*Happy Fourth of July, 'Murica!

Remembering a fun day in Washington, D.C. with my boy last summer. Happy Fourth of July, 'Murica!

Bridger waiting his turn for a simulated ride at the Smithsonian

There are accents, and then there are outright mispronunciations. Yesterday, we were entertained for a couple of hours atop a double decker tour bus, careening down the streets of Washington, D.C. Our tour guide was a young woman named Ty, short for Tyreshia. She knew shared tidbits of trivia with us about the landmarks, and shared her personal suggestions for the best eating establishments in the area.

So many "memoriums" in 'Murica's capitol city.

"If you want to AXE me anything while we're on the tour, feel free," Ty assured us. "Axe" is a common pronunciation in the south for ASK, but it shocked my ears to hear it again. Outside of the south, most people recognize the K comes after the S in ASK, but here in the greater metropolitan area of the District, and throughout much of the southeast, it is reversed. 

"Just axe me," she repeated.  "Axe me anything."

My fifteen-year-old whispered, "Do you think she cares what kind of axe we use?"

"Oh, no, I'm sure you could use a hatchet, a tomahawk, or any sort of chopping tool you have on hand," I grinned.

At one point, my son turned around and said, "WHAT did she just say?" I do have a hearing disability, but I'm pretty good at using context clues to fill in what I missed. Of course, the mispronounced word happened to be another of her favorites, so we had more opportunities to decipher what she was saying.  

"There are a VIE-AR-I-TY of cuisines in Washington, D.C.  You can find any kind of food you like here."

There it was again. VIE-AR-I-TY.  

"Does she mean to say VARIETY?" Bridger asked. We smiled, and then grinned. We both delight in language, good and bad, serious and funny. Detecting errors in spelling, word usage, and yes, pronunciation, is a hobby I have shared with my children throughout their lives, and now we enjoy it together. 

"I was born and raised in Washington, so I know a lot about the area," Ty continued. "I am a true Washingtonian."

We noticed that any word with an /er/ in it, came out as an UR. America and very came out 'MURICA and VURRY. We wondered if she wishes everyone a MURRY Christmas during the holiday season. Another shared smile between us. 

The longer the tour went on, the more it became obvious that she was totally unaware of the word AN. Instead of AN apple, for instance, she would say A apple, with the A having the long A sound. If the word following the A began with a consonant, she would use the schwa sound, so for instance, it would be UH bus, UH tourist, UH landmark, which is accepted usage. Instead of saying AN apple or AN orange, she would just use the long A, A apple or A orange.  

"Have A awesome day," she cheerily told each group who departed the tour at the stops along the way.

We drove past the Vietnam War Memorial, the Jefferson Memorial, the Lincoln Memorial.  There are many famous events and people from American history memorialized here.  Bridger swears she repeatedly said MEMORIUM for the word memorial. The Lincoln Memorium. The Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorium. She may have; I honestly couldn't detect that one.  He seemed to enjoy it without me, smiling throughout the entire tour.  

The District police had blockaded one street due to an accident, and there were inevitable lulls in the snarl of downtown traffic. Our bus was idling in front of the Bureau of Printing and Engraving for quite awhile. We were having a difficult time determining exactly what she was saying as she chattered about this landmark.  It wasn't her volume; the microphone took care of that. There was just one troublesome word. Bridger and I looked at each other quizzically, and then it dawned on us. She wasn't saying BUREAU, she kept calling it the Ba-ROO of Printing and Engraving.  We assumed she would call the FBI the Federal Ba-ROO of Investigation. Admittedly, bureau IS a French word, and so it could be difficult to pronounce, but perhaps if one is a tour guide in Washington, D.C., one should be able to pronounce BUREAU, since there are quite a few of those here.

All in all, it was a delightful tour; Tyreshia was knowledgeable about the history, and pointed out little-known facts that kept us informed. The weather was unseasonably cool, and was without the heavy humidity I've come to expect during my stays in the east. The open air bus kept us comfortable, as it rumbled down the busy streets of our nation's capitol. And Ty unwittingly entertained us the entire time with her Washingtonian expressions, and her own way of speaking.  

Today we are off to central Virginia to visit our loved ones. We'll say goodbye to the capitol city of 'Murica, and hello to the Blue Ridge Mountains.  We are going to have A awesome day.  Y'all do the same!

