Month: November 2023

Ahh, dating woes. Most of us have a few tales to share. It’s not easy to find the right person. We all want someone supportive, engaging, funny. That’s human nature.

Except it can be super difficult to find someone compatible. And as charming as I am, I ran into lots of difficulties. In other words, I ran into my fair share of fellas who just didn’t make the cut.

In other words, they were soon crossed off The List.

Most of us keep a mental list in our heads while dating. The list contains must-have personality attributes that either make or break a relationship. Communication. Empathy. Honesty. Reliability. These qualities in a significant other are necessary in order to move forward in a solid liaison.

Developing a lasting relationship takes time and patience. While many folks we run into are good souls, we still need to aim for true compatibility. Therefore, the old adage rings true… You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find the handsome prince.

I had my fair share of frogs to date. Although, to be fair, some of them were mighty handsome. Which made the kissing that much more fun.

I met folks through Match.Com. With E-Harmony. Through friends. And colleagues.

Heck, I even met a couple the old-fashioned way: while drinking at a bar.

For the most part, I met decent, hard-working gentlemen. They were mannerly and well-behaved on the first date.

If things went well, we might have even made it to two dates. Except many times they simply never called me again. One could never tell why. They weren’t exactly forthcoming in their reasons to stop contacting me.

However, during those dates I subconsciously kept a mental list in my head of when I needed to simply cross that person off from any future dates.

---

Take – for example – the fella who called me on the telephone. He didn’t have much to say, and I felt compelled to enhance the conversation:

ME: “So, what do you do for a living?”

HIM: “I’m a truck driver.”

ME: (looking to enlarge on that topic) “What do you typically haul?”

HIM: “Plastic forks.”

ME: “Mmhmm…”

SILENCE

ME: “Um… what else?”

HIM: “Plastic spoons.”

MORE SILENCE…

ME: “Well, I gotta run now. My pasta water’s boiling over.”

---

Next…

Then there was the young fella who seemed like a nice prospect.

Good job. Friendly. Nice looking. Check, check and check.

---

HIM: “Did I tell you I live in a housing development called CheeseLand?”

ME: “I best be going now.”

---

Speaking of bars, I ran into a hottie who spoke to me about an “agreeance“ he recently entered into with his ex-wife.

Being a word nerd, I had to quickly put the brakes on that one.

But not before we did some serious making out. As I said, he was a hottie.

---

There was one stand-out gentleman who I dated for a few months. Until the one evening he insisted on nabbing the salt and pepper shakers from the restaurant table and shoving them into his suit pockets.

This all took place at an office holiday party.

In the grand ballroom of an expensive downtown hotel.

In front of my co-workers.

You get the picture.

---

I broke up with him the following day.

To be fair, he didn’t reciprocate when I handed him his birthday gift that evening (we actually shared the same birthdate). As a generous soul, he let me tip the coat-check person that evening.

And the parking valet too.

Happy Birthday to me.

---

A few months went by and he talked me into giving him another shot.

I was lonely. So I said Yes.

Until the day he told me the Chicago Park District was giving away free blue recycling bags. He ran over that morning to grab a bundle to keep at his home.

ME: “That’s nice that you’ve decided to separate and recycle your trash.”

HIM: “Actually, I ran home and switched jackets so I could run back to the park and grab another bundle of blue bags. Anyway, I’m not interested in recycling — I’m just gonna use ’em for my regular garbage.”

And BAM!

That darned list of mine just got longer.

---

Thank you for reading – PIZZA FOR BREAKFAST

Your host: PIZZA FOR BREAKFAST

Below is an earlier post, published several years ago. Please enjoy…

---

Why Is Everything So Perfect?

How much longer is “Perfect” going to remain the favorite buzzword? 

It’s on everyone’s tongues these days… I hear it everywhere I go… Even in settings where it may not be entirely appropriate. 

“Perfect, perfect, perfect. “

Is everything really that darned perfect? 

---

That word is a lot to live up to.  The Webster’s Dictionary I keep on my desk defines “Perfect” as:  1.a:  being entirely without fault or defect:  flawless. 

I Can’t Take the Pressure!

For example, we were in a training session at work, learning the new electronic filing procedures for the IL state court filing system. Lucky for us, we had an in-person, live demonstration from the spokesperson.

I theorized our speaker was possibly a former military commander.  She was a no-nonsense woman, dressed in business-like clothing (grey suit with black pumps), with her hair pulled into a tight bun. 

Her crisp, staccato voice certainly had me at attention.  And I didn’t want to cross her. 

Presenter to the audience: 

“Any questions?  No?  PERFECT.  Next slide please,” as she tapped her pointer at the screen.

By this time I was afraid to ask any questions at all for risk of making things less than … well, Perfect.  I even abstained from the snacks they offered, for fear of making munching noises. 

I’m [more than] Slightly Imperfect

Everyone knows I’m less than Perfect.  Such as when I feed food from my plate to the dog, even though the hostess asks me not to do so. 

