Has It Really Been a Year?

Yesterday marked one year since I posted my first blog entry. Has it really been that long? Then again, sometimes it DOES seem like it's been a really long year. A lot has happened since last April, though not everything makes it onto these pages.

When I started this blog, I wasn't sure what I wanted it to be. It's probably obvious from the way it wanders that I STILL don't know exactly what I want it to be. If nothing else, it remains an exercise in writing for me. I read and wrote a lot as a kid, even won a prize or two for writing in elementary school. Later, like most teenagers, any writing I did was mainly limited to school assignments, and angst-ridden or anti-authority song lyrics. As an adult, aside from grocery lists or notes in greeting cards, most of my writing has been advertising copy and headlines as part of my job (I'm a graphic designer). I'm not bad at it... at my first job in advertising, my ability to turn a clever phrase even earned me the nickname "Headline Queen", which also came with the much-coveted "Elvis Salute". (Thank ya.... thank ya vurry much!) But writing the occasional ad copy probably isn't going to make me a better writer. Writing this blog at least makes me slow down, makes me stop and think more critically about things like sentence structure and word choice.

Friends who know me are probably amazed that I've written 70 blog posts in the past year without dropping a single F-bomb! While my spoken conversation is liberally peppered with profanity, I've tried to avoid it here. It's not because I want to keep this blog PG-rated, but because it's a challenge for me to abstain from them. You have no idea how difficult that's been... swearing is in my DNA. When my late Scottish grandfather was four or five years old in Edinburgh, he'd stand outside the pub and sailors would pay him a nickel to hear him swear. I understand it was a skill he'd learned from my great (or great great) grandmother. So yeah, I come by my proclivity for swearing naturally, and I appreciate the value of a well-placed profanity. I'll still try to avoid it here for the challenge of it, but don't be surprised or offended if you stumble upon the occasional curse word here now and then. After a year without them, I'm inclined to relax that self-imposed rule a bit.

For now, I think I'll also keep the blog fairly anonymous. Although it's mostly just friends and family reading it (and damn few of those, truth be told), it's still out there in the wilderness of tha interwebz, and I'm a little paranoid about making too much personal information available to anyone with a web connection. I know, I know... It's probably a little silly, but ya just never know. I don't expect that this blog will ever have a really widespread readership, but I'd rather be overly cautious in this age of identity theft and personal fraud. That being said, most of the blogs I enjoy reading tell personal stories, so I may relate more of what goes on in this monkey cage if I think it might have some entertainment value. I think I can do that without divulging my full name and social security number. (But maybe not without profanity!)

So here's to beginning a second year in the blogosphere. I can't promise that all my posts will be interesting or entertaining, but I've enjoyed writing them so far. Not only is it a personal challenge, but it allows me to express myself about what goes on in my corner of this weird and wonderful world. There are still a lot of things out there that make me wonder if it's just me. Maybe it's you, too... after all, aren't we ALL remarkable monkeys?

I Already Miss Her.

Gma - Mother's Day 2008

My grandma died today. She was 93, and the end was a long time coming. She'd been languishing for several weeks, since a bout of aspirational pneumonia in early March. Actually, she'd been languishing for months, really. Her mind started leaving her, a little bit a time, several years ago. It wasn't Alzheimer's... just run-of-the-mill ordinary age-related dementia, eventually amplified by possible transient ischemic attacks (mini strokes). When it became apparent that she wasn't taking proper care of herself about six years ago, her kids (my mom and my two uncles) had to move her to an assisted living facility. (My grandpa had died several years earlier.) She wasn't happy about it, but eventually settled in. I think it helped that one or two of her childhood friends lived there too. (It's a very small southern town.) One of my uncles lives in the same town as well, so he was able to see her every day and make sure she was alright and getting good care. (Can't thank him enough for that!)

I live several states away so I was unable to visit, but I called fairly often when she first moved in. Whenever I called, inevitably the staff would have to go and track her down. She was almost always out on the smoking patio. After she'd been there a while, our conversations became increasingly repetitive as her mind began to fail her more and more. It was like having the same conversation six times in the span of five minutes. Sometimes, I don't think she really knew who I was. I'm pretty sure she confused me with my mom at least once.

