A Hunk of Meat

Back in the glory days of Cousins Day, when Peach was healthy, Kathy was alive, and my mother still had most of her marbles, we were having breakfast one morning.  My mother made pancakes and Kathy was in ecstasy and confessed that she loved pancakes, but that she could not make pancakes.

I wondered what she meant.  I mean...my mother mixed Bisquick with milk and eggs, and dropped the batter on a griddle and cooked it.  How hard is that?

But Kathy said that her pancakes were always heavy and that she couldn't get them light, like my mother's to save her soul.

Peach chimed in  and said that the one thing she couldn't make was Jello.  That she had tried all her life but could never get Jello to set. 

Again, she couldn't make Jello?  You add hot water to mix, let it dissolve, add cold water and let it set.  How difficult was that?

While it was beyond my comprehension that my cousins, who were each good cooks, could not make these two simple dishes, I had to admit to myself lately that everyone has a blind spot when it comes to cooking.

I'm a good cook.  I will try anything.  I've cooked multi course Chinese meals. I make bread and pie dough from scratch.  I don't need the Butterball hot line to cook a turkey.  I've made my own ice cream many times.

I'm not afraid to tackle any recipe, maybe not these days when it sometimes just seems like too much work to do something complicated, but given the challenge, I'm willing to give it a go and am not afraid to try.

But there is something I cannot cook.

I cannot cook meat.  

Well, not all meat.  I can roast a leg of lamb or a good beef roast, but I have yet to make a pork dish that I didn't think was a disaster.  I can't cook pork chops or roast without having it turn out dry as a bone.  Even when I cut the cooking time down to half of what it was called for, even if I infuse the meat with lots of flavor from rubs or marinades.  Even if I follow recipes to the letter, my pork comes out dry as a bone.  Flavorful, maybe, but dry as a bone.

I can't cook a steak.  I can cook a medium well done steak, but I like it rare and I can't get it rare.  It's either too overcooked or too chewy.  Even the steaks from Omaha steaks disappoint me because I can't cook them right. I cook at the recommended temperature and let them rest so that the juices absorb back into the meat, yet when I cut into my steak, I've done it again...it just isn't up to what I wanted it to be.

My mother was always a very basic cook.  She wasn't inventive at all.  She had a handful of things that she cooked, but she cooked them better than I ever have.  

I have tried and tried, but can't get a pot roast as tender as she can.  I buy the recommended cut of beef, I sear it all over before cooking, I add all the right ingredients recommended by the chefs on the Food Channel, and I cook it long and slow, yet when I go to cut it, it's stringy and dry, even under the sauce that has flavored it all day.

She also made the very best meat loaf.  Peach always raved about her meat loaf, yet she had no recipe.  She just kind of threw whatever leftovers she had in the fridge together with ground beef.

I've been making meat loaf all of my married life and have never made it as well as my mother did.  You could cut hers into nice neat, well packed slices.  Mine crumbles when you try to slice it.  It tastes just fine, but once again I have failed to achieve what I was aiming for.

I even have a slow cooker which I have used to cook all sorts of things and yes, they taste fine  But they have a "mealy" texture that is not to my liking.

I don't know why I can't cook meat.  I can cook chicken just fine.  I can make macaroni and cheese from scratch without a recipe.  I can strip a turkey carcass and turn it into a delicious soup.  But hand me a steak and I tense up, knowing that I can cook it fine, but that when it gets on the plate and I cut into it, I will be disappointed.

I watched 10 and 11 year olds, barely tall enough to reach the counters, cooking gourmet meals, with knowledge of what they were doing, and then plating them beautifully on Chopped yesterday and I was mortified.

I don't eat much meat these days.  Somehow I just can't eat a whole steak or a whole chop or even a whole slice of meat loaf any more.  The dogs love to sit next to me at dinner because after I've had a bite or two of the meat that has disappointed me, I end up cutting it into pieces and letting them have it.

Walt doesn't seem to be unhappy with my cooking and maybe I'm being overly critical of my efforts.  I can make pancakes to suit me and my Jello always sets properly, but I can't cook a hunk of meat to please me to save my soul.

Today at Logos

After a few weeks of not-very-busy days at Logos, today was pretty steady for both Sandy, in the morning, and me in the afternoon.  Susan said we made nearly $400 for the day.

