The Old Piano

I just saw a TV commercial for life insurance that really struck the wrong chord. It starts with middle-aged siblings discussing how disappointed they are that they have to sell Mom's piano in order to pay for her funeral.

Right there, the story loses all credibility. Mom's piano can't be sold. I learned this when my mother moved into assisted living and we had to sell most of her things. Pianos are almost impossible to sell. Nobody wants an old piano. In fact, you can't even donate them. Churches, senior centers, youth organizations, schools -- if they want a piano, they already have one. If they don't have one, it's because they don't want one.

The Science of Happy Relationships

The secret to a happy marriage isn't really a secret. Scientists have spent decades studying every aspect of intimate relationships, and we now know a lot about what makes the difference between long-term bliss or ultimate divorce.

In the Kitchen With Dad

Throughout my childhood, my father cooked all our family dinners. He was not a good cook. Apparently, Mom was even worse. She had abdicated the lead role in the kitchen very early in their marriage, after one too many complaints from Dad.

Responding to Anger

Some people have such wise minds and tranquil spirits that they remain calm and forgiving no matter what the provocation. I'm not like that. Most of us aren't. When someone insults, inconveniences, disappoints, betrays, or annoys us, we tend to get angry.

Maybe it's just a brief irritation. Maybe it's seething resentment. It could become screaming rage, or stony rejection. Often we feel the desire to punish the person who has angered us, even if only in a small way. Return the insult. Refuse to help. Start an argument. Get revenge.

NaBloPoMo

Some people blog every day. I salute them! Their creativity and perseverance amaze me.

Despite all the writing I've done, I often struggle to get words onto the page. "You make it look so easy," someone once told me. Right, that's because you can't actually see me as I'm writing. Staring out the window. Jumping up from my chair because I suddenly realized how important it is to get all the laundry done today. Sorting my pencils. Burying my face in my hands. Typing, deleting, typing, deleting. Whimpering.

So it seemed like a good idea to join NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month) on BlogHer.com, where thousands of bloggers agree to post something every day. I have challenged myself to try it. This is my first post.