I got to visit her there once, four or five years ago. I had flown up to see my mom, who lives in the same state as my grandma (or Gma, as we liked to call her) but five hours away from Gma's town. Mom and I made the trek up to visit her. I remember her face lit up when she saw me. She knew who I was... at least I'm pretty sure she did. We took her to visit her brother, and also the lady who had lived next door to her for years. She enjoyed it, and seemed lucid and cognizant. On the way back to the facility, we stopped at the grocery store to get some ice cream for her to keep in the fridge/freezer in her room. I remember walking through the store, and Gma reached out and took my hand, and held it as we walked. She looked at me and just smiled. She seemed really happy in that moment, and I remember wondering to myself if this would be the last time I saw her in person. Turns out it was. I'm sad that I didn't get to see her again, but I'm glad that my last personal memory of her is one in which she was happy.

I continued to call her for a while, but eventually it just became pointless, really, and painful for me. She drifted farther and farther away in her mind, and combined with reports from my mom and my uncle about her failing memory, I figured that sending a card and/or photo was a better way to go. I feel a bit guilty about that, and also about not sending a greeting more often than I did. At the same time, I doubt she really knew or cared, and she WAS often in my thoughts. It's not like I ever forgot about her, or ever stopped loving or caring about her.

After all, this was the woman who brought me home from the hospital when I was born. (My dad was in Viet Nam at the time.) When I was about 19 years old, my mom handed my Gma $7, a repayment of the army hospital fee my Gma paid when I was born, just so that Gma could no longer say, "She's mine... I paid for her!" My grandma refused to take the money, just so she could continue to lay claim on me! When my parents' marriage ended just before I started sixth grade, my brother and I lived with my Gma and Gpa for a few months while my mom relocated and settled into a new job. We were pretty close. And so it was painful to have her drift away the way she did, stolen piece by piece through the effects of age.

In May of last year, she had declined to the point that she needed more care than her current facility could provide. She had to be moved to another place, more of a nursing home. Age kept advancing, and taking more and more of her mind. Her body began to follow. She had difficulty swallowing, and would sometimes aspirate when she did. In March of this year, she suffered a bout of aspirational pneumonia. A hospice nurse was assigned. It didn't look like she would recover. In all likleihood, a lesser woman wouldn't have, but the women on my mom's side of the family are a stubborn lot! (Myself included!) She got better. Until another bout this month. Her body began to give in. Early last week, the hospice nurse said that Gma was "actively dying". There wasn't much left that could be done, and so the vigil began.

I'm beyond sad that I've lost my dear Gma. But I'm also angry about what she had to go through in the last week of her life. My grandma's advance directives dictated that she was to not be kept alive by artificial means. This included feeding tubes. Once she became mostly unresponsive, further nutrition was withheld, according to her wishes. Remember how I just said the women on my mom's side of the family are a stubborn lot? Gma was a tough old bird. The docs and staff couldn't believe she made it through the first bout of pneumonia. Now, with the second, she was hanging on. But barely. She lasted the better part of a week before giving in, her body worn out but refusing to shut down completely. The staff did what they could to ease her pain and make her comfortable, but I'm sure she was suffering. She wouldn't have wanted to live that way. And she shouldn't have had to.

Why is it that in our society, we'll readily euthanize our pets to alleviate their suffering when they're terminal, but we won't do the same for people? I can't understand how it's acceptable to allow a person to basically starve to death medically, as my Gma did, but's it's illegal to administer a nice healthy dose of morphine to end their suffering. How can we allow our pets to die with dignity and minimize their suffering, but we can't do the same for poor old Gma? It just doesn't seem right, or fair. But maybe it's just me.

I wonder what will happen to me if I get old and lose my faculties. I don't have kids of my own... If I'm ever in a similar situation as my Gma, I hope there will be someone who cares, someone who will be my advocate and make sure I'm getting good care. Time will tell, I guess.

For now, I'm just sad at the loss of my Gma. She was a pistol. I'm glad I'm at least a little like her... I think I inherited some of her sassiness and spunk. At least I hope I did. When my mom was in high school and Gma was making a prom dress for her, Mom wanted a dress with a full hoop skirt. Gma tried to talk her into a slinky one with a slit up the side. Later, when she and Gpa had moved back to that small southern town she grew up in, Gma caused a bit of a scandal when she submitted recipe for Brandy Slush to the county Homemakers Extension cookbook. It was the only recipe with alcohol submitted that year... probably EVER until then. They printed it, but there was talk. Gma didn't care! (And her brandy slush is ridiculously delicious!) Gma didn't take much crap from anyone. But she didn't have to... everyone who knew her loved her.