Changing Time Zones

Is it just me, or does anyone else play the time zone game?  We spent yesterday traveling across two time zones.  When we finally reached our hotel after midnight, I cheerily told myself, "Well, it's like ten o'clock to me!  Not bad at all."

After settling in and getting ready to retire, I tried to get comfortable in the strange bed.  It was like sleeping on a brick in a refrigerator.  I think we always try to compensate for the humidity by cranking up the air-conditioning.  Then, not only am I damp, I'm colder because I'm damp.

I kept checking my phone for the time.  1:00 in the morning.  "Oh, boy. See?  That's only...ELEVEN o'clock MY time!  Holy cow!  ELEVEN???  I haven't stayed up this late in FOREVER."

The time zone game is great when things are going well, and I have energy, and it's not in the middle of the night.  It gets a little taxing when you fall asleep at 1:00 in the morning and you're awake by 6:00, no matter WHICH time zone is involved.  When I start thinking, "Oh, well, that's like 11:00 to 4:00."  So what???  It's still only five hours of sleep.

I'm done with the game for today.  Daylight released me from the prison that was that bed, and I'm happily awake in the free breakfast dining area in our hotel, typing away, and now visiting with my son.  Excuse me, being with my boy is a sweet treat in any time zone, and I need to enjoy this fleeting time with a quickly growing man-child!  We're off to the Smithsonian today, for a family adventure in D.C.  More later...

Leavin' on a Jet Plane...

"All my bags are packed.  I'm ready to go..."  It's true.  My one solitary BAG is packed.  I packed it yesterday; not wanting to leave anything to chance.  Today is the day that we will fly to Virginia, the land of home and high school friends, and this week, the place where my little sister will be wed.  Our Little Princess has found her Prince Charming.

Little Princess is a packer extraordinaire.  My dad teases that when they go to the beach, he needs a trailer just to haul her stuff.  That girl is prepared, though!  She packs clothes for swimming, shopping, dining, beach combing, and just in case, something a little more formal, should the occasion arise.  When I go to the beach, I figure I've got everything covered if I have my swimsuit, a toothbrush, sunscreen, and a little something to use as a cover-up.  Yes, we have very different packing styles.

I've never had to pack for an extended stay vacation, but for a week long trip, I can put everything I need in a carry-on sized suitcase.  If it can't fit under the seat in front of me on the plane, it really doesn't need to go.  Now it's true, I don't have near as many options each morning as I get ready for the day.  I can't play the spoiled card by saying, "But I don't FEEL like wearing THAT today."  Or, "That's too wrinkly.  What else is there?"  I have to use tough love on myself, and "buck up," and wear what's there.

Backpacking and Harleying have taught me how to be a minimalist when it comes to traveling.  One of the strangest tips I ever heard from one of my husband's motorcycle friends was to pack only the OLD underwear and just throw it out after wearing it, to lighten the load as you go.  Now I don't know about you, but my underwear just doesn't take up that much room.  And when I'm going on vacation, I like to take the NICER pieces, you know, to spice things up, so to speak.  I don't want to have panty lines or fight with undergarments that are ill-fitting while I'm on my VACAY!!!  Those old granny panties will just have to stay home.

Last year, I took his advice to heart, though, and packed with the intent to dispose along the way.  I had lost some weight in the spring and some of my jeans were loose.  I honestly took some of my larger jeans, counting on their feeling extra comfy on the motorcycle, and being able to dispose of them on our trip without guilt to make room for souvenirs and  new t-shirts from our west coast trip. When the zipper kept coming off the track of one of the pair of jeans, I didn't even bat an eye about leaving that problem behind in our Crescent City motel room.

Have you ever watched Mr. Bean?  Our family loves Rowan Atkinson of BBC fame.  One of my favorite scenes of his involves packing things into a much too small suitcase.  He solves dilemmas by cutting items in half, or only taking half of what he needs.

I was guilty of some of those extreme measures when backpacking.  Who needs a WHOLE wash cloth?  And you don't need a towel, if you only wet half of the half of washcloth, the other side can be used for drying!  When shopping for outdoor wear, I always bought the LIGHTEST weight shirts and pants; no jeans ever!  They were too bulky and took too long to dry.  Lightweight was the way to go.

