I Simply Remember My Favorite Things

The older I get, the more irritable I seem to be. Not that I was all that chill as a young woman, but these days a single individual's lack of consideration for others can make me near-furious. I have no patience for selfishness, entitlement, hate, or political opinion with no basis in fact.

As an adult I can, and often do, calm myself with things I enjoy. A glass of wine and some decent music can spin my attitude 180 degrees, back to appreciating the many blessings I have, most unearned. It's handy to have been born white in the United States to middle-class parents, for instance, and to have found a man of similar background who is utterly loveable. Mostly, anyway.

So today I'm going to list a few things that please me. Not because any reader is going to think, Golly-gee, what insight that Maryn has! I hope only that any reader will pause to reflect on their own small good things, to notice and enjoy them.

•    There are more books I'm eager to read and TV shows and movies I really want to see than I will finish within my lifetime.
•    Yes, road construction is so irritating. Streets closed without warning. Flag people who don't make clear what they want drivers to do. Detours poorly marked. Crews with one man working and seven standing around littering. But the roads I use most will soon be preternaturally smooth and clearly marked. I can tell when I cross the border into my town and its good roads.
•    On a recent trip, I used every single piece of clothing I packed except for the “one spares”: shirt, undies, and socks.
•    My weight doesn't get any worse if I have pizza or ice cream once in a while. 
•    I know how to do some things that bring me, and occasionally others, pleasure, from writing to sewing to cooking.
•    I like a lot of foods that are really healthy choices. Bring on the big salad, the brussels sprouts, asparagus, green beans, and most of all, the broccoli!
•    When there's something I really want, I don't have to save up for long to get it. Too bad I had to figure out this late in life how to want only things within my actual range of affordability.
•    Neither of our grown kids keeps me up nights with worry. Not that we're immune to trouble or tragedy, of course. But there are so many people who know, when the phone rings late at night, that a particular kid is using drugs, waits for them in the ER, is in jail again and hopes for bail, has been beaten by the husband she won't leave, suffers yet another mental health crisis, etc.
•    I'm as happy with a find at Goodwill as a bargain from Macy's—at a tenth the cost. I really am!
•    My marriage is solid, even though I suspect I am not always a joy to be around. (Shocking, no?)
•    I like my long hair shot with white strands. Hell, no, I'm not coloring it.

So think a moment. What's pleased you lately?
 

What's Happening to Absolute Write?

Absolute Write is in trouble. I see no reason I can’t share what’s going on with Absolute Write’s forums; nobody swore me to secrecy. Settle in. This will be long. Right now:

There is no site administrator.

The software that runs Absolute Write is years out of date, lacking updates and patches. This impacts security.

No new members have been approved since September 2, 2025.

No one replies to anyone who uses Contact Us to address concerns.

No one issues the Erotica password to adults on request.

No one supervises the moderators.

There is no record of members’ donations or how that money has been spent.

MacAllister is not acting to transfer ownership.

Although the site continues to operate, with glitches no one can address, it’s become more social, an echo chamber for the regulars and a favorite spot for word games rather than a writing site.

What the hell happened?

MacAllister, the present owner, took over in 2006, site administrator AW Admin handling its day-to-day operation. The site grew and thrived. The Bewares, Recommendations, and Background Checks board amassed member contributions, becoming one of the largest collections of information about publishers and agents available online—where those under discussion were invited to participate. AW was instrumental in warning writers about Publish America and poetry.com and continues to advise against writer-unfriendly ventures. 

Starting in December 2019, Absolute Write was subject to DDoS attacks intent on bringing the site down. Despite additional software and behind-the-scenes bot blocking, the entire site went dark in January 2021. It reopened in June of that year on a new server with new software, everything handled by AW Admin, who remained an unpaid volunteer putting in full-time-job hours and efforts.

AW Admin retired July 1, 2022. The owner MacAllister was newly responsible for all that needed doing. She did not tap a new administrator.

MacAllister's other responsibilities didn’t allow her the time to teach herself any admin functions. Still, she opted not to delegate any authority. For literal years, the only thing she did was approve new members in batches using automated screening. Other than that, she was just gone, fully no contact. 

While Absolute Write appeared to have minimally sufficient staff, the number of moderators who were actively moderating was small. Most boards had no moderator. Spam was handled quickly, but other issues reported by members went unaddressed for days, the few active moderators overburdened or unwilling to act.