The first person in the store for me after Sandy left was a very tall woman dressed in shorts, despite the chill outside.  She had a panda bear back pack and started checking the Fantasy section when suddenly she came to ask me if we had a bathroom.  Ours is for the employees and really not fit for the general public, so I directed her to a building across the street and she raced out the door.  I didn't expect her to return, but she did later (though still didn't buy anything).

Next was a mom, who rushed in asking if we had kids' books. I showed her the kids' room and she went in there while her mother was outside with a baby in a stroller and two dogs, a little fluffy on and a big Lab, on a leash.  Mom came out with a stack of books, asking me how much they cost (apparently the price tag on the back was too subtle for her).  She put most of them back, but did buy two, one of which was about cows learning how to type and leaving messages for their farmer.  I was sorry I hadn't seen that.  I would like to know how cloven hoofed animals learn to type.

Then one of the other volunteers came in with her mother, who looked around and said "so this is where you work."  They bought a book on quilting because apparently the daughter was going to start learning how to quilt and Mom had given all of her books away to her sister years ago.

A middle aged guy with long hair and a full beard was looking for a book called "Maps to Ecstasy," by Gabriella Roth.  It's about healing through dance.  I directed him to our Personal Growth section but he didn't find it and left.

A tall, guy, neatly dressed in slacks and a blue sweater with the most highly polished shoes I'd seen in awhile strode in purposefully, went straight to the literature section, plucked two books by Herman Hesse, paid for them and was out of the store in less than 5 minutes.

A chubby woman who reminded me of me, dressed in baggy sweat pants, a chartreuse t-shirt, a baggy blue sweater and athletic shoes came in with an armload that consisted of newspapers and a bag of chips which she kept rearranging because it seemed like it was going to fall.  She started looking through Personal Growth.  She was very pleasant and happy looking, but didn't find anything to interest her today.

Next a dad with 2 kids and a mom with 1 kid came in, one after the other and went to the children's room.  The kids were all very excited.  The mom and her son chose books first and came out to pay.  He handed me his book to ring up, with sparkly eyes and a smile on his dirty face.  When I handed it back to him, he clasped it like I'd just given him a million dollars and they left.

Then the dad came out with his two kids, each with a book.  His daughter (4-1/2 years old, she told me) had "Queen Bea" and the boy had a book on ships.  He told me he likes boats "even plastic ones."  They were thrilled when I told them they could each take bookmarks.

(I just love these parent-kid visits!)

A nicely dressed, attractive woman in a suede jacket and khaki pants came in and picked out a book of J.D. Salinger short stories.  We talked about what a recluse Salinger was and she noticed that I was reading "1984."  She said she was a teacher and her students were about to start reading that book.  We talked a bit about Big Brother and how that relates to 2015.  It would be interesting to see what her kids think of the book.

Two guys stood outside looking in the window at the books on display.  One came in to pick a book called "Monet's Kitchen."  His partner came in (I got a gaydar vibe).  They stood with their backs to me and they were dressed identically, with baggy jeans and matching hoodies.  One guy had white hair and the other one had a tiny pony tail at his neck line.  When the guy came to pay for his book, he was preceeded to the desk by waves of body odor.

A burly guy in a red cotton checked shirt, wearing a backpack, and sporting a full beard started looking through the literature section and chose two books by Mark Twain.

My friend showed up right at 5 and wandered around a bit, finally buying a book on Indian (from India) miniatures.

A Latino guy wanted bibles, but apparently didn't find the one he was looking for because he didn't buy anything.

An older guy came in wanting to know if we bought old textbooks.  It sounded like he had his college engineering textbooks (so does Walt!)  and recently found one of them for sale on e-Bay for considerably more than he paid for it, so he thought he could make some money finding a book store to buy his old books.  We don't buy books, but I gave him some ideas of where he might try to sell them.

It reminded me of the book I typed (all 651 pages, multi equations and all, three times, on a pre-Selectric typewriter) back in the 1960s.  It was called "Fundamentals of Statistical and Thermal Physics" and I think it sold for something like $20 back then.  I just checked on Amazon and it's still for sale...for $102 (and has a lot of 5-star reviews from patrons).  That book was translated into many different languages and the most fun one was Japanese because on the acknowledgements page, it's all Japanese characters except for "Beverly West," which is written out.  

