I am not a great driver, have never pretended to be, but I have been driving for nearly half a century, and for decades accident-free. What I don't get is why everyone else thinks they're a better driver than I am — to the point that they start bullying me into decisions.

I'm talking about those people who, while tied at a four-way stop, for example, start waving to tell me to come ahead — even though it's really my decision.. And here's what I really don't get: nine times out of ten, those drivers will be in vehicles that are noticeably damaged, in every way. 

I mean, they have nothing to lose, right? Clearly, their decision-making is questionable, if not downright faulty. And yet, and yet, they really think they should be in charge of the intersection. 

Why? It's beyond me.

Everyone has their own pandemic story. The only thing distinctive about mine is that it coincided with my official retirement from a 40-year career in freelance writing — a career that had been languishing anyway, along with the disappearance of the written word. 

But really, the demise of a once-robust level of marketing and business communications is what led to the birth and nurturing of Beyond Her. The design and production of all those home and fashion accessories filled my time (and that of anyone in my orbit) for more than 15 years. 

So when COVID came and wiped out all the arts markets and retail activity that had kept Her lurching along for all those years, it was the proverbial one-two punch. Fate had spoken: "Darling, your working years are over." 

And so, I went back to art school in Spring 2020, tackling the core curriculum that would get me into the meaty classes. Worked up a head of steam, and then . . . COVID shut-down. Completed the courses online and enrolled in a printmaking course in Spring 2021. 

I was all giddy-up about the Fall 2021 semester, but then more surges and more surges — the bottom line was I couldn't make myself go back to those long days in a mask. My fine art career would have to wait. So disappointing

My idea became to create things out of all the items that remained in my studio from the Beyond Her Working Years. I had so much fabric, tons of blank inventory, shelves full of arts & craft materials. 

I also had a small piece of property in La Grange, Texas, that contained pecan and catalba trees, a fire pit, and a whole countryside of native plants that, I discovered, could be used as dyestuff. It all appealed to my lifelong habits of stalking outdoor environments and my total respect for all things pioneer. And just coincidentally, one of my main diversions during the pandemic was taking free online workshops, most specifically on natural dyes. It all just came together!

Thus began the Beyond Her Space project. The past 20 months have been full of research, online education, scouring and mordanting experiments, hot dye baths, burns and failures in every color, head-scratching results, full-on tears and wonderful discoveries. 

My take-away is that the natural dyers' motto of "low and slow" was custom designed to make me gear down and enjoy the journey =)) Others have tried. 

I now have an impressive collection of color journals documenting all this activity, creating a detailed historical record. But, truly, every day is a new day when it comes to natural dyes, at least the way I roll.

I have small batches of other natural dye projects, but my main focus for Fall 2021 was working with

• the native pecan trees on my lot (both the green hulls and smashed leaves and branches, which each produce different shades of rose or brown).
• Texas goldenrod blossoms, foraged from the roadside in Central Texas. When steeped, it produces a lovely yellow with just the blossoms, or a yellow-green with the stems.
• Reduced crystal indigo, purchased several years ago. Although this is actually a synthetic designed for ease of use, it behaves like organic  indigo, meaning that you create a vat and keep it "fed." We all know and love indigo blue.

​I'm so happy with this project, and so these crazy circumstances that forced me to focus on, and make art in, the tiny spot of the world that I inhabit. After all those years of dyeing and printing with only consistency in mind,  it was lovely to be able to just ooh and ah at the variations. 

My new attitude is that natural dye products are quintessentially quirky, erratic and imperfect. Just like us.  

It's gotten ridiculous, this constant surveying. The moment I land on a website, a pop-up appears, asking "How are we doing?" Well, I mean, you've annoyed me, so if that was your objective, dude, you're doing great! 

Checkers at the bank and big box stores routinely spend more time explaining to me how to rate their service by going on a certain website and registering to vote than in performing their actual function. And I'm always left wondering what constitutes above-average service these days. 

Again, you did ring up my groceries, and/or took my deposit. Nothing has exploded or backfired so far. So, again, I guess you did great. And thanks for taking up even more of my time asking for feedback! Sheesh.

Customer service, do you read me?

When you really do need to report bad service, a bad product or bad behavior — that's when you see the other side of these chipper questions. I had to call to follow up on a recent online filing — turns out, no one is really assigned to actually receive the feedback. Surprise.

I have filled out so many Customer Satisfaction reports in agonizing detail, only to hear nothing from the company — big companies like #KitchenAid and #AMC Theaters.

​I am desperately trying to save a local cinema from its rapid decline, but after carefully reporting on numerous infractions and inconveniences after a particularly awful movie night, I received this heartfelt response: "We will look into it." Awesome. I feel so listened to.

