SUZANNE RUDD HAMILTON

Out With the Old; In With the New

Traditions abound in the small town of Hope. Over the years, the town has been through many struggles, including opening and closing of factories, hard financial times, and personal losses, but nothing reduces the spirit of their community.

Every Sunday people gather after church for ice cream socials.

On the Fourth of July, the volunteer band muddles through the Star-Spangled Banner and Yankee Doodle Dandy until no one could take it anymore. Luckily, people sing so loud they drown out the tinny sound.

At Christmas, they sing carols and decorate the tree around the town square.

And every Easter, the Hopians have a parade showing everyone in their finest dress.

But the biggest annual celebration is on New Year’s Eve. The stores of Main Street line the streetscape with glowing white balls of bright lights, drawing a path to the town square, where they erect a giant disco ball to drop at the stroke of midnight.

Despite the cold sleet or snow, everyone in town congregates in the downtown area, drinking hot chocolate and spiced apple cider while listening to the high school band and dance troops display their talents. With the glow of every storefront, the streets are as luminescent as day.

But the most wonderful tradition of all is the ringing ceremony. Everyone in town lines up along the street ringing bells one by one. Then each person deposits papers in two different buckets, with the best and worst things that happened in the year. When full, the mayor lights the bucket of the worst of the year ablaze.

“May we leave the worst behind us and ring in the new year with love and laughter and celebrate a new beginning for all to share,” he says.

Then everyone in town goes up to the best bucket and grabs a wish for the new year from the best experienced by others. And once they have their wishes, each throws it into the air and a confetti gun explodes as the ball ascends to usher in the new year sprinkling wonderful wishes of joy and happiness.

Because no matter what each year brings, the hope of the future shines on everyone for the promise of tomorrow.

Exclusive Santa Sighting

Like Superman and Clark Kent, my father and Santa Claus were never seen on Christmas Eve at the same time.

Every year the drill was the same. At our annual Christmas Eve extended family gathering, my dad would announce to all that he ran out of film and needed to go the store.

About 20 minutes later there was a rumbling on the roof and my uncle would loudly declare Santa’s reindeer up there. Then my mother would herd all the kids to peer out the window to see Santa’s sleigh. A minute or two later, the sound of jingling bells, along with a hearty “HoHoHo,” enveloped the room and the kids excitedly scurried to the man in the red suit.

Everyone sat on his lap as he asked what each wanted for Christmas and offered a candy cane as a deposit, promising he would be back later the same night with their wish.
Then he told us to look out the window and watch for Santa’s reindeer again as he mysteriously slipped out of the room.

Twenty or so minutes later, my dad would come back and my uncle will tell him he just missed Santa. He would loudly exclaim his disappointment, and everyone resumed the festivities.

The clever ruse was complete. It was masterful, but there were clues left behind. After running out of film one year, wouldn’t he be prepared the next? And if he was going out for film, why did he never have a bag or the film when he returned?

Luckily kids are not Sherlock Holmes. We were grateful for the candy cane and the exclusive opportunity to ensure our wish list was fulfilled. But one year as I ventured into middle grades, I wondered why Santa was visiting individual holiday parties prior to his big delivery event and posed that and the other questions to my uncomfortable mother.

So, when Christmas Eve came around again, to throw me off the scent, suddenly it was my uncle who ran out of film, and all the roles were reversed. My doubts were quashed, until the next year when I learned in the oracle of all information, the school bus, that Santa was not real. Shortly after reporting this information to my mother, she confessed, while asking me not to ruin it for the little kids.

The next Christmas I was in on the secret. I smirked satisfied at my grown-up deception, playing a leading part in the charade by participating in the distraction to conceal Santa’s entrance and exit. I watched the hoax unfold, amazed at the obvious clues I previously missed.

Years later, various people substituted when suspicions arose. And eventually the film had to be changed out to another last-minute purchase.

When my children were small, my father donned the cap once again for his grandchildren, until my very clever five-year-old son immediately recognized his voice and quickly unmasked him. The next generation must be smarter, as he could not be fooled.

Although until this day, I’ll never know how they made the rumbling sound on the roof. Some secrets are best left unsolved.

