The subtitle of Billee Sharp’s book is “The D.I.Y. Guide to the Good Life.” If that sounds like you, then enter to win this book.
It’s designed to help you consume less and create more. Sharp’s philosophy is “applying effort, common sense and imagination to daily living,” which she says can ultimately free us from unnecessary expenses.
Or you could view it a how-to for spending more on the things that matter to you (organic food, non-exploitative manufacturing) by reducing costs elsewhere.
If you’re looking for misuse of the English language but don’t want to hang around with politicians, doctors or civil servants, consider reading press releases. My inbox is full of the things and they frequently cause rude, rude noises to come out of my mouth.
“Guestspert”? Are you (bleeping) kidding me?
Whaaat? When did “e-tailers” become a word?
“Turntabalist”? Your parents must be so proud.
Sometimes, though, neologisms have their revenge: They become so ubiquitous that I find myself using them, either in print or aloud.
When I say things like “repurposed,” I want to smack myself. On purpose.
Or how about “I know, right?” and “going forward”? How did these get to be such earwigs?
I picked DF up at the airport last night. He’d spent nearly a week in the Lower 48 dealing with his father’s end-of-life issues. Hospice is now involved and his dad is being made comfortable. He feels extreme weakness but no pain and is receiving oxygen as needed.
DF spent most waking hours slogging through reams of paperwork and bushels of belongings. Bank, insurance and health records were every which way. The power of attorney (written some years back) turned out to be problematic so DF had to get it rewritten, re-signed and re-notarized.
One agency wanted to know the names of all doctors his father had seen in the past two years, and guess what? Nobody knew. Heck, there wasn’t even a record of the defibrillator he’d had implanted.
I went dumpster wading again today at the recycling center. In the mixed paper bin I spied half a dozen like-new comic books sitting atop magazines and flattened cereal boxes.
Although melting snow was dripping down from the top of the bin, these books were dry and clean. Of course I took them, and gave them to my nephew.
He doesn’t care where I got them. In fact, he’s still stoked about the 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzle I found earlier this week in the same bin.
Guess where I’m doing my Christmas shopping? (Kidding! Maybe.)
Just read a lovely, raw, real piece called “Sometimes” written by a woman named Arnebya at a site called What Now And Why.
It’s lovely because it’s honest: Sometimes, I am jealous of my children. They have so much time and opportunity and I feel like I’ve wasted so much time and opportunity.
It’s raw because it’s, well, really honest: Sometimes, when I pull up to my house, I don’t want to stop; I want to keep driving.
And it’s real because she exposes herself fearlessly: Sometimes I want a drink so badly I consider leaving work early to sit in a bar alone, read my book, and catch a virus from the peanuts being eaten by many unsanitized hands.
Want to change careers but fear you’ve already invested “too many” years in your current one to give up?
Or needing to focus on what’s happening right now while still hoping for change?
Maybe you’re trying to follow a dream but beset by setbacks and naysayers. Or you’re either on top of the world or at the depths of despair.
If any (or all!) of this is true, you might want this week’s giveaway.
Quick question: Would you spend almost three-fourths of your annual income on one party?
Yeah, me neither. But some people will spend that much – or more – on their nuptials.While researching a wedding article for MSN Money Frugal Nation, I learned that:
Do the math.
Incidentally, that average wedding price does not include the cost of a honeymoon.
Another milestone: Some time between midnight and 10 a.m., Surviving and Thriving achieved its one millionth page view. I’ve been watching the site stats with great (OK, obsessive) interest, but didn’t expect to hit the seven-figure mark until the end of this week.
See what happens when you sign up for NaBloPoMo?
All kidding aside: I’m thrilled that people continue to check in. When I started the site back in May 2010, I wondered whether or not I could keep a website alive – and also whether anyone would care.
As I noted in “My first half-million,” a post about hitting the halfway-to-where-I-am-now mark:
If writers are the most insecure people on Earth, bloggers are proof that self-doubt has a sub-basement. Like the 2 a.m. disc jockey a whole lot of us wonder, “Is anyone even listening?
Lately it’s been all undead, all the time. My friend Linda B. has been recording the deeply creepy zombie series “The Walking Dead” for me, and the two of us saw the zom-rom-com film “Warm Bodies” together. Last weekend, DF and I attended opening night (and the world premiere) of “At Home With the Clarks,” described by its author as “Father Knows Best” meets “Night of the Living Dead.”
All three got me thinking about class and consumerism.
Earlier today a guy knocked on the Phoenix home where my daughter and son-in-law live. He said he’d just lost his job and would be willing to do their yard for $10.
Scam, right?
Wrong. He did the work. Before getting paid for it. And no doubt he was surprised by what happened next.
“We gave him $20 because, uh, we prefer not to go to hell” is the way my daughter described it.
Apparently some of their immediate neighbors have no fear of everlasting immolation, though, because they took the guy up on his $10 offer. Which brings me to the point of this mercifully short screed: