... is online here. It's a tribute to my mother, and the many things I've learned from her, including ...

Keep 'em guessing: My mother is a sweet little widow who goes to church every Sunday. She's also one of the tougher street kids ever to scratch her way out of Depression-era Queens. She gets an enormous kick out of playing against type. Which is how I learned that to get people to listen to you, you have to keep changing it up. Paradoxes intrigue. Critical questions are most startling when phrased simply. A double-entendre is never more hilarious than from a devout Christian. And everyone from Jesus to Johnny Cash knows that sinners' prayers are sweetest.

In February, in dear-God-we-were-so-young-then February, I dared to write that 2013 was shaping up to be a mad, immoderate, lurchy year. Obviously, I wasn't to know the half of it.

Can I blame the crazy end-times feeling of the year for the feeling I have, too, of constantly pinballing from one deadline or bout of illness or major trip (his, mine, or ours) to the next? Or is that just life, the thing that happens while you're making other plans? I pointed out to a friend recently that she "has it all" more than any woman I know. And she laughed and conked her head on the table and said "Dear God" like I knew she would, like any of us would, even though she's a wise and grateful person and knows that she has a wonderful life: a good marriage, smart loving kids, a fulfilling part-time career, weekends full of art and science and family projects. And of course she feels like she's running around putting out fires and satisfying completely irrational demands and thinking about the next three tasks on her to-do list instead of the one she's actually doing.

Even the most meaningful and dignified life probably feels absurd a good deal of the time.

Some days I'm not sure if pushing back against that feeling of absurdity is the right path or not. Is it striving for greater mindfulness, or striving to look like a woman in a coffee commercial? 

... is online here. It's about bullies (the grownup, "I was just kidding" variety). A sample:

People seem to think that this is a social juncture where having a witty comeback would do them no end of good. Perhaps it would, in a placebo confidence-boosting sort of way; some people might only feel comfortable speaking up if they believed their words to be unimpeachable. But you don't need a witty comeback when a dog decides to hump your leg. All you need is a command voice and the will to use it.

Another thing people outside Boston may not understand: We routinely drive, bicycle, and traverse our public roadways like utter maniacs. In order to free up sufficient first-response police and medical personnel, we could either learn decent manners overnight, or stay home. We made the right choice.

... is online here. It's a three-fer! Here's question (and answer) number two:

How does one respond to colleagues who say "You shouldn't have" when you give them a small gift as a thank you, get well, or going away present?

B.W. / Reading

You say this: "Of course we 'had to.' What kind of terrible people wouldn't [reward a job well done/bring a sick person a plant/honor your long years of service]? Now say 'Thank you' and [open your present/get well/let?s all go out for a drink]!"

Got it? People who say "You shouldn't have" feel uncomfortable being the center of attention. So you give Wally Wallflower a gentle shake to remind him that, comfortable or not, he is the center of attention on account of his brilliant job on the Macguffin account or his broken leg or imminent retirement, and the rest of you are responding appropriately. Then you feed him his next line ("Thank you!"), just like a stage manager would.

My synagogue cancelled service tonight. I support this decision, but I know it cannot have been made easily. The symbolism is painful.

But if I am going to be a Jew hiding in my house, I am glad to be a Jew hiding in my house with my city, not from them.

All my life I have loved stories of wanderers who find their home. Boston is my home.

I love you. Be safe. Shabbat Shalom.

Last week I blogged about suggestions from chatters for the problem of feeding foodies: what to do when you want to entertain people whose cooking skills and food savvy far exceed your own.

Here's another dinner-guest-having problem that occurred to me this weekend: Do you feel socially obligated to offer friends fancier/more indulgent food than you yourself normally eat? I don't usually eat bread, for example, nor do most of my friends--but if I'm having my homegirls over for dinner, even the most ardently low-carb of the Fabulous Bureaucrats, I will put bread on the table. Because you're entertaining, it's what you do. Also, dessert.

I'm trying to move away from this, and cook for guests the way I cook for Mr. Improbable and myself--simple healthy food, which I'm actually pretty good at. But there's still a part of me--that raised-in-the-Midwest-in-the1970s-part, I suppose--that feels that "company food" ought to be indulgent, buttery fare. How about you?

For Pandora, cooking is a form of love. Alas, her husband, Fletcher, a self-employed high-end cabinetmaker, now spurns the "toxic" dishes that he'd savored through their courtship, and spends hours each day to manic cycling. Then, when Pandora picks up her older brother Edison at the airport, she doesn't recognize him. In the years since they've seen one another, the once slim, hip New York jazz pianist has gained hundreds of pounds. What happened? After Edison has more than overstayed his welcome, Fletcher delivers his wife an ultimatum: It's him or me.

Do you have any tips for dealing with foodies, or food snobs? I have several friends who are great, locavore, state-of-the-art cooks and I'd like to reciprocate by having them over. But I'm not as accomplished as they are. It's not that they complain, it's more my anxiety over not having the best ingredients, techniques, etc. I try to keep it simple, but then it doesn't seem like I've done enough. How can I make these evenings go more smoothly and pleasantly without getting a certificate from the Culinary Institute? 

