This is a blog that is a long time in the making.
I'm a Word Snob. Maybe it's because I work with words for a living, perhaps it's because I was forced to study phonics -- and not just spelling -- in school. It drives my children and friends crazy.
When you speak or write please, please, please do it right. There is precious little in this world that will make me cringe more than the irresponsible use of the English language.
Don't get me wrong, I don't expect everyone to be an ace when it comes to language and grammar -- Lord knows I'm not -- but there are two simple rules I think everyone should follow:
* Know the basics. There are some rules that unless you're still in elementary school and learning, you should just know. When someone says that you "could've had a V8" please know that "could've" is a contraction for "could have." It is NOT "could of." Same with "would've" and "should've."
* If you don't know the word, don't use the word. Words may sound differently than they appear to sound in print, so if you're not familiar, don't take the chance. I went out with a guy -- only once, and you'll soon know why -- who, on a telephone conversation after our date started telling me he was an aficionado of certain things, except what he said was that he was an "Aff-i-KON-di-o" of those things, and he said it three times in two sentences. First, who really uses that word? And second, if you're going to use it, know how to pronounce it. Otherwise you just look silly. And undatable. (Yes, that is the reason I didn't go out with him again. I told you, I'm a word snob.)
More examples of word abuse that have put me on edge:
* "I suspicion that the reason he did that ..."
* "These candies are so addicting ..."
* "Can you even phantom winning that much money?"
* "Your a good friend." (This one REALLY gets me going -- using the wrong "your" or "you're." Ugh)
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
The honor is already there
I'm sitting at my desk at 1:30 p.m. central time, a short 30 minutes before this year's Pulitzer Prize winners are announced.
While it's always interesting to see who wins, this year is different: The Gazette, the paper I work for, is one of the contenders.
We are up against some pretty tough competition, for sure. How will the Great Flood of 2008, which wiped out homes for thousands of people, rate against President Obama's race relations speech and the presidential campaign, or the financial meltdown, or the ongoing stories on the war in Iraq?
I don't know.
And the truth is, it doesn't matter. Sure, working for a Pulitzer Prize-winning newspaper would be an enormous honor. But so is working for a team of editors who believe that our stuff -- what we as a collective unit did during the flood and in the many months after -- is Pulitzer worthy.
Now we just wait. Nineteen minutes and counting.
While it's always interesting to see who wins, this year is different: The Gazette, the paper I work for, is one of the contenders.
We are up against some pretty tough competition, for sure. How will the Great Flood of 2008, which wiped out homes for thousands of people, rate against President Obama's race relations speech and the presidential campaign, or the financial meltdown, or the ongoing stories on the war in Iraq?
I don't know.
And the truth is, it doesn't matter. Sure, working for a Pulitzer Prize-winning newspaper would be an enormous honor. But so is working for a team of editors who believe that our stuff -- what we as a collective unit did during the flood and in the many months after -- is Pulitzer worthy.
Now we just wait. Nineteen minutes and counting.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
A ton of help
Ever wondered what a ton of food would look like? While it hadn't been on the top of my curiosity list, I did find it kind of interesting when the members at the Curves for Women center where I work part time managed to donate that much for the Marion Food Bank. This shows 2,044.8 pounds of food collected over three weeks.
Every March Curves holds a food drive to benefit a local food bank where each club is located. The four Cedar Rapids/Marion clubs have always had a fun "competition" of sorts, challenging each other to gather the most. Our initial goal for this year -- a year following a devastating flood and in the midst of a recession -- was 2,000 pounds, or one ton, of food. We hit that goal yesterday with nearly a week left in the month.
As an added incentive, new members who may have been thinking of joining Curves but weren't sure about the joining fees can donate a bag of non-perishable food in exchange for the joining fee. Just one bag of groceries and the first month's dues and they're in! We've had many people take advantage of that offer this year.
Lisa Ogle, the club's owner, raised the goal to 2,200. I have no doubts we'll get there.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
The costs of going green
I want to go green, I really do.
When I was a "cub" reporter in Fort Dodge in the very early 1990s, the first writing award I ever received was for a series of stories I'd done on how the area was addressing a state mandate to reduce tonnage taken to the landfills over a several-year period. I did stories on recycling, on saving energy and on "going green."
