Existence and Stuff

Don’t Thank Me, Thank My Noble Metabolism

Linda Vernon Edible Tales, Existence and Stuff, Health and Beauty , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

 

Don’t Thank Me, Thank My Noble Metabolism

It’s Official! My Metabolism Has Finally Reached Zilch

My metabolism has slowed down so much lately that not only will I gain weight if I even look at a piece of cheesecake — so will the person standing next to me.

Metabolism Heaven

Some people complain of a sluggish metabolism. If I could get my metabolism up to sluggish, well . . . I’d be in metabolism heaven, that’s all.

Not the real Metabolism Heaven, but a darn good likeness

I’ve Got a Metabolism That Punches Out at Noon

I’m starting to get the feeling my metabolism goes home early everyday. I think it’s getting bored with its job. And who could blame it, really. Talk about a backlog of work! Poor Dear.

I would imagine the piles of cheesecake in its In-Basket alone is enough to make even the most dedicated of metabolisms want to call in sick.

What’s a Food Consumer to Do?

Still, even though my heart goes out to my metabolism, it would be nice if it could step up the pace just a little. I’m doing my part by carefully monitoring what I eat. I read all the food labels and whatnot; but it isn’t easy finding a food whose first ingredient is air.

My Life as an Air Fern

I think Mother Nature rigged so it so a woman of my advanced years can live indefinitely on air to keep mankind from going extinct.

My Metabolism Theory

As far as I can tell, Our Family of Humans evolved so that Grandma could keep the cave clean, do all the cooking plus watch the grandkids without having to eat any actual food — which meant Yippee!! Extra helpings of Kentucky-Fried Mammoth for everyone! (Except you know who.)

Me and My Metabolism, Where Would Mankind Be Without Us?

So I suppose one could say, the more sluggish my metabolism, the more I am actually contributing to the survival of the human race. Each and every time I manage to push away a piece of cheesecake without eating it, I am sacrificing that piece of cheesecake for the global good of my fellow Homo sapiens — because now there is just that much more cheesecake for them to eat.

Thus ensuring the survival of our species.

Who knew something operating at zilch could be so noble?

Until next time . . . I love you

Recapturing the Happiness of Being Ten!

Linda Vernon Existence and Stuff, Who am I? , , , , , , ,

Remember being ten?  When  life was fresh and easy and filled  with simple pleasures?

We were light as a feather when we were ten!  We turned cartwheels and skipped and hopped  for no other reason than because we could.

At ten, the present moment unfolded naturally. We just were and it just was. We were a part of “all that is” and our ten-year-old hearts knew it!

It was a time when we were sure about where we belonged in the world, and what was expected of us.  We were satisfied to accept each day as it came.  Most of us had no idea of what the future held nor did we care!

Oh we had our little setbacks. We laughed and we cried, but either way, we were real and true to ourselves.  Why?  Because we didn’t know any different.

We were traveling light – in a fresh, new world.

Me at ten, peeling the world’s largest potato!

This is is me at ten.  As you can see, I’m wearing an outfit that doesn’t match.  The skirt was red plaid and the sweater was blue and white plaid.  Did I care?  Of course not.  It was my most comfortable outfit, and I remember wearing it often.

I was at my grandparent’s house when this picture was taken,  and I had just learned how to peel potatoes. I remember being happy about that.  I was capable and I was making a contribution. Grandad even got out the camera, so I must have been peeling pretty impressively.

But, alas,  like everything else, the thrill of potato peeling eventually wore off (probably later that night).   So that today, the only thrill I get around potatoes is when they happened to be mashed with lots of gravy sitting on my plate.

eeeeeYummmmm!

Still, what if we were to take that essence of being ten and incorporate  into our everyday lives.  If we could somehow conjure up that feeling of having every possibility open to us —  unjaded and shining —  and with all the time in the world to explore!

What if  we could just look at life through the uncomplicated eyes of our ten-year-old selves — maybe we’d remember how it was when we were experts at life —  before we grew up and lost our way.

I say we go peel some potatoes?   I will if you will!

 

Until next time . . . I love you

Fish it from the Archives Friday: The Lighter Side of The 2012 Apocalypse

Linda Vernon Existence and Stuff, Mathematics , , , , , , ,

Hello Dear Readers! Here’s a little something I fished from the archives for you that I hope you will enjoy, because sometimes — in order to appreciate the weekend a little more — it’s good to remember, “Yay! We’re not dead yet!” 