So packing for our Virginia trip was a breeze.  I hung up five hangers in my suitcases's handy dandy
compartment, utilizing that little organizational feature.  Most hangers have two items hanging on them.  I rolled up all of my capris, tank tops, PJs, and collarless shirts.  I've packed two pairs of shoes, a few gifts, toiletries, and hair appliances.  There's even jewelry and my telephoto camera lens in there!  I plan on wearing some of the capris more than once, but that will just be our little secret.

It has been a couple of years since I've been home, so I am more than a little excited to travel today.  There's still a couple of nooks and crannies vacant in my suitcase.  I'll go see what else I can tuck into the spaces; a girl likes to have her options!

The Ever Elusive Sandman

Three in the morning.  Tossing.  Turning.  Blankets on.  Blankets off.  Am I awake for the day? Or can I settle back down and rest? 

Now that it's summer, I shouldn't worry at all about being alert or on my toes.  When you're facing a classroom full of 35 fifth graders, it's a totally different story.  Now that it's summer, and my retirement has begun, I just have to be awake enough to make casual conversation with my husband and not burn breakfast. 

So it's not school or work related; it's the best kind of stress:  EUSTRESS.  Have you heard of it?  It is stress that is deemed healthful or giving one the feeling of fulfillment.  This is the week of my little sister's wedding.  This is the week that we will travel cross-country and reconnect with family and familiar faces.  I have looked forward to this since Christmas when my little sister sent me a text message and a picture of her engagement ring, sharing her big news.

My mind is racing with packing lists and gift ideas, travel itineraries and hotel reservations, doggy daycare for Marley and car rental agreements.  Travel is so exciting, and at times, a little overwhelming. 

There are so many people I know and love in Virginia.  It is not the place of my birth, but it is the place I called home from infancy until high school graduation.  There are so many directions to which my heart is pulled.  I want to see everyone and I can never stay long enough because it seems there's always another visit to make and another place to go . My husband will meet my Virginia relatives for the first time.  My girlfriends from high school are gathering next weekend for a potluck lunch, and a rare chance to visit outside of Facebook. 

It's now five in the morning.  I've taken a warm bath and sipped a cup of Yogi Soothing Caramel Bedtime Tea.  I gathered the items I was afraid I would forget to pack.  Sleep is so elusive at times, but perhaps I should give it another go.  Perhaps the sandman will come for a second time before the sun comes up.  Here's hoping...

Cookie Dough Hummus (Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip)...Dipping a Toe in the Vegan Water

Inspired by our recent TV viewing featuring a vegan lifestyle, we wanted to try to incorporate more healthy alternatives in our snacking repertoire.  This is my first attempt at making a sweet hummus.  I browsed online, looking for something we might like.  Other recipes I found had added sugars or whole-fat peanut butter.  I wanted my first exposure to limit the sugars and extra fat, so I subbed in stevia and peanut powder (PB2, specifically). Honestly?  I think a little brown sugar would have made this PERFECT, but this recipe is pretty darn good for a snack with so much nutrition!  Try it; see what YOU think!

Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Hummus (by SHRINKMOM)

Submitted by: SHRINKMOM 

View the original recipe for Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Hummus

Introduction

Cookie dough without the guilt and loads of nutrition. Use as a dip for apples, graham crackers...or even better, just use a spoon!

Minutes to Prepare: 10

Number of Servings: 12

Ingredients

1 can garbanzo beans
4 T. PB2 (powdered peanuts)
1/8 c. water
1 t. vanilla
1 T. pure maple syrup
4 t. stevia (more or less, to taste)
1 dash salt
1/4 c. mini chocolate chips

Tips

Creates about 12 two tablespoon servings.

Directions

Drain and rinse beans. Add everything except the chocolate chips to the food processor. Blend until smooth. Stir in chocolate chips. Let cool in fridge for at least an hour.

Serving Size: Makes 1 2/3 c. of "cookie dough"

Nutritional Info

• Servings Per Recipe: 12
• Amount Per Serving
• Calories: 77.7

• Total Fat: 1.8 g
• Cholesterol: 0.0 mg
• Sodium: 148.9 mg
• Total Carbs: 13.3 g
• Dietary Fiber: 2.3 g
• Protein: 3.0 g

View full nutritional breakdown of MAKEOVER: Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Hummus (by SHRINKMOM) calories by ingredient

Le Beau Citron (Fresh Limeade)...Trying to Give Up Soda AGAIN

Yesterday's goal was to drink healthier. I conscientiously avoided soda in the morning, and by the time the hectic-ness of my afternoon was over, I didn't really want it. Our secret survival weapon? Iced water and fresh-squeezed limeade. "So refreshing!" exclaims the husband. We sweeten it with stevia and flavor it with a sprig of mint. 