You’re My Density

As a movie buff, I’ve always been enchanted by the meet-cute, that’s filmspeak for when two star-crossed lovers meet for the first time. The formulas are tried-and-true giving romance movie lovers a treasure trove of meaningful hopes and dreams wrapped up in a bow.

In one instance, the couple find themselves in an unusual circumstance and sometimes don’t like each other, but later kiss and fall in love. Like The Backup Plan, when a would-be duo fight over a cab, she calls him a stupid head and the will they, won’t they romance tango begins. Or the meet cute ride to New York in When Harry Met Sally where he tells her men and women can never be friends because the idea of sex always gets in the way. They eventually fall in love, decades later.

Then there’s the meet-cute where one or both of them see each other across a crowded room, lock eyes and immediately know they will fall in love. In Serendipity, they both grab for the same gloves, electricity ignites and each take one glove for a future fateful meeting. And in the heartwarming scene in Sleepless in Seattle, corresponding lovers finally meet and instantly sparks arise with knowing eyes and glowing smiles.

And don’t forget the hook line, where one of them gathers courage and captivates the other with the best or worst line in history.

In Working Girl, she states “I’ve got a head for business and a bod for sin,” empowering many single women to come from the societal male-dominant shadows and approach men first. While the cheesiest introduction line ever uttered “You’ve Lost that Loving Feeling,” from Top Gun, made some women in the 80s swoon and others gag when throngs of men tried to re-create the movie pick up in bars for months after its debut.

The worst lines evoke awkward encounters when someone horribly stumbles over their words, leaving you feel very sorry for them and waiting with bated breath in the hopes that they don’t get shut down, crash and burn. In Bridget Jones’ Diary she tells the object of her affection, “You like me just the way I am.” And the most pitiful line spoken by anyone in any movie, “You are my density” from Back to the Future makes us cringe at the verbal diarrhea start. But in each case, it worked and they fall in love in the end.

Movie meet-cutes are sappy, but reliable. And for many that’s a welcome opposition to the real world where very little is certain.

Sometimes I think the fantasy of movie romance gives a false representation and unrealistic expectations of love, allowing some hopefuls to look for their meet cute every day. But life isn’t a movie and love doesn’t go from nothing to something in 90 minutes.

Yet people fall in love all the time and sometimes life does reflect art. So, despite the odds, the true romantics cling to the faith that their love destiny is only one special moment away.

And despite the warning in Moonstruck when he professes his love, and she replies “Snap out of it,” those seeking love will keep anticipating a life-changing “density” event just around the corner.

FOR MORE MEET-CUTE ROMANCE STORIES ABOUT LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT…. click the cover. Now available on Amazon paperback, Kindle and Kindle Unlimited

Friendsgiving

As much as the native Americans and pilgrims came together to peacefully feast, the modern Thanksgiving table often becomes the dividing line in every family between political and generational feuds and sometimes great food wars. Sore points of who’s turkey or stuffing was too dry or who wants cranberry from a can or a stovetop, often engender bruised feelings and egos from passive-aggressive kitchen comments. And the endless debate over the superiority of pies from scratch or store bought that will never be surrendered.

But when you live more than 1,000 miles away from family, choosing holidays to spend together becomes a much less impactful Sophie’s choice decision between two holidays that are only four weeks apart. We chose Christmas to spend as a family and that leaves the question of what do you do for Thanksgiving…and Friendsgiving was born.

A few years ago, several of our Florida friends, who equally opt for Christmas gatherings elected to get together with each other. It was a happy revelation and could be a blueprint for others.

Instead of fights, criticism and debates, the holiday was refreshingly jovial and entirely pleasant. Everyone contributed a dish, which produced a wonderful smorgasbord of different Thanksgiving delicacies from traditionalists, regionalists and some who followed an eclectic path.

Of course, they was still football and wine, a lot of wine, but there were also friendly discussions and games. This year, someone recommended a dinner party game while eating. There was, of course, the tongue-in-cheek suggestion of playing “never have I ever” which almost gained traction until someone else proposed another game called “who would play me in the movie”.

You play by going around the table and everyone weighs in on what actor, living or dead, could play you in the movie of your life. Ideas are thrown out for each person and discussion ensues, based on what characteristics, personality, likeness and prior roles would garner that actor the job. Then each person gets to decide which actor they prefer, or by popular vote…majority wins.

