Susan Hanafee's Blog

(Note: This is a repeat from my book Rutabagas for Ten. It seemed like the appropriate Labor Day message to repost.)

When golfer Phil Mickelson missed an “easy” putt at the FedEx Golf Championship a while back, the expert commentators had a simple explanation. “It’s after Labor Day and he’s wearing white pants–a fashion no-no,” one of them said.

I cringed. I also had noticed his white pants and saddle shoes and thought he looked, uh, different. I hated myself for it.

I’m still traumatiz...

When I was growing up, there were a lot of people who shared my first name: Susan, Susie, Sue, Susanna. Young, vibrant people who were defined by which version of the S name they chose. Susan was sophisticated. Susie, cute. Susanna was playful. Sue was practical.

Today, all the Susans I know are grandmothers, with no replacements in sight.

As a friend of mine, whose name is Susan, said the other day: “Our name seems to have fallen off the cliff.”

Along with the rest of our body parts, I...

At my annual physical a couple of weeks ago, the doctor asked if I wake up in the morning feeling refreshed. I remembered the question from last year’s checkup, and just like I did then, I lied. “Oh yeah. I wake up feeling just fine.”

The truth is, I wake up feeling like I’ve been chased by bears, eaten by snakes, chosen an elevator that wants to go sideways instead of up or down. I’ve missed the Sting concert for which I had front-row seats. Been in the throes of passion with some hunky guy,...

“When the doctor comes in and asks if you want to see better, tell him that yes, you want to see better,” the nurse with the long dark hair and the crisp personality instructed.

What am I supposed to say, I thought. “No, sir, I’m just here so you can probe and prod my eyes for your own amusement.”

Instead of voicing my irritation with her patronizing manner, I simply nodded.

Fast-forward several months, and I can actually see better. A lot better. Thank you, doctor. I am now eagerly ant...

An edict from on high came down the other day: “Statues, fountains, decorative walls, and other permanent features are not permitted” in the front or back of your homes.

“We must apply consistent community standards to every home, without exception,” the letter said. Obviously, it was not signed with “love.”

My frogs are history, I thought. Along with my neighbors’ herons and the pig a couple doors down. What about the gecko on the entryway wall around the corner?

Such is life in th...

I remember telling my new boss that I definitely wasn’t the smartest person in the company—not by a long shot—but I would be one of the hardest-working. I think if you asked him thirty years later if that was true, he would agree.

This is no pat on the back. That’s just how things are with me. I’m willing to put in the hours to guarantee success if there’s something I want or believe in.

It hasn’t always been that way. I was more focused on boys and having fun in high school than on st...

This morning my man showed me a Wall Street Journal article “The Red-Hot Book at the Center of an AI Mystery” by Melissa Korn. It tells the story of a debut crime novel that sparked a bidding war among publishers before concerns arose that AI may have played a significant role in its creation.

AI has been a frequent topic around our household as we marvel at the generational divide that circulates around it. We love it and use it to answer questions, such as “What was the name of that movie w...

As we do every night, my man and I searched for something to watch after the news. Cape Fear was out because its final episode isn’t released until Friday. And someone in our family doesn’t like waiting. The result: We ended up watching the old Oliver Stone movie JFK.

I’d forgotten how many great actors were in the movie and how interesting Stone’s premises were. Conspiracy theories? Maybe yes, maybe no.

What struck my man and I was the note at the end of the movie. It said the JFK documen...

My man experienced an emotional crisis the other day when he discovered he had gotten the wrong paper towels. They were Bounty and white. No icky floral designs. But they were NOT Select-A-Size.

Worse, he didn’t purchase just one. He got a twelve-pack. It was a disaster of epic proportions.

He even confessed his sin to me. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that it was okay with me because I always use two Select-A-Size sheets anyway. Now I only had to use one of the regular Bounty, so I ...

“I am not invisible,” my new neighbor told me at a cocktail party not too long ago. “And I resent being treated like I am.”

She was discussing her shopping experiences. Explaining that it really irks her when she walks into a store and the saleslady rushes to help two young women behind her, while acting like she’ s not even there.

“My money is just as good as theirs. I don’t get it,” she complained.

But she did, and so do I. The older you get, the more people’s attitudes about you chan...