Toward the end of the day, Bruce came in.  I hadn't seen him in months.  I hardly recognized him because this was the first time I had seen him without his home made hat and the bulky sweater he was wearing made him look considerably heavier than he is.  However he was still all in white.  The sweater was unraveling and over it he wore a too-big white t-shirt.  He looked around for awhile, but didn't find anything and left, turning to give me a wave as he did.

At the end of the day, Walt picked me up and we went out for a fabulous Japanese dinner to "celebrate" what would have been David's 42nd birthday. I ordered tempura.  I just love the "tempura tower" (I call it).

Walt ordered two plates of sushi rolls and we shared everything, which was just perfect.

Needle and Thread

When I went to visit my mother on Monday, she pointed out that the hem in one of my pant legs of my "good" sweat suit was unraveling.  I broke the thread that was hanging and could see that half of my hem was dangling down.

Many of the "housewifely arts" have eluded me and sewing is right there at the top.

My mother was a wonderful seamstress in her day and made many of our clothes.  At one point she decided to take a tailoring class and made a beautiful lined coat for Jeri, which I saved to pass along to my grandchildren.  But of course when the time came to find it, it, along with all of the kids' favorite books and my beloved childhood "red books" that I saved, was no longer where I remembered putting it.  I'm sure when/if we ever pack up this house I will find all those things I thought I had saved...but it's already too late.

I had good intentions of learning to sew, but my inherent klutziness (and tendency to rush through things in my desire to get to the finished product as soon as possible) did me in.

I took a sewing class from Sister Bernadone, a large woman who was fond of saying she read the obituaries every morning to find out if she was still alive. We did some basic stuff and our big project of the semester was to be something of our own choosing that we could wear in the spring fashion show.  Ever the girly-girl, I chose a dress with a full skirt that would "twirl," and then an overskirt which was reversible, giving you two possible looks.  Sister was excited about the project too.

I guess the dress turned out all right...I don't remember...but I was most excited about the overskirt, which would turn my simple dress into something spectacular.

I had chosen a pink pattern for the dress and for one side of the overskirt and white for the other side (in retrospect that was a bad decision from the get go).

Things were going all right until near the end when it was time to put the waistband on the overskirt.  The fabric, double-thick, was heavy and I somehow, in trying to turn it right side out after sewing the two pieces together, managed to make a tear of about 8" down the middle of the white side of the skirt.  It ruined the whole thing and it was too late to fix it.  We used white iron-on tape, but you could never reverse the skirt because there was that big ol' piece of tape spoiling everything.

In honesty, I don't remember ever wearing that dress.

Here in Davis, in my homemaking days, I decided to take a quilting class.  I was really excited about my project, which was to make a Superman quilt for Ned.  I'd never done anything like a quilt before.  My quilt was to have a blue background and then I appliquéd a larger-than-life Superman, traced from a poster Ned had hanging over his bed.  It was great.  I used black velvet for his hair and it looked so cool.  

The appliqué process went very well and my teacher was looking forward to the finished project, as was I. 

But then in my rush to get it all done, I cut the sides of the quilt too narrow.  No way to fix that.  I did add extra pieces to each side to make it the right width, but my teacher was so disappointed she, like Sister Bernadone, lost all interest in my project. 

Ned loved it, though, and tells me he still has it.

That Christmas I made quilts for each of the kids, but the other four got quilts that were made of squares with ironed-on pictures the kids had drawn on them.  They were great, but they weren't the show stopper that Ned's was.

I did make another quilt later.  We were getting a quilt together for the LaLeche League leader who was moving on to other things.  She had been in charge of all the LLL groups in California for years, so I contacted everyone and had them send in squares which I then sewed into a quilt, so large that the only way to take a picture of it was to hold it from the top of our kids' play structure.

The quilt was a big hit and I was happy to have done it.  We did another project like that for one of the grammar school teachers when she was about to have a baby.  I put that one together too.  But the beauty of both of those quilts was in the squares that everyone decorated and sent to me.  I was just the seamstress.

Nowadays I don't sew anything, but I did buy a small repair kit and so I unearthed it today to fix my pants leg.  I must have the thinnest thread imaginable and the smallest needle eye.  Half blind, no depth perception, no great hand-eye coordination and trying to thread the needle would have worked just as effectively as if I had asked a blind person to do it for me.  I just have to keep stabbing in the general direction of the eye of the needle and hope somehow that by some miracle I managed to get the thread through it.  Too bad it wasn't being filmed--it would have made a great comedy.

