All posts by Molly Campbell

Nobody ever eats on tv. They sit down, but then something happens, and they never even take one bite. So why they set scenes at the table is beyond me. Why don’t they show crises in a living room? I know. If I got an alert during lunch that a tornado or something was coming, I would take my sandwich with me to the shelter.

There are crumbs everywhere. This is very annoying, as I am the only one around here who eats bread, and I clean up after myself. So Molly, why are there crumbs on the counter after dinner? It’s his fault–he cooks dinner with panko a lot. Right, Right. Always blame the husband. Yes! It’s always the husband who is the murderer. Why they even investigate murders is a waste of money, because it’s always the husband. But wait–sometimes it’s the wife, to be accurate. Yeah, but the wife always has logical cause.

My God. I just realized that I will go to my deathbed unable to believe how old I am.

This is so embarrassing. I just learned that I have been mispronouncing “Bona fide” and “Kudos” my entire life. I wonder what other words I have used in public and embarrassed myself. Well, you did say “DET rit us” once before being corrected. Oh, right. I wanted to crawl into a hole.

Every peach and plum you buy at the grocery store is terrible. Yes, but not to forget TOMATOES. Why do they even sell them? Who are the optimists who buy them? Molly, you bought one last week.

You always look at yourself sideways in the mirror to check to see if you are fat. This is probably stupid–it’s the rear view that is telling. Yes and that is why I always look at myself sideways.

I wonder how popcorn became the go-to at the movies. And people always get it, even at the 7:00 showing, right after dinner. Or do they just plan for it and skip dinner for the popcorn? But popcorn isn’t filling. So I guess they go home and have a sandwich or something at 10:30? I could lean over and ask someone, but that would be rude.

Do you realize that you have had this tee shirt for 40 years? So should I give it to Goodwill? Molly. What thrift shopper would want your 40 year old shirt? Well, it has a picture of John Lennon on it! I rest my case. It also has a hole under the arm. Throw it away. Wait. John might make a good dust cloth. You find it hard to divest, don’t you, Molly? Yes. Yes, I do.

If Ina Garten says “How easy is that?” One more time, I might have to kill her. But it would be sort of cool to be the person who invents a catch phrase. Oh, and what about the people who say “My motto is…” followed by an actual motto? You don’t have a motto. You could sit down for an hour and concentrate, but you could not come up with a motto. So you begrudge Ina? Yes, I do, because she says that in her zillion dollar “studio kitchen,” with a crew of dozens to chop all her ingredients and clean up after her. Of course it’s easy.

When times get tough, Hell, they are already tough and awful, just think of Taylor and Travis. Or a cat. Or Taylor’s cats. You don’t have any pictures of Taylor, Travis, Taylor and Travis, or any of Taylor’s cats, you know. I know. But any cat will do right now.

We have all thought about this. What is with nicknames? A nickname is supposed to be “short” for someone’s first name. Yes. Like “Nick,” for Nicolas.

But so many do not work that way. Where in the heck did “Peggy” come from? Margaret has no “peg” in it anywhere.  Yes, I can see “Margie,” or “Marg.” Perhaps “Meg.” But “Peggy?” And while we are at it, my name, “MOLLY,” is supposed to be a nickname for Mary. I don’t understand. This is a pet peeve. If I had a nickel for every time someone asked me if my name is really Mary, I could buy a Starbucks every single day.

And my God. “Bob” has nothing to do with Robert. “Rob” does, but who decided to put the B in there? Oh, I can go on. “Bill.” No B in William.

“DICK” for Richard???? And of course, where and when did that nickname become associated with a genital?

If your name is James, then why “Jack?” Both one syllable. What is gained by this? And “Fanny” for Francis? Insulting. Get this: “Nancy” is a nickname for Anne. A two syllable nickname for a one syllable name? Who invented this?

Let’s talk about “Hank.” Or “Harry.” What’s wrong with Henry???

You catch my drift.

So here are some just as ridiculous nicknames I invented:

Marcia–Let’s nickname her “Sophie.” Why not?