I've tried cutting out soda before,but never really noticed a difference...like dropping a quick 30 pounds, so why bother? We've been watching all of the propaganda movies (my term) on Netflix, and I really feel like some of my habits are out of control and that perhaps there are more important things than losing weight to be gained from eating a wider variety of fruits and vegetables, whole grains and unprocessed foods. (The movies? Hungry for Change, Food Matters, Forks over Knives, Frankensteer... with several more in our queue.) So, I'm trying to become more moderate. Yes, I must subject myself to extreme viewpoints to try to find a point of balance. It's like shock therapy for this junk food junkie at heart.

We were introduced to the freshly squeezed limeade at the Ogden Arts Festival Saturday.  A lone young man was running his stand, trying to keep up with the demand for his yummy drink.  I watched carefully, so I could go home and make my own version of his Le Beau Citron.  And here it is, the recipe to make a quart of this summery nectar.

Le Beau Citron

1.  Squeeze the juice from two limes into a Mason jar (to be authentic!)

2.  Add a sprig of mint, twisting the leaves to release the oil (trust me, you'll want the mint, and I'm not mint's biggest fan)

3.  Sweeten to taste (we like three packets of stevia in ours)

4.  Fill the jar with water and ice.  
5.  Seal the jar and shake the contents rhythmically, adding hip movement, if desired.

Drink directly from jar, unless you have more drinks to make! 

*Confessions of a Word Geek

Way back when, when I lived in Virginia and was a student in junior high, I had the privilege of competing in the school spelling bees.  Oh, what a fun event that was for someone like myself! Until.  UNTIL that moment when the competition was down to the final two:  my brother Kevin and me.  (This would be a good time to tell you that I was in 8th grade; he was in 7th.)  The word I was given was PLASTIC.  I had this!  The trophy would be mine, mine, mine!  We had a box of cutlery, PLASTIK brand cutlery, in our pantry that I had seen on a daily basis for the last couple of years. 

Oh!  This was too perfect.  How could I get such an EASY word after all of the challenging words we had spelled to get to this point?  Needless to say, when that irritating DING of the bell reached my ears, I was in utter disbelief.  Kevin not only spelled PLASTIC, but he went on to spell his word correctly and won the spelling bee.  And I learned a little humility.

One evening when I was a freshman at BYU, the girls in my apartment were sitting around the table.  I must have been looking at my geography book, or perhaps a map, when I blundered into the conversation with confidence, asking where the Red Buttes were. Here, let me assist you.  I didn't ask about the (byoots), I asked about the (butts).  Everyone howled with laughter.  In my defense, I was from Virginia.  We don't have buttes and "cricks."  We have hollers and crEEks.  Yes, thank you, I will have a little slice of that humble pie.

It wasn't until later in college that I made the mortifying discovery when writing out a check that I had been misspelling FORTY all of my life.  "Fourty" made perfect sense, and I had never questioned it.  Glad I caught it BEFORE I became a teacher.

Marley on the CHAISE LONGUE

A couple of years ago, I was enjoying my summer vacation reading magazines.  By the way, I'm not one of those teachers who zealously attacks student work with a red pen, circling with devilish glee spelling errors, but I LOVE finding spelling errors in print, so it was with great satisfaction I detected "chaise longue" in the Oprah magazine, of all places. Then, with some reflection, I wondered if there were a chance that I could be wrong. I Googled the spelling on my phone and discovered, much to my dismay, that indeed, CHAISE LONGUE is correct, but as Americans, we have misspelled the word as CHAISE LOUNGE so much, there is actually a dictionary entry for it, incorrect as it may be!  If I had only used my French minor degree, I would have understood the connection:  a long chair is a CHAISE LONGUE.  I just thought it was a chair for lounging, and a "chase lounge," as I said it, sounded correct to me!