The Lighter Side of the 2012 Apocalypse

Getting Through 2012

I’m planning to live at least until age 90, and I better not be disappointed or there’s going to be trouble.  (What kind of trouble and with whom is yet to be determined.) Since I’m going to be 60 soon, I figure I’ve got the last third of my life still to go.  Assuming, of course, we get through 2012 okay.

Were the Mayan’s Just Nervous Nellies?

I’m banking on the fact that the Mayans — who got us all worried about 2012 in the first place — were simply Nervous Nellie types who were an easily embarrassed, socially-awkward group of people.  Perhaps what THEY would consider an apocalyptic nightmare, WE would consider nothing more than an awkward situation.

“Does this hat and scarf combo look like an apocalyptic nightmare? Be honest now”

Crunching My Own Numbers

I suppose this is as good a time as any to confess that when it comes to theories about time, space and things of that ilk; I prefer to crunch all my own numbers. I guess I’m just old-fashioned that way.  And my numbers don’t mind being crunched either.  They can stay flat for days and spring right back into their original shapes the minute I remove the rock.

The Number Zero

Take the number zero, for instance.  Any third-grade mathematician will tell you that if you multiply any number by zero you will get zero.

Just for Argument’s Sake

So let us say, for argument’s sake, that you have seven oranges.  Let’s also say, for argument’s sake, that oranges give you a rash so you won’t be eating any during this demonstration.

Let’s also say, as well, that you live in an alternate universe so as not to complicate things with the pesky laws of physics and other overly fussy things like that.

Let’s also say, for argument’s sake that oranges are dangerous.  (Sorry to be doing all these things for argument’s sake, but argument tends to pitch a fit when things aren’t done for its sake.)

Dangerous Oranges

Why are we making the oranges dangerous?  Because, Dear Reader, we’re going to need some motivation for making them disappear.

That’s right, I said disappear! So let’s lay all our oranges out on the table.  Just in a straight line.  Nothing fancy.  Don’t let any of them roll off.  Now run and get a marking pen and next to the seven oranges write neatly: 7 x 0 = 0.  HA!!   Now, mathematically, you have zero oranges!

So where did all the oranges go?

I’ll bet you my entire life savings that some crazy, socially-awkward Mayan in an alternate universe  ate them.

But before you take that bet, be forewarned! I crunch all my own numbers.

Until next time . . . I love you

Death on Deck

Linda Vernon Existence and Stuff, My Brain, Peanuts , , , , , , , , , , , ,

I’ve noticed lately that a lot of my writing seems to have taken on a death theme.  I don’t know whether to blame myself or my brain, Peanuts.

Maybe it’s just that Peanuts and I are getting older; and when you get to be our age, the future isn’t as wide open and expansive as it used to be.

Peanuts and I have reached the crest of the hill of life, whereupon it’s all downhill from here on out.  Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying the ride down that hill (in a car without any brakes) to one’s final destination (a drop off to the unknown) isn’t fun, as such.

I’m just saying that once you’re hurtling down that hill in the Death Car of Life, the scenery is going by way too fast.  Which is ironic because when you get older, you tend to want to go slower and dwell on the little details of life, like shrubbery, or the quality of the current garbage service or whether or not they overcharged you for that ham.

“Will you hurry up! You’re going to die in an hour and a half!”
“I know, but look at these shrubs!”

When you get to be Peanuts and my age, you’re Christopher Columbus looking through the para-scope and spotting West Indies only instead of spotting the West Indies you’re spotting death.

Oh sure, you’re not there yet, but Death (and/or the West Indies) is looming on the horizon as big as life!

Gulp!

What Peanuts and I usually do when we find ourselves thinking about death is try not to think about death.  And amazingly, this tactic actually works. The thought process goes something like this:

Someday I’m going to die, which means I won’t exist anymore, which means I’ll be dead which means everything I have ever done in my life and everyone and everything I have ever loved in my life will be kaput and I shall never, EVER pass this way again . . . OK, well I guess I’ll go vacuum now.

When you really think about it, death is what motivates the human race to accomplish things because when we’re really busy getting a lot stuff done, it’s a lot easier to pretend we are never going to die.

I only hope that when it’s Peanuts and my turn to be sucked through that tunnel towards the light, that everything on the other side will have lived up to the term “to die for”.

Until next time  . . . I love you

The Mysteries of Existence Explained

Linda Vernon Existence and Stuff, What the Scientiests are Thinking About , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Welcome Dear Readers to Lazy Friday Blog Day where I go to all the trouble of finding something I’ve already written, shaking the cobwebs off it, airing it out a bit and then giving it a quick once over with the iron.  Anyway here it is:

The Mysteries of Existence Explained

Good News!  I finally found a hobby!   It’s thinking up theories that would explain the mystery of existence. It’s fun.  Here’s what I’ve got so far:

The Advanced Form of Donkey Kong Theory of Existence

Could it be that we don’t really exist in this world at all?  Maybe we are actually in some cosmic Pizza Parlor playing a video game that seems like real life only when we die; it just means our pizza is ready?