It’s an interesting test of how different people view their counterparts and what makes a good biopic. Of course, there are cases for similarity in likenesses of the same facial structure, eyes, nose, etc. And, of course, with a group of seniors, the likeness test sometimes would degrade to… “You look like this Ryan Gosling, if he was older or you could be Drew Barrymore, but with blond hair and if you were thinner with a shorter, nose,” leaving the question of why they thought that actor resembled them in the first place.

Other people made arguments for comparable personalities or like a similar character they played in a movie, which reminds them of you. In some cases, each perception of personality had the same response as likeness. “You would be like Rodney Dangerfield, if you were funnier. Or maybe Meryl Streep, or if you were smarter or more serious. Which begs the question…if you have to change everything, why did you pick this person in the first place?

It’s a fun game, though can be an odd way to peer through the looking glass at yourself, through a friend’s eyes. What other people see sometimes is not the way you view yourself.

But I found the most fascinating proposal was one without any reason. For each person at the table, one friend said they wanted a particular actor to play them… just because. He would not defend his selections and they all seemed to have no rhyme or reason. No one looked like the other person and personalities or even age weren’t the same.

Their choices were eliminated immediately by the group. So, after the game ended with a lot of laughs and a few revelations, I asked this person…

“Why did you pick those people?”

“Because in my mind, that’s who I want them to be,” he said.

And that’s the perfect encapsulation of the entire Thanksgiving table. Who thinks they can convert their crazy uncle to embrace their lifestyle or even hairstyle over one meal? Your aunts will never ever agree on the exact temperature of turkey or moisture level of stuffing. And the homemade group will never concede that store-bought is just as good. So is the table an arena to air grievances or a place where we can hope those sitting across from us are all we want them to be?

A Window to Your World

Author’s Note: This story is an excerpt from The Peril at Peacock Perch, Book 2 in the Secret Senior Sleuths Society Mysteries, just released.

When investigating a mystery, you have to break a few eggs and a few rules. One of them is a thorough search of the victim’s home. Some detectives are squeamish about snooping, but it is extremely essential. Many things in a person’s home displays a window into their world. To the experienced investigator, our homes can tell about our hobbies, proclivities, medical situations, etc. It’s a treasure trove of information.

We are currently investigating a death in our community. The police ruled it a heart attack, but we found evidence in the home through their artificial intelligence technology that led us foul play. When the victim collapsed, he doubled over and grabbed his throat. We suspect poison, but the toxicology report proved useless.

Our research reveals a number of possible organic poisons or drug interactions could have been the means of murder. In order to continue that path of deduction, we must know what medical ailments our victim suffered from and what medications he was taking.

To gain access to the home, we enlist her neighbor, one of our sleuths, to take the widow out to play bingo at our recreational center and depart from her domicile so we can detect any clues.

“Why can’t I just ask her about the medications? I hate deceiving Laurie. She’s my friend,” Mrs. Instinct says.

As usual, my sleuths are not thinking like detectives. It’s elementary. If you want to find out what inopportune illnesses someone has, the answers are no further than his medicine cabinet.

“Mrs. Instinct, may I remind you this is an investigation? If we begin barking the truth at everyone, we’ll get nothing accomplished. Remember, anyone can be a suspect,” I declare.

“Oh, that’s silly. Laurie is the least likely person to commit a crime. She’s a sweetheart,” Mrs. Instinct insists.

“Don’t see it as a deception, darlin’. Think of it as helping out a friend find out what really happened to her husband,” Magnolia Mastermind adds. “Besides, your penance is the torture of Boring Bingo with Barry.”

With everyone in agreement and the widow finally out of the house, we use the neighbor’s spare key start our subterfuge.

I tell Queens Quister to hunt in the bedside tables while I search the bathroom. I find these two inner sanctum areas are the nucleus of our prying probe. After all, it’s the most secret place in your house.

I examine the vanity drawers and medicine cabinet for any prescriptions, pill bottles and other over-the-counter medications. I take pictures of everything we find with my camera—for the evidentiary trail.

I find a myriad of medicines and a plethora of pills and other prescriptions. But then again, it’s not that different from most medicine cabinets I see. As a naturally curious person, I’ve harmlessly peeked into my friends’ bathrooms before. You never know really someone until you’ve been in their bathroom.

