It's been a very good day again today. It was communion Sunday (we have communion the first Sunday of each month in my congregation). Besides being a time of spiritual refilling, there's another reason many of us look forward to first Sunday -- for selfish reasons. Our choir, which normally sings in two services, the first of which starts at 8:30 a.m., only sings during the second service on communion Sundays. That means another hour of sleep, usually, which we can all appreciate. I know, I know. That's not a highly spiritual attitude, but it's the simple truth.
We had a great Sunday school lesson, another in a series of discussions on seeds being sown on different types of soil. There's a lot of fodder in that passage in Matthew 13, the parable of the sower. True to our nature, our class shared ideas of all kinds, from discussing our willingness to sow the seed, to questioning what our mission field is, to recognizing that our vocational callings may be the seeds we sow. Do we necessarily have to turn away from our homes and jobs and go to the victims of the tsunami, for example, to obey the instruction to share the Gospel? I think not. Among our group we have several teachers, a school counselor and others with "regular jobs" who certainly have the opportunity to serve an important mission field right in our own city. There is need everywhere in the world, not just in Rio Bravo, Mexico, where we are dispatching a team of 66 high school students and adults over spring break to build four casitas.
Our church is a strong supporter of mission work, with frequent trips to Mexico, Belize, Alaska, Appalachia and other locations far from home. We also recognize the needs in our own back yards and work to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, teach the uneducated, visit the sick and imprisoned and house the homeless right here in Oklahoma City. I'm not bragging about our work, because I truly expect no less from any of us who have been given so much in this life. It's a matter of simple human responsibility.
So, after a stirring morning getting my spiritual energy recharged at church, 12 of us in our singles group went to lunch together, which was great. We went to Applebee's and enjoyed a couple of hours of good conversation and food. Leaving was a difficult matter for many of us who sat so long we were getting the Sunday afternoon drowseys.
I finally got home about 2:30 p.m., then had a long phone conversation with a friend who had left a message last night about wanting to go to a movie. We talked for more than a half hour and decided nah, it wasn't a great movie day. Then I gave it up and went to take a nap for a few hours. It was glorious! I hadn't had a nap since I started doing the treadmill thing, having been so charged up by the exercise. But today, being Sunday, was a true day of rest and I treasured every restful moment of it.
I did get a movie in this weekend, but it was a TV movie, Oprah Winfrey's production of "Their Eyes Were Watching God." Good story, and I love movies set in the time period of the 1930s in the South. I used to dream and believe, as a 10-year-old, that I should have lived in that era. I was certain that my previous life involved running a 1930s boarding house. I easily could have been a character in the old parts of "Fried Green Tomatoes" and I've got the collection of aprons to prove it.
It's good to see so many of my blogging buddies posting again. Too many absences for some of them over the past month or two, but the updates more than make up for the wait. I wish I could say all their news is good and happy, but life isn't all just good and happy. I would rather read painful truths and know what's really happening than to read a candy-coated fiction. Even though I want to know the truth, I still hope better for those in hard spots in their journeys.
Speaking of which, I have several encouraging prospects which have arisen this week. I won't say any more about them now, except to ask for your prayers for wisdom and fulfillment as God wishes. There are about four different opportunities before me, any and all of which would be great, either short term or long term.
Gloriously, it's 11:17 p.m. now, and I'll say goodnight. I'm also working on developing the habit of a "reasonable" bedtime, trying to break the habit of staying awake until 3 a.m. It's taken me decades to understand what my college roommates seemed to know back in the '70s -- since I was a journalism student working nights, I couldn't "get it" when they were in bed by 9 p.m. Maybe it's age, maybe it's just that my body is tired of running on a sleep deficit. Heck, maybe I'm just sleepy.
Y'all have a great and glorious week, y'hear? Nighty-night!
Sunday, March 06, 2005
Saturday, March 05, 2005
Off to the 'mill
The treadmill, that is. What the heck is going on? It's 10:10 a.m. on a Saturday and I am cleaned up, dressed up in sweats, have my sneakers on and I'm ready to GO to the fitness center! I've even taken my meds! Come on now, this is just day 4 and already I'm addicted? Are they piping crack through the air system over there or something?
