Left Brain Right Brain Car Strain

So…everyone has heard about the left brain/right brain thing, right? The left brain is our digital brain. The one that is more organized and systematic. That works for us with reading, writing, calculating and logical thinking.

Right brain, the analog brain is more three dimensional. Creative and intuitive. Full of artistic senses.

Which one is more dominant in you? This distinction impacts your personality and decision-making. Or are they sometimes at war with each other? Your emotions are dropping bombs on your logic. Your creative side is launching missiles causing analysis paralysis. Can a truce be declared? Or must the adversaries of the brain duke it out? Neurological warfare.

Leftie knows the words to a song. Rightie knows the tune. Leftie thinks of something in words. Rightie visualizes it. Leftie depends on facts. Rightie relies on feelings. Leftie analyzes it. Rightie imagines it. Rational versus emotional. Analytical versus creative. Logic versus intuition to solve problems. Yin versus Yang.


Car guy is at an auction and sees the car of his dreams (or shall we say the latest one). He’s salivating but calculating with caution if he should bid. Analyzing the pros and cons. All his thoughts are rushing together towards the final decision. His wife would kill him. He cannot afford this car. It’s insane to even consider it. It’s over. And then, he starts to sweat. His thoughts diverge. Right brain makes him imagine driving this machine with wild abandon. Self-control goes out the window. His wife doesn’t have to know. This is his new mistress. He’s in love! He has to have her. Sold!

Car guy finds an orphaned Bugeye Sprite looking ever so forlorn and old,  buried halfway down in the dirt alongside a house. It’s been neglected for twenty years. Left brain sees it for the wreck it is. A massive undertaking. Restore or deplore? That’s a no left brainer. Right brain, on the other hand, sees what it could look like, not what it does look like. Visualization. Imagination. Emotions take over. It sees the whole big picture. Left brain, cold and analytical, only saw the parts in minute detail. What a jerk. Or is it the adult and left brain is the child? But then there’s a struggle. Leftie claims to know everything. Rightie tells it you don’t know anything. Later, when car guy looked at a photograph of him sitting in the car, he responded with, “oh my god, look at that thing. What a pile of crap.” But then right brain took control again. He sees a beauty queen in his future. The right brain always wins with this car guy. Right is right.

Ilustration body part,human brain left and right functions, yin and yang, feminine and masculine

How about that guy (which one of you is him?) who has enough car projects for the rest of his natural life? And car parts: so many that he can’t find any! And this is after days of dumpster-diving in his garage, the attic, and every other conceivable haystack. And yet he wonders why he has no time to do ANYthing. Like relaxing for an hour. Loose lug nut whines about it. And then buys another project car. In boxes. What’s with that? Left brain or right brain making that call? Taking him hostage? Messing with his pistons. Left brain says, “now hear this: your blinkers have gone bonkers. You need a tune-up! Your bearings are not straight. Too much junk in your trunk.” Right brain is a free spirit. Right brain sees all this as art with motor skills. The more motors the better. He can move randomly from task to task versus in a sequential order. Too many cars are never a problem.

And here’s a case where left brain kicks down the door after many, many years. This is based on a recent, true conversation that hubby just had. Left brain friend says, “I’m selling stuff. I’m seventy-five years old. What am I going to do with it? I have carburetors, a Bentley, Alfas (several and he just sold two), too many other cars, projects and boxes and boxes of parts. What do you need?” Right brain hubby’s reply: everything that’s not running. Oh boy, I’m in trouble!






I Gave Myself A Good Talking To

“There’s something in me that I can’t be too good for too long. Whether it’s drinking or eating or flossing my teeth or keeping my public politics neutral (Alternative Truth?). What is it? A parasite? A viral infection? Not enough karma credits built up?”

“None of that. You CAN be good. Your goal is to drop twenty pounds, right?”

“Yes, but it’s turning into a fat fantasy. Did you know that diet stands for: did I eat that????????? I’ve just rediscovered bread. The cure for all ills. Not chocolate. Bread. Bread is my soulmate.”

“But with 1,243 calories per day, you could lose two pounds per week, twenty pounds in two and one-half months.”

“That’s only one whopper for the whole day! I can’t live like that!  Starvation, deprivation. Damnation. Put me on probation.”

“Ok, how about this? Be good 80% of the time (Monday through Saturday noon) and you get to be bad for the rest of the weekend. But ya gotta cut the carbs. You can eat sweet potatoes. And Japanese purple potatoes.”