I did and I sewed up the hem.  Or half of it.  I didn't unroll enough thread, so I had to do the "threading the needle" contortions all over again.  But in the end, I did get it done.  I haven't a clue how long it's going to last.

Walt was out while I was doing my mending (oh that sounds so domestic!) and when he got home, I told him he had missed a once in a lifetime event and that such an opportunity would not occur again.  If I didn't hate shopping for clothes so much, I would just have thrown the pants away and bought a new pair, but this pair should last me a bit longer, anyway.

Childhood Illnesses

All the controversy swirling around about measles these days makes me think back to our experience with what used to be thought of as the inevitable childhood diseases.

The DPT (diptheria/pertussus/typhoid) vaccine was not licensed until 6 years after I was born, so I'm not sure if I had it...probably did, but not as a baby. But I was 20 before the measles vaccine was licensed, so I missed out on that protection.

I remember having measles.  I don't remember a lot about it, except that I had to stay in bed in a darkened room for a week. The doctor even made house calls to check on me (yes, I am that old). I don't know how long the disease lasted, but I do remember that just about the time the measles had run its course, I came down with German measles (rubella), which is the much less serious 3-day variety. (Even my mother remembers that today)

Polio was the biggie when I was a kid.  I had nightmares about getting polio.  I didn't know exactly what it was but I knew that kids with polio had to live in iron lungs and as a child who was terribly claustrophic, I was so afraid of getting the disease and having to be confined, I thought, for the rest of my life.

I would wake up in the middle of the night more than once in a sweaty, full blown panic because I was so afraid of getting polio.

The Shriners, in the 50s, had a hospital for kids with polio in San Francisco, and I was too afraid to look at the hospital as we drove by for fear I would see an iron lung through one of the windows and that would somehow make me catch the disease.

I was almost out of grammar school when the polio vaccine came along and I remember lining up to get a little sugar cube with a pink dot in it that was going to keep me from getting polio.  Must have worked.

Our kids had the benefit of vaccines for most of the childhood diseases and never had measles or mumps.  They did, however, have chicken pox, which was quite a memorable time in this family.

Jeri came down with chicken pox on her sixth birthday.  She was so disappointed that she could not go to school, because they always made a big deal about birthdays.  

The kids in her first grade class made a poster-sized greeting for her with a drawing of a huge birthday cake and get well wishes.  It was signed by everyone in the class, and delivered by her best friend, Jenny Blackford.

For her birthday dinner, I baked her a chicken pox cake, a round cake, frosted pink, with a face on it and spots all over it.

The quarantine lasted until the pox began to dry up.  She would have "visits" at the front door through our wire mesh screen, she sitting on one side in a little chair and her friend(s) sitting on the other side.  (I always wondered if those germs passed through the screen or not.)

Two of the boys got it next, as soon as Jeri was well.  I don't remember which two, but we went into round 2 of the disease, and then when they were on the road to recovery, the 3rd son -- and David, who was 3-4 months old -- came down with it.  We had over a month of non-stop chicken pox.

I was delighted that David got it so young because he only had a couple of spots and didn't seem to be uncomfortable at all.  How nice, I thought, to get it all over with in one fell swoop.

What I didn't realize is that when a child gets chicken pox too early and has too light a case, it makes them more vulnerable to shingles as they get older.  David was 5 when he came down with shingles.  My mother had it many years later and said the pain was worse than anything she had ever experienced, including childbirth.

(A year later a classmate of his also came down with shingles.  She was also from a large family and her mother said that she, too, had a light case of chicken pox when she was a baby)

Shingles travels around a nerve path, so only one side of your body is affected.  David's traveled around his lower spine to his belly button and down his buttocks.  At its worst it looked like someone had filled his underwear with bright red cottage cheese.

Apparently the pain of shingles is when the lesions are erupting and then there is a respite until another batch erupts.  For such a little guy, David was so incredibly stoic.  It still makes me cry when I think of him lying on the couch and calling out "Mom, it's starting...hold my hand."  I would hold his hand while he squeezed with all his might and then the pain would pass and he would let go of my hand and say "Thank you."  It was that "thank you" that broke my heart because I was helpless to do anything else to make him feel better.

I am glad that there are vaccines today for measles and chicken pox and shingles and I'm angry with parents who talk about parental choice when it comes to the diseases for which they are putting their children, and others at risk.