Just recently, I embarrassed myself with a pronunciation faux pas in the presence of friends, one of whom worked for a newspaper and is a bit of a word geek himself.  I used this particular word without hesitation, having seen it in print sporadically throughout my life, but when said newsman heard it, he did an obvious double-take and repeated the word with a big fat question mark at the end. The word in question was BROOCH.  Now I know how to say POOCH and MOOCH, so I assumed I knew how to say BROOCH.  Ha ha ha!  Oh, dear.  I stood corrected. 

These are the stories I share with my students, who have these little A-HA moments on a regular basis.  I let them know we are all still learning, even old gals like me.  I will forever be honing my word skills, it seems.  How can someone who knows so MANY words well,  perform so miserably with a certain few?  I'm human.  And luckily, I have a sense of humor about my weaknesses.

At rare times, I proceed with caution with words about which I am unsure.  In the privacy of my home, with access to my trusty dictionary and the internet, I reassure myself and double-check meanings and pronunciations and spellings.  But when I'm in PUBLIC, and I am speaking, I just do the best I can.  Do I still make mistakes?  Oh, certainly.  It gives me something to think about, and as long as I'm still learning, I can keep my pride in check. 

Hiking My Way Back to the Girl I Used to Be

There is a children's song I know with these lyrics, "When we're helping, we're happy, and we sing as we go..."  I find this tune running through my head when I'm hiking in the great outdoors, and of course, I change the words to suit me, and it comes out like this, "When I'm HIKING, I'm happy, and I sing as I go..."

What is it about hiking that speaks to our spirit?  It wasn't until I was in college in Utah that I actually began hiking.  We did midnight hikes in Hobble Creek Canyon, day hikes to Mount Timpanogos, and overnight hikes in the beautiful Uintahs.  I had hiked alone, with my Lab Gordon, on dates, and with small groups of friends.  There never seemed to be a bad way to go.  

"A bad day hiking is still better than a good day at school," seemed to be our motto.  Hiking in those days was a great stress reliever, and a welcome break from classes.  Having this first-hand experience with nature seems to settle my soul.

After college and early on in my teaching career, I was married and had children.  It never seemed feasible for me to take my little ones. People do it, and I wish I had persevered, but through no one's fault but my own, I just didn't do it.

I tried to enjoy the mountains in my own way, bouncing along in our old truck to scout for deer, or elk, or bear.  We checked traps and did little short walks from the truck to the traps and back again. I would walk while my family fished.  I never was much for hunting and fishing, and somehow I allowed those activities to detract from my connecting with nature.

Colorado Rocky Mountain High 2012

After my 22 year marriage ended, I knew that I would have to make my way back to the Granola Girl I left behind those many years ago.  Hiking was the natural solution, and it has helped me reconnect with my children, and myself.

It has been my extreme pleasure to hike with my grown children.  I feel like I have had to make up for missed opportunities when they were younger. We hike the deserts and mountains near Saint George with Dylan, Colorado with Sierra, and central and southern Utah with Bridger.  

We have all grown closer through these outdoor experiences. Having adventures is what adds more depth and dimension to our lives.  Hiking gives us opportunities for private reflection,  quiet conversation, and finding humor in whatever circumstances we find ourselves.

We keep adding hikes to our bucket list. The longer my list grows, the happier I am. This year I hope we make it to Angels' Landing in Zion National Park. I want to explore the trails above Monrovian Park on Monroe Mountain. A visit to the Grand Canyon is long overdue; I've never seen it, and I have lived in the Rockies since 1979! I know that when I'm hiking, I'm happy. And there's a lot to be said for being happy!

Man's Best Friend? Or a Beast of Burden? Hiking Calf Creek Falls with Our Boston

Go early, we thought. It will be cooler, we thought.  Perhaps we should have considered the role the sun plays when it is hanging in the sky, once any trace amounts of dew have evaporated and the desert rocks start to absorb the sun's rays.



Lower Calf Creek Falls
Boulder, Utah

Bridger and I left early, we thought, to beat the heat, we thought.  Apparently, six A.M. is not early enough if one is hiking in southern Utah.  Lower Calf Creek Falls is more than two hours away from our sleepy little town.  We should have left in the middle of the night.  Or even the day before.  We could have stayed in a nearby campground or air-conditioned motel.  As it turns out, we were on the trail by 10:10. And it was already turning into a cooker.