Snack Canyon

“Well, there goes Happy hour Fat Fridays. And Saturated Saturdays. But at least I’ll still have Sin Sundays. What are those Japanese purple things? Why are they good but a good ole Idaho russet isn’t? You are talking to someone who has a yuuuuuuuge kitchen cabinet above her oven named Snack Canyon. Care must be taken when entering the canyon as you might have a “rock” slide upon you: popcorn, cookies, crackers, jelly beans, nuts, crap candy leftovers from Christmas gifts or Halloween rejects. This barrage of fat fun can be especially dangerous as the only way to really explore the canyon is to perch on a high bar stool. Like being on a cliff. Danger, danger! Then there are snaccidents: eating an entire box of cookies or bag of chips by mistake.

I suppose you want exercise too?”

“Yep. Three hours minimum per week. Do you want to be sore or sorry tomorrow? That’s the question.”

“Does raising a wine glass to my face count as a curl…you know…for upper body strength? I like exercise that is halfway between a lunge and a crunch. Lunch. Some days I care about my weight. Don’t want a butt the size of a double-wide. I’m ready for a fat intervention. Other days, I have no intention. I know someone who quit exercising when she went on a diet. Said it made her too hungry. My television makes me hungry. Should I kill my tv before it kills me? What do you think of that, you gym rat?”

“What a diet diatribe this is. It’s sucking my energy which is already depleted by having to pay attention to so many silly health food suggestions. I have indigestion. And when I get over that, I’m going to eat my entire kitchen. I know, I know…I am what I eat. Therefore, I’m going to eat a skinny person.

Let’s not lose our lives in pursuit of thinner thighs.”

I wonder if I listened…



The Fairy Godmother Of Us All: Saint Susie

Saint Susie. For as long as I’ve known her (44 years), she has run a field hospital for the wounded in life: the poor, hungry, needy, homeless, unemployed, unemployable, lonely, those that suffer from just plain bad luck. And those that are wild, reckless or dangerous because of loss of hope. Her flock is all-embracing. She is color blind when it comes to race or religion. There is standing room only for those that admire her. If she knew this, she wouldn’t care. Her divine talent in life is not to impress others but rather to take care of them. The saint of the down and out. And the successful up and in who may require little but something. Whatever level their needs are, the helper protector is there. A place to live. Some groceries. Encouragement. Money. Emotional support. Guidance. Love. Transportation. Income. A meal. A respite. Respect. There are no boundaries. The required two miracles for sainthood don’t apply here. She IS the miracle. She has living love for everyone she encounters. This kind and gentle soul expects nothing in return. Ever. She knows the language of compassion. Tender with the young, compassionate with the elderly and tolerant of the weak. Everyone is her brother or her sister. Do you think I’ve said enough? Well, I’m not done.

Our difficulties form our character. She is our mentor. We are her protege. This fairy godmother leaves a deep footprint with her contagious spirit of love. This woman works her mysteriously enchanting magic quietly and with humility (not thinking less of yourself but thinking of yourself less often). Like most fairy godmothers, this one has magical powers that bring good fortune to the heroes and heroines in the fairy tale of life. That includes all of us. No matter what. Her uncanny knack to know when you need her is like pixie dust. Her spell makes us invincible to self-loathing. And helps us find what is really important, not always what we want, but what we need in the labyrinth of life. A rainbow in disguise. Captivating. Inspiring. The archetype of kindness.

You won’t see her on the society pages for charity work. She’s the boots on the ground. No glory. No attention. Just good work day in and day out. Her plate is extremely full without all of this goodwill. But she will drop everything to go slay dragons for you.

Why do I share this with you? Heroines (and heroes) remind us of what’s right and what’s wrong. And show us the qualities we need to be united instead of divided. They inspire us and give us hope. Heroines turn other people into heroines.

This is not a fantasy. She does exist. A living saint. A fairy godmother. The heroine of my life’s fairytale. Go find yours.


Grape Expectations

When you hear the word grape, what comes to mind?

He has the personality of a grape.

What’s eating Gilbert Grape?

Grapes of Wrath

Planet of the Grapes

Heard it through the grapevine

Sour grapes

Have a grape day!

Make America grape again.

A wine hangover is called the grape depression.

The Grape Gadsby

The Dementia Diet

Ok….I know you’re grapeful for these grape puns but enough is enough. Let’s get serious here. The latest health claim, some call it the Dementia Diet, is that eating two handfuls of grapes a day will put the cork on dementia and Alzheimer’s along with boosting memory and attention. Wow. Some of us need some of this. Some of you are still puppies: too young to be concerned. But don’t X out here. I’ll get to you down the page.

