Normally, road construction is pretty annoying -- okay, really annoying -- yet I am thrilled about the work happening now at the end of my street. In fact, I made it happen.

When my daughters were younger, we held a dance party in the kitchen every night after dinner. I'd crank up some CD, and we'd go to town. We always laughed a lot while we danced, made up wild moves, took turns leading the choreography, sang along really loudly . It may not have been the smartest thing to be riling up the kids so close to bed time, but it was an irresistible blast every night for all of us. I don't remember when our dance parties stopped, but I think it happened when homework kicked in and we just didn't have the time anymore.

Until last Tuesday, I've never really liked my first name. Marjory. It's a mouthful. "R" isn't such a pretty sound and I've got it twice. For a nickname, I prefer "“Margie," but people closest to me tend to call me "Marge," which rhymes with large and barge, which don't really fit my 5'1" size. "Marge" always sounded like a middle-aged housewife's name to me -- too mature for me even now that I am middle aged. In recent years, I've been associated with Marge Simpson (I have two T-shirts emblazoned with her image), and with the character from the movie Fargo. A number of friends have since addressed me with the mid-western accent from the movie.

I changed doctors this summer, aggravated to the breaking point not due to poor care, but by frustrations with how the office was managed. The last straw: It took me at least four phone calls that I initiated (not counting callbacks) to get my doctor to authorize a standard blood test before my appointment. You see, I have low thyroid and my thyroid hormone levels must be checked every six months. Our pattern until this summer was that I'd go in to see him, tell him that I feel fine, and then he'd tell me to have my blood test and he'd call me with the results. That didn't seem to be an effective use of anyone's time, so this time I wanted to have my blood results first, and actually have something to talk about at my appointment. Despite my very clear messages and conversations with every nurse who called me back, my efforts were fruitless. Twice, I showed up at the blood-draw station for my test, and twice was turned away because the prescription was never sent.