Here's an excerpt from an e-mail my uncle sent this afternoon:

"Mom died today, peacefully in her sleep, at 1:35 PM. One of the caregivers from the Home was holding her hand when she passed, and said she went peacefully. At her request, we will not have services. She will be cremated, and her ashes mixed with Dad’s, and scattered. There is nothing else I can say. She was loved by all who knew her and by her family, of course. I was truly impressed at the number of caregivers at the Assisted Living Home who were openly crying, and wanted to go into Mom’s room to say a personal goodbye. When they took her out, the staff lined the hall, and showed a degree of respect the funeral director said he had never seen at a Nursing Home. He was amazed to learn she had only lived there for about a year."


I think I really said goodbye to my Gma that day we went to the grocery store for ice cream. There wasn't much personal connection after that. But I'm struggling today with the thought that now she's REALLY gone. Then again, she'll never really be gone. I see some of her in my mom. And some of her in myself. She was a big part of shaping who I am, and still has an influence on who I will become. I'm glad she's no longer suffering, but I will miss her terribly.

I think I'll go fix myself a brandy slush now, and whisper a toast to her memory.
Here's to you, Gma. Say hi to Gpa for me. I love you.

What's Her Secret?

I saw Carole King on the Today Show this morning while I was getting ready for work. She was on to promote her new book, "A Natural Woman: A Memoir". While I don't really consider myself a big Carole King fan, I definitely recognize and admire her immense talent. So I paused to watch part of the segment while I was brushing my teeth.

Carole King - Photo borrowed from
somewhere on the internet

Let me tell you something: That woman looks AMAZING!! I don't know if she's had work done... my mom thinks so, but she looked pretty natural to me. (Is she REALLY a Natural Woman, for real?) At first, I was just admiring her hair. I was thinking that my hair is somewhat similar in style, though not as curly, and I sometimes debate whether or not I should color it now that there are more than a few grays in there. So seeing a much grayer (and curlier) version looking fabulous on Carole King confirmed (for now) my decision to avoid coloring it.

I didn't realize she was 70 years old until they mentioned it as I was admiring her mature-yet-cool hair. I very nearly dropped my toothbrush! That woman doesn't look a day over 55! And then I had to go back into the bathroom to finish brushing my teeth. In front of the big bathroom mirror. ***siiiiigh*** I still have more than couple dozen years before I'm Carole King's age, but this morning I looked tired, and a little old. (To be fair, I WAS tired... I haven't slept well the past few nights.)

I wanna know Carole King's secret to looking youthful. I'm sure I'll probably never find out... it's doubtful our social circles will ever intertwine. But I hope time will be as kind to me as it seems to have been to her. She just looks natural... healthy, happy, and so comfortable in her own skin. Maybe THAT's the secret. 

As for coloring away my grays? Nah... I've earned every single one of those little bitches. I'm keeping 'em. (At least for now.)

ADDENDUM: Lots of buzz in the media about celebrities and plastic surgery to remain looking youthful. First of all, how is that news? But mostly, kudos to Ashley Judd for standing up for herself and against the ridiculous criticisms of women's appearances everywhere. You go, girl!!! I think you look fabulous.

Doin' the Books... Two Reviews (sort of)

So... one of the things that's been occupying my spare time lately, thus preventing me from writing blog posts (such as they are), is reading. When I pick up a book and start reading it, it's difficult for me to do anything else until I finish the book. Almost everything else that's nonessential gets pushed aside. Case in point: I still haven't quite finished doing my taxes yet, my spring cleaning remains half done, the weeds in the yard are in desperate need of mowing, and a baby blanket I started for my nephew's new daughter before Christmas is still unfinished. (See, Mom? THAT's why I don't read more!)

Last week, I finally finished a book that I borrowed from my mom and started reading back in October when we were visiting her. Once we got home, because I was busy with holidays and work and a million other things, I didn't pick it up again until a few weeks ago. It was a book my mom really liked. "Stick with it.... it gets good after the nun dies," she said. Honestly, I thought it was good from the start. The first few chapters set up the story and introduced the characters and their histories in an interesting and intriguing way. I just didn't have time to read and really get into it until recently.