As you know, there is waaaaay too much information out there in the vast sea of Google University. Fake facts? Who knows. That is to be deciphered. Rather than bore you with a tsunami of information from the medical volcanic internet eruption, I will make waves (or maybe ripples) on this page with tidbits and you decide what floats your boat.

Fisetin (I swear they drank lots of grapes to come up with this name), is the plant compound to improve your brain game. It worked on a very small test batch of mice who were genetically programmed to develop Alzheimer’s but after nine months, there was no cognitive decline. Should humans get complicit in fisetin? I’m game. Another healthy excuse to drink wine. I must live up to the name of my blog. No matter that human trials have not been done.

Love The Wine You’re With

Grapes contain powerful antioxidants known as polyphenols, which may slow or prevent many types of cancer, including esophageal, lung, mouth, pharynx, endometrial, pancreatic, prostate and colon. Indigestion, fatigue, kidney disorders, macular degeneration, cataracts, artery plaque buildup are also treated or relieved by grapes. The resveratrol found in red wine famous for heart health is a type of polyphenol found in the skins of red grapes. I’ve been taking this supplement for two years after 60 Minutes declared it the breakthrough of the century. Think about the French. They eat tons of butter and drink lots of wine. But they’re healthier than us. Yes, they do practice mindful eating, artesian foods, rest and digest, no foods that are on tv commercials, no fake foods, and no guilt. We can learn from them. I’m starting with the wine.

Gross With Grapes

Grapes are classified as a laxative food because they contain organic acid, sugar, and cellulose. They also relieve chronic constipation by toning up intestinal muscles and the stomach. Grapes are high in insoluble fiber, meaning that it remains intact as it moves through the digestive tract.

Grape Size History

This fruit was first cultivated as early as 5,000 BC. Many biblical stories refer to them as the “fruit of the vine”. Grapes grow in clusters of 6 to 300 on vines. European travelers spread them all over the world. In the 17th century, they arrived in the U.S., migrated to the central valley of California and thrived with the climate and absence of grape-preying insects. Most of the grapes we eat in the U.S. are produced by California.

The Road To Grape Benefits Without The Alcohol

A hangover is the wrath of grapes. To avoid that, try this:

  • Serve stewed grapes with meat items
  • Add grapes to rice dishes for some sweetness
  • Add to fruit salad or green salad
  • Place sliced grapes on a sandwich
  • Serve grapes with cheese and crackers
  • Drink grape juice
  • Just eat them

Don’t Choke On The Joke

Q: “What’s purple and huge and swims in the ocean?” A: “Moby Grape.”

Thank you if you read this. I’m very grapeful!


Calling All Car Guys Car Enthusiasts Car Crazies Car Dogs Car Junkies Car Lovers

Hello car guys! Car fanciers. Car fans. Car junkies. Car lovers. Car aficionados. Car buffs. Car fanatics.

Anything but car enthusiasts. That word is just awkward. And so generic. Like the food at Taco Bell. You guys deserve a name that is like the Beatles of music. A word that takes the checkered flag. But hey, I’m just a girl. What do I know? Nothing about cars. Is it two-door or four-door? What color is it? Is the mileage low enough to get out of town without worries? Those are my concerns in the motoring universe. But I love you car connoisseurs. Rolling art professionals (hubby came up with that one). I just spent ten days with you here in Scottsdale/Phoenix at all the car auctions, parties, and events. You are intensely devoted to these rolling works of art. You are ardent lovers of these mistresses. You deserve a better name. So let’s ponder this.

when-you-marry-a-car-loverAutophile: like bibliophile or Francophile. You know…lover of.

Accelerator Appreciator: no explanation needed. Pedal to the metal.

Fancier: a person who breeds animals, plants, etc., especially in order to improve the strain. Don’t car guys sorta do this?

Motor Votary: a person devoted or addicted to some pursuit.

Motor Rooter: a loyal and enthusiastic follower.

Hood Habitue: a habitual visitor to a place.

Spark Plug Swain: a male admirer or lover.

200-8Jack Junkie: not that you have a strong craving to jack up your car…it just sounds good.

Auto Adventurer: you encounter risks and adventures.

Pedal Patron: a person who supports cars with money.

200-4Dashboard Devotee: a zealous follower of the car religion.

Airbag Aficionado: do you talk too much? Do you inflate when you collide with another car enthusiast?