There is a lot of evidence supporting this particular take on the nature of reality in that when your pizza is ready they “call your number”.   And we sometimes refer to someone’s dying as “their number being up.”  It seems plausible to a science  hobbiest such as myself,  that life might be just an advanced form of Donkey Kong you are playing until your pizza’s ready.

The “I Say Congealed You Say Cajoled” Theory of the existence

This one goes like this. Life is merely a humongous glob of uncongealed matter put here to cajole us into thinking that matter matters.

The Great Uncongealed

This conglomeration of The Great Uncongealed is designed to keep us so busy we won’t even notice that we don’t know who we are — what we are — where we came from — where we are going – or what we’re supposed to be doing. If true, it seems to be working pretty good so far.

The Life is Simply a Figment of One’s Imagination Theory of Existence

This is the theory where upon  everything exists because and only because you “think” it exists.  It goes something like this:

You’re brain concentrates only on the things you want to have in your life.  It does this by directing a beam of energy out of your eyes and into, say, your living room, where whatever it is you just thought about is materialized just seconds before you sit down in that chair that was there seconds earlier but isn’t there anymore. (The Universe thinks this is hilarious, by the way, so just pretend you don’t notice or you will only encourage it.)

I know it’s a little confusing.  Perhaps if I tried explaining it in a different way . . .

Let’s say you are out in the forest when a tree suddenly falls just as you are entering the cottage of the three bears.  And as far as you know, there is nobody else in the forest.  Well, except maybe for Goldilocks but just for the sake of argument, let’s pretend she’s deaf. Isn’t this fun?

Did  the tree make any noise when it fell?  If you answered no, did it ever occur to you that you might have been slurping your porridge so loudly you couldn’t have heard a nuclear explosion?

My point is – and I assure you I have one . . . I think . . . well, now you’ve got me so upset about poor little deaf Goldilocks, I forgot what my point was . . . I hope you’re happy.

“Say what?”

Until next time . . . I love you

Don’t Thank Me, Thank My Noble Metabolism

Linda Vernon Edible Tales, Existence and Stuff, Health and Beauty , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

 

Don’t Thank Me, Thank My Noble Metabolism

It’s Official! My Metabolism Has Finally Reached Zilch

My metabolism has slowed down so much lately that not only will I gain weight if I even look at a piece of cheesecake — so will the person standing next to me.

Metabolism Heaven

Some people complain of a sluggish metabolism. If I could get my metabolism up to sluggish, well . . . I’d be in metabolism heaven, that’s all.

Not the real Metabolism Heaven, but a darn good likeness

I’ve Got a Metabolism That Punches Out at Noon

Now that I’m 68, I get the feeling my metabolism goes home early everyday. I think it’s getting bored with its job. And who could blame it, really. Talk about a backlog of work! Poor Dear.

I would imagine the piles of cheesecake in its In-Basket alone is enough to make even the most dedicated of metabolisms want to call in sick.

What’s a Food Consumer to Do?

Still, even though my heart goes out to my metabolism, it would be nice if it could step up the pace just a little. I’m doing my part by carefully monitoring what I eat. I read all the food labels and whatnot; but it isn’t easy finding a food whose first ingredient is air.

My Life as an Air Fern

I think Mother Nature rigged so it so that 59-old-women can live indefinitely on air to keep mankind from going extinct.

My Metabolism Theory

As far as I can tell, Our Family of Humans evolved so that Grandma could keep the cave clean, do all the cooking plus watch the grandkids without having to eat any actual food — which meant Yippee!! Extra helpings of Kentucky-Fried Mammoth for everyone! (Except you know who.)

Me and My Metabolism, Where Would Mankind Be Without Us?

So I suppose one could say, the more sluggish my metabolism, the more I am actually contributing to the survival of the human race. Each and every time I manage to push away a piece of cheesecake without eating it, I am sacrificing that piece of cheesecake for the global good of my fellow Homo sapiens — because now there is just that much more cheesecake for them to eat.

Thus ensuring the survival of our species.

Who knew something operating at zilch could be so noble?

Until next time . . . I love you

The Lighter Side of the 2012 Apocalyptic Nightmare

Linda Vernon Existence and Stuff, Mathematics , , , , , ,

Getting Through 2012

I’m planning to live at least until age 90, and I better not be disappointed or there’s going to be trouble.  (What kind of trouble and with whom is yet to be determined.) Since I’m going to be 60 soon, I figure I’ve got the last third of my life still to go.  Assuming, of course, we get through 2012 OK. 