I was enjoying the story until about two-thirds or so through it. Then it started seeming like things got put on fast forward, as if the author got tired of writing, or his publisher imposed deadlines or something. It seemed like in the beginning of the book, the writing was more detailed, scenes written more in-depth. As it progressed, I felt like it got ragged, with many aspects of the continuing story quickly glossed over and barely touched on. Toward the end, the story employed some really contrived, hackneyed melodramatic plot points, relying so much on coincidence that it became completely unbelievable. And I could see the major dramatic climax coming a mile away. I won't reveal the title of book... I really don't feel qualified to openly criticize an author and call him out on his work. After all, I've never written a book myself, and this blog sure ain't gonna land me any writing awards! Suffice to say that I was extremely disappointed after such a promising beginning, and after devoting so much time to the book, but that's just my opinion. My mom loved it, although she did say she was also disappointed with the ending.

But I WILL tell you about another book that I read on Saturday. Yep... I read the whole book in one day. (It was a much easier read than the previous book.) The book is "A Dog's Purpose" by W. Bruce Cameron. It's about a dog (obviously), and the story follows that dog through four lives as he is reincarnated, learning new things in each life. It's told from the point of view of the dog, and it's absolutely delightful! Yes, there are some sad parts... the dog DOES die three times after all... but it's easier to deal with that aspect because you know he'll be coming back in a new life on the next page. Some of the dog's observations are hilarious, and if you've ever loved a dog, you'll probably think they're spot on!

I didn't intend to read the whole book in one day, but it was so thoroughly enjoyable and engaging that I couldn't put it down. Some might consider it literary fluff, but I found it completely charming. Check it out, especially if you're a dog lover.

So Much for Resolutions!

Well... it wasn't so much an official New Year's resolution as it was an unwritten goal. I had PLANNED to write at least one blog post every week. After all, the original purpose when I started this blog was for it to be something of a writing exercise. Seems like I actually posted more often BEFORE I made that New Year's... uh... goal.

Part of my lack of diligence can be blamed squarely on the insidious change to daylight saving time. It's been a rough adjustment. I'm ALMOST back in the swing of things... I can actually get up in time for my morning workout most mornings now. But I find myself worn out and ready to call it a day by 9:00 pm, which is odd when you consider that it would only be 8:00 pm if we were still on standard time. It must be due to that predawn rude awakening.

Adding to my literary lethargy may have been a bit of the lasting fuzz-brain effects of the migraine auras I had a couple weeks ago. My lack of concentration might have been exacerbated by that. It definitely makes things interesting for a few days when I get one of those auras and/or migraines.

I also had a birthday earlier this month. And it was one of those that gave me pause... but for only a brief moment. I'm not sure I could be considered a "woman of a certain age" yet, and I really don't have a problem with the age I just became. That being said, there are definitely days when I feel the years creeping on! I'm pretty sure anyone over the age of 30 or 35 can relate. Or maybe it's just me.

So we'll see if I can get back on track with at least one blog post a week. If I'm not too tired. Or have a ton of errands/chores/social obligations that take precedence. And if I can think of anything interesting to write a few paragraphs about. Or maybe something NOT so interesting. That in itself could be interesting.

And maybe not all the posts will ramble around like this one. See what I mean about lacking concentration?

But It Doesn't Really Save a Damn Thing!

I've been writing this blog for almost a year now, and so far I've managed to avoid dropping the proverbial F-bomb. Given my natural proclivity for swearing, I think that's quite an accomplishment. This post, however, may be the one to break the F-bomb-free streak.  Why? Because tonight is the night that the idiotic powers-that-be have designated as the night we all have to turn our clocks forward one hour and begin observing Daylight Saving Time.

Seriously?? WTF, people??? Why do we continue to follow this ridiculous mandate? It's completely pointless and serves absolutely no practical purpose. Advocates will tell you that it saves energy, since it provides another hour of daylight in the evening. I disagree. All it does is move an hour of daylight from the morning to the evening. And in this day and age, most people start their days well before the sun comes up, and will finish them well after sunset despite moving clocks forward. Today, the sunrise was at 6:44 AM where I live. It's finally rising at a time that seems reasonable for when most people have to get up and start their day. Tomorrow, thanks to Daylight Saving Time, the sunrise isn't until 7:43 AM. That's almost 8:00!! Dudes... 7:45 is about the time I'm leaving the house to walk my dog in the mornings... by that time, I've already been up nearly two hours. That's two hours I now have to spend in darkness, or use energy to turn on the lights. So how does it save energy?