I see no reason not to call Bernard “Bill.” There’s a B in there, right?

I would like to call Martin “Shroeder.” Just as logical as any other nickname.

If a girl is named Penelope, I think “Penny” is too typical. So everybody should call her “Elo.” It’s IN THERE.

Now, there is another whole school of nicknames for kids that sprang from nowhere, or a mispronunciation of the name, or an endearing moniker. This is very common. It is not stupid, really. It is totally understandable and widely accepted.

My first child,”Tweeny,” might disagree.

I don’t know what I have been thinking. I stayed on a strict Weight Watchers regimen for two years. I didn’t weigh myself or anything, just counted points and chugged along. Nothing seemed to be happening.

Then I went in for my physical and discovered I had lost those pesky thirteen  pounds. I was elated fleetingly, until I went in to one of those stores where you get new glasses frames.

I picked out my frames, and the stock person came out of the back room holding them. I was across the store. “These are for Mrs. Campbell,” she said in a soft voice to one of her co-workers. The co-worker tipped her head in my direction, saying, in a not so sotto voice, “She’s the one over there in the baggy pants.”

I have been wearing the same size  pants for years. Granted they have gotten tight at times, but now they fit fine. I thought.

But when the same day I met my daughter for lunch, and she remarked, “Are those pants size 16 or something? They’re huge.” I guess I haven’t really studied myself in a full length mirror lately.

When I got home, I asked my husband: do you think these pants are too baggy? Do they look dumpy?”

He looked at me seriously and simply nodded.

“They look dumpy? I look dumpy?”

He shrugged and said, “You haven’t noticed that all your pants look like that? Like you got them off the wrong rack at Goodwill?”

I just got 3 new pairs of pants from Old Navy. I tried them on tonight. I LOOK DUMPY.

This is how being an old person hits you. One day you are fine, chic, and stylish, and then you wake up one morning and you are suddenly dumpy. GOODWILL DUMPY.

Back to Old Navy where my fear is that the next size down will be too tight, and so I will have to remain dumpy.

sigh

Daily horoscope for Aries

This will be a good day for you. You will find your reading glasses. Your spouse will be in a good mood because it will be in the 80’s today instead of so hot that the dog needs to wear booties while walking. Have corn on the cob and hot dogs for dinner. Don’t spit watermelon seeds on the deck.

Daily horoscope for Taurus

My God, stop complaining! Nobody at the grocery store will notice that pimple; they are all worrying about their own damn blemishes. Avoid exercise today; the barometric pressure has arthritis written all over it. You might make a new friend. But you might not.

Daily horoscope for Gemini

Good news and bad news. The good news is that your neighbor’s tomato plants are loaded, and they left today for the weekend. Stock up. The bad news: Watch for cops on the Interstate; they all have hangovers from the Policeman’s Ball, and they are out for blood.

Daily horoscope for Cancer

This is a horrible sign. Nobody wants Cancer.

Daily horoscope for Leo

You might meet a friend from the past today, so wear your good pants and stand up straight. It might be a friend you once dated, so leave your partner at home and take money with you in case that friend wants to “have coffee.” Take a shower, just in case.

Daily horoscope for Virgo

You may think you are fooling everybody, but it is obvious that your eyebrows are tattooed. So don’t get cocky. Today would be a good day to take all those old jeans in the trunk of your car to Goodwill. Call your mother.

Daily horoscope for Libra

Wear a bib if you order lobster at the restaurant tonight; you fool yourself if you think you can eat it without slopping melted butter on your Ralph Lauren polo. Don’t order dessert–my God, the melted butter alone is 1000 calories. You will ask the waiter for a box and then leave it on the table.

Daily horoscope for Scorpio

Today is a good day to start breaking destructive habits. Stop checking your Instagram account at the movies. Chew with your mouth closed. Try to only use the “F” word when you are home alone.

Daily horoscope for Sagittarius

Take it easy today. You might throw your back out. It might be a good idea to look for that heating pad up in the attic. Be sure to wear your bike helmet. Don’t even think of going bowling. And let the vacuuming go for another day. It wouldn’t hurt to take two Tylenol before you leave the house. Better yet, stay home and take a nap.