That was the start of my ecological awareness. When my kids went to school and were taught things like turning the water off when you're brushing your teeth or recycling cardboard and glass, they brought it home and lectured their father and I when we didn't conform.
Now I like to think I'm pretty green. I keep my furnace turned down, opting instead for blankets and sweaters in the winter (except when it was 40 below -- on THAT day, the furnace went up). I don't use hot water in my laundry -- it's all warm or cold. I am driving closer to the speed limit now (although the high price of gas and my forced enrollment in driving school really get the credit for that).
And I recycle. A lot. Newspapers, cans, jars, boxes, plastic bags, laundry and milk jugs -- I recycle it all. Most weeks my recycling bin is fuller than my garbage can. I'm doing my part.
Thinking I would like to see just how much I could recycle rather than toss, I went to the City Hall in Coggon to get a second recycling bin -- how exciting it would be to have two bins full and only a half-can of garbage accumulated over a week.
Imagine my surprise when I learned the city wanted $14 for an extra bin! Fourteen. Dollars. Now, I have a 40-gallon garbage can (I have two, actually, but one usually stays empty in the garage) that can hold a lot of trash. For just $1 a week I can FILL the second one and the trash collector will pick it up.
But to recycle more -- to do something the state has been encouraging for years -- I have to pay $14.
Yes, I know that if I were to throw everything I recycled into the garbage and use that second can, I would be paying $52 a year. But that's over time. I honestly don't mind putting out $1 a week for a second can. But $14? That's two lunches downtown, or a third of my cable bill, or a night at the movies.
Why is it that everything that's good for you is more expensive?
When I was a "cub" reporter in Fort Dodge in the very early 1990s, the first writing award I ever received was for a series of stories I'd done on how the area was addressing a state mandate to reduce tonnage taken to the landfills over a several-year period. I did stories on recycling, on saving energy and on "going green."
That was the start of my ecological awareness. When my kids went to school and were taught things like turning the water off when you're brushing your teeth or recycling cardboard and glass, they brought it home and lectured their father and I when we didn't conform.
Now I like to think I'm pretty green. I keep my furnace turned down, opting instead for blankets and sweaters in the winter (except when it was 40 below -- on THAT day, the furnace went up). I don't use hot water in my laundry -- it's all warm or cold. I am driving closer to the speed limit now (although the high price of gas and my forced enrollment in driving school really get the credit for that).
And I recycle. A lot. Newspapers, cans, jars, boxes, plastic bags, laundry and milk jugs -- I recycle it all. Most weeks my recycling bin is fuller than my garbage can. I'm doing my part.
Thinking I would like to see just how much I could recycle rather than toss, I went to the City Hall in Coggon to get a second recycling bin -- how exciting it would be to have two bins full and only a half-can of garbage accumulated over a week.
Imagine my surprise when I learned the city wanted $14 for an extra bin! Fourteen. Dollars. Now, I have a 40-gallon garbage can (I have two, actually, but one usually stays empty in the garage) that can hold a lot of trash. For just $1 a week I can FILL the second one and the trash collector will pick it up.
But to recycle more -- to do something the state has been encouraging for years -- I have to pay $14.
Yes, I know that if I were to throw everything I recycled into the garbage and use that second can, I would be paying $52 a year. But that's over time. I honestly don't mind putting out $1 a week for a second can. But $14? That's two lunches downtown, or a third of my cable bill, or a night at the movies.
Why is it that everything that's good for you is more expensive?
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Other people
For most of my life, I've thought myself immortal.
Not truly immortal, but the kind of immortal that makes you believe that "those things only happen to other people." It will never be my mother, my father, my brother or my daughter. It will always be "other people."
It's happening to one of those "other people" right now, and the sadness I felt when I heard caught me a little off guard.
The "other person" and I are following each other on the social media site Twitter. He is a journalist in Des Moines who knows many of my co-workers. He and I, however, have never met. We have shared a few direct conversations, but for the most part, we're part of a larger community.
In addition to being a good networking and sourcing tool, Twitter is also a window into other peoples' lives. Through Twitter we have followed as this man -- who is probably about my age, give or take a year or two -- went through chemotherapy for his brain cancer, a few hospital stays and various doctors' appointments.
We have also read as he recently helped his son build a pinewood derby car (to the tune of about $65) and the struggles the two of them went through in that process. We've read about getting kids ready for school and other ordinary parenting issues.