Seriously, I can't believe how charged up I am. So without further delay, I'll wish you all a good morning and a productive Saturday. I'm grabbing my book and heading out! Forwarrrrrrrd, MARCH!
Seriously, I can't believe how charged up I am. So without further delay, I'll wish you all a good morning and a productive Saturday. I'm grabbing my book and heading out! Forwarrrrrrrd, MARCH!
Make mine yellow, please
Here's a bit of information for a couple of fellow bloggers, ThePress aka Erudite Redneck and Corndog, whose blog is called Corndoggerel. I dare say Quirky may find some interest in his blog, she being a lover of corn dogs from way back.
In any event, anyone who is a corn dog, knows a corn dog, loves a corn dog or has ever eaten a corn dog knows that mustard is a necessary accessory to the corn dog. And in celebration of that condimental fact, I present:
Mustard Museum
You'll also hear some music on the site... did anyone know there's a genre called "new luxury"?
In any event, anyone who is a corn dog, knows a corn dog, loves a corn dog or has ever eaten a corn dog knows that mustard is a necessary accessory to the corn dog. And in celebration of that condimental fact, I present:
Mustard Museum
You'll also hear some music on the site... did anyone know there's a genre called "new luxury"?
Friday, March 04, 2005
Whoo hooo! Feeling FINE!
Endorphins are such a wonderful thing! I just got back from today's visit to the fitness center, the third this week! That meets my minimum personal goal. Anything above three times a week, at this point, is gravy.
I feel wonderful. The blood's been pumping through the body, washing out depression and stress, replacing them with serenity and wellbeing. Can you believe that? I'm bragging about endorphins and good health after only THREE days, doing only 30 minutes a day on the treadmill. That should prove to me that God made our bodies to be quite remarkable things. (Oh, my blood pressure was higher than ever before I started, but dropped to almost normal levels when I left.)
I added a new element to the mix today. Pacer has clear acrylic book holders that fit over the treadmill monitors, so I was able to read as I walked. It is a bit tricky, trying to follow the text while bumping up and down with each step, but it's not bad. I managed to read 30 pages of a new book as I sweated.
I suspect several of us have a similar experience, having piles and piles of unread books stacked around the house. Writers tend to be drawn to the printed word (imagine that). And for those of you who aren't journalists, here's a secret. Newspapers, especially larger newspapers, tend to get tons and tons of review copies of new books. Periodically, these must be sent away or the newspaper building will sink into the ground. These purges are called "book grabs" and involve displaying boxes and boxes of books on a large conference table. The doors to the conference room are kept shut until a prescribed time, when a stampede of reporters and editors converge to grab the texts that interest them.
Used to be, I'd position myself at some spot around the table, searching for book titles that could be joined to make interesting sentences. I'd casually arrange the books to leave a message for anyone who would notice. Sometimes I'd have to help someone notice in the instances when I was particularly clever.
Certain people were known for collecting certain types of books, and we'd save them as an offering to curry favor. Some loved history books, others poetry, and one in particular collected all the porn type books. I'd grab whatever looked interesting to me at the time. Most were far too new to have gotten any hype -- after all, the publishers were hoping WE would hype these books to our readers. It's heck being a front-runner sometimes!
So, here's the conclusion of this lengthy essay. Once upon a time at one of the book grabs, I picked up a copy of a little book called "Art and Soul: 156 Ways to Free Your Creative Spirit" by Pam Grout (Andrews McMeel Publishing, Kansas City, MO., 2000).
It's a great, fun book -- at least the 30 pages I read on the treadmill this afternoon. I think anyone could find creative inspiration in this work, especially those who think they don't have (or need) any creative outlet.
Says Grout: "Now is the time to quit pushing that dream aside.
"Every dream that has ever tiptoed across your mind is a summons from God -- a summons that says, 'I need you.'
