Well, it was bound to happen.
 
It is, after all, the worst year...like, out of all the years.
 
Okay, maybe not EVER in the history of people-kind. But it’s got to be up there in at least, the top three or so.
 
I mean, how can anyone deny that we have been truly living life on one gigantic hamster wheel of poo since March?
 
By a show of hands --how many of y’all would like to go back to 2019 or earlier?
 
Okay, careful; don’t spill your coffee. Go ahead and lower your hands. It’s hard for me to type that way for very long, anyway. Ahem.
 
A friend of mine recently posted a Facebook wall photo of two highway signs. The left-hand sign indicated the current lane (and directed staying on its forward path). It was titled “2020” while the off ramp sign read “1980s.”
 
She posted a note below it indicating that she’d exit stage right ASAP if she could and added, “Who’s with me?”
 
I call shotgun, Debbie. Oh, the ‘80s.
 
Such a simple time: when hair bands ruled the airwaves, we all joined “Hands Across America,” Bill & Ted were on their original excellent adventure, and the only required clothing accessories were shoulder pads. No masks necessary; except on Halloween, natch.
 
Anyway, back to my original thought: 2020’s claimed yet another casualty. Brace yourselves: this is the last season of “Keeping Up With the Kardashians”.
 
Stop pretending you don’t know who they are and that you’ve never watched their show. It’s a flipping pandemic, people; all binge-viewing rules are out the window, a’ight?
 
Sure, this year’s produced much worse, but it IS the end of an era, kinda. No more KUWTK.
 
You might love them. A lot of people do, after all.
 
You might dislike them. A lot of people do, after all.
 
Or you might love one or some of them and dislike others of them. A lot of people do, after all.
 
For instance, I LOVE Khloe and Kendall. I even like Corey, Kris’s boyfriend.
 
You aren’t going to like what I’m about to say --- but I actually like Kanye a little bit.
 
Look, I think his heart’s in the right place most of the time, if not his mouth. I mean, he’s not ALL bad, just often confused and misspoken, methinks.
 
Anyway, they’re probably going to be okay. And I have a feeling we haven’t really seen the last of them. But I do believe Kourtney finally got her way.
 
Kourtney is the eldest Kardashian kid. Recently, she’s been pushing back on having her life on display 24/7. She even threatened to quit filming. Looks like she finally kyboshed the whole operation, capisce?
 
Just like Denise Richards on the “Real Housewives of Beverly Hills”. When something comes up she doesn’t want to share with the world (which she and Kourtney agreed to while cashing the big paychecks, if I’m not mistaken? Hmm.)…anyway; she shuts that stuff down immediately. How?
 
The Housewives have an emergency stop-filming-me-right-now-or-else safe word. It’s “Bravo! Bravo! Bravo!” Usually screamed falsetto amidst a diva, hissy fit. 
 
Denise loves to toss out the kill phrase. A lot.
 
For her part, Kourtney hurls out F-bombs to stop Kardashian kameras from kontinuing.
 
Either way, I’m just jealous. I want to tell 2020 to stop. On the count of three, let’s scream “Like Totally Tubular!” -- and maybe it’ll be 1984 again?
 
Kimerer is a columnist/blogger who just wants 2020 to take a chill pill. Totally check out patriciakimerer.com

Here it is, once again.

Patriot Day. A date on which we commemorate one of the very darkest days in our nation's history.

The day of the worst terrorist attack on U.S. soil: September 11, 2001.

Every year, on this day, we all remember exactly where we were, who we were with, and what we were doing on that horrific day.

I remember my 21-month-old baby boy bouncing around the house in his blue, footed pajamas; begging me to watch "Barney" as I fought to retain composure in front of him while watching the second plane hit the first tower of the World Trade Center IN REAL TIME.

I believe my go-to reaction was to offer a cookie. What can I say? Italians throw food at almost every problem, Capisce?

As the day unfolded, so did the destruction, death, fear, ugliness, and heartbreak.

In the years since, hundreds of thousands of commemorative celebrations, documentaries, re-enactments, and various other displays of honor and memorial have emerged, great and small, in states, counties, cities, and communities throughout our great nation.

And yeah, we're in a bit of snit with ourselves at the moment but indeed, we are STILL a great nation. As long as we remember how we all felt on September 11, 2001: distraught but not defeated; badly broken but not beaten.

More importantly, we need to remember how we felt and acted on September 12, 2001: patriotic, compassionate --- UNITED.