Yesterday, we learned this "other person" got the news from his oncologist: 7 to 8 months. He sent out a tweet that he was starting his bucket list.
I immediately felt a profound sadness for this "other person" whom I've never met, the stranger in my computer who I, along with countless others, have digitally cheered on through his battle. I thought he was winning.
Godspeed, Other Person. Safe travels on your journey.
Not truly immortal, but the kind of immortal that makes you believe that "those things only happen to other people." It will never be my mother, my father, my brother or my daughter. It will always be "other people."
It's happening to one of those "other people" right now, and the sadness I felt when I heard caught me a little off guard.
The "other person" and I are following each other on the social media site Twitter. He is a journalist in Des Moines who knows many of my co-workers. He and I, however, have never met. We have shared a few direct conversations, but for the most part, we're part of a larger community.
In addition to being a good networking and sourcing tool, Twitter is also a window into other peoples' lives. Through Twitter we have followed as this man -- who is probably about my age, give or take a year or two -- went through chemotherapy for his brain cancer, a few hospital stays and various doctors' appointments.
We have also read as he recently helped his son build a pinewood derby car (to the tune of about $65) and the struggles the two of them went through in that process. We've read about getting kids ready for school and other ordinary parenting issues.
Yesterday, we learned this "other person" got the news from his oncologist: 7 to 8 months. He sent out a tweet that he was starting his bucket list.
I immediately felt a profound sadness for this "other person" whom I've never met, the stranger in my computer who I, along with countless others, have digitally cheered on through his battle. I thought he was winning.
Godspeed, Other Person. Safe travels on your journey.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Are you talkin' to me?
No, of course not. That would involve speaking. With words. Out loud.
That's what I want to say to my kids almost every weekend when we take our trek into Cedar Rapids to go out to lunch and get groceries and do whatever it is we do to get some "family time" away from the computer and video games.
I remember as a child going into town with my parents -- or, more often, with my Mom because Dad was working -- and on the drive we'd listen to her radio station in the background while we talked. I don't remember a lot of the conversations because most of them, I'm sure, were my inane thoughts about life as an adolescent. But I do remember talking. And I remember loving that time with my family, when it was just us and everyone else was locked out of the world inside our car.
Now, with my kids, we make the 30-mile drive into Cedar Rapids with my radio station or CD playing -- and each of them with their MP3 players plugged into their ears. If I dare make a comment to either of them I get the rolled eyes and the "This better be important" look, which then makes me stop to rethink what I was going to say, to make it worth the interruption.
Don't get me wrong -- the kids and I do talk quite often. Once we get to our destination the music stops and we talk and laugh and have a good time. At home it's the same, we talk about our days and what's going on and what we want to do over the weekend or over the summer.
But in the car, it's their friends who have the advantage -- the kids keep their cell phones with them and usually on "vibrate" so they know when someone is trying to send them a message. THAT gets a response.
That's what I want to say to my kids almost every weekend when we take our trek into Cedar Rapids to go out to lunch and get groceries and do whatever it is we do to get some "family time" away from the computer and video games.
I remember as a child going into town with my parents -- or, more often, with my Mom because Dad was working -- and on the drive we'd listen to her radio station in the background while we talked. I don't remember a lot of the conversations because most of them, I'm sure, were my inane thoughts about life as an adolescent. But I do remember talking. And I remember loving that time with my family, when it was just us and everyone else was locked out of the world inside our car.
Now, with my kids, we make the 30-mile drive into Cedar Rapids with my radio station or CD playing -- and each of them with their MP3 players plugged into their ears. If I dare make a comment to either of them I get the rolled eyes and the "This better be important" look, which then makes me stop to rethink what I was going to say, to make it worth the interruption.
Don't get me wrong -- the kids and I do talk quite often. Once we get to our destination the music stops and we talk and laugh and have a good time. At home it's the same, we talk about our days and what's going on and what we want to do over the weekend or over the summer.
But in the car, it's their friends who have the advantage -- the kids keep their cell phones with them and usually on "vibrate" so they know when someone is trying to send them a message. THAT gets a response.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
There was no 'happy' about it
I lost 13 co-workers and colleagues yesterday in what started out as a regular day at work.
We came in, listened to the same droll jokes during our annual safety training and then returned to the newsroom. Less than five minutes at my desk and the first co-worker left. An hour later I heard the names of three more.