Daily horoscope for Capricorn

Romance is in the air. Is your pet spayed or neutered? Because one female cat can have two hundred kittens in her lifetime. This is a true fact, not fake news. So do the right thing for your animal and your community.  As it applies to you, make sure you use deodorant today; the opportunity for bonking might arise (pun might be intended)

Daily horoscope for Aquarius

It’s a good day for making amends. Go ahead and apologize to your mother for never responding to her texts.

Daily horoscope for Pisces

Does it ever occur to you to take out the trash without being asked? How many days have you worn the same socks? Get it together, you slob! Today would be a good day to change up your attitude along with your socks. Look at yourself in the mirror and repeat “I will stop ignoring my mom’s texts” ten times.

Have a good day out there.

I spend hours each day on my iPhone. There are games. I cannot go on unless I can solve the Spelling Bee from the New York Times. Also Instagram–the cat and dog reels are all consuming. And of course, there is my news feed, but that is way too depressing.

But I fall into the rabbit hole of the “influencers.” They are unbelievable. These are people with enough time and apparently followers to make videos giving the rest of us advice on, and here comes the list–grab your pencil:

• How to do your makeup–using tools like marble rollers that you run over your skin erase wrinkles. But the influencers using these tools are at best in their late twenties, so they have no real credibility with the rollers. There are other tools: little combs to shape your unruly eyebrows. Tiny razors to remove God knows what off your face. Masks. Toners. Lotions. Contouring creams. Foundations. Blushers. The rainbow of makeup colors they use-on a single face, my God! Do these women have jobs? So they get up four hours early just to put on their makeup for the day?
• What stuff you should eat to be in tip top health. Beetroot is a big one. Let that just sit for a minute. And smoothies. The things they put in blenders are horrifying.
• Exercise. Apparently, doing some sort of squat on top of the kitchen counter ought to make you live at least an hour longer.
• I have to admit that dogs and cats in hats are very entertaining. But think of the time that is spent knitting these little hats! From watching the pet influencers, I get the idea that all pets these days also wear pajamas.
• Every single influencer has incredibly white teeth. I want whiter teeth. I have tried those white strips, but they don’t make my teeth startle others with brightness. I want to know what these influencers, and all the newscasters out there, use. They probably go to dentists for expensive treatments that regular Daytonians like me don’t have access to. I asked my dentist about this, and he suggested brushing more aggressively. Ok then.
• How to stay safe in a hotel room, which involves tin foil and a paper towel.
• Finally, there are the influencers who do “hacks.” A hack is a creative way to use something that nobody has thought of before, and this will make your life EASIER. For instance, just today, there was a hack on Instagram on how to charge your phone using two raw potatoes and two quarters. It was so revolutionary that I went to the comment section, where the first comment was “I just plug my phone into the wall.”  Another commenter noted that “This is a great way to use those  two potatoes in my glove compartment.”

I will keep watching those videos, though. One day an influencer might tell me how to exfoliate without bleeding.

In my career as a wife and mother, in the fifty years that I made the evening meal for my family, the math comes out to 18,250 or so dinners that I cooked. During that time, there were of course some disasters, but the majority of the time, the things I made were completely acceptable, and quite a few were delicious. I could make recipes, follow directions, and even improvise. My family not once refused to eat what I cooked.

I have never liked cooking. No Julia, Ina, or Emeril over here. I just did what had to be done, and I managed pretty well. My kids still say that I “make the best tuna and egg salad ever.” So there is some pride involved with that.

However, when we moved into our apartment, my skills slowly deteriorated. We subscribed to meal boxes, and my husband took over cooking those. That left four nights a week for suppers I was responsible for.

I hated those four nights, and spent time online looking for “easy recipes for two,” and really leaned into the Crockpot. As many of you have experienced, Crockpot meals most often taste as if the cook just boiled a bunch of stuff and then served it.

Things got progressively worse. Sandwiches were frequent. I had high hopes for omelettes, but my spouse refuses to eat breakfast for dinner. I overdid spaghetti and Rao’s sauce. I continued to look for “easy recipes.”

