It’s called The Silent Book Club. How can that be, you ask. Book clubs are all about talking, sharing, opining. So, what’s with the silent bit? Well, there’s a great answer to that.
I was part of a book club in Dayton. Back then, book clubs were relatively new. As is the norm, a member was invited to chose a book of her liking for the coming month. My favorite book of all time, selected by a friend, was and still is: “Crossing To Safety” by Wallace Stegner.
We were a pretty relaxed group. If you read the book, great. If you enjoyed it, even better. If you had some relevant comments and questions about it, then, please share them. That book club still exists. Many have moved; others have died. Alas. But the memories….all good ones….. linger on.
There are many reasons to join book clubs. They’re all good and I’ve just discovered another one.
As mentioned above, it’s called the Silent Book Club. Members arrive at the meeting with their very own book. The one they’re currently reading. A book of their own choosing. Not one chosen by the group. They settle in, read their own book for a half an hour or so, put it down and share with the others what they’ve just read and learned. And why that particular book was of interest to them. How cool is that?
Nobody was asked to read an “assigned” book. Nobody had to cram and read a quick review to keep up with discussion. No one could say they didn’t like the book. After all, they’d personally chosen the book they were reading.
Through sharing personal reasons for reading that particular book, other members could get a glimpse into that person’s interests and way of thinking. Further, they all learned of new books they themselves might want to explore. Seems like a win/win situation to me.
It’s certainly a unique and fresh twist on book clubs. And, I like it. A lot.
I Love Quotes.
I don’t much care who said it, when they said it, or even why. A good quote always gives me something to think about.
Who doesn’t love Mae West’s famous quote:
“I used to be Snow White and then I drifted.”
That one always brings a smile to my face.
A friend gave me this short one:
“If you find a path with no obstacles, it probably doesn’t lead anywhere.”
Anonymous and thoughtful.
Then, there are the ones you know were absolutely written just for you.
“You might be an introvert if you are ready to go home before you leave the house.”
Attributed to Criss Jana.
Quotes are frequently cited at the beginning of books. Are they meant to tell us what’s coming our way or are they just there for us to think about? Or both?
This one is from a book I’m currently reading. I’ve been musing on it since I first saw it.
“What do you consider to be the essential encounter of your life? To what extent did this encounter affect you, and does it seem to you now, to be fortuitous or foreordained?”
– Andrew Breton, 1937.
Was he talking about people, places or pets? Or all of the above? Now I’m wondering. Just as I was meant to do. And that’s why I like quotes.
Any favorite quotes of your own? Life on the May would surely appreciate knowing them.
If Others Can Brag….
Well, so can I.
A favorite columnist of ours, who writes knowledgeably and elegantly about our world as he sees it, took some time this week to tell us about his dog and the wonderful life they have together.
If he can write about that in the midst of everything that’s going on, then so can I.
Ergo, today’s blog is a little bit about Basil. The Cat. Our Cat.
Basil can count and tell time. There’s no question about it. He stays on Eastern Standard Time all year-long but we manage. There are limitations, of course.
He can only count to three. Three is the number of Greenie snacks he has three times every day. Fewer than three Greenies per serving and fewer than three times a day, he complains. Loudly.
He knows exactly what time lunch and cocktails are normally served, and he howls like a banshee if service is late or delayed.
He’s smart and he’s spoiled. Adored. Admired and appreciated. Just like the dog our columnist writes about.
And, he adds, it’s good for us to sit back and relish the things we feel good about. Those things being, among others, our animals, the trust and faith they have in us, and the joys we receive in return.
So, stay well, Basil. You are loved.
Oh, Those Supremes.
No, not Diana Ross and her friends. It’s those other Supremes. The ones who make the ultimate legal decisions for our country. They’re the ones who’ve upset my apple cart.
It all started with the reversal of Roe v. Wade. It was a perfectly good law, drawn up and approved in 1973. All about women’s rights and women’s health, Roe v Wade was simply tossed out the window in 2022. Like yesterday’s trash. And with it, the beginning of my concerns about the Supremes. That was strike one for me..
Then, earlier this year, The Supremes re-approved the legal purchase of Bump stocks. Bump stocks were determined, by the ATF, who should know, to be very bad. And on so many levels. But the Supremes said: “Not so fast.” Then poof, or bang in this case, bump stocks were back on the shelves. Strike two, in my opinion.
Then there are The Gifts. Who doesn’t like Gifts? Especially Big Gifts. But most of us know better than to accept those which may, and frequently do, require both a thank you note and some level of reciprocation. But, The Supremes said, “Bring ‘em on. Let’s have some fun. What’s the big deal?” Strike three.