I also eat from utensils that drop onto the ground – without pausing to clean them.   Yum.

The “Perfect” Buzzword Is Everywhere

I even hear this standard response when I run my errands or make simple phone calls, such as when I recently phoned to make an appointment to see my dentist: 

Receptionist:  Your last name please.

Me:  V as in Victory – a – n.  H – o w –e.

Receptionist:  Perfect.

Whew!  I’ve been practicing that one for decades.

Receptionist:  And what is your main concern?

Me:  I have a tooth that’s killing me.  Gosh, I hope I don’t have to get a root canal.

Receptionist:  [typing]  Perfect…

Clearly, she’s missing the irony here.

Receptionist:  Unfortunately, it seems the dentist has a full schedule.  The earliest time we can get you in is Tuesday, January 2, 2018, at 7:30 in the morning.  How does that work for you?

Me:  PERFECT. 

---

Have an amazing — imperfect — day.

---

Thank you for reading — PIZZA FOR BREAKFAST

Your host: PIZZA FOR BREAKFAST

Recently I came across a fellow blogger’s post, wherein she created her own version of the trending “I Am” poem template. You’ll find more of her lovely posts at The Spectacled Bean.

The basic poem is Adapted by Levi Romero Inspired by “Where I’m From” by George Ella Lyon.

Here’s mine…

I am from books from museum shops, thrift stores and left over from the library

I am from coffee from Aldi and afghan throws knitted by my mother

I am from a duplex surrounded by an arbor of pine trees

A house filled with so many plants, that I typically forget to water one or two

---

I am from the brilliant yellow forsythia and creamy pink magnolias

That bloomed in the spring around my childhood home

Whose long-gone blossoms I remember as if they were my own

I’m from Lithuanian sausage and potato pancakes from Grandma Martha and Aunt Elvira — Now it’s up to my mom to make them

I’m from years-long arguments and shutting each other out from my aunts

Sister

And others

---

I’m from “finish what’s on your plate” and “you’ll never be a dancer“

And singing Sloop John B to my dad’s banjo

I’m from Thanksgiving dinners around a long rectangular table in family basements

 I’m from Roseland Community Hospital and Chicago and cakes from “Jewel’s“

---

I’m from learning one of my aunts died from ovarian cancer before I ever came along

She had four children and had to leave three of them with her parents after her death

The fourth child — who moved away with her father — we finally found after years of searching

---

I’m from spending summers at Indiana Dunes national lakeshore

From trick-or-treating in hand-sewn Halloween costumes, courtesy of Mom

---

I’m from dusty hat boxes filled with mementos – under my bed, in my closet, in my heart

I come across funny poems, haikus and musings from my daughter… written when she was 11 years old

At now at 29 years of age, she refuses to let me post them here

By: H. Van Howe / Date: November 2023

Now it’s your turn. Go ahead and create your own poems.

Distribute before the holidays and let your guests read their own at the dinner table.

Share with your book club buddies and host an “I Am” party.

Trade essays with your dearest friend and read aloud to each other over a glass of wine.

Or a Diet Pepsi. Whatever works for you.

Here’s your link: I AM

Let’s hear your versions. I’m sure they will all be A+.

---

Thank you for reading — PIZZA FOR BREAKFAST

• Lighthouse Keepers ~ Day 3
• Lighthouse Keeper ~ Day 2. Do you believe in ghosts???
• Summer Resident Lighthouse Keeper ~ Day 1
• This Is How Old I Am
• The Soggy Suitcase

shorthand – noun
1. a method of rapid handwriting using simple strokes, abbreviations, or symbols that designate letters, words or phrases (distinguished from longhand)
http://www.dictionary.com

It was the end of my sophomore year in high school when I registered for my junior year of classes. For a number of reasons, Shorthand and Typing seemed to be useful electives for me. Taken together, the two classes would merit one full major credit.

Other students I spoke with felt those business skills would become valuable in the future — not only for stable office jobs but also for typing up school term papers.

In the end, shorthand did become a beneficial tool for me. For example, I’m impatient by nature, so being able to quickly take notes in Gregg Shorthand makes me very happy indeed.

By the following Fall, I sat in my first Gregg Shorthand class and was already feeling intimidated. For starters, due to the seating chart being designed in alphabetical order, I was placed in the second seat from the front row. This was new to me, since I typically sat in the back of the class — either my height dictated that choice, or the fact that my last name starts with the letter V. Up at the front of the class, I felt exposed. A bit vulnerable. What if I was put on the spot and couldn’t provide an acceptable answer? There I’d sit for the entire class to see my ignorance.

Except the first day of class proved to be both challenging and exciting, since our teacher — Mrs. Lynn Sanders — ensured our class that we’d be writing words in shorthand by the end of that very first session. She explained that Gregg Shorthand replaces letters with symbols for actual sounds. That very morning, we learned the symbols for S, F, V and A.

With those four symbols, we could already write the words: save; as; save; safe; face; and vase.