"On the day you were born, God presented you with a creative gift. It is a gift the world needs. Maybe your song won't be sung on David Letterman. It may never make the Top Forty list. But somebody out there needs to hear it. Maybe it's the 92-year-old shut-in who lives next door, who giggles every time she overhears you sing 'I Wish I Were an Oscar Mayer Weiner' outside her bedroom window. Isn't that enough?"
She continues.
"'But hasn't everything already been said?'
"Until we hear your version of this fierce and joyful world, there is more to be said. Each man looks upon the sunset with a slightly different eye."
Isn't that great? The world needs us! It needs our contributions! And it needs us now, not when we've earned another degree, taken another class, read another book about how-to. We already know how because God put it inside us. We just need TO.
There you go, folks. If you hear the whisper, listen to it and DO. Sometimes, to Do is as important as to Be. Do Be Do Be Do, as Frank says.
I can't wait to get back on the treadmill to read some more from this gem.
I feel wonderful. The blood's been pumping through the body, washing out depression and stress, replacing them with serenity and wellbeing. Can you believe that? I'm bragging about endorphins and good health after only THREE days, doing only 30 minutes a day on the treadmill. That should prove to me that God made our bodies to be quite remarkable things. (Oh, my blood pressure was higher than ever before I started, but dropped to almost normal levels when I left.)
I added a new element to the mix today. Pacer has clear acrylic book holders that fit over the treadmill monitors, so I was able to read as I walked. It is a bit tricky, trying to follow the text while bumping up and down with each step, but it's not bad. I managed to read 30 pages of a new book as I sweated.
I suspect several of us have a similar experience, having piles and piles of unread books stacked around the house. Writers tend to be drawn to the printed word (imagine that). And for those of you who aren't journalists, here's a secret. Newspapers, especially larger newspapers, tend to get tons and tons of review copies of new books. Periodically, these must be sent away or the newspaper building will sink into the ground. These purges are called "book grabs" and involve displaying boxes and boxes of books on a large conference table. The doors to the conference room are kept shut until a prescribed time, when a stampede of reporters and editors converge to grab the texts that interest them.
Used to be, I'd position myself at some spot around the table, searching for book titles that could be joined to make interesting sentences. I'd casually arrange the books to leave a message for anyone who would notice. Sometimes I'd have to help someone notice in the instances when I was particularly clever.
Certain people were known for collecting certain types of books, and we'd save them as an offering to curry favor. Some loved history books, others poetry, and one in particular collected all the porn type books. I'd grab whatever looked interesting to me at the time. Most were far too new to have gotten any hype -- after all, the publishers were hoping WE would hype these books to our readers. It's heck being a front-runner sometimes!
So, here's the conclusion of this lengthy essay. Once upon a time at one of the book grabs, I picked up a copy of a little book called "Art and Soul: 156 Ways to Free Your Creative Spirit" by Pam Grout (Andrews McMeel Publishing, Kansas City, MO., 2000).
It's a great, fun book -- at least the 30 pages I read on the treadmill this afternoon. I think anyone could find creative inspiration in this work, especially those who think they don't have (or need) any creative outlet.
Says Grout: "Now is the time to quit pushing that dream aside.
"Every dream that has ever tiptoed across your mind is a summons from God -- a summons that says, 'I need you.'
"On the day you were born, God presented you with a creative gift. It is a gift the world needs. Maybe your song won't be sung on David Letterman. It may never make the Top Forty list. But somebody out there needs to hear it. Maybe it's the 92-year-old shut-in who lives next door, who giggles every time she overhears you sing 'I Wish I Were an Oscar Mayer Weiner' outside her bedroom window. Isn't that enough?"
She continues.
"'But hasn't everything already been said?'
"Until we hear your version of this fierce and joyful world, there is more to be said. Each man looks upon the sunset with a slightly different eye."
Isn't that great? The world needs us! It needs our contributions! And it needs us now, not when we've earned another degree, taken another class, read another book about how-to. We already know how because God put it inside us. We just need TO.
There you go, folks. If you hear the whisper, listen to it and DO. Sometimes, to Do is as important as to Be. Do Be Do Be Do, as Frank says.