I undercooked things, misread recipes, added herbs and spices that did not enhance the entrees, and tried to convince my husband that a lot of families have the same thing on the same night every week. I had hopes that I could get away with “Sandwich Sundays and a “Midweek Pot Pie.” That didn’t go down. He wanted variety. My dinners got worse and worse.

So. Last Friday, I thought I would make pizza. Easy. We have a pizza stone. You buy the dough ready made, and nobody cares if you stretch the pizzas perfectly round. Then, you preheat the oven to 450 or 475 with the pizza stone in there. Just throw on the toppings and cook. Easy peasy.

I have one of those pizza shovel things. I put cornmeal on the shovel, as that is imperative in order for the pizza to slide off onto the pizza stone without getting stuck on the shovel. “Smart,” I thought to myself.

I hit the 475 degree button, oven on, and sat down to talk to my husband during the pre-heating. The oven beeped. I had forgotten to hit “start.” So I got up and hit “start,” not realizing that when I did that, the oven reset to the standard 350 degrees. Not hot enough for the pizza.

I spread half of the dough (“makes two pizzas) on the shovel and topped with the sauce, the olives, etc., finishing up with lots of mozzarella. It slid right onto the pizza stone. In the not hot enough oven.

I did the same thing all over again on the shovel. Then it hit me: I needed the shovel to get the first pizza off the stone and onto the counter.

I remembered, somewhere in the depths of my brain, reading instructions that said “You can put the pizza directly onto the oven rack,” so I did that with pizza number two, on the rack above the one on the pizza stone. Sat down and relaxed.

Suddenly, my husband screamed,”Molly! THE PIZZA ON THE RACK IS MELTING DOWN ONTO THE PIZZA BELOW! IT’S DRIBBLING ALL DOWN!”

And sure enough, what I had remembered was instructions for store bought frozen pizzas, which as we all know, have crusts made out of dough that contains 90% cardboard. They don’t melt.

I tried to retrieve the bottom pizza, but as the oven was set to just the 350 degrees, that pizza was melty on top but raw otherwise-it sagged. It buckled. It became all scrunched up, because it was under cooked. Ugh. THEN, As we struggled to grab the globs of pizza hanging off the oven rack above, like stalactites, he burned his hand and said the “F” word, I became depressed, and we ordered pizza delivery.

After we had the really good delivery pizza, my husband looked at me, shook his head, and said, “You know Molly, I think your cooking days are over.”

I rejoiced silently. Then I rejoiced right out loud.

I am a cat person. I have had exactly two dogs in my entire life. My life has been filled with cats; at one time I had five. I will never have another dog, because my current cat would murder it.

And yet, when I have nothing to do, I spend a whole lot of time thinking about what I would name a dog if I got one. A dog’s name is important. If you have a dog, you probably say its name multiple times a day. I am very judgy about people who give their dogs dumb names. I mean, really: if your dog is white, and you name him “Whitey,” you have absolutely NO imagination.

It is trendy now give dogs human names. “This is my dog Robert.” I have mixed feelings about names like Robert, Thomas, and Theodore. Pet names get shortened all the time. So Robert becomes Bob, Thomas Tommy, and Theodore Theo. And for God’s sake, don’t name your dog Richard, because then your dog will become a Dick.

Naming little dogs big names and vice versa is popular. A Chihuahua named Bruno or a Mastiff named Penelope. Oh, and every Pitbull I know has a dainty name like Pansy, Sweet Pea, Holly, or Dierdre. Although Adam Sandler had a Pittie aptly named Meatball.

If I got a dog, I would look to food. So many dogs have cute names like Lentil, Pepper, Popcorn, or Triscuit. I think I would choose a more unique food name for my dog, like Gravy or Hoisin.

I might call a dog “Baby,” but I would never name one that. Talk about not being original. And I have often wondered why so many dogs are named “Chance.”