As we bow down in prayer to honor the collective memory of all those lost on 9/11 and in thanksgiving for the outpouring of bravery and genuine solidarity that ensued, let's look to the Survivor Tree. You know all about the little pear tree that could, don't you? Here's a summary, courtesy of www.911memorial.com:

In October 2001, a severely damaged tree was discovered at Ground Zero, with snapped roots and burned and broken branches. The tree was removed from the rubble and placed in the care of the New York City Department of Parks and Recreation. After its recovery and rehabilitation, the tree was returned to the Memorial in 2010. New, smooth limbs extended from the gnarled stumps, creating a visible demarcation between the tree’s past and present. Today, the tree stands as a living reminder of resilience, survival, and rebirth.

​If this charred out little sapling can grow into a blooming beauty after surviving the terror attacks of 9/11, surely we can all remain civil, kind, and respectful of one another ... no matter whose candidate wins in November.

If 9/11 taught us nothing, it should leave these indelible marks on all our hearts and souls: We are one nation under God and we can endure anything so long as we love, support, and defend one another - no matter what.

It’s the ugliest word in the English language.
 
I realize that’s a fairly bold statement – especially from a self-proclaimed words girl.
 
But let’s face it. There’s hardly a more offensive, explosive, dangerous, and destructive word than hate.
 
Sure, there are a gazillion other awful, unacceptable, absolutely despicable words out there.
 
Shoot, I could create an entire dictionary of idioms, phrases, expressions, and plain old nasty names that should never be uttered by any human…anywhere…ever. Or any other intelligent life forms, either.
 
I must admit, the way some of the earth dwellers have been speaking to and treating one another lately, I have to question whether or not we even deserve our spot at the top of the food chain these days? I digress.
 
Back to the business of that repugnant word.
 
You know what I really hate, er, abhor about it the most? The fact that we all say it. Oh, yes you do; stop it.
 
We don’t hurl it around maliciously, at least not most of us. But it slips out occasionally…doesn’t it? It does, too, now come on!
 
I ha --- um, I mean, I really, really don’t like it when that happens.
 
But it does; more often than we care to admit, right? Consider Exhibits A – D:
 
“I hate my hair...” or “Ugh, I hate the shape of my nose.” These two quotes may or may not be autobiographical in content.
 
“I hate people who drive slow in the passing lane!” Really? This is the platform on which you’re basing your ire? Someone going the speed limit? Perspective, people.

“I hate ‘Shark Week’.” Okay, I could potentially get on (non-surf) board with that one. I just don’t get the allure of taunting a man eater?
 
“I hate the New England Patriots.” Literally biting my tongue here. I ain’t a fan, yo.
 
So, you see, we’re all offenders. For my part, I’m retraining my brain to delete it from all file folders. Check these:
 
I oppose acknowledging that summer is effectively kaput. I blinked and my favorite season vanished faster than a can of Lysol spray at Wal-Mart. And yet, despite this, 2020 is somehow lasting an entire flipping decade. How is this even possible???? I hat… uh, really dislike this year.
 
I detest the Alexa commercial with the opera lady singing and the guy that busts in all sweaty and gross, on the chaise lounge to create a music library. It triggers me; it just does.
 
I have a distaste for Politicians. All of ‘em. Everywhere. All parties. Both lanes. Yep the Tories AND the Whigs equally bug the bejeepers outta me.
 
I loathe the VMAs and frankly, video music channels in general these days. If video killed the radio star, social media massacred the video star, capisce? Hmpf. And why do they suddenly have to be simulcast on 87 channels? The VMAs – meh. I don’t know most of the performers. The ones I do know and root for NEVER win. #IAmAncient
 
At the risk violating my own rule, I am willing to sling the H word in exceptions such as: COVID-19. Cancer. Injustice. Cruelty. Intolerance. Abuse. Hate.
 
So, I’m asking you to join me in boycotting the h word. If you agree, you won’t try to rip my toenails off when I reveal who I truly wish could be our next President: Phoebe Buffay from “Friends”.

​What? Can you imagine anyone else getting Putin to sing along to “Smelly Cat”?
 
Kimerer is a columnist who hates complainers. Wink. File yours to her at www.patriciakimerer.com

I’m not very high maintenance. Ask around.
 
I don’t get mani-pedis. I don’t get $200 haircuts. I don’t buy Michael Kors or Coach bags.
 
I’m not a Wal-Mart snob. I think it’s fabulous, paying half price for the same brand name groceries I can get at bigger, chain markets. That being said, I will NOT leave a trip to Buffalo without visiting Wegman’s. Sorry, I LOVE me some Wegman’s, yo.
 
