"Oh, Carmen...I love your blog!" a new fan...I mean, "subscriber" wrote me. "You're so funny! You should be published. You are simply the best humor writer on this planet, second only to the Goddess who was Erma Bombeck. You MUST be discovered and reign on the Best Seller lists and become wealthy enough to at LEAST get approved for that TJ Maxx card that keeps eluding you."
Or something like that. I paraphrase, naturally.
I'm actually sitting here with a big, goofy grin as I write this, although I'd appreciate all of you thinking I'm typing with a cool, professional and slightly bored detachment. You know...like someone who gets these types of positive reinforcements from people who are neither relatives nor foreigners who think they've landed on a Martha Stewart mirror website.
Naturally, I wouldn't dare encourage them thinking they had somehow found a Martha Stewart offshoot, but since I'm sure their English may not be very good and I certainly would NOT want to misunderstood, I simply don't answer when they query. I just send them to a link of a pretty fabulous tutorial of mine and that usually occupies them for a couple of months. I also offer them the link to sign up for emails so that they don't miss any said fabulous tutorials.
Hey...don't judge! If it was up to you, you'd just barge in and embarrass them at the first opportunity and tell them they made a mistake! But I allow them to save face by giving them the chance to improve their English enough to figure out they haven't, indeed, landed on a Martha Stewart mirror site and they could make the choice to leave at that point.
So, now we see who the real not-so-nice people are, don't we, hmmm?
The past two weeks have been ROUGH. Not only did I come down with a terrible cold, I wasn't able to get ANY rest for it due to everyone from family and friends to the CDC calling daily to analyze my symptoms to determine if it was Covid.
Look...I didn't have a fever. Just a sore throat and sinuses that simply didn't care if someone slapped tape over my mouth in a kidnapping attempt...they were not going to open for any reason. I could taste ice cream and Oreo cookies. Strangely enough, however, I could not taste broccoli, cauliflower, salad, anything low-calorie, low-fat or anything with letters written in pastel colors which as we all know, tend to represent the two, previously mentioned hyphenated words.
That being said, I could've sworn I heard the whir and saw quick flashes of drones outside my windows, checking on me and my progress.
Of course, the unknown factor is whether they were sent by the CDC (likely) or my mother (even more likely).
See, October 2nd was my mother's 75th birthday. And she was not letting anything get in the way of THAT party. Even if it was a daughter of whom it was 99.999% certain didn't have Covid but that .0009% (or whatever % was left...my math has always been somewhat...hmm...suspect, shall we say?) was enough to still set off alarm bells.
Fortunately, by the 2nd, I was in good enough shape to attend. I was finally symptom free and while I chalk it up to rest, Afrin and Ibuprofen, I'm sure my mother's hosing me down with with an alcohol/clorox/ammonia based solution didn't hurt.
Oh, forgive me. The alcohol she drank.
Actually, I write all this in jest. My mother knows she is my world. She is the most lovely, gracious and elegant woman I've ever known. Her talent for design is simply awe-inspiring and I'm so lucky to to have her! She has always encouraged both my brother and me in anything we took interest in while growing up: dancing, acting, children's theatre, singing lessons, swimming or anything else we could dream up. She would make it happen!
She's the one who encouraged me to read. She would take me to the library in downtown Greensboro, NC in the summer and I would read for hours. Then, I'd check out as many books as I could carry and walk the 8 blocks or so to her office and lay on the gorgeous Art Nouveau couch (that now resides in MY home!) and read until she got off work. She allowed me to take pottery lessons, fostering a love for all art that didn't take root until 6 years ago when I needed it the most. All of this is because of her.
Thank you, mama. Know that you are loved and treasured and that everything you gave me has become my salvation, even though neither of us could've possibly seen how it would manifest. I love you. I hope you're around for another 75.