It appears our victim suffered from diabetes, proven by the testing kits and pills. I see those a lot in the bathrooms I observe. And he also had high cholesterol, as noted by the statin medicine. But I think those prescriptions are in most of my neighbors’ drawers. It seems like everything goes well until you hit a certain age and then you inherit a pharmacy in your bathroom.

I don’t see any heart medications, though. My father had a heart condition, so I would recognize anything like that.

As I suspected, the police heart attack theory is less than plausible. I knew they were making a quick excuse to push the death on, so they could close the case. No dedication.

After shooting photographs of all the medicines, I restore everything as it was and proceed into the bedroom to see how Queens is doing.

“Did you find any medications?” I ask.

“Not really, just some antacids and over-the-counter pain medications—pretty standard,” she says. She puts the piles of odds and ends she had stacked on the bed back into the drawers.

But then I notice a bunch of small receipts on the bed and pick them up. They are for downtown parking and ATMs, and all in the same place on Piper Avenue.

“What about these receipts?” I ask.

“Oh, yes, I saw those, but didn’t think anything of them. Many people like to eat out downtown. They have so many wonderful seafood restaurants and live music all the time,” she says.

“Queens, must I remind you that in an investigation, clues—even seemingly normal ones—often present themselves in plain sight? We must deduce the unusual and the usual,” I instruct her.

I continually have to school my sleuths. I guess they don’t have the investigative intuition that I have. It’s a gift. I’m not sure it can be taught, but perhaps I need to offer some orations on deduction and detective work 101.

I photograph the receipts to examine later, and Queens returns them to the drawers.

With everything back in place, we still need to go through the kitchen pantry. What we consume articulates a lot about our health and habits.

But so far, this spying session has borne fruit and provided several leads to point our path towards suspects with means, motives and opportunity. The victim was diabetic and had high cholesterol. When combined with or without outside elements, there could be potential drug interactions.

And those receipts are for the same area with such frequency that my investigative instinct indicates they could reveal a habit or maybe even a suspect. The truth is often hidden in plain sight. It’s our job to find it.

The Secret Senior Sleuth’s Society will not rest until the case of the Peril in Peacock Perch is solved.

Friday Fright

Excited about Halloween, siblings Chris, Sarah and Nathan honored their annual haunted house tradition. Since childhood, they visited one haunted house to start the season off with a bang.

Each year they choose a haunted house to fit their mood. As youngsters, they liked ones similar to a Disney theme park with bright lights and a little spooky music, but nothing too scary. But later into teen years, they looked for more challenging adventures that left them anticipating each fright and scream until the exhilarating conclusion of relief.

“Let’s really get into it this year,” Nathan wrote on their group text. “I want a haunted house that’s gonna make me wet my pants.”

As a psychologist, little sister Sarah briefly questioned his extreme need for excitement, but she knew her brother loved the adrenaline rush from a good scare and reveled in the challenge to frighten others. As a child, he’d set up elaborate Halloween pranks in order to catch others off guard.

And as a teen, he enjoyed working at haunted houses each Halloween. At a towering seven feet tall, he was always placed in the role of the scary monster or the doorman with the intimidating voice to give people a taste of what they were about to experience.

With his insatiable appetite for a thrill, Nathan found a new haunted house that promised to be a truly horrifying experience.

As haunted house experts, it was difficult to not only achieve but exceed their level of excitement. So while they always went into it with open minds and hearts excitedly anticipating to be fulfilled, their bar raised high.

Upon entering, Chris, the artist of the trio, admired the level or intricate cobwebs poised atop the fake castle stones, crafted from Styrofoam and painted to show pitting and age. Big wooden doors that creaked when opened and sounds of the eerie music emanated from the speakers to set the mood.

“Welcome to Gregory Mansion said the booming announcement. Good luck.”

They all looked at each other with smiles and big eyes believing this could be something unique.

The first room set a dining room scene with a long table fully appointed with dripping wet wax candles and dull antique silver plates. The live zombies actors moved slowly with robotic repetition under a strobe light.

Sarah’s heart beat a little faster as she noticed mannequin heads spinning on plates in front of each person with the tops cut out and worms spilling out.