Mods sought relief from Mac, volunteered to cover boards without a moderator, suggested names for new mods, emailed her repeatedly, but MacAllister was not responsive. 

MacAllister’s approval of member registrations fell behind, from days to weeks to a month or more. New members were minimally vetted, allowing many who immediately spammed us or created problems. 

Unimportant and I talked backchannel with increasing outrage until I kind of bullied Mac into giving her sign-in information to Unimportant so she could pretend to be Mac and catch up on long-overdue admin tasks. She did not get full access, because Mac didn't know how to give it, having lost the accounts and passwords AW Admin provided.

Mac hasn't been back since that day, March 17, 2025.

What Unimportant found was pretty bad. Software updates and patches available but not paid for or installed going back three years, including things that might stop various hackers. People who registered using the names of real agents who were not them. Donations that did not appear to have been spent on the site. 

She taught herself administration, then between us, she and I discussed and cleaned up everything we could. We begged Mac to upgrade the software, to appoint new mods, to act, but while she would occasionally promise she'd get to it no later than a certain date, she didn't. So with the mod staff, we chose new mods and got them on board, retired the absent mods, and carried on as well as we could.

Frustrations grew. Without the necessary updates and patches, we had people Oopsing all over the place as Guest accounts overwhelmed the server. We offered to fund raise to pay for it. Mac was unresponsive. We gave her a generous deadline by which to get the updates. And when she didn't, we told other mods what was going on.

That was last August. In early September, 2025 more than half the mods quit, some leaving the site altogether.

Is this the end of Absolute Write?

Right now, it looks like it could continue as it is unless and until something takes it down. There is no one able to block malicious use. 

If that happens, there is no recovery option. It will simply be gone. 

That said, in its present form it's barely a writing site at all, so maybe that wouldn't be so terrible.

Is there any way to save Absolute Write? 

Of course. All it needs is a new owner who pays for the server and software. After that, they either do the necessary tasks or delegate them to qualified individuals. 

I asked around, privately, seeking someone, and mostly got "Gee, I'd like to, but..." replies.

Except for one. We have a volunteer owner, fully at ease with the technical aspects and somewhat leery of the people management part.

Mac agreed to transfer ownership in February 2026. This is great! But the new owner cannot contact the server, the software provider, the website host, etc. telling them to transfer it all to them. Mac needs to do that--and she is not. The new owner pokes at her via email, but she fails to act.

Unless she does, nothing will change. 

Wisconsin, the Cranberry Capital

Never mind Ocean Spray's ad campaign. The state of Wisconsin produces the most cranberries, more than sixty percent of those grown in the US. Fresh cranberries have just appeared in stores here and will soon arrive where you are, if they haven't already. So you need to know about Cranberry Pie.

It's not a pie, that's first. About the only thing pie-like is that it's baked in a nine-inch pie plate. It's more like a quick bread, except not as sweet. It's also easier than many quick breads. 

Cranberry Pie

Cooking spray
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 cup granulated sugar
¼ tsp. salt
2 cups fresh cranberries
½ cup chopped walnuts (or pecans)
½ cup butter, melted (1 stick)
2 eggs, beaten
1 tsp. almond extract

Directions

Preheat oven to 350°F/175C. Coat a 9-inch pie pan with cooking spray.

In a large bowl, mix together the flour, sugar and salt. Stir in the cranberries and walnuts until coated. Stir in the butter, eggs and almond extract. Spread the batter into the pie pan.

Bake for 40-50 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Serve warm.

NOTE: A 12-ounce bag of cranberries is about three cups. You can make two of these pies at a time, dividing the three cups of cranberries between the two. 

 

 

Protesting? Know Your Rights

 Many organizations have taken the time to post about the rights of protesters. I’ve written about protest safety, so let’s review how not to get yourself into legal trouble.

You have the right to protest on public property, but you do not have the right to prevent its use for its normal purposes. That means you can’t block streets, sidewalks, parks, the plaza outside a government building, crosswalks, parking spaces, etc.

The use of streets or parks for protest may require a permit depending on local ordinances. Sidewalk protests do not, so long as the sidewalk remains fully passable by pedestrians.

Private property is private. You do not have the right to enter, photograph, or speak in protest on private property. Avoid it altogether.

When you are not breaking any laws by protesting in a public place, you have the right to photograph or record video of anything that’s in plain sight, including government buildings, law enforcement personnel and their vehicles, and counterprotesters. You are required to keep a safe distance from what you are photographing, so as not to interfere with law enforcement officers.