But wait. This week’s ruling took our collective breaths away and took the Supremes completely off the playing field. At least in my mind.
Until that decision, no one in this land had ever been deemed to be above the law. History affirms it. We all know that danger lies that way. As well as abuse. And fear. But now we’re there. Of all unimaginable things for our country!
My faith in the Supremes has totally crashed and burned. Now, I am sad. And worried. Never, in my wildest dreams, could I have imagined feeling this way about our Supreme Court. I still hope my long-standing trust in them was not misplaced but I do have to wonder. More than just a little bit.
An Ode to Emily.
The mere mention of her name reminds me to keep my elbows off the table, to put my napkin in my lap and to use the right fork. It’s Emily Post, I speak of, of course. And fondly, I might add.
This last week, The New York Times’ Sunday Styles section focused on today’s party do’s and don’ts. I checked quickly to see if they had invoked Emily. They had not.
However, I was struck with, and pleased to see, the similarities between Emily’s etiquette suggestions/instructions and today’s. Here are a few of The Times’ mannerly “dos” for today’s guests.
First, if you told your hosts you’ll be there, keep your word.
Be kind, gracious and thoughtful. Take a small gift.
Do not discuss politics, religion or pornography.
Identify the “loneliest” person in the room. Make that person feel wanted, welcome and interesting.
Don’t complain or whine. Ask questions and listen.
Text, or better yet, pen a thank you note soon after the event.
Except for the new etiquette guidelines for “gummies” and “edibles” at parties, Emily could have written today’s do’s and don’ts.
Some things never change. Nor should they.
A Short Vacation.
Life on the May is taking a week off.
It’s a “staycation.” A quick break away from the blog.
It will return next week. And I sincerely hope you will, too.
Is It Time?
“Is It Time?” The Walrus asks. `
Is it time to speak of shoes and ships? Of cabbages and kings? Or even politics?
That poem, The Walrus and the Carpenter, by C.S.Lewis, is written in Victorian nonsense verse. Morally, it’s a poem about greed and power. I’ve always liked the poem, and I especially like the Walrus, so it came as no surprise when he asked if it was time for me to speak of politics.
Absolutely not, I replied to the Walrus. That’s your job. But let’s take a moment to recall an instance that shines brightly as political generosity, grace and goodwill. It may be a long time before we see such a thing again, so let’s revisit it.
The year was 2008. Senator John McCain was campaigning in Minnesota. He was mingling with the audience and a woman had the microphone. She said she was afraid of Senator Obama. That she didn’t trust him. She went on in the same vein for a bit. Senator McCain gently relieved her of the microphone and said: “No ma’am. Senator Obama is a decent man, a family man, a citizen.”
Senator McCain kept his cool and quietly but firmly diffused the woman’s concerns and fears. In essence, he defended Senator Obama, despite their stated fundamental political differences.
He must have been channeling Ruth Bader Ginsberg who popularized the old saying: “We can disagree without being disagreeable.”
BTW, it’s also good to revisit RBG whenever we have a chance. The Walrus and I agree about that.
Image courtesy of Art UK
A Cautionary Tale.
I took a bit of a fall last week. In the quick but seemingly endless process of going down, I wondered how it was going to end. After all, when we get to a certain age, “Fall” is the ultimate F-word.
When I went down, I went down backwards. At risk were legs, hips, shoulders, spine and head. Some level of damage seemed inevitable. But once I landed, I realized I was fine. I was still intact and able to move all body parts.
Here’s the cautionary tale part: my saving grace was due to regular exercise and core strengthening. Guided by a good, patient and knowledgeable trainer. And one with a great sense of humor. Laughter, as we know, is the best medicine.
Yes, it takes money, it takes time and it’s not always fun. It is, however, worth every penny, every minute and every “I’d rather be doing something else” moment.
For the last couple of years, planks, lunges, weights and squats have become part of my life. I still don’t care a whit for a single one of those things but I accept the fact I don’t have to always like what’s good for me.
I’m the first to admit that I’m ever-so grateful when the hour of exercise/work is over. But now I have the scars…or rather the LACK of scars and/or broken bones….to prove its value.
So, try as I might, and I’ve tried very, very hard, I can’t refute the evidence. It’s that simple.
It Was a Bright Sunshiny Day.
The kind of day that reveals dust bunnies under chairs and tufts of cat hair on dark clothing.
It’s also the kind of day when other, harsher things are apt to appear. And in the mirror, no less. A bit like dust bunnies and cat hairs, but not as easily dismissed.
“Has the time come?” you ask yourself, as you stare at your face. Or is it past time? Is it too late to prop up the sagging jowels, tighten the crepe-like neck, and smooth out the wrinkles?