“Not bad,” Chris said. “They even sprayed the gummy worms to look like real worms, respect.”

“Yeah, but the lighting’s too bright,” Nathan sadly complained.

As they walked along a dark hallway, the eyes of the creepy portraits in the wall seemed to follow them.

“That’s the oldest trick in the book,” Nathan quipped with disappointment.

“Now that you’ve been fed. We invite you to join us for some entertainment,” the disembodied voice bellowed, and they stopped in a blackened room, looking into the darkness.

“Where do we go?” Sarah asked in a somewhat uncertain and frightened tone.

As if on cue, floating neon instruments played a baritone dirge.

“I can see the strings,” Nathan criticized.

“Our shy netherworld musicians will only appear if they feel welcome,” the voice scolded.

“Wow, this is strangely responsive,” Chris commented and began clapping, followed by the others.

The illumination sparked as a translucent ghostly band appeared before them.

“Your kind reception is welcome,” the voice said. “You have been invited to our main stage.”

The three glanced at each other with confusion and walked through the open door into a spooky laboratory. Clad in surgical garb, a masked audience silently watched a cloaked operating table. A surgeon entered and stood near the body as the sound of violins quickly screeched chilling notes. As the only girl, Sarah never exhibited fear in front of her brothers, but she felt uneasy.

The surgeon mumbled as he clinked shiny metal tools together, pretending to perform the operation, when the music abruptly ceased and a sudden shriek came from the lifeless covered lump on the table. The masked audience gasped and the lights flickered on and off. The surgeon ripped off his surgical gown, mask and cap to reveal a skeletal clown face and curly black and red wig.

A spotlight beamed on him as he cackled. “Aha. He’s alive.”

When the lights came back, they noticed the cloaked patient disappeared. They quickly turned their heads back and forth looking for the missing person when Sarah let out a bloodcurdling scream.

Nathan and Chris unconsciously jerked back and saw the formerly lifeless patient holding a knife over their sister. The brothers grabbed Sarah’s hands and ran toward the glowing red exit sign. Once through the door, they found themselves in a small gray room, completely devoid of any décor.

“That was a close call,” Chris huffed from lost breath.

Sarah nodded, too upset to speak.

Smiling ear to ear, Nathan uttered a loud enthusiastic laugh. “That was great!”

The other two glared at him in disagreement.

“Sorry, not into the near-death experience performance, thanks.” Sarah said soundly.

“Really? I loved it.” Nathan gleamed.

“I agree,” the booming voice said. “We all need a little scare once in a while. Happy Halloween.”

And the outside door mysteriously opened on cue.

From a Frustrated Florida Driver

Florida driving should be considered a contact sport. But upon further examination, I can see why we are among the worst drivers in America.

After looking at it from the other point of view, I understand why you don’t stop at stop signs. The California roll is much easier and affords less undue stress to your body, in lieu of the prescribed full stop and three second wait.

And I realize that you don’t want to use turn signals to merely indicator the drivers behind you where you are going. It’s none of their business.

To those who follow so close they are practically in my backseat, I believe you are insatiably curious about what’s going on in my car or maybe you like to look at the color or style of my car and need an up close look. And you can’t let any gaps in traffic or people will sneak in and you will be one car behind. That’s anarchy. They need to wait their turn.

I forgive the drivers who are in such a hurry that they must weave in and out of drivers at high speed. It is a daily test of your driving prowess, and you must practice it, avoiding cars like orange cones on a test course.

And speaking of those in a hurry, I don’t blame you for driving recklessly fast and slamming on your brakes in traffic. You have places to go and people to see. Especially if you’re retired, your time is valuable. The few seconds you save will definitely reap dividends in the long run. There’s no chance that you will get in an accident and will spend numerous hours filling out police reports and insurance claims, plus the inconvenience of dealing with fixing a broken car in the body shop. Don’t worry, your insurance rates won’t go up. That’s just what they say.

It’s understandable to race through the left turn on a yellow arrow. You have waited in that cue for a few minutes and you deserve your chance to turn as soon as possible, regardless of the light’s duration or if you have enough time to get through the intersection.

