Two things:

1. The latest Carnival of Education is up, over at the Education Wonks. It’s an exceptionally good one, too. Really, now, if we don’t keep up with what’s going on in our schools, how can we whine intelligently? I mean, any putz can gripe about things they know nothing whatsoever about. Is that the kind of whiner you want to be? I thought not, even though it’s the easiest way to go, whine-wise. Get over there now and become an enlightened whiner.

2. If Allstate calls me one. more. time. wanting me to buy their insurance, I’m going to scream and I don’t think I’ll be able to stop. Doesn’t this count as a marketing call? I thought that phone call a few years ago put a stop to this scheisse. I hate you, Allstate. Stop calling me.

3. I hate a sales pitch that begins with “How are you this morning?” because A. The caller doesn’t care how I am this morning, and B. “This morning” means IN THE MORNING which is, by my way of calculation, any time before noon on a day I go in to the college late, and C. I loathe a salesperson, Mormon, or Jehovah’s Witness who is obviously quoting from a script. I count Girl Scouts, homeschoolers selling candy at 7:30 a.m., and all service contract callers in this blistering, unfair diatribe. If you can’t put it in your own words, you don’t really know, now do you. . . .

Did I say “two things?” I was never very good at math. It’s the only thing I have in common with Barbie.

I love the Man of La Mancha. Not that dreadful movie version: the stage musical. I have collected quotations all my adult life, and in that show, every few lines, there is a collector’s item.

Over at Miguel’s blog, which is excellent in every way except that he seldom posts, his last piece (far too long ago, so please update, Miguel dear) mentioned the fabulous Raul Julia, and the heartbreaking fact that we can never go home again.

I have long been a fan of Raul Julia, from Spider Woman to The Addams Family and in between, and Miguel’s beautiful and musical description of standing before the poster advertising Julia in Man of La Mancha, and having not enough money to see him in it, and then Julia died and it was too late and he would never see him doff Senor Quijana and take on Don Quixote de la Mancha, broke my heart in a breathtaking way.

Miguel is like that, you see. He writes about these things, and as you read, suddenly there is music, and wonderful roses. . . .

Why don’t you all go over there and tell him so?

Mamacita, Scheiss Weekly

Happy Valentine’s Day. Not because it’s a man-made holiday that exploits the guilt feelings of both men and women and forces them to go forth (or fifth) and spend a lot of money on flowers that will die and candy that will be eaten, but because it’s just one more excuse for me to tell the blogosphere how very much I love it, and how very much at home I feel when I am in it. This golden heart is supposed to sing and dance but I have no control over the feng shui of the universe. I thank you all for being my blogging neighbors.

During my annual re-reading of “A Lantern in Her Hand” and “A White Bird Flying” (two of my very favorites and I highly recommend them to all of you) I was again struck and reduced to tears by the simple message etched on the stones in the garden path at the home of J. Sterling Morton (who gave Arbor Day to the nation) and his bride: Hours fly, Flowers die. New days, New ways, Pass by. Love stays.

Love stays.

And in the book, Laura is more touched and moved by the sight of one simple little china dish, a little china hen spreading her china wings, that Mrs. Morton brought to Nebraska with her, than by the grandeur of the governor’s eventual home. I am that way, too, for it is the small things that make a home, not any grand exterior or grounds. I love these two books beyond any ability to tell you how much.

The new motto of the Wittenburg Door is this, by Molly Ivins, and I may have to adopt it as my motto, too.

“… keep fightin’ for freedom and justice, beloveds, but don’t you forget to have fun doin’ it. Lord, let your laughter ring forth. Be outrageous, ridicule the fraidy-cats, rejoice in all the oddities that freedom can produce. And when you get through kickin’ ass and celebratin’ the sheer joy of a good fight, be sure to tell those who come after how much fun it was.”

I have never been much of a fighter, but maybe it’s time to start swinging.

No, not THAT kind of swinging. Scheisse, I love the blogosophere.

I hope everyone’s day is full of love and Hershey’s Kisses. They’re called ‘kisses’ because of the sound the machine makes when it lays one down on the belt. How would you like to work there? “Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss. . . .” all day long. By the time those people get home, their hormones must be raw and ready to be salved. If you know what I mean.

Love doesn’t need a designated day, but as busy as many people are, it’s just as well that they’re reminded of it once in a while. But friends, what we don’t need is more flowers and candy. What we really want are wireless digital picture frames, massages, and a night out. It doesn’t have to be an expensive night out, either. Then again, I am very, very low-maintenance, and proud of it.

“. . . all the oddities that freedom can produce. . . .” Why would we ever want anything else?

I miss you, Molly. But, love stays.