Our Boston Terrier seems to enjoy hiking days, so he was along for the walk, too.  In retrospect, that was NOT a good idea.  Not today.  Not here.  We were taking bets as to when he would flop in the shade and refuse to go any further.  He didn't even make it all the way to the falls before he was showing signs of resistance.  Marley pants like any normal dog, under the circumstances.  It's what he does when he has had enough that baffles the dog whisperer in me. He simply refuses to move.  We tug on his leash, and he is dragged in the sand. We whistle, we beg, we offer words of encouragment.  His passive-agressive nature is what surfaces when
temperatures soar and moods plummet. 

What's a hiker to do?  We took every opportunity to dunk him in the creek to cool him off.  We offered water.  We kept his coat damp.  We rested in the shady spots that are sporadically available along the trail.  Every once in awhile, we hoisted him up and carried him along the way.  It worked, for awhile.




When we reached the water falls, we all relished the breezes and the misty droplets in the air. We took off our shoes and relieved our feet in the cold moutain water.  Marley seemed to be somewhat rejuvenated.  After playing in the water and taking in the scenery for a respectable amount of time, we decided it was time to brave the elements once more, and head back to the scorching heat of the trail.

To Marley's credit, he tried to give it a go.  He made an effort to get back to the car.  It was just SOOO hot.  He languished in any small patch of shade he could find.  We continued to cool him off internally and externally.  I knew he had finally had it when he sat on his haunches and held his front paws off the heated sand while his haunches rested in the tiniest patch of shade.  We decided we would have to carry our poor litte Boston Baked Bean.  My son picked him up and carried him to the creek.  He rinsed off most of the red sand and then Bridger placed Marley across my shoulders much like ancient shepherds carried their lambs long ago.  (My knowledge of ancient shepherds comes from stained glass windows at the church of my childhood.)

Then we took turns carrying that little 15 pound pup.  Honestly, the evaporating water from his body cooled our necks.  I had visions of Aesop's Fable about the Miller, His Son, and the Donkey.  I'm sure some of the passing hikers thought we'd lost it and some found us to be compassionate.  I really couldn't worry about what anyone else thought at that time.  We couldn't stand to see him suffer any more. 

Marley had no lasting effects and this morning, he is sleeping soundly in his recliner he graciously shares with me.  Would we hike Calf Creek again?  You bet!  But unless it's the dead of winter, I think we'll let Marley off the hook for any future forays into the desert.

What's in a Name?

When I turned the age corner into my fifties, and decided to start a blog, I thought that Nifty Fifties had a catchy ring to it and decided to take on that name for said blog.  Try Googling Nifty Fifties.  Yeah, apparently there are many of us who think that's a cool way to go with a blog title.  There are many variations on the theme, but since I'm not really pushing THE FIFTIES decade, or supplements for the silver-haired crowd, or even anything with an AARP theme, I decided to re-think my choice.

I love to write.  I have always been a writer.  I write lists, notes, letters, emails, journals, poetry, haiku (I was a fifth grade teacher; perhaps I should clarify SOME of my writing wasn't stellar!).  I hike and bike and take amateur pictures with a decent camera.  I just retired from a 30 year teaching career. My hobby is adapting favorite recipes to make them healthier.  My life is full of a bit of this and a bit of that. 

This time I decided to get some advice from some "old souls" in my circle of friends; those younger than I whose opinion I respect.  We tossed around ideas...The Recipe Whisperer.  The Happy Hiker.  After the Last Roll Call.  Granola Girl.  Hikes and Bikes.  The Happiness Habit.  Random Thoughts and Moments.  Random Rants, Writings and Recipes. 

The problem is that I know me; it will not serve me well to get too focused.  I'm not a general dispenser of knowledge.  Teaching is what I DID.  I cook and bake, but not regularly.  I'm not going to tell people where I hike because I like the path less-traveled. (RUDE, I know.)  I try to be Pollyanna-like, but I have MY days, too.  The central theme that kept popping up was based on the word RANDOM.  And I tend to go through life at turbo speed, although I'm trying so hard to change that, and speed made me think of velocity, and the next thing you know, I've morphed my own word that kind of rhymes with Travelocity, if you accent the third syllable:  RANDOMOCITY!!!

Sigh.  I am happy.  I feel content.  Today I renamed my blog Randomocity.  And there you have it.  That name suits me better for who I am and what I do.  Whether I am proud of that or not remains to be seen.