I know you can’t possibly wait until you’re at your destination or even pull over to look at the text or the funny meme that someone sent you with a cat riding a motorcycle. That takes precedence over anything else that you’re doing, like operating a vehicle. Besides, you can easily multitask driving and looking. It’s not rocket science.

To the seniors who have been driving for most of their lives, perhaps even seeing the evolution of cars, I understand that if you are too small to see over the steering wheel – that’s not your fault. Go ahead and drive anyway. And if the brake and the gas seem interchangeable to you. No problem. Keep driving, no matter what anyone else says. It’s your right.

And the tourists who feel the insatiable need to stick your toes in the sand as soon as humanly possible when you arrive in our town. We acknowledge it’s beautiful here and you want to look around. So, if you feel the need to go too slow or violate any other rules, I’m fine with that.

Considering these new rules of the road, I give up. You will find me bubble wrapping my car and wearing a football helmet when I drive because you people are crazy. My mantra for driving in Florida is break early, break often. Stay safe out there.

Everyone needs a Peter Pan in their life. Just as he opened up a new world to Wendy, in her own magical way, my aunt showed me a completely different way to live.

When I was about 10-years-old, I started to rebel against my mother. If she said the sky was blue, I said it was green. Clothes, music, attitude, we agreed on nothing. So for the first of what would be repeated many summers, my mother decided I needed a change of pace, and probably so did she, and she sent me to visit my aunt and uncle for two months.

My aunt and uncle were upscale bohemian hippies in the early 70s. They went to college in the 60s and protested everything. As a white-hat prosecutor, he fought for victims and her patience as a former special needs teacher benefited a new stay at home mom of two babies under three.

From the moment I got there, I knew it was going to be special. While my uncle went to work, my Aunt and I played. In the little tiny Volkswagen bug, she and I, along with two babies and a very large disabled German Shepherd dog, embarked on new adventures.

We visited estate sales for antique furniture or jewelry, picking up a few baubles here and there. And whatever didn’t fit in the small overcrowded car, we would come back to get later.
With her babies in hiking backpacks, we daily walked around the University of Illinois campus Quad, stopping at Baskin Robbins for an ice cream or a milkshake afterward.

When my uncle got home, he often brought the same Baskin Robbins ice cream home for dessert. I ate a lot of ice cream those summers.

And after dinner the music blasted through the house at maximum volume while everyone danced around to Peter, Paul and Mary, Judy Collins, and The Eagles. All music I never heard before and have love to this day.

While folding the endless cloth diapers and clothes from two babies, she introduced me to a strange but compelling daytime TV phenomenon, soap operas or as I nicknamed them, soda poppers. She explained the labyrinth of complex character relationships with fervor, so I could keep up with the storyline.

And after the kids went to sleep, we would play cards and talk about everything…school, boys, parents, growing up.

But more than that, in the turbulent social and political climate of the times, I learned a completely different way of thinking. Without saying anything out loud, I learned by seeing through their eyes that people need to be put over property. That money isn’t everything. And that justice applies to everyone and the power of the people can affect change. Another lifelong habit I embraced.

And just like that, a few years in their presence and I became a lifelong liberal in a staunchly conservative family. Looking back, I’m not really certain how it happened, but I’m glad it did. It made for many oppositions to my parents to this day, but gave me a different view of the world I celebrate.

I remember those summers fondly and credit them not only as a great time, but the bare threads that wove the fabric of my existence.

I truly believe it’s the exposure I had in these two different worlds that gave me the unique and observational perspective that allowed me to choose my own path. Seeing and experiencing different ways of life can have a profound and beneficial effect on young people or people of any age, as long as they’re watching and listening.

Queen Sighting

As the airwaves are filled with stories and tidbits about Queen Elizabeth II, I’d like to add one of my own.

On a 2014 London visit, I stood on a bright sunny Summer day at the gates of Buckingham Palace to see the changing of the guard. As an American, this was a must, to experience the unique pomp and regiment of centuries old monarchal traditions.

Luckily, I got a wonderful front-row view on the flank of the guard, right up against the gates. As I stood there waiting for the time of the change, I took in the entire view. As a fan of architecture, I looked up and down admiring the palace and its opulence. Then I noticed the Royal Standard of the United Kingdom flag flying above the building. In my research, and by watching the movie National Treasure, I knew when that flag is raised, the queen is in residence. I smiled and felt rather satisfied knowing that when I was here to see her house, she was in there, maybe glancing out at the crowd…maybe even at me.

