The other day we were in Costco. I don’t know about you, but we never seem to get out of there without a cart load of items…many of which we know we don’t really need in bulk, but the price is so good we can’t resist. So what if we have to consume three gigantic bottles of ketchup within the next year. It was a great bargain!

So it was with a curious eye that I observed a man leaving the warehouse with a cello bag of celery. That was it. Nothing more.

You have to wonder. Why shop in Costco just for celery? Did he realize that his wife was hosting the neighborhood toddler play date at their home on the morrow and she needed to make 53 Ants on a Log for snack? (For those of you who have forgotten…that’s a stalk of celery smeared with peanut butter with raisins ingeniously placed atop.)

Or perhaps his wife is pregnant and having cravings. She said “You know honey, I’m getting tired of the satisfying crunch of potato chips and Kit-kats. Be a dear and run down to Costco and pick up a cello bag of celery stalks for me to munch on during American Idol.”

Did his doctor say at his last check up “Steve, you’re not getting enough fiber in your diet. Get on down to Costco and pick up one of those cello bags of celery and have at it.”

Or maybe he just loves tuna fish salad sandwiches. A lot.

Video games are apparently good for you. Of course, kids have been touting the benefits of Medal of Honor and Space Fortress for years, but who knew that students in the Israeli Air Force who actually played Space Fortress regularly, had better rankings in their pilot training than those who did not.

“People that play these fast-paced games have better vision, better attention and better cognition,” said Daphne Bavelier, an assistant professor in the department of brain and cognitive science at the University of Rochester.

Some fear that because the games are so violent, kids will become hardened to killing and not feel human emotion. Others feel that it will instead give kids a better understanding of what it means to be harassed and they will go out of their way in real life to help someone in need.

Video games are here to stay, no matter what your feelings are on the matter. And I would say that eventually on job applications for brain surgeons, fighter pilots, crane operators and the like, there will be a section that requests the candidate to “list the video games you are proficient in.”

Ms. Bavelier did admit that perhaps some of the violence could be too much for women. “As you know, most of us females just hate these action video games” she said. “You don’t have to use shooting. You can use, for example, a princess which has a magic wand and whenever she touches something, it turns into a butterfly and sparkles.”

I’d venture to guess the kid who aces THAT video game would be a great candidate to play TInkerbell in a Broadway play of Peter Pan.

The news today wasn’t good. It started out with the realization that apparently, I have undiagnosed depression. It seems people who consume copious amounts of chocolate are in reality self-medicating for an underlying despondency. And the more melancholy you are, the more of that heavenly confection you consume. Consuming 11.8 servings a month puts you in the “most depressed” category. Are they kidding? I can consume that much in a DAY! According to their research, it’s amazing I get out of bed each morning. (But it does explain why the Easter Bunny is so happy all the time even though he knows he ranks second to the calendar’s other celebrity – Santa Claus. He’s probably stuffing his face with those chocolate replications of himself all year long…keeping his depression under control.)

And finally, Allan was reading some back issues of AARP and found out that stress can shorten your life. In the “Living Longer” section of the September/October 2006 issue, anything from having many offspring, living in polluted areas and drinking alcohol can shorten your life. I have four kids, lived in New York and love my red wine every night. Given the fact that the lifespan of a parrot is over 100 years, that’s probably one creature I shouldn’t contemplate on purchasing if I ever decide I want another pet. And given the fact that 21 years of my life in New York were in Queens, that daily glass of red wine sometimes turns into an extra dirty Martini and those four kids were boys…I think a goldfish might be out as well.

It’s all so depressing. I think I’ll run down to CVS and see if they have any leftover Easter chocolates that I can wash down with an extra dirty martini.

I recently read that it seems the latest Christian fad is learning how to pole dance to upbeat Christian music. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that when this newscast aired, men all over America were singing the hymn “Now Thank We All Our God”.

Every second Sunday of the month in Houston, Texas, Crystal Deans – owner/instructor of The Best Shape of Your Life – invites female church-goers into her pole dancing studio.  “On Sundays, we do pole fitness for Jesus,” Crystal told the media.

And not just anyone can waltz in for a lesson either.  You apparently have to bring your Sunday church leaflet with you as your ticket for admittance.  Apparently, before you work the pole…you have to worship first.

Tiffany Booth, a newcomer to the pole dancing frenzy at the studio, says “I think it’s a fabulous thing.”

And with names like Crystal and Tiffany, if the Pole Dancing for Jesus doesn’t work out…there’s always the local gentleman’s club –  where the men will no doubt be singing that old Christian favorite “What Thanks and Praise to Thee We Owe”.

I love the laundromat. I guess I love it because thankfully I don’t have to frequent it that often…only on the rare occasion when either my washer, dryer, or both gives up the ghost.

The first thing I love about the coin-op is, after you put your clothing into whatever machine is required, you make your way over to the vending machines. You take quarters from your pocket, purchase a can of diet Pepsi, a bag of chips and then you scout out one of those pale turquoise sculpted plastic seats to perch on while you enjoy your snack and wait for the machines to work their magic.

The second thing I love about the laundromat is the sound the washing machines make when they enter the spin cycle. You only hear that frenzied whirl in a laundromat where all they have are front load machines. It sounds like the washers are going to take flight…right out the plate glass windows.

The people in the laundromat are so interesting as well. You have your “regulars”. They’re the ones that live in apartments and don’t have a washer/dryer of their own. The regulars are willing to help you in any way they can. They know the drill. They are familiar with the machines that take your money for a 20 minute dry…but in actuality, only gives you 15 and a half minutes. They give you the lowdown on the washer on the left in the middle that will snarl your clothes without mercy and have your clothes emerge twenty four minutes later as if they went through the beaters of a Kitchen Aid mixer on high.