Surely, you think, plastic surgeons could feather out those deep creases and crevices. “There’s so much we can do,” they’ll say. They’ll take close-up pictures to make their case. The pitiful “befores” and the promising “afters.” The choice is clear, and time may be of the essence.
Happily, you recently made note of just such a doctor. He’s performed miracles for friends. “I’m just not quite ready,” you’ve said so far. But today feels different. You pick up the phone and make the call.
While you’re on “hold” you leaf through a book of poetry by Susan Mrosek, whose wry drawings and free verse you enjoy. A single page is earmarked. You wonder why. You turn to it and re-read the following:
As she ripened, she toyed with correcting her facial
landscape, but decided it would be a shame
to lose track of where she’d been.
And you quietly hang up the phone.
Drawing courtesy of Susan Mrosek, at WWW.PonderingPool.com
Clickety-Click.
With just one click of a clicker, the lights go on. Or off. Another click and the television’s on. Or off. Easy-peasy. Until now.
Clickers now have way more buttons than they once did. A simple on/off clicker is hard to come by. They’ve morphed into little multi-tasking suckers and they control our lives.
Further, the clicker you have in your hand may or not be the one you want. And the one you want is often nowhere to be found.
This is never truer than when you’re looking for the TV remote at night. It inevitably happens when you’re tucked nicely into bed, getting sleepy and want to turn the TV off. But you can’t find the clicker. You know it’s somewhere nearby. It must be. After all, you used it to turn the television on. You’ll find it. That’s for sure. Just not before you’re fully awake. Again.
Well, the Mister and I have experienced that very situation many times. But he, being of Rube Goldberg heritage, had an idea. A possible solution to the problem. And what a reliable and inexpensive solution it turned out to be. Even better, it requires no brains, no brawn and no batteries. And it always works.
He simply ties a long string to the TV’s electrical plug and brings the string up on the bed. When we’re ready to turn the television off, or “pull the plug,” so to speak, one tug is all it takes. The television goes night-night.
And so do we.
On Politics.
No, not really. I wouldn’t go there.
However, I fondly remember the days when you could. Go there, that is. To that conversation. To that discussion. You could go to those places with no fear of reproof, disdain or disapproval.
When I was young, people were always coming in and out of our house. They were all my “aunts and uncles.” They were related either by blood or by friendship. Affection, laughter and fun always came in the door with them.
I loved to listen to their political chit-chat. They frequently and heartily disagreed in their discussions. Didn’t matter. They were all committed to being part of the election process. Their vote counted. And may the best man win. (Yes, back then, it was always a man.)
Even though opinions were boldly expressed, civility never waned. Cards were still dealt, gossip was still shared and scotch was still poured. Friends were invited as friends, they arrived as friends and they left as friends. Politics, schmolitics.
I miss that level of openness. Those judge-free conversations. Sadly, our current political climate warns us not to “go there.”
The risk is too great. And the potential for anger is palpable.
I grew up with grace, trust and respect. I remember “them” well. And I miss all of “them”.
Every single day.
FOMO or JOMO?
I am a full-fledged JOMO. By character and by birth. Introverts and only children are accustomed to being left out. We’ve finally evolved to the point where we graciously accept our plight. Many of us even embrace it.
Actually, we, the JOMO’s of the world, may be in a better place than the FOMO’s since we can’t bemoan the loss of something we never had or even knew existed. All those negatives add up to plusses for people like us.
Alas, there are many who suffer from FOMO. They all know there are places to go, parties to give and people to see. They’re the movers and shakers. Social media sat up, listened and applauded them. It can get stressful if they aren’t always on their game. Or in the public eye.
JOMO’s, on the other hand, are neither plugged in nor bombarded by social media. Now, suddenly, we’re the carefree ones. We don’t totally understand why but it doesn’t matter. We’re just happy not to care.
As a dyed-in-the wool JOMO, I’m hopeful that others might join me in our comfortable, easy space.
No. Wait. Stop. Never mind. JOMO’s neither want nor need hordes of people around them to be content. A few good friends suffice. Especially those who like to laugh.
If you don’t understand any of what’s been written above, which may well be the case, please see below:
In short,
FOMO’s live with the Fear Of Missing Out.
JOMO’s celebrate the Joy Of Missing Out.
Maybe some of the above will make sense now. I sure hope so.
And a happy Mother’s day to all who either are or have one. Enjoy.
Flight Plans.
I would personally rather not. Make plans to fly, that is.
Our last plane trip from Boston to Savannah went swimmingly. However, it was anything but that for those traveling to Boston from Savannah on the plane’s return trip. Bad weather up East kept those passengers on the ground and in the airport for the next several hours. We hear way too many stories like that these days.