The day continued that way until shortly after 5 p.m., when a call on my cell phone delivered the final name.
We knew it was coming, of course. The economy has been declining daily for months, and the newspaper industry has been going down with it. Some newspapers are closing, others are cutting home delivery dates. Many -- many -- are cutting staff. We had been warned that our time was nearing.
Knowing it was coming, however, doesn't make it any easier. And I knew the day would be horrid -- either I would be out of a job or I would lose several of my co-workers. It would not be a good day.
And it wasn't.
One colleague was overheard saying that those of us remaining "should be happy that we still have jobs."
I'm grateful. Relieved. But watching as people I have worked with, people I care about, lost their jobs was one of the hardest things I've had to do. There was precious little to be happy about.
We came in, listened to the same droll jokes during our annual safety training and then returned to the newsroom. Less than five minutes at my desk and the first co-worker left. An hour later I heard the names of three more.
The day continued that way until shortly after 5 p.m., when a call on my cell phone delivered the final name.
We knew it was coming, of course. The economy has been declining daily for months, and the newspaper industry has been going down with it. Some newspapers are closing, others are cutting home delivery dates. Many -- many -- are cutting staff. We had been warned that our time was nearing.
Knowing it was coming, however, doesn't make it any easier. And I knew the day would be horrid -- either I would be out of a job or I would lose several of my co-workers. It would not be a good day.
And it wasn't.
One colleague was overheard saying that those of us remaining "should be happy that we still have jobs."
I'm grateful. Relieved. But watching as people I have worked with, people I care about, lost their jobs was one of the hardest things I've had to do. There was precious little to be happy about.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Has it really been a month?
Oh, my fellow Whiners, how I've neglected you!
To be fair -- or to have an excuse, because every Whiner has an excuse -- the last 30 days have been, well, interesting.
The newspaper industry is in flux and the paper that employs me is no exception. We're in the final stages of a restructuring/reorganizing that will completely reshape the business as we know it. It's exciting, it's challenging and, quite frankly, it's a little scary. What we are proposing has never been done before -- we will be pioneers. I like that word -- pioneers -- much better than "guinnea pigs."
So there's been that.
Then, and I don't know if you've heard this yet or not, there's this problem with the economy. What used to cost me about $90 every 10 days or so at the grocery store now runs closer to $120. Which means I'm at my second job an extra day each week.
Throw in a couple teenagers, a winter that has filled our household with stomach bugs and sinus infections and, well, you get the idea.
I have been blogging -- just not here. You can catch my work blog at www.mollyrossiter.wordpress.com ... or you can stay tuned and I promise I'll be better here.
Thanks for sticking with me.
To be fair -- or to have an excuse, because every Whiner has an excuse -- the last 30 days have been, well, interesting.
The newspaper industry is in flux and the paper that employs me is no exception. We're in the final stages of a restructuring/reorganizing that will completely reshape the business as we know it. It's exciting, it's challenging and, quite frankly, it's a little scary. What we are proposing has never been done before -- we will be pioneers. I like that word -- pioneers -- much better than "guinnea pigs."
So there's been that.
Then, and I don't know if you've heard this yet or not, there's this problem with the economy. What used to cost me about $90 every 10 days or so at the grocery store now runs closer to $120. Which means I'm at my second job an extra day each week.
Throw in a couple teenagers, a winter that has filled our household with stomach bugs and sinus infections and, well, you get the idea.
I have been blogging -- just not here. You can catch my work blog at www.mollyrossiter.wordpress.com ... or you can stay tuned and I promise I'll be better here.
Thanks for sticking with me.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
A brave new world
My whole life has been about change. Sometimes change came in drastic measures but I can't think, honestly, of any change that has ultimately ended poorly.
In the 18 years I lived with my parents I lived in 13 houses in five states. I attended two of each kind of school: two elementary schools, two middle schools and two high schools. By the time I got to college I stayed at the same institution but almost always changed my living arrangements with the changing of the semester.
In the years since college I've married, had children, divorced, changed jobs, briefly changed careers, had a long-term boyfriend, ended the relationship with the boyfriend and have lived in another four houses and communities.
Each change brought long-term lessons. I've learned to adapt to new surroundings and celebrate the differences in people. With each change has come an ultimate improvement: more friends, more experiences and better jobs and situations. I've learned that change happens as part of the natural progression. I recognize that just because something isn't right for me now doesn't mean it wasn't right for me back then.