You have the right to carry signs and hand out flyers. Local law may dictate that signs cannot be mounted on anything rigid.

If law enforcement issues an order to disperse, they are required to allow reasonable time and available passageway for that to happen. Obey the order—and know it’s usually a last resort.

You have—and should use—the right to disable facial recognition and fingerprint unlocking on your phone or other device. You are not required to consent to it being searched or to provide a device’s password. Police do not have the right to delete photographs or video. They cannot demand to see them unless they have a warrant. Be aware that in some places, audio recording is not as well protected.

You do not need to consent to a police search of yourself or your belongings.

If you are stopped for recording images or are arrested, do not argue or resist. Keep your hands visible. Ask if you are free to go, and if you are, walk away calmly. If not, ask what you are being charged with and immediately ask to speak to your attorney. Do not explain your actions or sign anything. Write the phone number of your attorney, or someone who will get you an attorney, on your arm with a Sharpie, so it can’t be taken from you.

Won't You Let Me Take You on a Sea Cruise

 Knowing what to expect on a cruise helps make the most of it.

You absolutely have to show up for the muster drill, mandatory safety briefings that every passenger must attend before the ship can sail. Yes, they take attendance.

When you board your ship, you’ll be separated from your luggage, and your cabin may not yet be ready. Carry a backpack or zippered tote with documents, medications, a change of clothes, and any grooming necessities when you board, rather than packing them. If you need your pill or to remove your contacts, you’ll be glad you did. Also recommended: sunscreen, a hat, swimwear.

The last night of your cruise, you are expected to set out your luggage late in the evening. You will need to carry off whatever you’ve kept in the cabin for use overnight and in the morning—yet another use for that backpack.

Bring drugstore items you might need. Anything you buy onboard costs four to ten times what it does at home, and they don’t carry everything.

You cannot hang your wet swimsuit on your balcony or spread it on balcony furniture. There’s almost no hanging room in your cabin or its bathroom, both most likely small and cramped. A short length of clothesline and a few clothespins can let your wet things dry in the room while you sleep.

The walls are metal and magnets, especially strong ones with hooks, will serve you well.

Post-Its, a manila folder or large envelope, a highlighter, and a pen make it easy to remind yourself and one another about what’s going on each day.

There are few electrical outlets, including the bathroom. Bring a multi-outlet power strip--without the forbidden surge protector. Ones with USB ports are especially handy.

The internet on board is often slow or weak. People glued to their devices may well come unstuck. Cell phone connectivity occurs only near shore and must tap into the internet while at sea.

The pool is busy, and people reserve the chaise lounges with their possessions for hours at a time, even if they go elsewhere.

The art sales are extremely overpriced. They can be entertaining if you don’t buy anything.

Excursions sold by the cruise are safe, and if they are delayed, the ship waits for you. Excursions you find on shore are cheaper. They may not be vetted for safety and lateness can cause you to miss your sailing.

The time onboard your ship may not match the time at your ports of call, including what shows on your phone. Wear a watch set to ship time.

The public areas are nicely appointed and far more comfortable than your cabin—but they’re noisy. It may be difficult to read, even in the library. Consider sound-deadening earplugs or earbuds with music that masks conversation.

Your cabin has a TV, but little is broadcast and there’s a lot of repetition. Don’t rely on it for entertainment or news. Consider downloading TV and movies to your devices.

The ship supplies liquid soap, shampoo, possibly some lotion, and little else. Bring your own toiletries if this seems inadequate.

Things not to do on a cruise: Argue, or have noisy sex. (The walls are thin.) Have an open flame for a candle, incense, etc. Smoke outside the designated area. Smoke or use illegal substances. Go naked in your room or on its balcony. (Stewards enter if no one answer their knock.)

All Around the World

 I try not to brag, to acknowledge my good fortune, and to remember many deserving people have not been so lucky. So I didn’t talk up a recent winter getaway to a warm weather paradise, which had such fine, fine people-watching that I have to share some observations.

From the way people were dressed and groomed, I guessed a good ninety percent would be considered quite well-to-do if not wealthy. The resort’s guests were overwhelmingly white, at least a third over sixty. They were couples and families, including a few extended families, but no visible friends, siblings, or colleagues vacationing there.

Here’s some of what I saw.