Royal Standard Flag of the United Kingdom

Just then a car drove through the gates and pulled up to the side portico entrance. Some people got in and it turned around and stopped right in front of us while the gate reopened.

Out of curiosity, I couldn’t help peeking into the car. No more than 20 feet away from me were the queen and Prince Philip in the flesh. I was sure if it. To the naked eye, it was an older man and elderly lady with a hat. But then as the car passed through the gates to leave the palace, I noticed the Royal Standard flag lower and immediately the union jack raise to fly above the palace. That confirmed it! The queen had left the building.

Union Jack Official Flag of the United Kingdom

Seeing the queen may be a semi-typical experience for Brits, but as an American visiting Britain, it was a highlight for my tourist list.

An outsider looking in, I’ve always been fascinated by British history and have made it a mission to learn as much as possible about the intricacies and peculiarities of the British crown throughout the two millennia. Filled with many kinds of intrigue such as divorce, adultery, overthrows, feuds, abdications, strife, sorrow and several beheadings, the annals of their history read like an interesting soap opera.

Now that she’s passed, I feel extra proud that I was able to glimpse the lady to match the myth and the memory of her Majesty.

But after nearly a century of her image on film, one question still remains – a secret that may go with her. What was in the purse she always carried?

Useless F***ing Object

I’ve always wondered about U.F.O’s. By attending a Pampered Chef party or roaming through a kitchen utensil store, you can open the door to a new world of objects that make your life easier.

Walking down the aisle, a myriad of gadgets and gizmos serve as constant amazement at the ever striving need to combine and make simple tasks easier.

A utensil clip can hold your stirring spoon to your pot. Plastic handle helpers go on hot pots and pans, so you can lift them without burning yourself. And there are a couple dozen objects you can use to cut, zest, slice, dice, crinkle, peel, core, wedge, scoop, chop, grate, seal and spiralize your fruits and vegetables. What will they think of next?

I’m dating myself, but back in the day, a sharp knife did the work of all of those objects.

In the small appliance category, you can fill an entire cabinet or two or three with a steamer, pressure cooker, air fryer, special toaster, breadmaker, rice maker, Instapot, popcorn maker, pizza maker, pasta maker and cooker, griddle, electric indoor grill, panini maker, juicer, food processor, rotisserie and a fancy sous vide water emersion cooker. Or you can have a pot, pan and an oven.

You can use special dishes for tacos, chips and dip, brownie bites, waffle sticks, miniloaves, granola snacks, pizza stone and minimuffins. But a larger kitchen is inevitably required to make your life easier… in the kitchen.

Comedian George Carlin used to talk about the endless amount of stuff humans accumulate, requiring bigger houses to store all the stuff. He could’ve stayed in the kitchen and started a whole new routine.

Now, I’m not a gadget person, obviously, and my view of cooking is anything that requires more than 30 minutes, start to finish, isn’t worth eating. But my husband, who loves to cook, is also addicted to the latest and greatest machinations to make a 10-minute task take 5 minutes less. I wonder if it occurs to him and his fellow thingy users that all the time it takes to clean all these objects may make up for the few minutes saved. And you wouldn’t need such a big kitchen. Silly me, he never cleans up anyway.

One time, I fell into the trap. I started to make smoothie shakes and while I do own a blender, I saw this doohickey that you can blend and drink in the same container—and it was really fast. So, I bought it. The first time using it had a bit of a learning curve. You fill the container and screw the blade mechanism on the bottom, then invert the liquid container to blend and pulvarate. BUT…you need to make sure the seal is tight on the blade mechanism or you have a big flying leaky mess.

After a few uses, I was a pro and happy with my purchase…until, the cog, wheel, gears or whatever started to wear down from use…after six whole months.

So, I went on their website, called and otherwise dogged every interweb avenue for a solution. I was told.

“It’s just wear and tear, but you are welcome to buy a new one at a discounted price.”

And that was it. In the garbage it went and just like that, I was cured. No more useless f***ing object U.F.O’s for me. Even if P.T. Barnum didn’t say it, I agree with the sentiment. A sucker is born every minute.