparently, people had other things to do, other interests, and though many greeted my news with enthusiasm, they never managed to sign on and read my posts. Hummm....

There were times in those early days when I threw myself some pretty good pity parties. It was frustrating knowing, for instance, that the woman who has been my best friend from first grade didn't read my blog. One of my sisters shows zero interest. Some of my good writing buddies don't read my blog. I had to beat my head against this for quite some time before I got some inner composure.

The worst situation is when I am talking to friends and I'll want to tell them something I wrote about in my blog, but to avoid repeating a story, I have to ask, "Did you read about ----- in Bossy Betty?" Then I get the sheepish "no." I feel bad about putting that person on the spot. I think they feel like I am disappointed too. (To be honest, sometimes I am.)

The other day I had a situation like the previous one and my friend admitted she didn't read my stuff. "It's all...you know...just too much."

Oh.

I guess I could take that a couple of ways. I do tend to write long posts and I do tend to post almost every day. For awhile I thought maybe I was coming across as that obnoxious student in the front row, holding up her hand and making "O! O! O! Notice me! " sounds. I decided I wouldn't post as much. Maybe I was putting people off. I skipped some days, but missed posting.

I also thought "...just too much" might refer to my personality. I do get a little wacky in some of my posts. I also get pretty heavy sometimes. And I HAVE always been that bulb that burned just a little too bright. I used to chastise myself for it, and tried to change, but at some point I think you just have to start liking yourself and stop changing who you are for others' approval. That brightness serves me well in most areas of my life anyway.

So, on the occasion of my 400th post I stop and reflect on what I have I learned from this whole journey.

First, it made me think about my own actions when my friends and others have launched projects. I know now that it's important to show up, to lend support. I may not have been the best about that in the past, but having a blog has taught me that small actions mean a lot.

I've learned that not everyone shows support in the same way. This was a tough one. I have a dear friend who refuses to sign up as a follower. Refuses. He won't leave comments either. Yet, I know, deep in my heart that he supports me--just not in the way I may want him to. I think this is the universe telling me once again that I don't always know best.

I've been blessed through my blog with some great people who share their lives and thoughts with me. I love the small, but very groovy band of people who have jumped on the Bossy Betty wagon--for the whole trip or maybe for just a short portion of it. My faithful readers mean so much to me. Sometimes posting feels like going out on a stage, singing your heart out, and just hoping someone out there is listening and maybe even chooses to clap once and awhile.

There were times in the early days when I'd have, maybe eleven visitors, most of them lost, that I thought about chucking it all. However, something always drew me back. Like any author I wanted people to like my work, but more importantly, I found I liked the process of writing my pieces. It made me happy. In an essay Annie Dillard talks about this and said she had discovered "...you do what you do out of your private passion for the thing itself." Pretty simple, huh?

So, maybe it's a little off-key.

Maybe it's a little "too much."

But maybe, just maybe, it's just right for me.

It's my song.

Thanks for listening.

Poetry Tuesday: "Small Town" by Philip Booth

Small Town

--Philip Booth

You know.
The light on upstairs
before four every morning. The man
asleep every night before eight.
What programs they watch. Who
traded cars, what keeps the town
moving.
The town knows. You
know. You've known for years over
drugstore coffee. Who hurts, who
loves.
Why, today, in the house
two down from the church, people
you know cannot stop weeping.