Were the Mayan’s Just Nervous Nellies?

I’m banking on the fact that the Mayans — who got us all worried about 2012 in the first place — were simply Nervous Nellie types who were an easily-embarrassed, socially-awkward group of people.  Perhaps what THEY would consider an apocalyptic nightmare, WE would consider nothing more than an awkward situation.

“Does this hat and scarf combo look like an apocalyptic nightmare? Be honest!”

Crunching My Own Numbers

I suppose this is as good a time as any to confess that when it comes to theories about time, space and things of that ilk; I prefer to crunch all my own numbers. I guess I’m just old-fashioned that way.  And my numbers don’t mind being crunched either.  They can stay flat for days and spring right back into their original shapes the minute I remove the rock.

My Trusty Fingers

I guess you could say that I like to look at numbers from a different perspective.  One in which there are no hard and fast rules.  I prefer my number rules to be easy and slow.  Which is why, no matter how many mathematicians I’m with at any given moment, I still prefer to perform all my own number crunching using nothing more than my brain, a sharpened pencil and my trusty fingers.

The Number Zero

Take the number zero, for instance.  Any third-grade mathematician will tell you that if you multiply any number by zero you will get zero.

Just for Argument’s Sake

So let us say, for argument’s sake,  that you have seven oranges.  Let’s also say, for argument’s sake, that oranges give you a rash so you won’t be eating any during this demonstration.  Let’s also say, as well, that you live in an alternate universe so as not to complicate things with the pesky laws of physics and other overly-fussy things like that. Let’s also say, for argument’s sake that oranges are dangerous.  (Sorry to be doing all these things for argument’s sake, but argument tends to pitch a fit when things aren’t done for its sake.)

Dangerous Oranges

Why are we making the oranges dangerous?  Because, Dearest Reader, we’re going to need some motivation for making them disappear.

That’s right, I said disappear! So let’s lay all our oranges out on the table.  Just in a straight line.  Nothing fancy.  Don’t let any of them roll off.  Now run and get a marking pen and next to the seven oranges write neatly: 7 x 0 = 0.  HA!!   Now, mathematically, you have zero oranges!

So where did all the oranges go?

I’ll bet you my entire life savings that some crazy, socially-awkward Mayan in an alternate universe  ate them.

But before you take that bet, be forewarned! I crunch all my own numbers.

Until next time . . . I love you

Monkey Meat and the Meaning of Life

Linda Vernon Existence and Stuff , , , ,

Starting Afresh. As I said yesterday, apparently I’m not going to die by grapefruit, (phew!) so I guess I’d better get busy and get something done with my life, accomplishment-wise. Of course, it’s not like I haven’t accomplished anything up to this point.

I have, for instance, amassed an impressive spice collection — well impressive to certain groups of people, that is. I like to think I have a better spice collection than those living deep in the Amazon rain forest or more extensive spice choices than totally isolated monk types.

I bet if you opened up the Dali Lama’s refrigerator, I doubt you would find fixin’s for, say, Billy Bob Bubbas Fire Breathing Hound Dog Chili.

And I’ll wager there isn’t a single Amazon Forest Indigenous Person who spices up his monkey meat with McCormick’s California Style Lemon Pepper (Coarse ground blend with garlic and onion) like I do.

Still having a collection of spices really doesn’t amount to a hill of beans in terms of immortality. Or even in terms of lunch. No, if I want to accomplish something more meaningful before I shuffle off this wobbly Ball O’ Dirt, I’m probably going to have to figure out once and for all what my life’s purpose is.

But here’s an idea. Maybe the whole concept of a “life purpose” is merely an urban legend, a fad, a craze, a complete bunch of hooey if you will. Maybe our life purpose is simply to be alive. And us and everything in the universe with us is living it’s life purpose just by existing.

Well, that was easy.

OK, So now maybe it’s just a matter of deciding what kind of attitude I am going to have about existing. It seems to me that if I would remember to APPRECIATE EVERYTHING that is developing right in front of my eyes in this very moment, and each moment thereafter until I eat my very last grapefruit, well then, what would I need with a “life purpose”? I’d be already living it, moment by wonderful (and sometimes not so wonderful — see grapefruit choking below) moment.

Oh sure, having McCormick’s California Style Coarse Grind Blend Lemon Pepper with Garlic and Onion to add to my monkey meat is all well and good; but being able to REALLY APPRECIATE IT. . . well that’s the rub isn’t it?