My favorite clothing store is JC Penney…and I frequent the clearance rack. I go to Payless Shoe Source all the time.
 
I’m not into labels. In fact, all I really know from labels is that the ones tagged inside my clothes tend to fall off from being worn for so many years. Seriously, when I need to know something about fancy, high-end fashions or styles, I’ve got to ask my sister, sister-in-law, or girlfriend Chris.
 
I wear the same running shorts I have since before I had Kyle. I’ve changed the seat pad but kept the same rocking chair for the past three decades. People, I have been using the same ice bucket for 25 years. That’s right. It was a wedding present.
 
The rubber rim is quite worn and doesn’t perform it’s one and only function to create a vacuum suction that, you know, keeps the ice from melting. It’s pretty much just a big, decorative cup with a lid at this point.
 
And when I say “decorative” –well, I’m being PK polite. It’s white with pink and blue horizontal stripes circling it. Blech.
 
It’s plastic. It matches nothing. It’s worn and old. It’s, um, kind of hideous, really. It wasn’t even that awesome in its prime, let alone a quarter of a century later. Not really sure what made me register for it in the first place? Hmm.
 
Over the years, I’ve seen much more expensive, lovely, sleek, modern, and practical ice buckets. And chests. And chillers. I’ve seen stainless steel models. And self-closing ones. And crystal ones. And gold-encrusted, engraved ones.
 
I’ve seen ice “tubs” so large they can accommodate an entire case of beer and a bazillion ice cubes. And every time I schlep out the old girl, I invariably think, “Man, I have GOT to chuck this thing!” Yet somehow, I can’t. Why?
 
It’s the bucket that we used the first time we hosted a holiday. As all was chaos around it; there it sat, dutifully chilling.
 
It attended every one of Kyle’s 18th birthday parties when the house was filled with such love and laughter…and food, natch.
 
It bore being manhandled at every single summertime function Kerry and I have hosted in the past 25 years.
 
We used it for the ALS ice bucket challenge…and, in a pinch, to transport frozen or needs-to-stay-cold foods to remote family functions, swim picnics, school fundraisers, and so on and so forth.
 
It’s sort of, family itself, at this point. Honestly? The old girl could very well be me.

Sure, she's not as snappy as she was in her youth; she's visibly weathered; she is deeply flawed and imperfect but she is loyal and upright and reliable and stands at the ready, literally living to serve her loved ones in the biggest or smallest of ways, 24/7, 365.
 
And since Kimerer hasn’t traded me in for a new, sleek model, I guess I owe my rickety old ice bucket the same courtesy, Capisce?
 
Happy 25th hon, thanks for the roses ...and keeping me around all this time. I love you a bucket, er, a bushel and a peck…always.

Don’t look now, but COVID-19 has prompted yet another unforeseen onslaught: the constant rerunning of certain classic television sitcoms. I mean, they’ve trotted out some treasures that are trending higher than Trump’s Twitter, a’ight?  
 
I’m not clear on who decided which shows would be resuscitated for non-stop looping … or why or how. But I know “Friends,” “Everybody Loves Raymond,” “Frazier,” “Mom,” “The George Lopez Show,” and “King of Queens” all made the cut. I dig the first five. Sorry, Kevin.
 
Over on the Food Network, Guy Fieri shows air literally every moment in some time zone across the globe. Seriously. Look, I love the man but come on, already? I digress.
 
The elimination process for rerunning only select shows is as mystifying as how we expect five-year-olds to wear masks all day when there’s not even the slightest chance it will result in a pillow case full of Halloween candy? I’m just sayin’.
 
Back to the telly.
 
For yet some other in-explainable reason, I continue to re-watch both “Golden Girls” (GG) and “Sex and the City” (SATC) incessantly.
 
Hey, I have to do something now that Hallmark Channel is on Christmas break and while I await new episodes of “Better Call Saul,” “Ozark,” “You,” “The Haunting of Hill House,” and “Stranger Things” - okay? Yeah, fine, so I’m Netflix Girl. Either way.
 
It occurs to me that, while it’s not apparent outright, the ladies from both GG and SATC have a lot in common. Hear me out.
 
First of all, each show focuses on four strong, independent women. In fact, even though SATC’s gals are singles in NYC and GG are seniors living in a retirement village in Miami, I feel there are many parallels.
 
Look closer at GG’s OG, Sophia: a smart, no-holds-barred, tell-it-like-it-is yet lovable loudmouth. If she was a red-headed lawyer, she very well could be SATC’s Miranda. They say what everyone else is thinking but don’t have the chutzpa to verbalize.
 