One million years ago, I read a study that showed that retaining one customer is easier than getting 99 new ones. That companies should value customer feedback because it actually shows the way back into their hearts.

What went wrong?  


Beyond Her always listens. When we heard people valued our Texas-based designs, we upped the selection. For people who live in, or just love, Texas — we've got the answers!

I am always in search of a 14-year-old girl. And not for any nefarious reason.

It's just that that's when my life was really wonderful – when I had immediate access to two smart, dextrous, no-nonsense daughters who could alphabetize, fold clothing, sort anything and develop spreadsheets like nobody's business.

And who had to do exactly what I wanted because I was the mom.

I'll never have better employees, because these two never wanted to talk about anything - they just wanted to get done and get out of the house. The scissors would fly, the printer would roar, the boxes would appear faster than anyone had the right to expect. 

And then they were out. No chit-chatting, no smoke breaks, no follow-up questions. No opinions.

I keep telling myself I must be getting old and feeble-minded - that's why I can't get everything done. But the real reason is that the best little assistants in Texas are now all grown up. Doing what they do . . . for reals.

For the third time this week, I had to click through three different website pages to get information on ticket prices for fundraisers. Don't know what's going on, folks, but wouldn't it make more sense to list the prices on the email itself? 

Now I'm annoyed, and it's not just at the $100 per person ticket prices. Sheesh.

I’m really liking the idea of using white noise to put me to sleep, but I’m having trouble finding the right app, not to mention the right sound to do the trick. One thing I do know: no one from the Gulf Coast is going to find the sound of rain, or water dripping, or thunder, in any way relaxing. Hurricane PTSD is for real, I’m here to say. Now those chimes . . . ZZZZZ

I just spent an hour or so trying to clean a couple of clear insulated mugs that had been rendered disgusting by repeated coffee experiences. Some lifehacker website suggested about five different remedies – and I tried them all, along with some of my own. I scrubbed, soaked, abrased and shook, all to no avail. I can be pretty persistent, but the brown zone was going nowhere.

Both mugs were sitting on the counter, destined for goodwill, so I picked them up and guess what was still on the rim of one? Lipstick! The very same lipstick that stays on my lips for about 10 minutes every morning had managed to cling to a plastic mug through several rounds of chemical and hand-to-hand combat. 

Classic instance of what is beyond me = )

We Americans love our cars. In fact, we almost live in them. 

There have been days when I've eaten all three meals in the car - and judging by the crap I see in my car and other peoples,' we keep a full wardrobe and a gym locker full of supplies in our back seats. With massive numbers of cup holders and connections to all types of electronic devices, we've made our cars not only comfortable but habitable. I actually go sit in my car when my back's bothering me - it's the best seat in the house.

But you know what cars don't have? Someplace to put my purse. I mean, I have about a million compartments of unknown purpose within reach of the driver's seat, but my purse - where I keep glasses, notes, lipstick etc - is either strewn all over the passenger seat or the floorboard. And that's just before the first near-miss of the day.Then the contents are everywhere.

​I don't get it. I know the auto design industry is probably dominated by men, but don't they have wives? Haven't the salespeople noticed on test drives that women don't have anyplace to stow their belongings? Don't they get tired of holding strangers' things on their laps?

Of course they do. It's just another instance of how we accommodate the world instead of the world accommodating us. 

Do we have to start a movement? Why can't some bright, alert, and brave person change our lives by acknowledging what we all know to be true - that we need someplace to stow our bags in the car? 

Why not? It's beyond me. 

Okay, I like sports, and I like to watch sports on TV. Plus, I'm a HUGE fan of the Olympic games, summer more than winter, but a fan nonetheless. So I was really looking forward to watching the 2018 winter games in Pyeong Chang, South Korea, starting with the opening ceremonies.

So I watched and waited. Surely, NBC was going to give us some notice on how to watch these events on the other side of the world, right? A few days before the kick-off, I still had no clue – I thought the opening ceremonies were on Friday, but then I saw ads for some events on Thursday? So I started the search. Sigh.

And what did I find? Lots of unofficial news on the time difference, the events, the US athletes, but nothing really on what an unplugged (as in Old School antenna) viewer could count on in terms of coverage.

On the NBC website, it became clear that literally EVERYTHING could be streamed. So that curling match you've been anticipating? It's scheduled at 3:30 am next Tuesday- and you can watch all 2.5 hours of it live and uninterrupted.

For those of us with lives, that's what's known as overload. I just wanted to see the best and the brightest stars on the ice or the mountain – and actually, my preference is that it be taped and curated.

I had to find it, but it turns out that NBC is offering exactly what I want to see every weeknight on prime time and every weekend, too. So, yay! But why bury the  lead? Why make it hard for half-interested viewers to get the picture, literally?

​Forever and always, it's beyond me.