Dear Margot and Greta:

Thanks so much for the lovely earrings you gave me for Christmas. As you know, I don't own much jewelry, having not gotten any push presents from your father. So these treasures that depict my look alike, Boris Johnson, the Mayor of London, stuck on a zip line, are real hot picks in my collection. The gift is a true testament to a trait of some kind that you two share.

The quality of the earrings became apparent the moment I laid eyes on them. For instance, given the tiny size of the pieces, it took a true craftsman to kern Boris' eyes so close together (close set eyes being one of the most prominent features that Boris and I share, as you both know, you rascals!). And how clever of the artist to make these earrings dangle, lending added verisimilitude, although there's no way of knowing what that means.

I found the little card below in the gift box, which verified my suspicion that the earrings were not easy on the pocketbook. So I checked my American Express Card Online Account and saw that you charged the first easy payment of $70.32 to me. How nice for us that the fourth and final installment will be in April, which puts us right at my birthday, when you can charge me another thoughtful gift.

I hope you will tell me if my ear hair is as dominant as this model's. Right now it's all that I can look at.  

Love, Connie

I'd like to thank the one Russian who filled in that huge area on my Pageview by Country Map. To you I say what Christine Todd Whitman (love child of Mary Todd Lincoln and Walt Whitman, also the former governor of New Jersey) once said: "Anyone who thinks that they are too small to make a difference has never tried to fall asleep with a mosquito in the room." благодаря братан!

Hey Canada, if you are reading this, well, never mind, apparently you aren't. Okay listen friends, if anyone knows someone up there in Canada, please ask him or her to read this blog and together we can watch this map light up. Also Greenland, China, India, Australia and whatever that big fat country that takes up so much of South America is.

Malaysia, in honor of your surprising support,

I have just learned how to spell you.

Dear Foodie Friends Who Were at Sandee's Birthday Party Last Night and Who Laughed When They Saw The Dessert I Brought:

Here is the recipe:

One Oreo Pie Crust (next to graham cracker crusts in baking aisle)

One carton Brigham's Peppermint Stick Ice Cream, slightly softened 

Hershey's Dark Chocolate Syrup

Chocolate Peppermint Bark, crumbled

Call mother-in-law. Ask what to do when told to bring dessert to party. Get excited when Christmas Eve pie is recommended. Go to store and buy ingredients. At home, squish softened ice cream into pie crust and smooth out. Squirt on syrup in pattern of your choice. Apply crumbled bark. Refreeze. Take to party and slip into freezer. When time is right, trot out proudly and present pie to the quality police you call your friends. Listen calmly as room fills with laughter and hooting. Stay confident when asked if "pie" was "made" from "recipe" written during the Kennedy administration. Cut dessert, serve and eat. Watch as grown women brawl over the last slice, when they deny it to a passing child, and when they finally decide to each take one bite of it. When "tell us exactly how you made this dessert" is said, blurt, "beg me." Relent when pleading subsides, but threaten to leave out one ingredient, old school. Take that back, but demand foot rub. Go home. Let it sit overnight. Go online and give out recipe.

Love, Connie

Dear Those of You Who Are In College:

You'll be coming home shortly for your holiday break and people my age will be asking you: a) How are you liking college? b) What are you majoring in? c) What do you plan to do after you graduate? 

Fifty-somethings know that you guys find these questions annoying, but we can't stop ourselves from asking them because a) we want to connect with you, b) we're genuinely interested in how you are doing and c) we're excited to hear what your plans are. At the same time, we never expect you to reciprocate and ask us questions about our lives and our plans because a) you never have.

So, if you want to dodge this type of questioning and quickly get back to living your life, just turn the tables on us and ask what's up with us, or what our plans are. Guaranteed, it will go something like this:

Me: Oh my gosh! It's so great to see you! How are you? How's school?

You: Great! What have you been up to?

Me:

Okay, three great things have just happened to you: a) you got around answering the questions, b) you saved a ton of time -- time that could be used to catch up on your sleep, and c) you will be remembered by me as the only person your age who ever asked me what I've been up to.

After the exchange, things aren't going to be so rosy for me. I will a) spend the rest of the day wondering why I couldn't answer your simple question, b) sign up for an art class, and c) book plane tickets to Tuscaloosa for a Habitat for Humanity gig. 

But truly? It would be worth all of it just to see you walk through the door.

Love, Connie

The gag in yesterday's blogpost only lasted one day because this entry has pushed it down and its photo is now out of position. So my little finger is no longer pointing out that you can have my posts sent to your email. I realized that was going to happen, but I was so eager to show you my disfigured pinkie that nothing else seemed to matter. One day I will show you that I can do Mr. Spock's Vulcan Salute, only with my toes. My close friends already know about this cunning maneuver because I tend to trot it out at parties.

I'm saving my Vulcan Toe Salute for later, no matter 

how many people want to see it over the holidays.