You Mean I've been Doing it Wrong?

Turns out I've been eating lettuce wrong all these years.  I'll bet you have too.

Today I met my friend Lisa for lunch.  Lisa and I both worked for Women's Health Associates in the "golden years," before the Sutter system ruined it.  She has always been a good friend and every so often -- every year or so -- we think about each other and get together for lunch.

We had gone several years without seeing each other when we met for tea a couple of years ago, when I had a Groupon for a quaint tea room in nearby Dixon and when the person I had intended to go to tea with could not come with me, I called Lisa and invited her.

As you do, when you haven't seen each other in a long time, you start with the usual questions.  What are you doing now?  How's the husband?  How're the kids? (Actually "how's the husband" can be a dangerous topic, given the rate of divorce these days.)

I was not prepared for the bombshell she dropped, which was that one of her children had died two years before.  I was so sad for so many reasons, that she had lost her son, primarily, but that nobody that we knew told me about it. I recall so strongly in the days after David and Paul died, the people around with whom I felt the most comfortable were a couple who had also lost a child. 

I think it was good for her that we could talk about losing children without it becoming one of those uncomfortable subjects that it often is when people who have not been through that terrible experience meet you.  

We left tea determined to stay in touch more closely and we sort of have.  Today's lunch came about because both of us have relatives at Atria (her mother-in-law has been there for three years) and we were going to have lunch and see Still Alice together, but it turned out it has not come to Davis yet, so we decided to go to lunch anyway.

Osteria Fasulo is a delightful little Italian restaurant, tucked away at the edge of Village Homes, the country's first all solar-powered community, with community gardens for growing fresh produce to serve at the restaurant.

When I read over the menu, my eyes lit on the only selection that included Dungeness crab.  "Grilled Romaine lettuce topped with Dungeness crab, olives and boiled eggs, lemon and olive oil dressing."  Salads aren't usually my lunch of choice, when I'm being treated to a fancy restaurant, but I ordered this.

Oh. my. word.

Who knew that "grilled lettuce" could be so delicious!  It had the smokey flavor of a barbeque mixed with the lemon dressing, and some brown sauce that was under the lettuce too.  After the first bite, I didn't even care about how much crab was on my lunch!

Maybe I should start barbequing my salads from now on.  Maybe it will help me enjoy them more!

At the end of the meal, the waiter who had seen Lisa give me a birthday present (2 weeks early), surprised us with two tiny meringues topped with a berry sauce and a lit candle for my birthday.  The perfect end to a perfect lunch.

After lunch, I drove to Atria to visit my mother, who acted as if I hadn't been there in two weeks (it had been two days).  She was remarkably "with it" today.  Other than asking me a dozen times what I was going to do in the afternoon, she really engaged and I could have a conversation with her.  In fact, I brought her a fund raising card from St. Baldrick and told her of the overwhelming, and humbling, response I've had to my request for support yesterday (I had to up my goal from $500 to $1,000 because I reached $500 in less than 24 hours).  

Thank goodness, she did not get angry at the thought of my head being shaved, as she usually does, and she actually said she wanted to make a contribution, and gave me a check for $50.  Whew.  I stayed an hour.  I've been cutting my visits shorter lately because we have nothing to say to each other, but we did today and it was very nice.

When I left, she decided to walk me out to the front of the building.  She won't go out the front door, but she stood there and waved goodbye to me as I left.

All in all, this was a very nice day.

We need your help!

Somewhere around 2003, when I had lost a lot of weight, I participated in a fund raising walk to raise funds for AIDS.  I asked readers of Funny the World if they would help me raise funds by donating through the web page.  I was overwhelmed and very grateful to the number of people who donated.

I decided NOT to turn to the public to raise funds for the bike ride I did for the homeless, which ended my newborn biking career by wrecking my knee.

But now I'm asking for your help again.  I mentioned this a few days ago.

Ned and I are going to do a mother-son head shaving to raise funds for children's cancer research.  Every 3 minutes a child is diagnosed with cancer and, like so many good causes, research into childhood cancers (which are different from adult cancers) is under-funded.

This year the shaving will take place on March 12, at DeVere's pub (where Walt goes for his Guinness every Thursday before picking me up at Logos), as it does every year.  They set up a shaving station with 3 or 4 chairs and shavers outside the patio of DeVeer's.  In the past, the pub has also given free beer to a shavee after the deed is done.