Payload Pundit: what is your carrying capacity for car experts?

Engine  Eccentric: erratic, peculiar behavior, personality and/or beliefs. Are we talking about the engine or the car guy?

200-5Wheel Worshippers: adoring reverence or regard for the car.

Tachnophile: speed lover. What are your RPMs?

Auto Advocate: cars are your case!

Carburetor Connoisseurdo you have Weber carburetors?

NOx Nut: what’s plugged into your exhaust system???

Gearhead: a British term.

200-3Auto Admirer: sometimes this is done secretly, right?

Blinker Tinkerer: for those of you with old cars.

Motor Lunatic: a quote from Norman Dewes, Jaguar test driver.

What name sparks your plug?








Customer Care From Someone Who Really Cares

Something I have to share with you. It’s humorous and heartwarming:


The punch line: the price of the book was seventy-five cents. Don’t you love it?

Tomorrow. Tomorrow.

Same stuff, different day story told to me by a friend:

She dropped off five pairs of shoes at the new Quality Shoe Repair in town. Always nice to support a new business…or so she thought. Lucille arrived on the designated day for pickup with her claim ticket only to find that THEY didn’t have the matching ticket. “Come back tomorrow,” they said. And she did. To total chaos. All the shoes in the store were in a heap, five feet tall, on the floor. The merchant, shorter than the heap, was tossing shoes from one pile to the next asking her nonstop, “Is this it?”

Vintage cobbler workplace with tools shoes and laces.

Vintage cobbler workplace with tools shoes and laces.

“No,” she said repeatedly.

“Come back tomorrow.”


The next day she felt like Bill Murray in Groundhog’s Day. That time loop again and again. “Is this one of them?”

“No, go to the left, the red one.” The red suede boot was retrieved but not its matching mate.

“Come back tomorrow.”

“Alright but let me take that boot with me. I’ll bring it back.”

Next day, same-o, same-o. She wondered how it could be this bad. How do these people function in other parts of their lives? Her own life of chaos, like a blender on steroids, didn’t seem so bad after all.Was she ever going to get the other nine shoes back? At this point, she didn’t want them repaired. Just back.

 Small repair shoe shop on street in Bangkok Thailand.

Small repair shoe shop on street in Bangkok Thailand.

The next day she was hopeful. Even just one matched set would be joyful. One pair of shoes was not enough but she could get by with two pairs. She was starting to think five pairs were extravagant. If she kept her life simple, maybe this would never happen again. Lucille also wondered if she should work on building up her karma credits. Like being kind to assholes. As she opened the door, she saw red. Red suede that is. Her boot. An exclamation of “Hallelujah!” escaped from her mouth, much to her surprise, as religion was her worst attitude. Maybe it was time to convert. Expressing her attitude of gratitude, Lucille praised the shopkeeper for her success.

“Come back tomorrow. I should have the other four pairs by then. Sorry for the delay but I need a rest. Your feet are killing me.”

Lucille was reeeeeeally seeing red now. Quality Shoe Repair my eye. This is ridiculous. Beyond comprehension. She had told others of her fiasco. They didn’t believe it. Neither did she.

Five visits, five pairs of shoes. She was fashionable again. And happy that she only owns one purse.


Tomorrow is another day.


America The Crucible

It’s been a tough two weeks. An anthem to sum it up.

Sing this to the tune of America The Beautiful:


O crucible of baseless lies

For anger waves of pain

Your mountain of the fallacies

Is so purely insane!

America! America!

Don’t let him piss on thee

And crown the hood with brotherhood

From me to shining thee!


Don’t let the Cheeto lie to you

Fact check no matter what

Loved by many, loathed by more

He is not your brother!

America! America!

Ignorance and bigotry

Tweets and lies to privatize

Ban those refugees!


 Disregard the constitution

Propaganda Barbie

The law is what he says it is

Crony capitalism!

America! America!

Yuuuuge tax cuts not for thee

A dire future for us all

Resist and let us see!


What’s the next verse?

If you want to see a chicken playing America The Beautiful:







This is an ongoing list. I need your help here. Your perspective. What makes us American?

A president who won the election but persists in claiming there were three to five million fraudulent votes.

No lunch breaks: eating at your desk instead.

It’s completely legal for underage kids to smoke cigarettes, but it is illegal for them to purchase them.

Male Veteran soldier back to camera saluting United States of America flag.You become famous for being stupid.