I immediately fell in love with the system!

I excelled at shorthand.

Three months later, I was beginning to feel like Teacher’s Pet, as Mrs. Sanders took a liking to me. And why not? I always handed in my homework. I could read and transcribe my shorthand notes with ease. My speed that first year were over 80 words per minute… an easy grade A for me.

There was one caveat… The only fault Mrs. Sanders found with me was that I was routinely late to her class, walking in the door 4-5 minutes after her session started.

I didn’t like to be penned in with restrictions. It all started way back in grade school when we lived kitty-corner from our grade school. My siblings and I would wait for the first bell to ring before we burst out our back door and ran across the street to line up with our respective classmates. It drove our mother nuts, but we didn’t see the logic in waiting around any longer than we needed to. Rules, schmules.

By the time I started high school, my bad habits were already in place. For the most part, Mrs. Sanders and I got along quite well, and I thought I had her eating out of the palm of my hand.

Until that one afternoon when Mrs. Sanders made a telephone call home to my mother. She asked my mom to ensure that I start arriving on time to my morning class. Naturally, my mother agreed with her.

The next morning, my mom insisted that I catch an earlier bus to school — an outrageous idea to me. Yet there I found myself walking to the bus stop 30 minutes earlier than my usual practice. I mumbled and grumbled to myself the entire way in.

That morning I was one of the first students at the classroom door. When our teacher approached with keys to unlock the door, she slyly winked at me. “Good morning everyone,” she smiled.

“Good Morning Mrs. Sanders,” we chorused together.

I rolled my eyes and headed toward my seat. Truth is, though, I still liked her.

Mrs. Sanders always believed in me.

“You can do it!” was her favorite phrase. And I believed her. She had so much faith in my abilities that she sent me downtown to participate in a shorthand contest hosted by the City Colleges of Chicago. And, of course, I couldn’t let her down.

A couple weeks later I hopped onto the Dan Ryan Flyer (CTA’s Red Line to you younger readers) to make my way downtown for the shorthand transcription competition. Not entirely sure of where the Loop College was located, I got off the El when I saw a sign for the Marshall Field’s building. At my age, I had no clue where I was going. I asked several strangers on the street for directions, but no one could assist. Finally, a police officer pointed me in the right direction.

I ran toward the college and entered its lobby filled with unease. Out of breath from running, I stopped at the front desk. “Do you know where the shorthand competition is?” I asked in a trembling voice. My shyness certainly had the best of me that morning.

---

---

Ninety minutes later, I walked out of that school holding a plaque for taking third place. I couldn’t wait to tell Mrs. Sanders!

My shorthand skills stayed strong while I was in school. Mrs. Sanders even arranged for a reporter on our school newspaper to write a short column about my experience at the contest. I blushed. Yet I still keep that winning plaque today.

Big dreams soon dashed…

One year later, I graduated and set my sights on landing a super-duper secretarial post in downtown Chicago, where I could utilize my extraordinary shorthand skills.

One of the first real jobs I had was working for the oldest law firm in the city: Winston & Strawn. Winston had impressive partners and political connections. I felt confident that I could be successful in its demanding legal environment. After all, didn’t I once win a shorthand contest?

During the first week of employment at Winston & Strawn, I found myself filling in for a partner while his secretary was on vacation. He called me in his office to dictate a letter. “Here’s my chance to shine,” I told myself. Unfortunately, once I started transcribing my notes, I became stuck on a couple of words. (Please understand, dear readers, that the faster a stenographer writes, the sloppier their work becomes.)

I didn’t have anyone nearby to ask for help. It was all on me, and I couldn’t figure out those two darned words. Mrs. Sanders had taught us to rely on our memory when we ran into this type of situation. But since I was a novice in the legal industry, I wasn’t having any luck with typical legal jargon.

I thought I’d be a bit silly and lighten the mood in that austere office environment. I went ahead and typed what I thought my notes read: shop class. There! I handed him the draft letter, hoping he’d get a good chuckle and handwrite in the correct words.

He was not amused.

That’s supposed to be “separate correspondence,” the attorney barked at me.

Clearly, he wasn’t in a joking mood.

---

Fifteen or so years went by. I was successful in my job. And (most) of my shorthand was transcribed with positive results. That’s when I ran into a friend from high school, who sadly informed me that our Mrs. Sanders had passed away.

I was surprised to hear that depressing news. Mrs. Sanders was only in her 50’s. What happened? Was she ill? Except there were no more details available.

Mrs. Sanders was a wonderful and inspiring teacher. I know she also taught English, where some of her pupils didn’t view her with the same rose-colored glasses. To me, however, she was strict for a reason. She wanted her students to push themselves beyond their limits and excel.

Therefore, today’s post is dedicated to you, Lynn Sanders. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for pushing me to do my best. Thanks (a lot!) for calling my mother and putting an end to my lateness.

I’m so glad you did so.

---

Thank you for reading – PIZZA FOR BREAKFAST