Then there’s GG’s sweet, traditional Rose; a woman who seems daffy on the surface but has a heart of pure gold and serves as the group’s moral compass. Rose’s deepest desire is a clean, happy home … and, you know, world peace. Um, hello? SATC’s Charlotte, anyone?
 
This brings us to Blanche. Hilarious, perfectly put-together, well-coiffed Blanche who’s healthy self-image lends itself perfectly to her life mission: having a good time with the fellas. Let’s face it, she’s pretty much the geriatric version of SATC’s “I’m fabulous” bad girl Samantha. Even Rose and Charlotte could have called that one.
 
Finally, there’s the “everybody’s best friend” character. This is the go-to gal. She solves everyone’s problems all the time but can’t quite figure out her own happy ending with the man of her dreams --until the series finale, that is.
 
She is the glue holding the whole operation together. On GG, her name is Dorothy while SATC-watchers know her as Carrie.
 
These eight wonder women seem to share the same basic life lessons:
 
-Believe in yourself and you got this.
-Sisters over misters.
-Just because all around you is chaos doesn’t mean your bag and shoes shouldn’t match.
-There’s nothing in life you can’t get through without true friends and a big slice of cheesecake.
-Life’s short; laugh and love in excess … and pray.
 
Okay, that last one is a little more GG than SATC. But then again, so am I.

​Happy sitcomin’, y’all!
 
Kimerer is a columnist/blogger who needs someone to hide her remote. Check out her musings at www.patriciakimerer.com

Well, finally...he’s gone. 
 
Man, I didn’t think he was ever gonna leave. Talk about a Spring Break, sheesh!
 
I mean, that kid’s been home for what, like, five months now? Well, four months and 27 days ... and 17 hours and 42 minutes. It would’ve been five months on the nose this Tuesday, the 18th.
 
Wait, am I a day off because of the leap year? Er, what I meant was, who’s counting? 
 
Certainly not me. It’s not like I care. I say “Good Riddance, kid.”
 
Yeah, outta sight, outta mind: that’s my story and it’s sort of stuck to my face it at this point. Oh no, wait, those are crumpled Kleenex bits. ‘Cause I’m bawling buckets -- of bliss. Mm Hmm. These are like, happy tears!
 
See, I’m super glad my son is back at school.
 
Indeed, off to Junior year-dom. Shoot, he’s an upper classman! In my day, he’d be a BMOC though I’m a 1,000% sure that’s not acceptable to say now.
 
But, why wouldn’t I be ecstatic for his adventure to continue? He is, after all, an A-student -- a team captain. A fully-baked grown-up; living offsite with his swim pals in a charming little townhouse on the cusp of campus.
 
Yep, no more drab dorm rooms for Kyle Kimerer, a’ight?
 
That guy’s shuffled off to Buffalo-- three hours away from me. In the middle of the apocalypse. At arguably the most tumultuous time in our nation’s modern history.
 
Yeah, I guess you could say I’m overjoyed.
 
Sigh.
 
Who needs him around, anyway?
 
Making me laugh and keeping me company while I begrudgingly adjusted to “work from home” life. He made the transition totally tolerable ... okay fine, he made my new routine fun, if you must know.
 
He totally set-up my hacienda headquarters: linking up my laptop, sorting out my sound system, situating my seating, and literally lighting up my orbit. Whatevs.
 
Look, he made tons of noise during the day, anyway.
 
What with all the lovely living room piano playing and the introducing me to all the hippest, most hysterical Tik Tok posts and what not.
 
By the by, who even knew there was such an incredibly ridiculous way to waste an entire day? I honestly wouldn’t even have a clue about the social media channel du jur, if not for that meddlesome son of mine.
 
Because, when I hear “Tic Toc” (other than the obvious clock reference), I think about a long-gone, local grocery store. Anyone else remember that funky-looking food mart with the big red apple on the roof? Well, ironically, this generation downloads THEIR Tik Tok through Apple. The more things change, I suppose? I digress.
 
Back to that annoying house hanger-on-er. So he constantly cheered me up during, you know, the darkest days I have ever had in all of my 52 years. Lifting my grieving daughter’s heart from desolation with his wicked wit and infectious laugh. Big deal.
 