You have your vacation people…the ones who are just passing through with their hot and sticky kids in tow. These little ones are usually enjoying a bribe of a melting chocolate ice cream cone which is dripping down their shirts and onto their socks and sneakers. You can hear the mothers sigh as they realize that laundry on vacation doesn’t take a vacation.

Once, when living in North Carolina and having to visit the laundromat because ours was on the blink, I met a Sous-Chef from the Greystone Inn in Toxaway. Her previous career was Marine Biologist and then unexpectedly she became a cook on a small boat after her mother bragged to the crew about what great culinary potential she had. From there, she seriously studied the art of creating gastronomic delights and went on to work at the Greystone Inn. She confessed with her knowledge and bonding with ocean creatures, she still has trouble putting a lobster in the pot for the surf and turf entrees.

Her mom was at the laundromat too. She told us that her husband passed away a few years ago and now she lives with her daughter, the chef. She told me she does the laundry for the two of them and what a challenge it was to get some of the food stains out of the white coats that her daughter must wear when cooking. A lesson on laundry products was then proffered. Apparently, Oxyclean is the winner in making the coats whiter than white and taking out those pesky tomato sauce and gravy stains.

She went on to tell us that after the laundry was washed and dried, they were going to inspect the cabin that they own in Brevard. They were concerned about the cabin’s ability to weather the rain that has pelted the area in the past week. The shanty was 90 years old and had been in the family for as long. “It needs work”,  they lamented,  “but we can’t bear to part with it.” It was all about family and tradition for them.

Our dryers ticked down to zero minutes and soon we were both folding our clothing. We said our goodbyes and parted ways; she with her gleaming white chef coats and me with my not so white sheets and towels.

I made a note to pick up some Oxyclean next time I’m at the food store.

Years ago, we were hooked on a TV series called Ballykissangel that we got from Netflix.

The first series had numerous episodes…and the characters became like family. We enjoyed their antics and we shared in their disappointments. We laughed at the ridiculous things that happened and we were overjoyed at the weddings and births. But we also mourned the death in the show of one of the main characters. It was totally unexpected and we sat dazed – shocked that the writers literally brought that character to an untimely demise.

After the funeral, all the friends gathered on a hillside to remember thoughts or funny stories about their friend who died. It was a typical Irish wake with the singing, poetry and drink.

One man recited the following poem by Yeats and I just thought it was so beautiful I wanted to share it with you.

A few years ago,  Allan and I attended a financial luncheon.  We were listening to the conclusion of the presentation while eating our lunch when a woman arrived without her husband…45 minutes late.  She sat at our table and whispered to me “Has he discussed transfer of death benefits yet?”

I looked at her with my fork poised in mid-air.  45 minutes late, asking about the transfer of death benefits, and no husband with her. Hmmmm.

I thought her next question would be “And where can I pick up some Hefty bags and a bottle of bleach?”

When one of our sons and his wife were in the process of cleaning out their apartment and throwing a lot of stuff out in preparation for the move to their new home, they decided that their old garbage can needed to be tossed…it was cracked and in ill repair. They put it out with the garbage only to return from work to find the garbage can still standing alongside the cans that they wished to keep. The same thing happened at the next garbage day. And the next. The garbage can goes out…with nothing in it…only to still be there when they return.

So the question is, how DOES one get rid of a garbage can? Short of getting out a chainsaw and slicing it into little pieces, that trash can is destined to stay on the curb and not become landfill somewhere in New Jersey, (because we all know everything winds up in New Jersey including Jimmy Hoffa.) The garbage men have a job to do and they take it very seriously. They do not want to take a garbage can by mistake and toss it into the crusher. They don’t want the residents running down the block after the garbage truck screaming “Bring that back! That’s my garbage can!! Okay, so it’s cracked and there’s no bottom in it, but hey, it still has a purpose in life!!”

So my advice was to just put that trashcan out on moving day at its place of honor on the curb, maybe with a sign attached “Pick Me!  Pick Me!”and drive away slowly. Maybe someone needs to invent a new concept…the disposable trash can.

Our friends in Florida all have porches that they call lanais (pronounced la-ni with a long i sound on the “ni”)

It is such a lovely sounding exotic word, even though it just means a porch…either enclosed or open air.

We have a glass and screen enclosed back porch here in Bethlehem, and I told Allan I was going to start using the word lanai when referring to it.

“Sweetheart, please show the guests to the lanai”. “Be a dear and put the martinis out on the lanai”. “I think I’ll take my lemonade and magazines out to the lanai”. “If anyone calls, I will be napping on the lanai”.

Allan retorted “She was found strangled…on the lanai”.

I’m beginning to realize “Porch” is a delightful word as well.

I was having a glass of wine while reading a friend’s blog and one article on it that was brought to my attention… “Does Happiness Come With Age?”

According to the article…”people start out at age 18 feeling pretty good about themselves, and then, apparently, life begins to throw curve balls. They feel worse and worse until they hit 50. At that point, there is a sharp reversal, and people keep getting happier as they age. By the time they are 85, they are even more satisfied with themselves than they were at 18.”

In the survey, people over the age of 50 were asked whether they experienced the following emotions during a large part of the day yesterday: Enjoyment, happiness, stress, worry, anger, sadness. And apparently, those of us over the age of 50 shouted “Yes, by God! Enjoyment and happiness! Yesterday was a great day!” But, we conveniently leave off the “I think so at least…from what I can remember.”

Well…it’s good to know that it’s all uphill from here. All delirious delight and enchanting elation. All euphoric excitement and blissful beatitude.

But then again, that just might be the wine talking.