We all know the “flying” lingo. The rules. We know what TSA stands for, we know those wands have nothing to do with fairies, and we’re prepared for endless delays and screaming children.
I know that when I fly that I am doing so under their guidelines, their rules and regulations. And all for good reasons. That doesn’t mean that I like it.
I was delighted, just recently, to read an article on “Gadgets for Air Travelers”. Seemingly intended to make air travel easier. I said to myself, now here’s a chance for you to get with the program. To act like a “seasoned” traveler rather than a “once-in-a whiler.” After all, I also said to myself, it’s never too late.
The article recommended that I buy a Twelve South AirFly. I’m to plug it into a 3.5mm audio port and pair it with my Bluetooth. After I’ve done that, my USB-C will then be charged and I can get 22 hours of playtime. Setting it up takes just seconds, they say. Even I know better than that.
I’m still confused and not one bit hipper than I was before. It may really be too late. At least for me.
OH, BOY! Do I like this idea!
It’s called The Silent Book Club. How can that be, you ask. Book clubs are all about talking, sharing, opining. So, what’s with the silent bit? Well, there’s a great answer to that.
I was part of a book club in Dayton. Back then, book clubs were relatively new. As is the norm, a member was invited to chose a book of her liking for the coming month. My favorite book of all time, selected by a friend, was and still is: “Crossing To Safety” by Wallace Stegner.
We were a pretty relaxed group. If you read the book, great. If you enjoyed it, even better. If you had some relevant comments and questions about it, then, please share them. That book club still exists. Many have moved; others have died. Alas. But the memories….all good ones….. linger on.
There are many reasons to join book clubs. They’re all good and I’ve just discovered another one.
As mentioned above, it’s called the Silent Book Club. Members arrive at the meeting with their very own book. The one they’re currently reading. A book of their own choosing. Not one chosen by the group. They settle in, read their own book for a half an hour or so, put it down and share with the others what they’ve just read and learned. And why that particular book was of interest to them. How cool is that?
Nobody was asked to read an “assigned” book. Nobody had to cram and read a quick review to keep up with discussion. No one could say they didn’t like the book. After all, they’d personally chosen the book they were reading.
Through sharing personal reasons for reading that particular book, other members could get a glimpse into that person’s interests and way of thinking. Further, they all learned of new books they themselves might want to explore. Seems like a win/win situation to me.
It’s certainly a unique and fresh twist on book clubs. And, I like it. A lot.
Where Did Silly Go?
It seems she just up and left. Did she feel unwelcome? Unwanted? Unappreciated? Unloved?
And am I the only one who misses her? Surely not.
Silly holds a unique place the world of laughter. Responses to her brand of humor include groans, eye rolls and the occasional belly-laugh. Hers is most definitely not high or sophisticated humor. She’s especially appreciated by children and by our own “inner children.” There will always be those who won’t stoop that low but there’s little we can do about that. Someday they’ll realize what they’ve missed.
A friend of many years ago loved to give dinner parties. She never asked her guests to bring food of any kind. The only request/demand she made was that we come prepared to share a silly joke. We always left with full tummies and big, happy smiles on our faces.
With that in mind, I share these quick, very silly, one-liners with fervent and sincere hope that you’ll either laugh or forgive me for being silly. Or both. (It helps if you read them out loud.)
First question: “How do you catch a unique rabbit?” Answer: “Unique up on him.”
Second question: “How do you tame a unique rabbit.” Answer: “Tame way.”
There, now. Didn’t that feel good? We need to find Silly and bring her back where she belongs.
Oh, and by the way, if you think of anyone you know who might enjoy these little “blogs,” you can let them know the contact which is www.lifeonthemay.com. We love to have new readers on Sundays. And the cost always stays the same. Zero.
It Was a Hot and Steamy Night in South Carolina.
And it was surely a good and happy thing when the air conditioner kicked in.
And then it kicked off.
And it stayed that way until help arrived the next day. After much inspection, much exploration and a hefty non-repair bill, it was determined that the air-conditioning unit, now known as IT, thought IT was sick and so IT quitI All by ITself.
Apparently, IT has an inner robotic sensor which, on that hot and steamy night, made a bad decision and told IT that something dire would happen to IT if IT kept doing IT’s job.
Happily, on this day, all is well. But there’s a dark cloud hanging over us.
The next time the weather gets hot and steamy, and it surely will, we will ask the obvious. Will IT behave ITself and keep us cool and comfy? Or will IT succumb to IT’s imaginary aches and pains and turn ITself off again.
If that happens, we can only wonder: is IT a hypochondriAC?
.