I know of a dog named “Lentil.” Kudos to that owner. I hate lentils, but what a good name. I also saw a dog named “Mayo” on Instagram. Another favorite dog on Insta is “Schmoo.” Another Pitbull mix.

I have a list in my head of good names for my nonexistent dog:

• If he looked ferocious, I would name him “Backbone.”
• If she were adorable, I would name her “Blanche,” as counterpoint.
• I like medium sized dogs. Brown ones especially. So I would name my brown dog a good medium brown name like “Sparrow,” or “Geraldine.”
• And who on the Internet doesn’t love “Olive” and her sister “Mabel?”
• “Ginko” is cute. I bet it isn’t that original.
•  Adjectives might make good names, like “Huge.” Especially if the dog is, you know–medium and brown.
• I could go for “Panko,” “Bookend,” or “Rosemary.” Maybe “Bookend” is too affected–strike that one.
• I like “Fiona,” “Dashboard,” and for a Beagle, “Flight Risk.”

Here are some names that nobody should ever name a dog:

• “Booger”
• “Buddy”
• “Adolph”
• “Flea”
• “Killer”
• “Bubba”
• “Tootie”
• “Stupid” UGH
• “Girl” or “Boy”
• “Donald”
• Any game name like “Mario” or “Roblox”

I worked at a veterinary office for eight years. And guess what was the most popular dog name in the practice?

You guessed it? MOLLY

You have your Republicans. You have your Democrats. That’s one way to look at things.

But corn. There are schools of thought on this. I am very much on one side of the corn issue, and the rest of my immediate family, heck, maybe the rest of the world, are on the other side of it.

How on God’s earth can a person sit down to dinner and have just one ear of corn on the cob? One measly ear? And what if that particular ear is starchy? What then–these “one ear” people just quit and eat their hot dog and coleslaw with nary another thought?

WHAT IS WRONG WITH THESE PEOPLE?

I was raised right. When corn season rolled around, my mother knew how to do it. She made the rounds of every corn stand and farmer within sensible driving distance, and she got a half dozen ears at each place. AND, she went first thing in the morning, when the picked corn was fresh. Sometimes she went to farms where she could pick the corn herself. She was that dedicated.

This was unfortunately in the era of yellow corn. No Silver Queen yet. No bi-color (which is the only way to go these days). Because yellow corn is starchy by nature, my mom picked small ears only.

The corn was the star of the dinner. Forget steaks, fried chicken, hamburgers, or other filling entrees. She had my dad grill hot dogs. She made sliced tomatoes (she never heard of balsamic) nude (not my mom, the tomatoes) on a platter. Her cucumber salad was world famous. This, of course, was before the internet, so the definition of “world famous” was not what it is today.

Each family member was welcome to as many ears as they wanted.

This bountiful amount of of corn enabled my dad to butter an ear, take one typewriter row of bites, and then if that ear was disappointing, he would cavalierly throw it over his shoulder (we ate on the patio), declaring “No good!” and move on to the next ear.

Each one of us ate at least four ears. My dad could eat maybe six. The whole point was to consume maximum ears, because as we all know, corn season is limited, and one has to take advantage of it.

The corn was the whole point.

I think the reason so many people are indifferent to corn on the cob is that they have never had good corn on the cob. What they think of as corn is just yellow, starchy, old school corn. Few know the experience of biting into an ear, the corn bursting into their mouths with sweetness and crunch, the butter adding that blissful sheen and deliciousness. Salt and pepper not optional.

This sort of ear of corn leads to a second. Still fantastic. The sides are ok-grilled hot dogs and mustard were the tangy opposite of the buttery kernels. The cucumbers, just a bit vinegary and bright. More corn? Pass the platter.

We staggered from the picnic table afterwards, heading for the dental floss. It was so worth it, and nobody was constipated for the rest of the week.

If you eat just one ear of corn, you are a member of the wretched masses. I will die on this hill, thank you.

MY MOM’S CUCUMBER SALAD

Get some good, small cucumbers. Early in the season, you can get those little “pickling” cucumbers. If not, English cucumbers are best. But regular cucumbers will work as well, but you may need to peel them.