Money does not make you a good parent. I was shocked at the number of people unable to control their kids while they did things that were obnoxious (throwing sand at each other and whoever was in range, tossing a football way too near other people, dumping sand on the towels of strangers who were currently in the water, tantrums when they didn’t get what they wanted immediately) or unsafe (playing unsupervised in the surf, climbing on rocks surrounding a koi pool, teasing the parrots). Parents issued orders, but kids who did not obey faced zero consequences, not even a five-minute time-out in their chair. Do they have nannies or other child care at home? I hope so.

Fabulous, flattering, and inventive swimwear is easy when you’re slender and increasingly difficult as you size up. Larger women I saw nicely dressed at breakfast, during cocktails, or dinner restaurants wore swimsuits that looked awful, didn’t fit, failed to support—and at least two exposed body parts that should be fully private. Clearly finding a decent suit goes beyond being able to afford it.

On the flipside, though, I saw big women in bold choices, imperfect parts fully exposed without shame. Bellies with surgical scars that left them misshapen. Lumpy butts tanned in thong swimsuit bottoms. Two-piece suits not attempting to hide sags and folds of excess woman and/or excess years. There’s a lesson: Want to have a beach body? Get yourself a swimsuit that fits and take your body to a beach. There, you’ve done it!

The Cops Don't Need You, and They Expect...

Today I offended someone I genuinely like, enough that she left the website where I know her and may not return. I fear I presented the last straw.

What I did, on a board not intended for sociopolitical rants, was rant against law enforcement. I should not have done it there—it’s a board for a particular writing genre—but I’d just learned it happened again, to someone I know in real life, and my anger clouded my usual judgment. Which does not excuse my post.

I have apologized publicly and privately, but there’s no indication she saw either. Sigh...



I first learned this was A Thing when I was twenty-one.

A little backstory: I’d skipped a grade in elementary school, moving from an excellent school district to one that wasn’t nearly so challenging. When driver’s education classes were offered my junior year, I wasn’t old enough to do the behind-the-wheel portion of the class. I took the classroom-only part in summer school. My senior year, things went wildly off-kilter when my father became seriously ill, and whether I learned to drive was not terribly important.

Mom chauffeured me to my summer job, and I didn’t need to drive in college, where I rarely left the immediate area. My roommate and her boyfriend taught me to drive after graduation, when I needed to get a real job that wasn’t likely to be near home.

So I was newly licensed, driving home from my relatively new job in a very old car, when the police car behind me put on its red flashing light. I pulled over. I lifted my purse from the floor and put it on the bench seat next to me, knowing he’d want to see my license.

The officer was probably around thirty-five, which seemed old to me, although he was reasonably good looking if you liked the clean-cut type. I didn’t.

I rolled down my window. “Did I do something wrong?” I was sure I’d signaled my left turn.

“You went through the intersection with your turn signal on.”

“I was going to turn. That’s my driveway.” I pointed. “You’re supposed to signal a hundred feet before you turn. There’s nothing about ‘except if there’s an intersection.’”

He smirked. “I don’t want to write you up. Moving violation tickets are expensive. You ever been ticketed?” He removed the pen from a small metal clipboard with self-carboning forms in pink, yellow, and blue.

“No, sir.”

“So you’re a virgin, and I get to be your first.”

“I hope not. Cars behind me have come too close to rear-ending me when I slow for my driveway. I always signal.”

“Right through the intersection. Maybe we could find a way out of this other than a moving violation ticket.”

“I really don’t think it’s against the law.”

“That’s for the judge to decide. What size bra do you wear?”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I don’t think—”

He bent to reach through the window, his free hand grasping for my breasts. I reared away, and his fingertips barely brushed my blouse. “Come on, they’re nice. You be nice, too. You don’t want a ticket.”

“No, but…”

“That’s your driveway right there? You live alone?”

“Roommates. They’re home. Charlotte and Keith.” They were probably at work; I usually got home first.

“You have your own room?”

I did, but I didn’t want to say so. His erection pressed at the fly of his uniform, aligned with my open window when he stood straight, and he made no attempt to hide it.

“Because we could make this go away in about ten minutes, right in your room. You show me your titties, give me a little loving with that smart mouth that recites the turn signal law, and we call it a day. Tell me yes.”

I was speechless. ‘Yes’ was not on the table.

“Come on, I don’t want to write you up. What I want is to see those titties, then you show me some oral respect.”

A car nearly as old as mine pulled off the road in front of us, backed up to close the gap, and parked. My roommate Keith, who would marry Charlotte and move out the following year, recognized my car and stopped. He was beefy, with long hair, and was probably the most good-natured person I knew. Everybody liked Keith, whose round face wore a permanent smile.