In the last 10 days I've learned of another big change, this one involving my employer, Gazette Communications. While we've known for more than a year there would be some changes coming, I don't know that anyone in the newsroom anticipated the level of change that was being planned.
The company is taking a revolutionary approach to journalism and consumers will soon learn that "The Gazette" is an entire package, one parcel of which is a printed newspaper. There will be a remarkable and new online piece that will change the way those of us now known as reporters will write.
Part of the change internally is a change in jobs for everyone -- not just positions, but in the very definition as well. The jobs we currently hold will, for all intents and purposes, cease to exist. We are all looking at a variety of possibilities to determine where we fit in this "brave new world."
I look forward to this change. Rather than follow the road of layoffs, buyouts and closures that other institutions are facing, the Gazette Family of Companies is confronting the changing way society is getting their news and becoming a bold participant. I love the company that has been my professional "home" for more than three years. When I came to The Gazette in 2002 I said this was the company from which I wanted to retire.
This change is far from being about me. Yet I have to look at the advantages and ramifications such a change will bring to me and to my children. Many questions remain to be answered: how will we be paid, how will the cycle work, what equipment will be provided and is there a place for everyone? In this world of newspaper layoffs, shrinking content and closures, I can only assume the answer to the last question is "no."
We have all been charged with creating a plan of action we would like to take in the new structure. As I look at my own plan I can't help but wonder if, although The Gazette was right for me three years ago, it is still right for me now.
In the 18 years I lived with my parents I lived in 13 houses in five states. I attended two of each kind of school: two elementary schools, two middle schools and two high schools. By the time I got to college I stayed at the same institution but almost always changed my living arrangements with the changing of the semester.
In the years since college I've married, had children, divorced, changed jobs, briefly changed careers, had a long-term boyfriend, ended the relationship with the boyfriend and have lived in another four houses and communities.
Each change brought long-term lessons. I've learned to adapt to new surroundings and celebrate the differences in people. With each change has come an ultimate improvement: more friends, more experiences and better jobs and situations. I've learned that change happens as part of the natural progression. I recognize that just because something isn't right for me now doesn't mean it wasn't right for me back then.
In the last 10 days I've learned of another big change, this one involving my employer, Gazette Communications. While we've known for more than a year there would be some changes coming, I don't know that anyone in the newsroom anticipated the level of change that was being planned.
The company is taking a revolutionary approach to journalism and consumers will soon learn that "The Gazette" is an entire package, one parcel of which is a printed newspaper. There will be a remarkable and new online piece that will change the way those of us now known as reporters will write.
Part of the change internally is a change in jobs for everyone -- not just positions, but in the very definition as well. The jobs we currently hold will, for all intents and purposes, cease to exist. We are all looking at a variety of possibilities to determine where we fit in this "brave new world."
I look forward to this change. Rather than follow the road of layoffs, buyouts and closures that other institutions are facing, the Gazette Family of Companies is confronting the changing way society is getting their news and becoming a bold participant. I love the company that has been my professional "home" for more than three years. When I came to The Gazette in 2002 I said this was the company from which I wanted to retire.
This change is far from being about me. Yet I have to look at the advantages and ramifications such a change will bring to me and to my children. Many questions remain to be answered: how will we be paid, how will the cycle work, what equipment will be provided and is there a place for everyone? In this world of newspaper layoffs, shrinking content and closures, I can only assume the answer to the last question is "no."
We have all been charged with creating a plan of action we would like to take in the new structure. As I look at my own plan I can't help but wonder if, although The Gazette was right for me three years ago, it is still right for me now.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
From the mutant gallery
A little more than a year ago my son took great pleasure in National Geographic's assertion that redheads came from a mutant gene. Well, more accurately, that red hair is caused by a mutated gene.
I let him have his fun, but what I didn't find particularly amusing was the statement, in the same article, that redheads would be extinct by the year 2100. (I read it at the time but can no longer find it online -- September 2007) The author went on to say that the last redheaded baby would be born in 2060.
Not if my family has any say in the matter.
Attend any Rossiter family reunion and you know where you are: although neither my father nor any of his three sisters had red hair (I don't think so -- not that I remember, anyway) of the 15 grandchildren on the Rossiter side, eight of us have some shade of red hair. My brother, one of the brunettes, made up for it by marrying a redhead and having two redheaded daughters.
