Make me beautiful

A fascinating reflection

Live & Learn


“Esther Honig, a 24 year old freelance journalist from Kansas City, put the saying ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder’ to the test with this fascinating project titled Before and After.  Honig sent an unaltered photo of herself to over 40 Photoshop enthusiasts in 25 different countries and made the simple request: “Make me beautiful.”

Check out the astonishing results here at My Modern Met: Woman Had Her Face Photoshopped in 25 Countries to Compare Beauty Standards Across the Globe.

View original post

Why I Live In A Purple House

Even if I did not like the color, I love the attitude.

Sirena Tales

Lavender, to be precise.  Which, in my neck of the woods, is generally “not done.”

My husband stunned me a couple of decades ago when we were considering what color to paint our peeling, pale blue house in suburban New England.  “What about something whimsical?” he had asked.  Why not, indeed?

Floored only for a moment, I dived into an enchanting discussion of the possible.  What if we  forged new territory beyond the miles and miles of beige, white, grey, and the occasional pale blue or green?  All of which are fine colors for a home.  But what about the rest of the spectrum?

After all these years, my heart still lifts a bit when I spy the lovely and unique hue, as well as its chameleon like quality depending on the light and whether the ground contrasts with snow or greenery.  Alabaster, mauve, lilac, periwinkle, light violet-we’ve been delighted…

View original post 148 more words

An Old Swimming Hole Revisited

The town in which I live, a must post.

New Hampshire Garden Solutions

1. Depot Building

I visited a rail trail recently that I hadn’t been on for many years. This is where we start; at the depot in Fitzwilliam, New Hampshire. Henry David Thoreau, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and other notables passed this way on their way north out of Fitchburg, Massachusetts to the town of Troy, New Hampshire where they then hiked to Mount Monadnock to climb it.

2. Signal Light

This depot still has its colored glass signals on top of a high pole. The meaning of three of the colors is much the same today as it was then; green meant it was safe to proceed, yellow meant an impending stop or speed reduction, and red meant come to a full stop. Blue meant that another track met the track you were on. Purple was used for derails at one time, but became obsolete. Amber was used in foggy conditions and white or clear meant restricted…

View original post 1,235 more words


Love it, and then too, there was something called a book.

A Simple, Village Undertaker


In those days, the music was better so you were happy to get all the songs, well at least most of the time.

It was like TV…seven channels growing up just outside New York City and almost anything then was better that what can be found on 400 channels today.

Yes, I’m getting old, but tomorrow night I’m rocking with the boys at a pool party.

I better double up on the arthritis meds around lunchtime……

Life is good.

Also, as I get older I am also having difficulties remembering who to give credit to for the stuff I steal from them…..please accept my apologies.

View original post

My Column Today in The Monadnock Ledger-Transcript

After you’ve confronted the dragon, comes the bliss

Annie Neugebauer graduated from the University of Texas in 2007. A favorite professor devastated her by asking why she hadn’t been in the honor’s program. A question posed even though she graduated with “highest university honors.” The professor thought she had taken the easy road and should have enrolled in honors courses. She had not done so because the regular course requirements fit her schedule. After much self-examination she concluded what she had done didn’t require someone else’s permission. She writes about her experience at

Having just experienced my own commencement in May, I resonated with Annie. During my 10 years of graduate school, I had two C’s. Both bothered me. The first one came about five years ago, and I justified it by thinking I asked for it. The course required memorizing. You might as well have told me to cut the lawn every day. It isn’t going to happen.

When I found out what the course demanded, I gave myself permission to just pass. Just passing for me is a C. Back in the day it is how I did all of school. Have fun, maybe show up for class, and get by. The new more mature Bob sought to graduate with the “highest university honors.”

I just missed. As others were called to receive their diploma “with honors” I cringed a bit. Then I remembered a question asked me by a friend when I told him about my C’s.

“Bob, what do they call a doctor who graduated last in their class?”

I thought about it, but had no answer.

Then he smiled and said, “A doctor.”

His words are how I got over the earlier C, but they didn’t get me by the more recent one. It was the grade given to me for a self-directed course. A course I designed to make up one and a half credits. I even picked the professor. Completing the curriculum demanded that I read four or five books and write a 15-page paper.

The professor gave me a C with the comment that my writing was not academic. He thought my writing sounded more like a sermon. I emailed him that I would like to talk about it. He acknowledged receipt of my email, said he would get back to me, but never did. The next time I saw him was at graduation.

After the diplomas were received, my class exited from the sanctuary. One by one we paraded past the professors. The last professor in the academic line was professor C, a man who has a perpetual smirk on his face. This day he looked particularly smirky. He said nothing, nor did I.

I left commencement with the issue of a C unresolved. It made the event less celebratory. It had me feeling fraudulent.

No matter that I spent 10 years in study and had a grade point average far exceeding C.

It did matter that I wanted this degree in part for self-esteem. Having not been an academic in undergraduate days, I wanted to prove I had the right stuff. For me this meant a report card unblemished by C’s. I wanted all my professors to think I was the greatest student ever.

It took just one professor to throw me off track. It didn’t matter that I didn’t want to be an academic writer. This was about confronting dragons. There should be a course on it.

Then again, I think there is. I took it.

Now its time to apply it to bliss.