I Dare You to Watch This Only Once
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Some things are perfect. The old tymey songs you sang with your aunt in Bellows Falls, the laughs you had together doing so, and the Easter egg tree on her piano.
No room for improvement.

They say of Dartmouth alumni that, if cut, they bleed green. And if a Vermonter is cut, sap comes out. Kyle’s 100% Vermonty leg, a mighty maple, has been tapped.
‘Tis maple sugaring season in the Land. Let the boiling of God’s sweet deciduous nectar begin! Follow the steam. Come, partake of the Upper Valley’s golden goo.
When I’m not buying discounted Valentine foodstuffs, reeling from presidential debates, or marveling at the driving etiquette of certain states, I endeavor to cheer and motivate Dear Reader and, in so doing, activate my own laggardly winter self. In tymes of crippling global bizarreness – political, fiscal, climate, you name it – we could all use a little pep talk.
Maybe your Valentine’s Day wasn’t quite dreamy. No matter, this Hallmark folly is more obligation than holiday, much as I love my annual “balentine” from my mommy. St. Pat’s Day does nothing for many — a drinking day vaguely involving snakes and saints, and if you’re not religious, it seems rather a long, festivity-less haul until Memorial Day. It is.
It’s an odd time of year in an odd year in odd tymes. Who could sleep with all the award ceremonies and farcical debates? A church friend said this has been the winter of our discontent … we had “nothing to play in outside” … had to go to Jersey for snow. When the sun came out (twice?) the temperature plummeted. We felt thwarted. Restless. The global news helped none, and personal problems abounded. Mankind seems to be going through…something. I hope it gets us somewhere good.
When things aren’t going ducky in one life area (say, job), it’s easy to extrapolate the badness onto every other area (money, health, marriage), then just smear it all over the past and the future. It’s a combination of rewriting history (with a dark ink) and catastrophizing about the future. Then everything seems quite terrible indeed. And in your mind, it is. That’s when the compensatory measures kick in – overeating, overdrinking, oversleeping, overreading. I’m not saying your worries aren’t valid. They probably are. I’m saying that in a dreary time of year, one distressing thing can make you don the opposite of rose-coloured glasses. You pick the color.
Overwhelmed? Hiding? Not thrilled with where the choices you’ve made have gotten you? Or maybe you made very few choices. You just went with the flow and now you’re gasping for air on a debris-littered bank since the water level suddenly dropped. It’s not too late, you know, to take your life in hand. I won’t claim it’s never too late to do anything, because that’s a lie. Time marches on. Trains leave the station. Windows close. Boom. You have to get clever with workarounds.
Patience is not my greatest virtue. My Chinese Zodiac year is that of the Tiger; tigers question authority, detest incompetence, and are impatient. With age, at least, we improve at handling disappointment and delaying gratification. Which helps, because when you don’t get cranky you retain the clarity to plot an alternate route.
As we encounter pot holes and frost heaves and flat-out roadblocks, let us allow the recent Black History Month to inspire in us a serious pondering of Plan B (“another approach”). Maybe it’s time to try a new route. Switch jobs. Move. Quit something you’re failing at, expand something you’re good at. Good at everything you do? Test yourself; try something new. But if it’s not mostly fun, forget it. Life is hard. Plenty of miserable tasks and situations will be thrust upon you. Don’t add to the pile.
Hell, this crazy weather could force us inside for weeks. Lie around, in the bath or under an
ocean of blankets, and let your mind float away. What don’t you do that you’d like to? Or, if you can’t do it, what can you do instead? What are you going to plant, lit. and fig.? Which annual that will last a year; which perennial that you will enjoy — or endure — year after year? Dahlias or skunk cabbage? Use your intuition and look for a Sign. I do.

“Hare” by Capt. McGee
Ride the rails, knit, bowl. Give or get a massage. Get a pet. Walk. Do something for someone. Take a class. Soon this weird winter will end and you’ll be running around like a crazed March Hare, full of P and V. But remember: vigilance! Turn off CNN (“There’s a rabid squirrel ripping through American neighborhoods … is it coming to YOU?”); it should be called the Alarmist News Network. And I always forget seasonal nuisances until their return. Black flies, cluster flies, black ice … pot holes. I hit one so wide my car couldn’t possibly straddle it. It was really more of a sinkhole, a lunar cheese hole. The car groaned. As did I. As will you. Ponder your spring … with vigilance! Good day.
E-mail uppervalleygirl@gmail.com or ann.aikens.7 on Facebook. Twitter handle: @uvgvt.

I must be the milkman’s daughter (and we did have a milkman) because I’m not cuckoo about football, like my entire family of Giants, Packers, and Patriots fans.
