Dear Heartland Credit Union,

Your logo says to me, "Come build a Monopoly house on top of a tree where the sun will get it when it consumes the earth in pixels."

No? Not what you were going for?

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Businesses that Advertise Things Everyday,

Let's talk about that word: everyday. I know that sometimes space is limited on signs, but that's no reason for inaccuracy. Here's a guide:

Everyday (no space): Describes something common and unremarkable.

Example: No matter how much she loves me, my mom probably doesn't want to hear about my teeth-brushing and other everyday events.

Every day (with a space): Describes the frequency with which something happens.

Example: I'm always excited to save $1.00 on coffee when I bring my own mug, even though it happens every day.

So when you advertise your $5 Buck Lunch Everyday, I have to wonder if you meant to say it happens each day or if you think it's not a very remarkable deal.

Hugs & kisses,

B

Dear Mr. President,

Okay, so it wasn't all your fault.

Yesterday was the last day of an 8-day workweek. The first two days of that week, I went to my job without a voice and with a moderate-to-severe sinus infection that I'd had for 2 1/2 weeks. The fifth day of that week, I flew to Michigan, and the last three days of that week, I had worked 13-hour shifts, on my feet most of the time, the antibiotic for my sinus infection and the air conditioning in the hospital cracking my lips and drying out my eyes as I stared at computer screens and tried to help nurses understand their new software.

When I finally got into the Detroit airport and found my flight home to Madison listed on the monitors, you can imagine my distress to see that it would take off more than an hour late. Knowing, as I did, that you were in Madison yesterday as part of your last-minute whistle-stop tour to drum up political support in swing states, I immediately blamed you for the delay. "Surely it's the president's fault," I thought, "for shutting down the Madison airport to all flights but Air Force One, and delaying my arrival home."

I was even composing an open letter to you on the subject, something along the lines of disrupting people's lives in order to garner support for your own cause.

But then when I got on the plane, they said there had been mechanical problems back in Providence this morning, and that the flight had been off schedule all day. Nothing to do with you, Mr. President.

So I apologize for blaming you for something that wasn't actually your fault. I'm sure that, as a public figure, you're used to it, but on this day, when 130 million people or so decide whether or not you still have your job next year, I just wanted to say oops.

Dear Cat,

I'm sorry I shut you up in my closet this morning so you were trapped in there for 12 hours while I was at work.

In all fairness, though, this is precisely why I yell at you whenever you venture into my closet in the first place. In any case, thanks for not peeing on any of my clothes or dying from the heat.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Pancakes,

Thank you for being a tasty way to use up some old milk and butter last night after the Ash Wednesday service.

Of course, I'm not sure how thankful I should be that you nearly became ashes, yourselves. Why did you have to nearly burn? Why did you have to fill the entire apartment with smoke so that the alarms went off and brought my landlord upstairs to make sure his house wasn't burning down around him?

I get it. You're in cahoots with God. Shame on me for being ashamed of the ashes on my forehead from the Ash Wednesday service and being glad I hadn't seen anyone on the way into my apartment. Setting off the smoke alarms was just your little way of teaching me humility, wasn't it, Pancakes?

Well, it worked. And you were delicious, which more than made up for trouble.

Hug & kisses,
B

Dear Metaphorical Blanket That Has "Don't Get Out of Bed This Morning" Stitched All Round Its Edges,

When my alarm goes off and you immediately descend on me, tucking yourself in around my toes and covering my head with the dark, heavy feeling of foreboding toward the day, why don't I ever listen to you? I have plenty of mornings when I just don't want to get out of bed, but you don't show up on those mornings. The mornings when you wrap me up in fear of the forthcoming day should make me sit up and take notice. "Hey, this morning's going to suck. Maybe I should just let it pass by without me."

But then I ignore you and I log in to work and my computer crashes and my health insurance company calls me and doesn't know where my policy is in its transfer across state lines.

You know something, though? That was just the morning. You just say, "Don't get out of bed this morning." That doesn't refer to the whole day.

Clean laundry, fun students, hilarious creative narrative assignments, a walk in the sunny and dormant botanical garden near my laundromat, and a surprise gift of chocolate-covered pretzels made the afternoon worth living for. So, you smothering old blanket, maybe I should listen to you more often, but then again, maybe I should focus on the distinction of "morning." Some morning's gonna hate. But that doesn't necessarily apply to the whole long day.

Still, I like the clear warning. Please don't stop alerting me when I'm about to enter a foregone forenoon.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Stephen Stills,

I never realized how much I talk to you (calling you "Steve," of course, since we're totally BFF) when I listen to your music until I lived upstairs from a landlord named Steve. Awkward.

Hugs & kisses (to you, not the landlord),
B

Dear Most Expensive Item In My Hands At Any Given Time,

Why are you always the one I end up dropping onto a hard cement floor?

Hugs & kisses,
B