He got out and sauntered up to the cop. He wasn’t smiling. “What seems to be the problem, officer?”

“Step away from the car,” the cop said.

Keith must have seen the distress on my face, because he did not back down. “I don’t think so. You want me to stay, Maryn, or go inside and call Mom’s lawyer? He’ll pick up until six.”

“Stay,” I said.

The cop closed his citation notebook and poked the pen back in its holder. “I’ll let you off with a warning,” he said and stomped back to his patrol car.

He’d never looked at my license.

After I’d told Keith, Charlotte, and some friends at work what happened, everyone seemed to agree I should have gotten his name, found witnesses, called the newspaper, the mayor, the investigative TV reporter who was more about pretty than journalism. But how could I prove it? Even Keith hadn’t seen anything untoward.

Two days later, I’d hand washed my lingerie after dinner and hung it on the clothesline next to the parking for our triplex. In the morning I was running behind and I left them for the day so I wouldn’t be late for work. When I got home, the bras were gone.

It was him, had to be. I’d lived there for three years by then, and no one ever bothered my laundry or Charlotte’s, including lingerie, no matter how long we left it hanging on the line.

I took a different route home from work after that, but sometimes I’d see a patrol car parked on our quiet street for a half hour or so, which I’d never noticed before. Was it him? I didn’t know. It made me supremely uneasy, and when it was there, I tried not to leave the house in case it was him and he followed me.



Years later, married and in another city, I went to a bridal shower that got fairly wild as these things go. The mothers of the bride and groom had left, along with others of their generation, leaving the remaining young women to drink to excess, talk loud over the music, and later enjoy a pair of male strippers, one of whom had sex with the maid of honor.

Which is beside the point. The point is, alcohol erased any reservations among friends of friends we didn’t know well or had met only hours earlier. I learned that Camilla,the bride’s best friend, had a cop pull her over for leaving her lane. She felt sober after one drink, but she’d had a previous arrest for DWI. After the police officer had that information, he said he could arrest her or she could give him a blow job. She chose the blow job and considered it a good deal.

Another woman I’d only met that night heard the end of the story, clarified what she’d understood, and said it happened to her sister Penny, only she’d been scared rather than pragmatic, begging the cop to let her go with a warning. He wouldn’t. She’d been laid off over a month ago and couldn’t afford to pay a fine, so she did it. He’d been older, at least fifty, and fat, and it turned her away from oral completely. Her boyfriend broke up with her when she would no longer do what she’d done before so often.



Fast forward to many years passing, to yet another city. A young woman whose wedding I’d attended two years earlier was speeding on a stretch of road where literally every vehicle goes over the limit by twenty miles an hour except when it was icy.

Margaret and her husband were having both financial and marital troubles; unknown to her, Travis’s hours had been cut to part time before he was fired for drinking on the job. Instead of telling her about either one, he’d continued to leave the house in his business clothes and spent his days drinking, using the money in the bank account where they were saving for the down payment on a house, until it was gone. He stole cash from her purse and sold things in their apartment, including wedding gifts. Finally he’d had a health crisis that landed him in the ICU, directly related to long term alcoholism, and of course he had no health insurance because he had no job and had hidden it from his wife.

A faithful wife, Margaret told her boss she needed to be at the hospital. He agreed she could take as much unpaid leave as she needed and he would hold her position for her. Margaret didn’t know where next month’s rent and car payment were going to come from, and the hospital bill had already reached five figures. Recently she’d returned to a part-time night job she’d had in college, working at a twenty-four hour grocery store. She was on her way there when the cop pulled her over.

The police officer didn’t stop any other cars speeding, only Margaret’s. He directed her to pull over in the parking lot of a defunct business, where he told her she was getting a ticket for speeding, that he’d clocked her doing fifty-two in a thirty-five zone, and could she afford a ticket?

Already crying, she said she couldn’t. He proposed another solution. She cried all the way through it and could not read his name tag through her tears, but she gave him the blow job.



And this is why I needed to rant about police, about the way the job seems to draw a certain kind of man who feels it’s his right to force women to give him head or take an unjustified ticket, or to use needless force against black men, trans women, and the mentally ill because he can. All the while, the good officers who make up the majority know about the monsters in their ranks yet cannot do what it takes to rid law enforcement of the bad ones, because they’re powerless against the system and the union that protects them all, monsters and saints alike.