"But Remarkable Monkey, we get an EXTRA hour of daylight! Woohooo!" Uh... no we don't! There are still exactly the same number of hours of daylight there would have been if we left the clocks alone. We've only moved one from the morning to the evening. And in the process, we've disrupted the sleep cycles of millions of people! Dangit... it's hard enough to get up in the mornings, now you're gonna make me do it a whole hour earlier?? For a cockamamie bogus reason like Daylight Saving Time? Give me an effin' break! And why do we have to have eight months of this BS?? Eight months? Really? Ya know... I could probably tolerate it if we'd just do it six months like we used to. In another month, if Standard Time was still in place, the sunrise would have at been just after 6:00 AM. Moving the clocks ahead in April instead of March would at least provide a much more civilized beginning to Daylight Saving Time, pushing the sunrise to just after 7:00. I think that's reasonable, don't you?

For now, it's gonna be a rough few weeks for me, trying to adjust to losing an hour of sleep. For those of you who know me, be prepared. I'm probably gonna be a lot crankier than usual! I abhor Daylight Saving Time. I think it should be abolished, or at least limited to six months a year. But maybe it's just me.

Hey, looky there! Still no official full-on F-bomb dropped in the blog! But all bets are off during my DST adjustment period beginning tomorrow!

What Goes On In That Head of Yours?

Yeah, I know... I've neglected this blog for a couple of weeks. I don't know if I've mentioned it here before, but I have the distinct privilege of suffering migraines. It's another fabulous gift I inherited from my mom. (Thanks, Ma! I still love you anyway!)

I had planned to write a post-Oscars entry, but that Sunday afternoon I found myself squinting through the visual aura that often precedes migraine headaches. And sure enough, by the time the Academy Awards show started, I had a pretty bad headache... not a full-blown migraine, but close.

Now, I've gotten migraine headaches since I was a kid. I think I was about 10 years old the first time I got one. I remember my head feeling like it was about to split open. At the time, we had one of those "living rooms" that nobody ever used except when company came. The walls of the living room were painted a calm, soothing pastel minty green. I remember lying on the sofa in that quiet, shady, cool green room, and wondering if I was going to die. I thought surely one's head cannot possibly hurt so bad without resulting in certain death. Of course I didn't die, and I've had many migraines in the years since which also didn't kill me, no matter how badly I might have wished they would, just to stop the pain.

Until Imitrex came along, nothing helped much, other than drugs that put you to sleep until the migraine headache (hopefully) passed. Imitrex has been a miracle in my battle against migraines... it's like a magic bullet. For me, it usually reverses a migraine in an hour or so. I understand it doesn't work for everyone, and I feel truly sorry for the poor schmoes that it doesn't help. I hope they have other options, because migraines are miserable.

I feel fortunate that I don't get migraines often. I got them more frequently when I was a teenager and younger adult, but they tapered off a bit in my mid-to-late-20s. Lucky me! I've also never figured out what triggers my migraines, though I suspect some nitrates might. I think we may have had Oscar Meyer hot dogs the day I got my first migraine, and to this day I can't stand the smell of them. I'm perfectly fine with other brands, but the smell of Oscar Mayer weiners cooking immediately start me feeling headachey and nauseous. Oddly enough, Oscar Mayer bologna does not have the same effect. (Maybe it's because they have a way with b-o-l-o-g-n-a.)

Until a couple years ago, I had never gotten the preceding visual aura. My mom always got them, and I never understood exactly what she meant by "visual aura". Then one morning I was getting ready for work, and noticed a small spot in my vision. At first I thought it was just from the glare of a lightbulb or something. Then it grew, forming a flashing, zig-zagging circle. I wondered if I was having an aneurysm, which is not unprecedented in my family. I quickly Googled the symptoms, and stumbled upon a site that had an animated representation of an ocular migraine, a.k.a. the visual aura. Imagine my relief! I wasn't having a stroke or aneurysm... it was just the visual aura that precedes migraine headache. *Phew!* And then I realized what that meant... that I'd likely be hit with a migraine headache about 20 minutes after the aura cleared. Bummer!