Flavored coffees…maybe flavored everything (catsup, mayonnaise, water, etc..)

One hundred acres of pizza are sold in America every day.

Deep-fried everything: butter, Oreos, pickles, macaroni & cheese…please tell me this is only at state fairs.

The U.S. has one-fourth of the entire global prison population.

String cheese.

Americans like “elbow room”…that personal space around us.

Snow cones.

The most dangerous job in  America is that of being President. One in ten has been killed on the job.


We are the most likely people in the world to help a stranger.

One out of three Americans is obese (66% are overweight).

Alternative facts.

One out of eight Americans has been employed by McDonald’s at some point.

College athletes are treated like celebrities.




Me And My Potbelly


Ferm Big pink Vietnamese pot bellied pig.

Ferm Big pink Vietnamese pot-bellied pig.

Pig Perfect

We’re best friends. Like we have a choice. We go everywhere together. I’m not talking about the actual Vietnamese pot belly pig…the one everyone HAD to have as a pet…until they became pigs on steroids at 250 pounds! Boy, did they get duped. Now we have pig sanctuaries where being obese is acceptable. They will be loved once again. Maybe we should apply that concept to obese humans. We could have housing developments called Sanctuary Manor (or is Waddle Woods better?) with street names like Stout St., Plump Place, Marshmallow Lane, Corpulent Circle, Portly Road, Roly-poly Roundabout and a golf course named Tubby Turf. Obese people could live in peace…just like the pigs.

Declaration Of War

Ok, back to that thing that protrudes from my abdominal region. I’ve declared war on it. Why? Well, for one thing, I can’t suck it in….ever. I can’t hide it. Can’t run away from it. I’m too old to look pregnant. It can’t be de-friended. It’s like having someone you despise in your face…all day…every day. No more slow-dancing check to cheek. It’s pot to pot now. I’m all bound up in my clothes.

Everybody has a six-pack. Unfortunately, for some of us, it is covered up by layers of fat. Exercise alone won’t do it. Even a zillion ab rollers and sit-ups. You have to also lose weight to lose the fat. Period. Oh boy…this is gonna be tough.

The Beloved Enemy

wine-bottles-1180187__180In my case: red wine. Period. Why is that you might ask. It’s happy hour vs. hefty hour. If you’re a moderate drinker (some define as one drink per day….say what?), no worries. In fact, it even gets better with age. Older people who drink one drink per day gain less weight than those who never drank. But this is what happens if you’re not moderate. Alcohol temporarily keeps your body from burning fat because your body can’t store calories from empty-791573__180alcohol for later (like it does with food calories). Drinking pauses your metabolism, shoves food calories over and says break down the alcohol calories first. Therefore, what you recently ate gets stored as fat. In pot belly terms: alcohol decreases fat burn in the belly. Maybe I should just go live with the fat and friendly people at Waddle Woods. No, I will go to battle.

 Rules On The Battlefield:

  • Rule # 1: always eat when you drink. Why? Cocktails = simple carbs. Blood sugar soars. Then you crash. And then you are ravenous. Nibble on foods with long-lasting energy like protein, fiber, and healthy fat. This stabilizes your blood sugar without slowing metabolism.
  • Rule #2: Drink simple drinks. Some drinks make you hungrier. The simpler, the better. Like vodka and club soda. No calories with the club soda.
  • Rule #3: Stick to one or two drinks. This challenge will be like climbing out of the Grand Canyon. Wish me luck and divine intervention.
  • Rule # 4: Beware of gnawing, starving feeling the next day.Dehydration makes you hungry. Water before food!

If you still have that rumble in your belly, greasy food will help settle it. What’s the greasiest item on your menu? Also helpful is to drink one glass of water with each drink. I keep trying this but the next day I find the water carafe full with drowned bugs. They drank more water than I did.

Beat The Belly Fat

Other beat the belly fat helpful hints from Hell-oise: no sugar or fructose. Eat more protein like meat, yogurt, milk, cheese, beans and eggs. Nuts, seeds, avacadoes, olive oil and fatty fish should also be on your plate. Never eat bananas! Don’t know what’s up with that. They are the ugly ducklings. I wonder if fake banana flavor is ok…like banana gelato, banana cookies, banana daiquiris…bananaramabojama…wasn’t that a song? But other fruits are the beauty queens. Eat them. Cut the carbs. Ouch. That will hurt like hemorrhoids. No pasta, no potatoes, no rice…maybe I will just surrender. Give up the battle. Don’t listen to me if you are going to war.