Figure one or two dishes that you can make well, and that people like eating. Then, when you entertain, serve those. Whether you are entertaining a king or a ... cabbage. (Wait, that's not a real phrase, is it?) Eating at some people's houses is a great culinary experience. Eating at other people's houses is a great conversational experience. If you don't have a huge amount of faith in your cooking, it only has to be good enough not to detract from the conversation. And people really don't mind knowing that an invitation to Not Julia's place means Moroccan Chicken again. (It helps them pick out a wine to bring.) Look how many people order the same entree every time they go to a restaurant, after all! Foodies also appreciate that sometimes the food is just the activity that brings people together. It doesn't have to be the star of the show. If I'm talking with old friends or exciting new ones, or listening to excellent music, or playing an engaging game ... hey, crackers and cheese are just great. 

• Eating and not having to do dishes, the best experience! sponica 
• A peanut butter and jelly sandwich always tastes better when someone else makes it! Daisy  
• What you are doing that is special is inviting them into your home -- the rest is details. Carolyn 
• I think uber-chefs are almost more like performers -- they love an appreciative audience. So applaud their own performances, but don't feel you have to put on your own one-woman show. bubu 

• Buy really good, high-end ingredients that they will be impressed with, but then make a really simple recipe with them. Tony 
• Also with summer approaching you can do a lot with a nice spread of cheeses (local or not) and good breads, seasonal produce, olives, etc. Foodies appreciate good food, regardless of how much work you put into it. bubu 
• I know this is super cliche, but if they're really friends they won't care. But, try something new to please their taste buds, and they'll be touched by the gesture. Also, it's really easy to get some nice meats and/or cheeses set up. Olives too. If you can, go to a higher end grocery store and talk to the employees about their recommendations. Elizabeth 

• If you have a certain ethnic heritage and related specialty, you could make that -- or even takeout from a cool local ethnic place. Foodies often are just really culinarily curious, so anything new or unusual will intrigue. Your Name 
• Have a pasta making party - let the cooks cook. You provide ingredients and make a couple of sauces ahead of time. Serve prosecco while hanging the pasta! Daisy

A reader sends in this amusing anecdote:

I was riding the red- line from Quincy Adams to Park Street at 6:30 pm on 4/6/13. There were many announcements over the intercom regarding no smoking on the train.

Sitting across from me was a young clueless self- absorbed non smoking woman who thought it was fine to give herself a manicure on the train with noxious smelling purple nail polish. It was making me nautious - to avoid regurgitation or passing out on the train I told her to kindly desist - which (by fair reporting standards - she promptly did). The post office doesn't allow folks to mail nail polish - the MBTA should not allow folks to use or open noxious substances on the train - they should post and announce those rules.

However I may have started a romance when a scrawny pubescent rock star wannabe in black glasses, black clothing, and a black guitar case - told the oblivious young woman that he LIKED feeling dizzy from the odor - "it did not bother HIM" - and told me - a fiftysomething woman - to 'shut up' - perhaps they will exchange phone numbers - mate - and spawn ill mannered children whom - I hope - will not be subjected to toxic fumes and dissonant music.

Now I feel better.

... is online here. It's kind of a festival of people who can't express their emotions openly.

Sorry for the slow posting week, folks. Mr. Improbable has been on tour since March 1st, and like Mrs. Obama, I'm beginning to feel like a busy single mother. And I don't even have children.

I do, however, have a bouncing baby project to share: I'll be playing the role of Jo-Jo Lamotte in the Belmont Dramatic Club's production of "Agatha Christie Made Me Do It," April 26-28. It's a comic murder mystery about a young heir who wakes up after a bender married to two women: Annie, who works in a chocolate factory, and Jo-Jo, a nightclub dancer.

Community theater being what it is, actors are asked to bring their own costumes if possible. The show is set in 1978, and my friends, it is truly impressive how many outfits I have that could plausibly be worn by an off-duty stripper in the 70s. (For the audition, I wore a black silk kimono over black velvet lounge pants and tank, leopard-print platform heels and a wide leopard-print headband. Very Joanne Worley. I did not anticipate getting lost on the way to the Belmont Town Hall and having to stop at a gas station for directions.)

I'll be posting more about the show as rehearsals go on. In the meantime, mark your calendars! Tickets are $18 and despite my character's profession, it's family-friendly G-rated silliness all the way (think "Carol Burnett Show" sketch).

A moment of social science: Priming refers to the way information you already active in your mind affects the way you make sense of any new information you get. Exactly how priming works and under what conditions is still unclear, but it's definitely a thing. Driving to rehearsal Thursday night, I was singing along to the radio in Jo-Jo's voice and trying to remember my Act II blocking. The car in front of me had a bumper sticker in the religious-symbol-font style more often seen with COEXIST.

Robin would have read that as TOLERANCE. Jo-Jo read it as POLEDANCE.

... is online here. The first letter was originally much longer and detail-ridden in that way that indicates a fair amount of suppressed freaking-out-ness. I think it got cut a little too much for readers to get that. Believe me, when I say the LW sounded "thin of skin and frayed of nerves," she really did.

In letter #2 I got to cite one of my favorite quotes, from Thackeray's Vanity Fair:

"By humbly and frankly acknowledging yourself to be in the wrong, there is no knowing, my son, what good you may do. I knew once a gentleman . . . who used to do little wrongs to his neighbours on purpose, and in order to apologise for them in an open and manly way afterwards--and what ensued? My friend Crocky Doyle was liked everywhere, and deemed to be rather impetuous--but the honestest fellow."

Continuing in a literary vein, here is a small art project I made to welcome Mr. Improbable home from a trip once:

Happy Easter, Christians! Happy continued Passover, Jews! Happy Spring, everyone!