Sure enough, shortly after my vision cleared, the pain started and grew fast. It was the worst migraine pain I'd suffered in several years. Five days later, I had another visual aura and bad migraine. And it happened again five days after that... three bad migraines, all preceded by visual aura (which I'd never had before), and all within a span of 10 days. Yikes! That's a major pattern change. My doc sent me to a neurologist, who did an MRI and pronounced that not only did I have a brain (which was a surprise to some who know me), it was perfectly fine. The pattern change was chalked up to normal changes likely due to hormonal shifts related to my age. (I'm still well over two decades from retirement, but I guess I'm no spring chicken anymore.) It was also recommended that I stop taking the pill. (The story of THAT adventure is for another day. Or not.)

Since then, I've gotten the visual aura several times and often I get it without the accompanying migraine headache. I've found that if I can hit it with some ibuprofen and some protein when the aura starts, I can often avoid the following pain. Or maybe the ibuprofen and protein have nothing to do with it... could just be a coincidence, who knows? I'll usually get headachey after the aura, but more often than not I don't get the full-blown kill-me-now head-exploding migraine pain. And for that I'm extremely grateful. But after an episode of any level, I do still struggle with what we migraine sufferers call "migraine brain". Things just don't work quite right up there... like there's a bit of a short circuit.

Last week, I had three episodes of visual aura with varying degrees of headache. So things have been a little fuzzy around here, and I skipped blogging while I was bogged down with a hefty case of residual spaciness. It makes it difficult to put thoughts together cohesively. As you can probably tell from this rambling post.

Some people HAVE said they can't tell the difference between my normal brain status and the spacey post-migraine status. Truth be told, sometimes I can't either!

Must-See TV Run Amok

In the not-to-distant past, most people had only three or four television channels to choose from. They also had to actually get up off the sofa and turn knobs on the TV to change channels. I'm starting to think maybe we should go back to those days. You may be wondering why I think that. Even if you're not wondering, I'll tell you.

Friends, we had a TV overdose in our house recently. I'm beginning to think Mr. RM and I may have a problem. We have three television sets in our house. That's not many by today's standards, and I'm not overly concerned about the number of televisions. However, one night a few weeks ago, I found myself laughing at a completely ridiculous situation we put ourselves in with those TVs.

I should probably explain the set up we have at the LoveShack (a.k.a. our house): We have a big HD flat screen in the den with a high-def master cable box/DVR. We also have two smaller old-school tube TVs in the master and guest bedrooms with regular (non-DVR) cable boxes that link to the high-def master cable box/DVR in the den. You can watch recorded programs from the master DVR on the old TVs if they were recorded on the regular low-def channel, but not if they were recorded on the high-def channel. This is generally not a problem. We just record the shows we both watch on the HD channel, and I'll sometimes record shows that only I watch on the regular channel, so I can watch them from one of the bedrooms when Mr. RM is watching something in the Den that I don't care for.

Now, the DVR will record two channels at one time, as long as you're tuned to one of the two channels you're recording. This is also generally sufficient for our couch surfing needs. Except for that one night last month. I was in the guest bedroom watching one show, Mr. RM was in the master bedroom watching hockey, and the big high-def TV in the den was all alone, but on and recording two other shows. Totally ridiculous, right? I had to laugh when I realized how pathetic and TV-indulgent we were that night!

It hasn't happened again since then, which is probably a good thing... you never know when your brain will instantaneously turn to complete mush from TV overload. But it made me wonder, do we need an intervention?

Who Thinks This Stuff Up?

I was at my local big box department store, picking up a few household items and toiletries, and I came across this:

Wow! A limited edition GIFT BOX for pantiliners! Is it just me, or is this a ridiculous idea? I mean, seriously... who exactly is the "gift" for? The consumer who purchases these absurdly packaged pantiliners? Because in all honesty, I think most women would consider that particular product a necessity and not a gift. I suppose perhaps the company intended the "gift box" to be a pretty, inconspicuous place in which to store the pantiliners. Now, that's a nice thought in theory. The reality, however, is that a bright pink box is kind of a dead giveaway. That particular shade of pink seems to be the color of choice for a large percentage of feminine care products. The box is also a loser in the practicality department, as it's a pain in the ass to pull the lid off a somewhat bulky box in order to fish out a pantiliner from inside. It's MUCH quicker and easier to just grab one out of the original packaging with the handy flap on top. Any woman with PMS will tell you that easier is better! Don't put unnecessary obstacles between us and the feminine protection items we seek from underneath the bathroom counter! 

