Welcome To Jibber Jabber July

July 6, 2015May 6, 2021 / Ally Bean / 22 Comments

Scrat, my blogging muse, with acorn.

I STARTED KEEPING A BLOG when the earth was covered in ice.

Really. It’s true.

Like one of my favorite cartoon characters, Scrat, the Ice Age squirrel, back then I focused on getting ~~readers~~ my acorn. Keeping ~~readers~~ my acorn.

No matter what.

I posted almost daily. Sometimes more than once a day even. Can you imagine?

We all did. Egos demanded it.

# # #

I ONLY SHARE THIS RETROSPECTIVE with you, my gentle readers, as a way of introducing you to a concept I dreamed up last week while I sat stuck inside my house due to massive amounts of rain.

This has not been the kind of summer to be outside. Too wet. Too moldy. It makes me itch.

So I thought to myself…

Why not return to a modified version of old-time blogging and post here 3 or 4 days a week? For one month.

Like I used to do when I was new to blogging and commenters were a dime a dozen and there was a sense of community among those of us who were either courageous enough OR crazy enough to share all the details of our lives with virtual strangers.

# # #

WITH THE FOREGOING IN MIND I have taken the liberty of creating my very own unique hashtag: #JibberJabberJuly. It’s what all the cool kids do now, making hashtags that is.

Although they usually use some sort of acronym, or garbled words, that no one outside of their group understands. Which I think sort of defeats the purpose of connection among virtual strangers.

But whatever.

To wit, I have used my propensity toward creative alliteration + my love of clear communication to gift the world with my hashtag. Feel free, gentle readers, to adopt it, or the concept upon which it is based, as your own all month.

Let’s get it ~~started~~ jibber-jabbering in here. Shall we?

My Unhappy Story Of Flying Trapped Inside A MRI With Wings

June 25, 2015June 25, 2015 / Ally Bean / 37 Comments

Seating chart for MRI with wings.

While on vacation last weekend, I spent one leg of my travels on a flight from hell, trapped inside a MRI with wings. This would be a plane that is known to aviators as a Bombardier CRJ 200.

This airplane, while not the smallest one I’ve ever flown on, was the worst flying MRI I’ve experienced because– and I hope that I’m not going to get too technical here— THERE WAS NO AIR CONDITIONING AS WE WAITED AT THE GATE AND THEN ON THE TARMAC FOR TAKEOFF… ON A HOT SUMMER DAY… AT MIDDAY.

I’d love to tell you what airline I was on, but I’m not sure. It was some pokey little airline, doing business under some obscure name, for some larger, formerly independent, airline recently acquired by some huge US airline.

In other words, the usual inane flying experience that I’ve come to know, pay exorbitant amounts of money for and loathe.

# # #

As fate would have it two things occurred simultaneously while I was on this flight from hell trapped inside a MRI with wings.

First of all, I had a hot flash.

To be clear, that would be my body spontaneously increasing its core temperature while I was sitting in the middle of the airplane, Seat 7C, where the ambient room temperature was close to 100ºF.

Trapped, I was.

And so far beyond toasty that I could barely keep conscious. I could see my vision begin to tunnel– and I knew that I would faint, unless I thought of something fast.

So I shut my eyes, let my head droop and begin to remember how cold and bleak it was on our screened-in porch in February, when I’d step out there for a bit of fresh air, mid-afternoon, with my mug of hot tea.

Oddly enough this mental distraction kept me from passing out and it gave me an opportunity to decide that, if I lived to tell the story, I’d call out the airline on this unconscionable, unhealthy, inhumane, ridiculous, shameful, cheap-ass behavior.

Didn’t their mothers teach these airline PTB to not treat other human beings as chattel? Hmmm?

# # #

Actual MRI, similar to Bombardier CJR 200.

This would be the end of the story if it weren’t for the man next to me on the flying MRI with wings from hell who was an employee of one of the airlines that was part of the afore-mentioned cluster.

And he was taking notes. Lots of them.

For real.

And he was telling me EVERYTHING that this flight crew was doing that was wrong, that was illegal according to FAA standards, and that was just plain stupid.

