The idiom, as you probably know, is actually 23 skidoo.  Several different origins can be found, all of which lead to the same meaning – “get out while the getting’s good.”  What does this have to do with 52 skidoo?  At first sight it appears to have nothing to do with 23 skidoo.  The former just popped into my mind when I was going to write about week 52 of this blog.  At second sight, I saw a real connection.
 
When I decided to go through with writing a blog, I had very low expectations.  As a rule I am pretty disciplined, take responsibility seriously and unless there is an extenuating circumstance, always keep my word.  However, when it comes to writing I can be unreliable and often prefer not to follow through.  I’d rather do most anything else than write.  I have previously discussed how I came around to blogging, so no need to repeat.  The big challenge for me has been follow through and longevity.  I made a commitment to myself to post something every week with a full year as the big goal.  (I can’t believe I just said ‘goal.’  It is one of my least favorite words.  I reframe that word every chance I get.  Intent, area of focus, desired future and the like are far more palatable.)
 
As week 52 is upon me, I am flummoxed.  I actually did it – one post each week for an entire year!  Never imagined it would happen.  Since I completed the challenge to myself, I have a get out of jail card.  I could 100% skidoo while the skidooing is good with absolutely no regrets.    Then, I surprised myself.    Having survived the 52 week challenge, I thought why not try for another 52?    That thought was immediately followed with, “Are you Crazy?    Why take on that kind of pressure?”  Okay, I admit I have to be a little crazy.  Why else would I do that?  Bottom line – craziness, pressure, weeks of seemingly nothing to say, I’m going for it anyway.  And, the best part is I am giving myself permission to skidoo at any time.  Fingers crossed and hoping to be back here at week 104.

Comments are welcomed.

Tallulah, the unicorn doll, currently resides on my computer desk just to the right of the screen.  Her whimsical design and appearance suggest she has muse qualities.  After being abandoned months ago by Thalia and Calliope, I sure would welcome a new muse.    Goodness knows somedays hold very little to say about anything.  Those are the days when life goes on and you go along for the ride.  Those are the days when the help of a muse is most needed.  Tallulah, are you up to the task?
 
With her sitting right in front of me, it would seem easy enough to engage her.  Not so much.  She had her own agenda. 
Tallulah seems to be having a bit of an identity crisis.  She is confused about whether she belongs to the realm of unicorns or the world of dolls.  She knows she came into being because of the work of all those Portuguese grannies.  This, of course, makes her a doll.  Yet her unicorn head with the beautiful gold wrapped horn makes her feel that she ought to be with unicorns.  Such a dilemma.  I suggested she make a list of pros and cons for each option.  Acknowledging that was a good idea, Tallulah set about making her lists.  When she finished, while the nature of the lists differed, the numbers did not favor one group over the other.  Still a dilemma.  How could she decide?
 
You may be wondering if I have totally lost it by conversing with an inanimate object.  Let’s just say it had something to due with the fact that Tallulah had been showered with fairy dust while she resided in the boutique.  Back to Tallulah’s dilemma.
 
I wondered how important it was for her to choose one genus over the other?  She had some of the best qualities of both species.  That is a real gift and made her rather extraordinary.  When I said that to Tallulah, she was silent for a moment.  Then confessed she had not looked at her situation from that perspective.  She wanted to ponder this new concept.   
 
Soon she got back to me with a most interesting realization and decision.  She said she didn’t need to be one or the other.  She could enjoy the benefits of both worlds.  It could even be a lot of fun.  Some days she could lean into her unicorn heritage.  Other times she could enjoy being a stuffed doll that didn’t have to do anything besides being.  Not such an unpleasant existence.
 
Now that Tallulah went through her self-actualization process, what about me?  The focus was supposed to be what I need which is a new muse.  “Okay, fine,” she relented.  She went on to say that since I extricated her from a life in a store, she would take up the muse mantle.
 
As I read over what I had written, I recalled a Lily Tomlin quote about when we talk to God we are said to be praying, but when God talks to us we are schizophrenic.   Obviously, I wasn’t talking to God, but you know how we might review our thoughts either silently or out loud to get clarity.  Things get murky when there seems to be another participant in the conversation.  What does all this have to do with me and a talking doll?  Maybe a lively imagination.  Maybe taking literary license.  Maybe just having some fun and fancy.  Maybe it doesn’t matter at all.