Maybe the clever marketing department over at the Always company thought this would be a great box for the consumer to use to GIVE gifts in. After all, I first saw it in late fall, just as the holiday shopping season was kicking in. Yeah... give someone a gift in an atrociously pink box that absolutely SCREAMS "feminine products". That's a great idea... as long as you're giving it to someone you don't like very much, or a very good friend with a warped sense of humor. (Hmmm... perhaps I missed a golden opportunity there....)

Then again, maybe the Always marketing department was clever after all. I now have two of these delightfully ridiculous, atrociously pink "gift" boxes, though I don't keep my pantiliners in them. I don't know what to do with them... I hate them, but they make me laugh every time I look at them! And aside from the unfortunate color, they're a fairly sturdy and potentially useful box for a purpose other than pantiliner storage. Maybe I'll let them reside in the back of the closet for a while. Maybe one of my friends or relatives will get a gift in one. Think of the hours of fun they could have pondering whether that means I don't like them much or if I think they have a warped sense of humor and would appreciate the joke. I'll never tell!  

Monkey at the Movies: The Descendants

We finally saw "The Descendants" last week. Totally worth the wait, and well-deserving of the award nominations and wins it has garnered. It's not a flashy film, and it's another somewhat deep, thought-provoking movie. (Mr. Remarkable Monkey says we have to see something lighter on our next outing to the cinema.) It's not overly dark... there's plenty of humor in it, but the characters are dealing with some pretty heavy situations. The beauty of the film is that it also manages to show the humorous aspect of those difficult situations. That's not to say it's a funny film in the comedic sense either... it's more a case of recognizing the absurdity that life can throw at you. Sometimes you've just gotta laugh.

The gist of the story is this: Matt King (played by George Clooney... rawr!), who has been a somewhat disconnected husband and father, suddenly finds himself thrust into the role of sole caretaker of his two daughters when his wife is left in a coma after a boating accident. He's a bit clueless about how to handle his 10-year-old daughter, Scottie (played by Amara Miller), who is having trouble dealing with her mother's hospitalization. Upon learning that his wife won't recover, he brings his rebellious 17-year-old daughter, Alex (played brilliantly by Shailene Woodley), home from boarding school. When she reveals to him that she caught her mother having an affair, Matt is stunned, and must now deal with a whole new layer of emotional turmoil.

Because his wife's living will requires that she be taken off life support, Matt has to inform her friends and family of her impending death, allowing them a few days to visit the hospital to say goodbye. He decides to seek out the other man, a real estate agent named Brian Speers (played my Matthew Lillard), partly to satisfy his curiosity about him, and partly to allow the man a chance to say goodbye. Alex becomes his sharp-tongued ally in the search to locate Speers. She drags along her friend Sid (Nick Krause), who initially seems like an empty-headed, shallow surfer dude. There's more to that kid than meets the eye, though!

Now, while all this is going on, Matt is also dealing with the decision of whether or not to sell the 25,000 acres of pristine land in Kuai that he and his many cousins own in a trust, handed down from generations ago. The trust will dissolve in seven years, and most of his cousins want to sell it. As the sole trustee, the final decision lies with Matt.

This is a man bearing many burdens, and Clooney's performance is a masterpiece of subtlety. For instance, you can read the inner conflict on his face when his father-in-law is ranting at him... you can see Matt swallow the urge to tell him about his "perfect" daughter's infidelity. Throughout the film, he is a man floundering and struggling with so many difficult issues, and yet he manages to keep his class and sense of humor. I wonder how many of us would be able to maintain the high road as well as Matt does if we found ourselves in his shoes.

I won't divulge any more of the story... it's one you really should see for yourself. If nothing else, the Hawaiian scenery is lush and gorgeous. The wonderful soundtrack is going on my Amazon wish list as well. And for the ladies, it's CLOONEY... what more do you need? Catch it quick though... while it's been given more screens since its Academy Award nominations, it won't be in theaters much longer.