But I do dig everything sooper — including the halftime show and commentary and manful back slapping and those syncopated jigs the naughty players do when they score and, of course, sooper high-quality cakes from the grocery store to commemorate this important day. And I like the office betting pool. And I like to win win win win WIN.
Don’t you?
At work, it seems the kitchen is always a battleground. Not only do people steal each other’s creamer or entire lunches – even groceries – cleanliness is an issue. People leave befouled utensils and dishes in the sink as if they will magically cleanse themselves. I asked a male colleague why this occurs. He said, “Because we work with children.” He didn’t mean their physical age.
God love the women who install workplace signs like, “Your Mother Doesn’t Work Here.Do Your Dishes.” Otherwise-likeable people in offices everywhere “soak” their dishes in the only sink big enough for lactating employees to rinse their breast pumps. Once I taped up a laminated medical photo of multiplying bacteria in a wordless volley on behalf of the breast-feeders. Someone removed it (as another sign in my condo recently warned, “We don’t know who…YET!”) because, apparently, the sign-remover thought it gross. Look in the sink, pally. There’s your gross.
It’s just another terrible example of how mankind has made little progress. We’ve killed each other differently over time, from spears to boiling oil to nerve gas to WMD, but we are still murdering each other and taking each other’s stuff and many, many of us won’t pull our own weight. Not to mention the littering.
I realize there are brain health issues. Some people are just barmy. And for most of my adult life I had neither a dishwasher nor washing machine and I promise you those items make a BIG difference, and it’s one reason why many peoples of the lands hate Americans. We don’t have dysentery every Thursday or have to beat our clothes with rocks, riverside.
They resent our easy lives, if in part only because they don’t know how crazy we are. I understand because I have struggled in my life on many occasions and I resent handsome, moneyed, model-marrying quarterbacks, golfers, and rock stars, and the models themselves who had to work even less hard. Some say, “Oh, the life of a pro golfer is extremely difficult.” Try custodial work, my good man.
My point being some people are bonkers, and some are resentful and devoid of hope; this discourages them from making an effort. I get that. But there’s a big difference between quietly begrudging the people with charmed lives, and making a disastrous mess out of the corner of the world you share with others because you’re deranged or angry.
Mercifully, there are many good people. A stranger once said to me, “Most people are good. The bad people are noisy and obvious in their destruction so it seems there is a lot of them. Really, there are only a few bad people doing all the bad things.” Repeat offenders, I guess. So I take solace in that good people are quietly stoking their woodstoves and paying their rent and raising gentle citizens and shoveling their neighbors’ driveways. There are countless individuals doing decent things you’ll never hear about. If you are feeling bad about humanity, think on that. I’ll ponder the kindly employee at my gym who washed dozens of water bottles in Lost & Found and put them out for their owners to claim. She didn’t have to wash them. She did.
And when you hear some great piece of music, the second you hear it your soul soars and you are in absolute awe with, “This must be some kind of genius!” and you know for certain there is a God of some sort, inherent in us, and that despite the madness and laggardly sloppiness in this cruel world there is brilliance and kindness and a dancing bird and art of all kinds. And you also know there is no possible way this is random. For every crazy or selfish maniac ruining everyone’s good time there are millions more making a good time, improving things, usually unheralded, unthanked, and unassuming.
I’m not one to candy-coat things in the present, but the past is another matter entirely. The Nostalgia Monster lives inside me, handed down from my father, I think. I’m a nostalgic, to the point of missing people, residences, jobs and situations that I didn’t actually enjoy at the time. It’s one of those species-perpetrating neurological tricks, like women forgetting the pain of childbirth – if we remember our past fondly, we’ll want to keep going! The good news is if you were ever unkind to me, I’ve probably forgotten. I remember only the sparkly thing you said while ice skating, and I miss you for it, and there are others out there like me who bear you no grudge.
If you’re pinching lunches or littering or hurting people or assuming the world owes you something, like a big, petulant baby, for God’s sake, knock it off. In the future, we’ll like you either way. But in the present, we’ll like you a whole lot more if you’d tighten it up. It’s nice to be responsible; it’s fun to be liked. Give it a go. You’ll see. Good day.
Facebook: ann.aikens.7 … Twitter: @uvgvt.
A friend told me years ago to be careful what you do on January 1 because it sets the tone for the whole year. Is this true? Who cares, why take any chances?
That means that no matter how bad you want mayo corn during today’s sporting event or movie, you should probably wait until tomorrow.