And relax, it's fine if you don't want to subscribe to this blog. I wouldn't be able to figure out who did and who didn't so please don't explain to me why you haven't because that would make me feel socially uncomfortable. It's just that some people have asked me to add this feature so they don't have to go looking for my posts, while others have told me they wouldn't subscribe even if they could (Mark C.) because they always have to be in control of everything, including how they read my blog. 

Let's all just go about our business and act like this never happened. Live long and prosper. 

Showing photos of mangled body parts is a great way to capture the attention of your readers. That's why you're looking at the pinkie that I broke in a football game when I was in high school. I have what is called a mallet finger deformity. I can't straighten it out and it's pretty gross. But now that I've drawn you in, please note that it's pointing to a brand new feature of my blog. 

Because of the holidays, everyone is talking about food. So I thought it would be a good time for me to jump in and share that I feel sorry for the food pyramid. Stay with, stay with. The U.S. Government decided that the pyramid was too confusing, so they dumped it. Was it too confusing? Yes, but the pyramid is a shape of strength and grandeur that paid homage to the world of food and all of its gifts. At the same time, the food pyramid created the kind of peeky intrigue you feel when looking into the back of a doll house.

Is that really a donut up there in the attic?

So in an attempt to simplify their admittedly valuable "Here's What You Should Eat" public service message, the Administration developed a new graphic and theme that reminds me of a place setting I used when I was four:

Based on this visual presentation, the website should be:

ChooseYoureNotGoingAnywhereUntilYouEatThis.gov

Now I'm not slamming plates, but aren't they things we always look down on? So see right there, we can't help but mentally tut-tut the non-pyramid design. The toddler plate reminds me that when I see food, I should stiffen, fold my arms and turn my head. So there's no way I could ever read this thing.

Let's take another stab at this project and design a learning tool using an icon that reflects our reverence for what we eat. I'm going to go ahead and work up something for Foodhenge to start with. Or maybe something man-made that can be seen from outer space, like the Great Wall of Food or pollution.

If you're working from home and you're freezing cold, and you get the idea to take a hot bath, and you bring your phone in with you - just in case - and you're carrying towels and the new soap you remembered you bought over the weekend, and you're about to step into the steaming water, remember to glance down at your phone to make sure you aren't FaceTiming the insurance guy you spoke with a few minutes ago.

Dear Margot and Friends:

I know this is the last full day for you at the School for Field Studies on South Caicos Island. I want to thank you guys for reading my blog over the last several months. Your support has meant the world to me. I'm not a statistician, but I'm guessing that my viewership numbers from Turks and Caicos will plummet to zero after you leave tomorrow, and that France will sneak into the number two slot. Merde! 

Wait! If two of you guys move to Norway, 

instead of heading home tomorrow, 

we can keep France in third place.

I'll miss knowing that you're all down there together on that little island, so close-knit, so cozy, so filthy.

Love,

Connie

As we were leaving to take Greta back to school on Sunday, we had this exchange:

Greta: "Just so you know, I took fifteen dollars out of your purse."

Me: "Oh. Okay. Why fifteen?"

Greta:  "It's all you had."

After Greta dutifully wrapped up all of her Thanksgiving medical, dental, optical and other appointments, she and I sat down for pedicures as a treat. Faced with a minor language barrier at the salon, we wound up having chocolate rubbed into our legs and calves for a small upcharge of $10 each. The package included fifteen minutes of extra massage, which began when my pedicurist ceremoniously twisted the face of a classic, AcuRite kitchen timer. When his latex-gloved index finger pointed to the 15 marker on the clock and he gave us a solemn look, our fears of receiving fourteen minutes of the treatment were quelled.  

But it's hard to relax and settle into a foot rub with a tick-tick-tick reminding you that the great stuff that is happening now is all very, very temporary. And just as I was starting to feel shellacked by that, a 25-year-old mother named Ashley Nicole came in for a spa treatment. Ashley Nicole has a three-year-old daughter named Layla and three-week-old son from whom she really needed a break. Her mother-in-law was watching him for a few hours, thank god. Layla was with her dad. Ashley Nicole just found out about another girl named Ashley Nicole who looks just like her. There is a photo of Ashley Nicole II on her phone as proof. She loves bling on her cell phone covers and just paid $20 at the mall for a ruby one. Ashley Nicole bought these two items over the phone while her feet were soaking: a) another gem-covered cell phone case for $5 that her nail technician told her about, and b) a rottweiler puppy.

When the timer DINGed, our pedicurists abruptly raised their hands in the air, like two Chopped finalists at the end of the dessert round. They painted our toe nails and we left. On the way home, Greta and I spoke about the roller coaster effect that Ashley Nicole brought to our 15 minutes of relaxation. The highs were extremely entertaining, as when she said the words "bitch" and "whelp" to the dog breeder. The lows were annoying, as when she phoned her husband about what he and Layla should buy at the mall. But these boring low moments also served to slow down time, which was a great gift for those of us who were on the clock and having our heels rubbed.