Readers may remember that our friend Nancianne (who is older than I, and a university professor) has had her head shaved for the last two years.

I came along as the designated photographer for both events and last year, surrounded by a lot of bald people, as I watched her white hair fall to the ground, I realized what a wonderful opportunity it was to help children and decided then that I would participate this year.

Since Ned is no stranger to "doing things" with his hair, whether the odd way he has it cut...or shaved...to the many colors he has regaled us with over the years, I thought that it might add a bit more interest if we did it as mother and son.  He has agreed and so we now have a page at the St. Baldrick's fund raising web site where they make it very easy for you to donate.

https://www.stbaldricks.org/participants/mypage/746970/2015

Ever the publicist, I also saw a human interest story in it.  We are not exactly unknown in town, and I work for the paper, so I contacted the editor and asked if they would send a photographer to cover the story for me.

Not only will she send a photographer to the shaving, but they will do a pre-event story too, to raise awareness and perhaps get a few donations from the community that way.

Perhaps I am being optimistic, but I set a goal of $500 to raise by March 12.  I would love to exceed that goal, but I'll be happy for anything that people are willing to donate to help me meet my goal.

So here is my plea.  Please look in your heart and donate, whether $1 or $100, I don't care.  Unlike other political fund raisers that I hear from all the time, I don't promise that if you just donate $3 today we can cure cancer, but if you donate today, I will love you forever.  Every little bit helps and I will be forever grateful to the best blog readers on the internet.

Sunday Stealing -- and More

At 3 p.m., January 31, our dear friend, and occasional dog sitter, Ashley married her David.  It was a wedding I have looked forward to ever since she announced her engagement.  It was going to be a real feel-good wedding, filled with lots of love.  Ashley has had her share of heartbreak and we are all so pleased to see her glowing these days.

The wedding was taking place at a hotel in North Tahoe, which just happens to be where the Sykes condo is.  Our plan was to drive up on Friday, and back on Sunday.

However, the gods had different plans.  On Friday, I spent so much time in the bathroom that I was nervous about getting stuck in Tahoe traffic for 3 hours or so, so suggested that we drive up Saturday morning (as it turned out, that was a wise decision).  The wedding wasn't until 3 and if we got an early start Saturday morning, we would have time to go to the house, shower and change for the wedding.

I decided to ignore that oh so familiar feeling deep down in my lungs every time I coughed.  I was not going to get sick.  Well, again, the gods had a different plan.  By nighttime my throat was raw, I was coughing like a TB ward, and had lost my voice.  I also felt terrible. In the morning I was better, but definitely not well so, sadly, I sent off a text message to Ashley and David explaining why we would not be at their wedding and how disappointed I was.

Instead, I hunkered down with Netflix, watched Season 2 of The Bletchley Circle (if you haven't seen it, do yourself a favor and do), The Chef (excellent movie) and the first season of The Fall, which Ned recommended.  By 5 p.m., I was ready to face life again and so I am writing this entry...and will soon fix dinner.  Ashley promises lots of photos and I can't wait to see them.

The Sunday Stealing Part

Average hours of sleep:
4-6

Last thing I googled:
The Fillmore-Western Railroad (saw it on Heuell Howser) 

One place that makes me happy:
I'm always happy overlooking the ocean.

How many blankets I sleep under:
Just one, lightweight, but warm.

What are you wearing right now: 
Still in my pajamas.  Been in them all day.

Last book you read:
"The Kill Room," by Jeffrey Deaver

Favorite fictional character:
Claire Beecham Fraser (from "Outlander")

Last movie I watched in the cinema:
Into the Woods

Dream vacation:
Photo safari to Africa 

Dream wedding:
I had it, 50 years ago.

Dream pet:
I've always wanted a collie (don't tell my Chihuahua Polly!)

Dream job:
It's hard to beat the one I have now:  retired.

How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you are?
About 37 (I will turn 72 in 2 weeks)

Which is worse, failing or never trying?
Never trying.  I've failed a lot, but never regretted trying.

If life is so short, why do we do so many things we don’t like and like so many things we don’t do?
Guilt.  Our parents gave us a set of values and we think that we need to live up to them, even if we don't want to do them.  Either that or I blame the nuns and 12 years of Catholic school!