Recipe: Buy popcorn. Add mayo from fixin’s bar, or byo mayo packet to venue. Apply mayo to side of bucket for proper management of unruly corns. Use a fork if you can find one (unlikely). Serves two [nutters understood].
As a child, you were probably encouraged this time of year to make a list of your wants. Why not try your hand at it now? Make a list. Check it twice. What did you leave out? Global peace? Affordable organic groceries? A sporty little convertible you can corner hard in? Then take a minute alone (say, in the bath) to consider your wants. Dwell on them. Flesh them out. I’m certain they’re valid.
You know the expression, “Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy?” Replace Mama with “Me.” Reality is subjective, and your particular reality comes first. Take care of it. Once I owned a Mazda in Cali that a friend described thusly: “It’s not so much a car as a … process.” That process took me all kinds of places, lit. and fig. Sometimes you don’t even know why you want something. Run with it. Maybe your wanting knows better than you do.
Prison was, for me, a theme this month. Prison reform in New York State brought to
light the sick horrors of solitary confinement. Then PBS’ The Brain With David Eagleman explained how Alcatraz prisoners thrown into The Hole for weeks on end had very realistic hallucinations despite complete sensory deprivation. Because of the brain’s natural drive for experience, after a time they saw things in The Hole as if they were 100% happening. The brain just created them. One man “saw” someone flying a kite. Proof, in my opinion, that we are wired to want, and to make our wants real. Next, Friend A visited Friend B incarcerated in a low-security prison. Friend A’s post-visit report, which I was dreading, ended with: “It wasn’t awful. It didn’t seem to be much worse than being in the military.” Still.
I’ve known five decent people who have done time. I can imagine few things worse. But there are prisons so many of us make of our own design. An aversion to forming lasting good relationships. A fear of leaving bad ones. The incapacity to see what we’ve done wrong, or to apologize for it. Obsession with our appearance. Addictions to substances, food, gaming (Sugar CRuSH!), Facebook, you name it. A cage of crippling beliefs (that our bodies must age poorly, or that the world is going to hell in a handbasket … so why even try?) confines us. There are countless prisons.
Isn’t this, the Season, with a new year around the corner and long nights, the perfect time to break out? I for one plan to do and see things in new way. Won’t you join me? We’ll tunnel out together by the light of the moon. Make that a supermoon. I’ve got a spoon hidden under my mattress. It’s sturdy and I intend to wear it down to a nub. We can take turns.
This year has been one of distressing changing
traditions for many. But a no-nonsense Philadelphian I know said about my 3 a.m. worrying habit, “Knock it off. Just snap out of it.” So there’s no snow. There is still that gorgeous winter light. Bask in it. Surround yourself with some assemblage of [good] family and [good] friends and create your Wish List for 2016.
Not a tiresome New Year’s Resolution list about self-deprivation. A list of what you’d like to do or have that’s fun (remember fun?) and rewarding. Your list of wants. Often we hear things like, “If humans spent half the time we spend devising ways to kill and torture people, we’d have solved [x] by now.” I’m putting that on my list: That mankind spends half as much time devising ways to kill and torture people. And solves [x].
Your wants seem unattainable? List them anyway, then don’t give up. I mean, don’t wish you were 30 again; pick something within the basic rules governing earth. But don’t stop at 2 or 3 wants. Keep going. Your attained wants are good for all of us in the interconnected machinery of life. You are an important cog. No cog left behind, I say. No want too insignificant. Wish hard.
Go out into 2016, dear Reader, and prove the naysayers wrong. Go get yours, whatever it is you want. Stubbornly refuse to not get it. Don’t go until you get some. Get some. Good day.
Quote of the Season: “Strange, isn’t it? Each man’s life touches so many other lives. When he isn’t around he leaves an awful hole, doesn’t he?” – Clarence, “It’s a Wonderful Life.”
….the SD Ireland Concrete Mixer vanishes as suddenly as it appeared. Into the night? Through a wormhole into another slot in the time-space continuum? Only its nutter captain knows for sure. With 25,000 lights that take 10 days to apply, Vermont is the better for its ephemeral presence.
[A fundraiser for SD Ireland Cancer Research, which supports research at UVM.]
….to North Country Books in Winooski. He is closing, which is terrible, but for one more week he has all manner of used and out-of-print books and the best greeting cards ever. All discounted. Last day: 12/17/15.
He has other cool stuff like these GIANT cards (24 x 36″?) teachers used to teach us to read with in first grade. I’d forgotten all about them. Each one reads like a gorgeous, sometimes hilarious, haiku.
Fantastic memories. What’s more magical than learning to read?
Sample card from Saturn Press in Maine below, then NCB info.


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