I know.  What could I possibly say about coffee that hasn’t already been said?  Why even write about it?  Here’s what happened.  It was a difficult day.  A good friend suggested we go to Starbuck’s.  An offer I couldn’t refuse.  Even though I only have one cup a day, it lifts my spirits and my brain loves it.  After returning home, I reflected on how one simple cup of coffee was such a game changer.  Naturally, I consulted Professor Google for all sorts of info about coffee. I found some of the most fascinating material  on the National Coffee Association web site.  For instance, they sited a number of legends about the origin of coffee.  One disturbing account was how coffee was discovered in Ethiopia by a goat herder named Kaldi.  He observed that after eating the berries from a certain tree, the goats stayed up all night.    Kaldi reported his findings to the abbot of the local monastery, who made a drink with the berries and found that it kept him alert through the long hours of evening prayer. The abbot shared his discovery with the other monks at the monastery, and knowledge of the energizing berries began to spread.  (If you read my blog about goats, you will understand my chagrin about this legend.  Furthermore, goats and coffee should never appear together in the same sentence.  Just saying.)

Another bit of history which caught my attention was during the 17th century, across Europe Coffee began to replace the common breakfast drink beverages, beer and wine. Those who drank coffee instead of alcohol began the day alert and energized, and not surprisingly, the quality of their work was greatly improved.  Go figure.

If you enjoy delving into the what, when, where, how of things, I recommend a visit to ncausa.org or coffeeconfidential.org.  For now I will wrap this up with a few coffee quotes.

I never drink coffee at lunch. I find it keeps me awake for the afternoon. Ronald Reagan

Do you know how helpless you feel if you have a full cup of coffee in your hand and you start to sneeze? Jean Kerr

Decaffeinated coffee is like a hairless cat, it exists, but that doesn’t make it right. Unknown

Drink coffee! Do Stupid Things Faster with More Energy. Unknown
Caffeine - the other Vitamin C. Unknown

Conscience keeps more people awake than coffee. Unknown

The majority of coffee quotes I read on the internet were credited to Unknown.  Sure hope Mr. or Ms. Unknown is not writing these quips as a day job.  Do you suppose Mr. or Ms. Unknown could be the wordsmith behind greeting card messages?  You never know.
 
Comments are welcomed.

Okay.  I said this topic would never be mentioned again.  The other day a friend and I had a conversation about goat cheese.  Then I thought, “What the heck?  I will recant my position about goats and share the most  terrible, horrible, no good, very bad, very forgettable farm folly.
 
It all began when I was informed there was a goat on the hill behind our house.  Said goat, named Hermione Gingold, would need to have a bucket of water hauled up to her daily.  Guess who was the designated water hauler?  You are right.  Not long after Hermione’s arrival a metaphysical phenomenon occurred.  Before you could say feta cheese, that lonely goat turned into 21 of the bearded, cloven-hoofed critters.  These goats didn’t just mill about, grazing and occasionally bleating.  Nope. They were prolific milk producers.  Thank goodness I never had to milk them.
 
Nevertheless, something had to be done with a seemingly endless supply of goat milk.  As if I had nothing better to do than take care of a toddler, can all manner of fruits and vegetables and, oh yes, hold down a teaching job, I became the designated disposer of the milk.  Some of it went to families whose children were allergic to cow’s milk.  The pigs were given as much milk as possible before it crossed the line of cruelty to animals. .  The rest filled up our bath tub.

Drastic action had to be taken PDQ.

Predictably,  I was the one assigned to make  - wait for it – goat cheese!  My initial response was *^#>%*!!!  While continually muttering under my breath, I gathered up the necessary equipment, which included a book on how to make goat cheese, a large kettle, a thermometer, rennet, cheese cloth and a bottle of banana brandy.  Banana brandy?  So glad you asked.
Truth be told, I was never much of an imbiber, except for an occasional glass of wine with dinner.  Banana brandy materialized when I was charged with the task of planting 8 rows of potatoes on a plot of land the size of an NBA basketball court.  No exaggeration.   That insane story is for another day.

What I discovered from the great potato  caper was banana brandy had mystical powers.  Consequently, I kept some around for potential crisis management.  Making goat cheese was definitely a crisis in need of management.  The brandy doesn’t guarantee a successful outcome.  (Would have been great if it did.)  It gets you through the process which is what matters.

At the end of the day there was cheese.  Lots of cheese.  Sadly, it  was unfit for human, or inhuman consumption even for those with the least discerning palates or the fewest possible number of functioning taste buds. 

The aftermath of this terrible, horrible, no good, very bad experience was that for more years then I care to specify, I have not been able to get within 10 feet of anything that comes from a goat.

​Comments are always welcomed.