Font Nerds

One of the things I enjoy about Brick on the television comedy, “The Middle,” is his love and knowledge about fonts. On “The Goldbergs,” Adam had a font showdown recently.   I don’t know why I chuckle at the idea every time, but I do. I’ve concluded that I’m a closet Font Nerd. Surmise this admission as my coming out.

While I am not nearly as knowledgeable as Brick, I do enjoy an occasional migration from the typical Times New Roman required by most professors.  I applaud unabashedly when instructed to use a font of my own choosing.

However, I quickly become overwhelmed with the plethora of font choices listed, and then there is the dilemma of what font transfers between programs and applications best, if at all.  Audience should be considered ––I want to provide the smoothest reading experience as possible for my audience, especially a professor.

 

FYI­–On Microsoft Word 2016 for Mac –– this is Adobe Arabic (10)

 

Saturday Mornings

I’m here.

I’m on pins and needles: reading over syllabuses and textbooks 📚 for the upcoming semester.img_2487<<<<

On the plus side, only three more semester remaining until I will have completed requirements necessary for that coveted Bachelor’s in English and a minor degree in journalism (provided I survive a full four months of Math.)

So here I am on pins and needles while biting my nails at the daunting task ahead. I’m thinking of playing a Scarlett O’Hara and putting off these thought for another day .

It’s time for a Saturday morning walk in the sunshine. And contemplate my future.

 

Saturday Morning Blog––I’m here.

With all the horrors in the world, what difference does it make?

–– Siggy, What About Bob? *

I set my cell phone reminder two or three months ago to blog every Saturday morning.  It wasn’t a lofty goal and it seemed very practical at the time.

By Saturday evening, I would click complete just to get the glare of my nasty failure out of sight.  Apparently, even practical goals require a measure of self-discipline.

There is only ONE cure for that. If only modern science would concoct a pill.

Self-promises have gone the way of former New Year’s resolutions. Due to failure to live out resolutions, I have since given up on making them. And October promises seem to have followed suit.

One of the frustrations encountered in this failed promise is that I don’t know what I am doing. Sure, there are all kinds of courses available to guide bloggers, but the prices are very hefty. Then there is the fact that I have nothing to say; maybe that is an excuse stemmed from laziness or other pressing deadlines to meet.

I do hope to become more serious about blogging­­––someday. But someday will never come unless I make it happen.

For now, blogging reminders will remain on my phone. They may be checked off without completion. The goal may be brought to fruition, even if it is only to say, “Saturday morning, I’m here.”

And as Siggy succinctly put it: With all the horrors in the world, what difference does it make?  (What about Bob? movie

*paraphrased

Introspections and Cracked Pots

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Back in the day, I made a dinner dish that my mother-n-law had dubbed “More Casserole.” With four children and a husband to feed, it became my go-to dish because it was relatively cheap to concoct, and I love preparing one-pot dishes.

The crowd was divided in their opinion, mostly because it calls for frozen peas, peas that often littered the dining room floor.

Since my mother passed away it has fallen to me to make sure my father has nutritious meals because my sister lives out of state and my brother doesn’t cook.

Thankfully, my father loves More Casserole. I was preparing a massive batch of this casserole for him a few days ago, I noticed something about the baking dishes––one was shiny and new, the other obviously had seen many turns in the oven, and boasted a few tiny cracks and dents in the metal.

I watch enough cooking shows to know presentation is an important component to whetting appetites. That got me thinking. Although the same casserole filled each dish, how would each dish’s presentation be received?

I am a cracked pot––a burn survivor. In 1999, I was burned over 58% of my body, including my face. I required much skin grafting, and multiple reconstructive surgeries to my nose, ear, eyes, and mouth. While I look much better than I did 17 years ago, things are not quite symmetrical.

images-4Living in a culture in which beauty and youth are prized (and fleeting) cracked pots, such as myself, are overlooked, and devalued. (I can now add aging woman to that list). And while, I am thankful to be on the survivor end of the ordeal, I face social devaluation everywhere I carry my dented vessel––pun unintended.

This cracked pot contains the same casserole as it did when the pot was shiny and new, albeit the flavor ––time and experience marry––has only enhanced. Some people think this casserole is pretty dang good¬––peas and all.

Those that judge me by my presentation are shallow, and I don’t want shallow people in my life. Still, it smarts a little to be judged only for my presentation. I am much more that my shell.

Rant of the day √