Get to the great-grandchildren and -- unbelievably -- the great-great-grandchildren and the numbers just keep climbing.
With the news that we may be going extinct, I've set about a personal unscientific study of sorts. For the last 18 months I've been looking around, watching people and trying to judge for myself if the redhead is a disappearing breed.
What I've noticed, outside my own family, is that there are still many men and women with hints of red or completely red hair, red beards. A friend and former co-worker had a baby last year -- a cute little strawberry blonde. My cousin had a new granddaughter last year -- another redhead.
I see more redheaded adults, and watch -- to his dismay -- as my son's hair grows more and more strawberry all the time.
Extinction? Not hardly.
I let him have his fun, but what I didn't find particularly amusing was the statement, in the same article, that redheads would be extinct by the year 2100. (I read it at the time but can no longer find it online -- September 2007) The author went on to say that the last redheaded baby would be born in 2060.
Not if my family has any say in the matter.
Attend any Rossiter family reunion and you know where you are: although neither my father nor any of his three sisters had red hair (I don't think so -- not that I remember, anyway) of the 15 grandchildren on the Rossiter side, eight of us have some shade of red hair. My brother, one of the brunettes, made up for it by marrying a redhead and having two redheaded daughters.
Get to the great-grandchildren and -- unbelievably -- the great-great-grandchildren and the numbers just keep climbing.
With the news that we may be going extinct, I've set about a personal unscientific study of sorts. For the last 18 months I've been looking around, watching people and trying to judge for myself if the redhead is a disappearing breed.
What I've noticed, outside my own family, is that there are still many men and women with hints of red or completely red hair, red beards. A friend and former co-worker had a baby last year -- a cute little strawberry blonde. My cousin had a new granddaughter last year -- another redhead.
I see more redheaded adults, and watch -- to his dismay -- as my son's hair grows more and more strawberry all the time.
Extinction? Not hardly.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Here we go ...
The holiday season is, officially, over.
OK, so it's been over for three days. But really, when New Year's Day falls on a Thursday, can you really expect to begin your resolutions that or the next, then go into the weekend? I can't -- resolutions for me always start best with the start of a week, so Monday has always been Day One.
This year's Day One is tomorrow. That's not to say I haven't been gearing up for it: I went in to work out yesterday morning and it wasn't even my day to work (a habit I'd fallen out of in the last several months); I had breakfast -- cereal and a half a grapefruit -- both yesterday and today, in an effort to work with that tried-and-true belief that it really is the most important meal of the day; I've done a lot of standing and walking rather than sitting.
There is no pressure for me this year. No wedding, no reunion, no graduation. This is something I'm doing for me -- only me. I had, for some time, changed my habits and had done very well. Then I re-introduced myself to an old friend -- cigarettes, for three years. When I gave those up, despite my efforts to bust the quit-smoking-gain-weight pattern, I gained weight. Not a lot, but enough. Enough to take me two sizes bigger than when I was smoking, but not nearly enough to put me back in the size 24s I wore before my divorce.
They say this is the Year of Change, so I'm hopping on that bandwagon. Starting with Day One.
OK, so it's been over for three days. But really, when New Year's Day falls on a Thursday, can you really expect to begin your resolutions that or the next, then go into the weekend? I can't -- resolutions for me always start best with the start of a week, so Monday has always been Day One.
This year's Day One is tomorrow. That's not to say I haven't been gearing up for it: I went in to work out yesterday morning and it wasn't even my day to work (a habit I'd fallen out of in the last several months); I had breakfast -- cereal and a half a grapefruit -- both yesterday and today, in an effort to work with that tried-and-true belief that it really is the most important meal of the day; I've done a lot of standing and walking rather than sitting.
There is no pressure for me this year. No wedding, no reunion, no graduation. This is something I'm doing for me -- only me. I had, for some time, changed my habits and had done very well. Then I re-introduced myself to an old friend -- cigarettes, for three years. When I gave those up, despite my efforts to bust the quit-smoking-gain-weight pattern, I gained weight. Not a lot, but enough. Enough to take me two sizes bigger than when I was smoking, but not nearly enough to put me back in the size 24s I wore before my divorce.
They say this is the Year of Change, so I'm hopping on that bandwagon. Starting with Day One.
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