So despite being the most physically and emotionally uncomfortable I’ve been on an airplane in decades, I had the pleasure of knowing that this flight crew, a bunch of yahoos who really should be ashamed of themselves, were going to get in trouble.

AS IN FAILING TO PASS INSPECTION. JOBS ON THE LINE. HELLO REVIEW BOARD [I CAN ONLY HOPE].

It is because of this note-taking man that I can look back on this flight as a learning experience for the crew as well as for me. To wit, I will never, ever in a hundred years set foot inside a Bombardier CRJ 200 again.

And if you know what’s good for you, you won’t either.

My Weekend At Home With A Snotty Hacker

June 16, 2015June 16, 2015 / Ally Bean / 24 Comments

Last week Zen-Den got a cold. This is unusual.

He was traveling for work and somewhere along the way, on a plane or at a hotel perhaps, he picked up a nasty head cold that over the weekend morphed into wheezing and chest congestion.

This condition, as you can imagine, lead to lots of nose blowing and loud coughing. I dubbed him a snotty hacker, which I thought was clever.

He didn’t seem to appreciate my sly sense of humor, clearly showing you that he didn’t feel good.

Snotty hacker. That’s funny. Healthy people would laugh.

Whatever.

So this past weekend, when I wasn’t fetching hot tea or a blanket or a box of Kleenex, I goofed off in my own low-key, dear-lord-it’s-hot-and-humid-outside, kind of way.

The following are my three big takeaways from my time spent, more or less, alone.

I finished watching Grace and Frankie which is a wonderful new, not violent or crude, TV show available on Netflix.

The show, which stars Jane Fonda and Lily Tomlin as two straight women whose husbands have left the women for each other, is smart + authentic + funny.

Just a little bittersweet.

And has the most amazing house porn, the sort of which that is usually reserved for movies.

Go watch it now. I give it 5 stars.

Ever since I heard the whole “Call Me Caitlyn” thing, it has bugged me. Not the idea that a human being has the right to do whatever he or she wants to do within and/or to his or her body.

No, that I get.

What has bothered me, I finally figured out, is that a woman born in 1949 would not be named Caitlyn, a name that showed up in the the 1970s. She’d be called Linda, the 1st most popular girl name that year. Or Mary, the 2nd most popular.

And if by chance her name was “Caitlyn” it wouldn’t be spelled all modern-like. It would be spelled Kate Lynn. Shortened for the 9th most popular girl name, Kathleen + basic middle name, Lynn.

Kathleen Lynn. A perfectly acceptable 1940s name.

Right?

I finished reading A Little Salty to Cut the Sweet: Southern Stories of Faith, Family, and Fifteen Pounds of Bacon by Sophie Hudson.

Sophie is a blogger who took her personal stories to the next level by writing this funny, charming memoir. The book, published in 2013, has been on my list of books to read for years, so I’m not exactly talking about it on a timely basis.

No surprise there. My reading is rarely current.

However, be that as it may, I thought that I’d tell you, my gentle readers, that if I could pick a family to join, I want to be part of Sophie’s family. I know that I could fit right in immediately.

I like bacon. And I adore kindness.

Both of which are in abundance in this delightful memoir. Highly recommended.

Friends Of The Family, Groovy Fauna Edition

June 12, 2015February 14, 2023 / Ally Bean / 22 Comments

At the risk of sounding hippy dippy I’ll share with you that morning & evening I like to go outside into the garden with a beverage and commune with nature.

~ ~ • ~ ~

I enjoy the aloneness of it. Tossing my thoughts aside. Being in the moment. Enjoying the colors of the flora. Trippy.

~ • ~ ~

~ ~ • ~ ~

But this Spring I’ve come to realize that often when I’m outside doing my Earth Mother thing, I am not alone. There be more than flora, there be fauna, too.

~ ~ • ~ ~

And this fauna doesn’t seem to give a flying fig through a donut hole that I’m out there too. You’d think that they would care, wouldn’t ‘ya?

~ ~ • ~ ~

But they don’t seem to groove on the idea that this is my garden– and not theirs. They just keep on keeping on like they belong out there. Far out man. 😉