It’s not like it’s ripping my pumper into four gazillion tattered shreds that, starting tomorrow, my house will be neater, quieter, calmer … and completely awful. #ImNotCryingYoureCrying
 
Get outta here, kiddo. Go be brilliant and bold and wonderful and kind and awesome on your collegiate journey. Just do your old Ma a favor…be safe and well, ‘kay? And maybe hit me up once in a while, Capisce? I mean, strictly for cooking tips…not because I need to hear your voice or anything. #LoveYouKyle
 
Kimerer is a columnist and blogger who’s currently in the fetal position under her makeshift desk. Read her blog at www.patriciakimerer.com.

You know how people always ask what you’d take with you if you were stranded alone on a desert island?
 
Oh, by the by, what is a DESERT island, exactly? No, that's not a typo. I mean desert.
 
Is it like the Sahara -- only smaller and plopped in the middle of the Dead Sea? Because I’m thinking, if it’s mostly sand, any of the other seas might effectively obliterate it in a single, hellacious hurricane. Sort of like rapid-fire erosion. I digress.
 
Either way, for the purposes of this particular discussion, let’s say our island is a little less desert and a little more deserted… and lushly tropical. NOW, we’re talkin’.
 
The notion, traditionally, is that you’d have sunshine, serenity and solitude in seaside surroundings … the stuff of dream vacations, I suppose.
 
When asked, a good number of the humans listed these fine selections as their preferred provisions on this paltry yet picturesque paradise: (Yeah that one took me a minute.)

• Satellite phone
• Bug spray
• Sunblock
• Fishing poles, nets. supplies
• Flashlight (solar-powered)
• Hammock
• Raft
• Matches

 
Now, for an oddball such as myself, I’d also add the following:

• Soaps- hand and body should suffice since I’m guessing I can clean any clothes I bring in the body soap?
• Razors --Dude, nobody wants underarm or leg stubble in such a soupy climate, speaking of which
• Hair ties—this mop in that humidity? Yikes!
• My favorite books
• Lots of shorts and tankinis---and maybe a sweater, in case the nights get chilly? Ooh, and a rain slicker!
• Flip flops
• A, solar-powered laptop
• My journal
• Some means of making/having coffee
• My PK core food staples like: flavored seltzer water, rice cakes, pita pockets, and tuna packets. Yeah, I get the irony, but it’s MY island fantasy, so back off already!

 
Oh, and of course, dark chocolate Hershey Kisses. They’re actually even more delicious when slightly melted so, we should be good there.
 
Hmm, then again, if it’s that hot, wouldn’t I need a cooler full of ice?
 
Ooh, and what about my Coke Zero? I can’t go anywhere without my Coke Zero, yo.
 
Then again, that begs the question of bringing cups…and utensils. Oh, and cleaning supplies.
 
Although I’m unclear on what I’ll need to be cleaning other than myself, the fore-mentioned casual wear, and any of the natural foods in, on and around the island.
 
Er, what are the accommodations at this place? I mean, is there any chance I might find a sturdy Tiki hut on this little landmass? Or perhaps some neatly-hulled cave with, say, some running water and a private potty?
 
Maybe I should add blow up mattress to that list. And some toilet paper. And a blankie. This place is sounding more problematic than paradise. Hmm.
 
Speaking of this uninhabited hot spot, I get that there aren’t earthlings…but should I be expecting any particularly menacing animal encounters? If so, should I bring like, a machete -- or a Taser?
 
Okay, now I’m flashing to Tom Hanks’ character in “Castaway” … and even though he made it; that deal was more nightmarish than noontime nappish, if memory serves.
 
I’m kind of rethinking this whole dream vacay, ‘kay? In fact, it sort of makes quarantine sound like an extended stay at the Ritz Carlton.
 
Stay home with your Keurig, Netflix and fuzzy slippers and help slow the spread already, capisce?
 
Kimerer is a columnist who’s perfectly happy with four walls and a roof, thank you. Check out her homey blog www.patriciakimerer.com
​

 Here is the thought for the day: someone else.

What I mean to say is, consider another human today. Any one of them will do. Now, do something kind for that human.

It could be over-the-top...like sending her a blue-box gift from Tiffany's. That is a hint for anyone who likes PK. I digress.

It could be small but meaningful...like texting him that he's super-duper awesome.

It could be delivering a meal to a neighbor fearful of going out in public.

It could be smiling through the window at a loved one you want to see safely.

Or, it could be the simplest, most compassionate thing you can do for every earthling within your immediate orbit: WEAR A MASK.

Then again, it could be the single greatest gift anyone can give to another being on the third rock or any other planet --- PRAY FOR & LOVE THEM.

That's it. That's all. There you have it.                 #WearYourMask #BeKind #Pray #Peace