Figure one cucumber per person if using big ones; two per person if using pickle cucumbers.

Slice them very thin. Get a colander. Put a layer of cucs in the bottom. Salt them. Keep adding layers and salt until all the cucs are in there. Set the colander in the sink and let the cucs drain for at least an hour.

Rinse them very briefly to wash away some of the salt. Set a dish towel on the counter and spread out the cucs on it. Cover with another towel and press the cucs to get them as dry as possible.

Cut up some chives or a shallot (onions are strong, but if you like them, use onion sliced thinly).

Put the cucs and the chives/onions/shallots in a big bowl.

DRESSING

You may need to double this, depending on the amount of cucs you are having.

1 Tablespoon of vinegar–any kind of what Ina Garten would classify as “good.”

1 Teaspoon  of oil–NOT olive oil.

1/2 Teaspoon sugar

a bit of pepper

Combine well. Put in the fridge for at least an hour.

Serve with your GOOD corn.

(Lots of us eat them with other dinners as well, but they pair perfectly with corn.)

Chef’s kiss!

We are all worried, stressed out, furious, or some sort of combination of those things. Perhaps there are a few, maybe hard-core POTUS supporters, who are happy and care free, but I doubt that there are very many of those.

The issues are myriad. I am not going to list them.

My problem is that the people who read this blog have come to expect that I am so “talented,” that I can write a column that will make them laugh and temporarily forget their troubles. Unfortunately, I am not that talented. I wonder if even the brilliant Erma Bombeck, if she were still alive, could do this, given the million things that are happening to depress us.

I looked online for advice for this situation, and there were many articles, most of them giving what I think are lame pieces of advice. “Keep a positive attitude” is easy for them to say!

We all have to go on living. Putting one foot in front of the other. Certainly there are millions who have participated in the protests around the country in the past months. That gives those who protest a feeling of “doing something.”

But what if you don’t want to protest? What if you are not firmly rooted in your political silo, so joining a protest isn’t for you? Conservatives and liberals alike are unsettled and worried about current events.  Republican or Democrat–many feel hopeless and don’t know how to cope.

Here are some links that I think might be helpful for all of us, no matter our political stance:

https://www.psychologytoday.com/au/blog/the-well-being-toolkit/202310/how-to-keep-anchored-during-difficult-world-events

https://screening.mhanational.org/content/how-can-i-be-ok-when-world-terrible/.

https://www.cnbc.com/2025/03/15/theres-an-epidemic-of-demoralization-says-happiness-expert-how-to-fight-it.html

May peace be with you.

Do you know any poets? Most people don’t, but we all think of them as incredible wordsmiths. They know how to create beauty out of strings of words that leave their readers breathless. It’s a rare gift, and I appreciate all of those who can lead us into not only scenes of beauty, but of terror, fury, and romance. Words. The only tool poets have.

So why am I thinking about this? Well. I came across another listicle, and this one left me wondering if the internet has simply run out of things to put on lists, because this particular listicle provided a run down on the “most beautiful words in the English language.” And I was appalled.

Not one of the words on that list was beautiful, in my opinion. “Murmuring” does nothing for my soul. It has a cadence, granted. But beautiful? Not really.

“Tremulous” made the list. I know. How come? Of course, I bet it appears in a lot of poems, so I could be totally wrong on this one.

I can get on board with”crystalline,” I guess. It’s ok. “Felicity” these days is mostly a name, and frankly, it’s too much for me. Sort of like Tiffany. I brings to mind girls with long, wavy hair and too much mascara.

But according to the internet, the most beautiful word is CELLAR DOOR. I am not joking. You can Google it yourself. “Cellar door.” Really? In what way is that beautiful? For me, when I think of a cellar door, I imagine women chained to heating pipes down there in the cellar. Or concrete steps leading down to dank basements filled with spiders and cobwebs that stick to your face as you walk around in there. Who has happy memories of cellars? Anybody? Maybe serial killers.

When I think of beautiful words, I think of “purring,” “chocolate,” “seashell,” and “dessert.”

But some poets manage. Carl Sandburg managed.