Why I dislike these cute little kitties

Cute kittens are my enemies. I really don’t like them very much because they are insidious in the way they creep their way into my heart.

They do everything in their power to make me want to like them, acting as if they want me to adopt them. They offer humor, playfulness, occasional cuddling, and so many other things that make them so appealing.

But then… the evil little creatures prick me with their claws, they will rub all over me with their fur, they will sometimes lick my face or hands.

If these things happen I swell up with large bumps from the little claws, my eyes swell shut, my lungs decide to overreact, and I can end up in the hospital.

It’s easier if I just could learn to hate these little devils. Being allergic to them is my hell.

Otherwise, I would have a dozen of them!!

Photo credit: Pixabay, public domain

Technological Challenges of an Otherwise Adept Communicator

I am a communicator.

I like to talk. I like to write.

I like to interact with others.

I know that technology has opened up the doors and made things possible in ways we never dreamed possible.  But even as I try to maneuver through a process of trying to figure out what direction to take my blog, there are too many options and some of the language words used make absolutely no sense to me, let alone trying to understand how this all works.

Technology, though it has helped me in some ways, has left me feeling rather inept as a communicator.

Perhaps the time has come that I take a class somewhere.  Is there an adult education class at the local community college on “How to Blog Using WordPress”?

I am sure that there is a tutorial somewhere on this site that should take me through it, but what about those of us who learn better in a classroom, with collaborative, face-to-face learning?  I have watched videos, but I value the one-on-one connections with other human beings, where I can ask questions, get answers, and have someone talk me through the process interactively.

It has been suggested that I simply hire someone to do it for me.  My experience with that has been that the one who is hired is unwilling to do it collaboratively, but is impatient and wants to do it his way and has no time for me wanting to understand the process.

So there is just one of my dilemmas, as I move forward.  Any suggestions or advice?

I simply ask that you do not send me a tutorial for said advice. 😉


V is for small v

a-to-z-letters-v I grew up as the oldest daughter of Neil and Marian Levang.  Yes, Levang with a small v.

That was the name on my birth certificate.  My father’s name and my name were both spelled with a small v.

I’m not sure when he changed it by capitalizing the V. Nor am I sure of the spelling on the birth certificates of my siblings. I think he was trying to set himself apart from all the other Levangs of the world.

The name Levang is not French, as so many believe when they see the V capitalized. I remember being tired of always having to explain that it was a Norwegian name.

How many French people do you know that eat lefse and lingonberries or knackebrod with pickled herring?

Others followed in his footsteps.  They adopted the capital V in the name.

Perhaps, it was to be more like him.  He was a guitar player on the Lawrence Welk Show.  It was as close to “famous” as some might reach.

There was a time when I, too, used the capital V.  But I always thought it looked funny.  It wasn’t my name.

When I joined the military, they went by my birth certificate.  So, back to Levang it was.

But for a brief marriage in my late teens, I have kept the name with which I was born.  The name of my ancestry.


And I’m pleased to be able to open up a jar of pickled herring and enjoy it with some crisp Scandinavian rye bread.

It really is much less complicated than figuring out how to get the escargot out of its shell.





S is for Stop It! (A Shrink Speaks)


“Stop it!”

These words are not foreign to most of our ears, though the “it” can be any number of things.

Stop daydreaming. Stop wasting time. Stop speeding. Stop the world, I want to get off. Stop being silly. Stop doing this. Stop doing that. Stop whatever the hell you are doing and listen to me. Just stop.

What I most often heard…


We are so accustomed to hearing, “Stop!” that it is no wonder that so many of us are afraid to do anything.  Afraid to start anything.  Afraid to try.

We get caught up in what others think we should do.  We live our lives by the standards that a society imposes on us.

We forget who we are.  We ignore what is truly important. We make decisions based on a false sense of security.

Then one day, we wake up and wonder why our life is in shambles.  Why we are so unhappy. Why we attract the “crazies” in life. Why we overindulge in the things that aren’t good for us. Why? Why now?

Why me?

And that is followed by the “If only…then…” and “I don’t understand…why” ruminations, which land us in a psychologist’s office going over the history of what brought us there in the first place.

I believe that self-reflection, self-evaluation, and self-discovery are all good things.  And asking for help when at a standstill when trying to do it all by (one)self is equally as important. Trust me when I say that I sat through my share of therapy hours over the years.

But I also think that there are times when we, the damaged, can get sucked back into some familiar behavior.  We jump back into similar self-badgering thought processes of the “What the f*&#?” “Not again!” and “When is the next bomb going to drop?”

It is familiar.  It feels the same.  But because we have worked hard to rid ourselves of the “Why me?” language, we see it is as something unique, different and new.  So, we find a new counselor with a more modern therapeutic style or unique technique to bring us to a more enlightened state of awareness and being.

I think it’s nothing more than a variation on a theme.

If my theory holds any semblance of truth,  perhaps we do not need more years sitting in doctors’ offices rehashing old stories while they delve into our sex lives (or lack thereof), and negotiate the non-allowable charges that the insurance companies will not pay.

Are there other options?

Could we find a professional who sees our time as valuable? Who doesn’t want us to waste more of our life with the same-ol-shit-different-day thoughts?

Someone who will give it to us straight.  Wake us up. Hit us between the eyes with the metaphorical one-two-punch that has our head spinning around 180 degrees so we can see the situation from a different perspective or direction.

This MadTV skit featuring the brilliant and effortless comedic timing of  Bob Newhart and Mo Collins, suggests that there could be another approach.

There are times I must simply remind myself to stop playing the same archived tapes that I take off the shelves of my mind to dust off from time-to-time. I know the script backward and forward and don’t need to waste my precious time and life energy to relearn the lines of  “why me?” “what if…?” and “how come?”

And I certainly don’t need to pay for one more “shrink” as long as I have good friends, YouTube and I…



(Note from the author:  I dedicate this post to all my friends and colleagues who are in the helping profession as counselors, guides, coaches, psychologists, therapists, clergy, bartenders, and any-and-all-others who cleverly disguise what they do naturally by coming up with a clever title and are in the practice of listening and giving direction.  I love you all!)

L is for Lamentations of an Old Woman


“I’ve become an old woman, I know that it’s true.”

This was the first line of a poem, “Lamentations of an Old Woman,” I wrote nearly four years ago. I was not yet 54 years of age.

I have lamented many things in life which really did nothing more than contribute to stress levels, cause me headaches, make me angry, and waste a lot of time and energy on things that simply do not matter when we consider the “grand scheme” of life.

Today, I looked that poem, because I labeled my day off as lost  and largely felt  literally justified to lament, as I still had five blog posts to become current with the “A to Z Blogging Challenge” and got started with late.  (Likely that you have now learned that I am quite the loquacious, ludicrous, though lovely lass!  Of course, all the L-words come flooding into my brain now that I’m being silly!)

I must admit that this past year, having been “lucky” enough to have been diagnosed with a rare cancer, I lament less and less.

A few weeks ago, a 20-year-old participant of my career transition workshops said to me (about my age), “You are my grandmother’s age.  In fact, you’re a little older than her.”

There was a time, when I would have been downright offended.  I must admit, however, that it did catch me off-guard.  But to live long enough to become an old woman (in some people’s eyes) will never be something I lament…ever again.

Every day that I am  able to wake up to be able to continue to


…makes this old woman just a little happier.