Until next time . . . I love you

Death Be Not Grapefruit, Apparently

Linda Vernon Existence and Stuff , , , , ,

It was just a typical morning just like any other. I had my coffee and was looking forward to eating a delicious looking grapefruit. I wasn’t on my guard or anything because I am one of those people who have never considered grapefruit particularly dangerous.

I took just a little bit of the grapefruit and juice in my spoon and was in the process of swallowing it when somehow it got stuck in my throat/air passage way or whatever it is in that area that sometimes gets mixed up about what it’s supposed to do.

Throat: “OK, here comes something . . . now tell me again about which way I push it? Right or left?”

Esophagus: “Why are you asking me? You know I’m dyslexic.”

But this wasn’t any ordinary choke. This was a complete blockage of my air passageway. I could not get a single bit — not even a smidgen of air in. Here are the things that were running through my head:

This is a really stupid way to die, what should I do? Maybe I could run to the neighbors and have them perform the Heimlich on me, no way . . . too embarrassing, I’d rather die. Maybe I could run over to Nikki’s and she could call 911. Gosh, I’d hate to upset her and then I’d probably die en route. And there was that babysitter I heard of that died from choking on soup. What a stupid way to die this is. Everybody’s going to be so upset.

Luckily, I had a lot of air in my lungs to begin with because I was able to really cough with all my might a couple of times. Still though, I couldn’t get any air in. At this point I was panicky. I was running for the door to run outside where someone could maybe help me when I realized I could breathe through my nose. YAY!! Take that Death!

I sat down on the couch. My hands were shaking, my neck muscles hurt from coughing. I thought about how I was still alive and how I could have just as easily been dead. I thought about how one’s safety is merely an illusion. And that anything could happen at any moment and we could be gone in an instant. I thought about how every moment of life is a gift not to be taken for granted ever.

About 15 minutes later I ate the rest of the grapefruit.

Until next time . . .I love you (I really do!)

Existence Anyone?

Linda Vernon Baby Eating and Whatnot, Existence and Stuff , , , , ,

Good News!  I finally found a hobby!  It’s proving to be a really easy and inexpensive hobby.  It doesn’t make a mess, you can do it anywhere and you don’t have to buy any yarn or glue or anything.  All you have to do is think up theories that would explain the mystery of existence. It’s fun. You should try it. Here’s what I’ve got so far:

The Advanced Form of Donkey Kong Theory of Existence

Could it be that we don’t really exist in this world at all?  Maybe we are actually in some cosmic Pizza Parlor playing a video game that seems like real life only when we die; it just means our pizza is ready?

There is a lot of evidence supporting this particular take on the nature of reality.  For instance, when your pizza is ready they “call your number”.   And we sometimes refer to someone’s dying as “his (or her) number was up.”  So you see it’s practically a scientific given, that life as we know it, could be simply a more complicated version of Donkey Kong that we’re playing while waiting for a medium pepperoni, sausage pizza with extra olives.

The I Say Congealed You Say Cajoled Theory of the Universe

This one goes like this. Life is merely a humongous glob of uncongealed matter put here to cajole us into thinking that matter matters.

The Great Uncongealed

This conglomeration of The Great Uncongealed is designed to keep us so busy we won’t even notice that we don’t know who we are — what we are — where we came from — where we are going – or what we’re supposed to be doing. If true, it seems to be working pretty good so far.

The Life is Simply a Figment of One’s Imagination Theory

This is the theory where upon the question of existence comes into question (and vice versa).  In other words (because I’m getting tired of using the words I just used), everything exists because and only because you “think” it exists.  It goes something like this:

You’re brain concentrates only on the things you want to have in your life.  It does this by directing a beam of energy out of your eyes and into, say, your living room, where whatever it is you just thought about is materialized just seconds before you sit down in that chair that wasn’t there seconds earlier. (The Universe thinks this is hilarious, by the way, so just pretend you don’t notice or you will only encourage it.)

I know it’s a little confusing.  Perhaps if I tried explaining it in a different way . . .

Let’s say you are out in the forest when a tree suddenly falls just as you are entering the cottage of the three bears.  And as far as you know there is nobody else in the forest.  Well, except maybe for Goldilocks but just for the sake of argument, let’s pretend she’s deaf.

Did  the tree make any noise when it fell?  If you answered no, did it ever occur to you that you might have been slurping your porridge so loudly you couldn’t have heard a nuclear explosion?

My point is – and I assure you I have one . . . I think . . . well, now you’ve got me so upset about poor little deaf Goldilocks, I forgot what my point was . . . I hope you’re happy.

"Say what?"

Until next time . . . I love you