I can't wait to get back on the treadmill to read some more from this gem.
Thursday, March 03, 2005
All fired up
Well, now, with just under a month to go before my 50th birthday, I've decided to start doing something about my physical condition. I've had problems with my weight, cholesterol and blood pressure for a while, especially my blood pressure. I've been so inspired by Oprah Winfrey and other beautiful women going into their 50s and 60s that I figgered it's time for me to get busy and shine.
Great idea! There's nothing like taking care of your body to make you realize just how much you've neglected it! Yippee!
So I've joined a fitness center that's affiliated with a huge hospital, Pacer at Integris Baptist Medical Center. (There is no Methodist hospital handy, and Pacer is a top-notch fitness center that truly is devoted to health, not Spandex.) I've looked at several options for getting healthy, and much prefer Pacer to some of the "vanity" workout places that are more show and less glow.
Because my blood pressure is in the "skeery high" range, I've been restricted to the cardio rehab program for now. No weight training allowed yet, because using weights can raise blood pressure. I've also been to the doctor twice this week for blood pressure check, an update of my meds and lab work. I'll go back in a couple of weeks for a follow-up visit. It may be necessary to add something to my current meds or make some changes. We'll be looking at some other things too, with a complete metabolic panel.
Put 'em on, pick 'em up, put 'em down.
So here's my workout for now: 1) Take my meds before I go to the fitness center; 2) Get my blood pressure checked before I start; 3) Walk on the treadmill at 2.8 mph for 30 minutes, checking my heart rate every 10 minutes or so to make sure I'm not in a dangerous zone. I can bump up the speed a little as I'm comfortable. I'm fine at this pace for now, but want to increase it over time. 4) Have my blood pressure checked again after finishing my 30 minutes.
Now here's the deal: When they put you in the cardio rehab area, it means they are skeered enough that they want you close to where the nurses and doctors are located. Just in case. Ahhhh, that's comforting! But it's also why I chose Pacer. Should something happen, I'm literally across the parking lot from the hospital, one of the biggest in OKC. I'm working out with people in their 60s, 70s and 80s. Hey, for once I am the youngest person in the room, mostly. But it's embarrassing for the 80-year-old man, wearing his little hat, to be whupping my *** on the treadmill to my left.
Don't you worry. It won't take me long to get some of this excess weight off, and the blood pressure will get better. Once I'm out of the red zone, I can start working on strength and shaping, and I'll be on my way to being a babe again. I won't make it by my birthday, but my 50th year is going to be devoted to taking care of me, in as many ways as I can. I have to start by making sure I'll be alive to do some of the other things.
Great idea! There's nothing like taking care of your body to make you realize just how much you've neglected it! Yippee!
So I've joined a fitness center that's affiliated with a huge hospital, Pacer at Integris Baptist Medical Center. (There is no Methodist hospital handy, and Pacer is a top-notch fitness center that truly is devoted to health, not Spandex.) I've looked at several options for getting healthy, and much prefer Pacer to some of the "vanity" workout places that are more show and less glow.
Because my blood pressure is in the "skeery high" range, I've been restricted to the cardio rehab program for now. No weight training allowed yet, because using weights can raise blood pressure. I've also been to the doctor twice this week for blood pressure check, an update of my meds and lab work. I'll go back in a couple of weeks for a follow-up visit. It may be necessary to add something to my current meds or make some changes. We'll be looking at some other things too, with a complete metabolic panel.
Put 'em on, pick 'em up, put 'em down.
So here's my workout for now: 1) Take my meds before I go to the fitness center; 2) Get my blood pressure checked before I start; 3) Walk on the treadmill at 2.8 mph for 30 minutes, checking my heart rate every 10 minutes or so to make sure I'm not in a dangerous zone. I can bump up the speed a little as I'm comfortable. I'm fine at this pace for now, but want to increase it over time. 4) Have my blood pressure checked again after finishing my 30 minutes.
Now here's the deal: When they put you in the cardio rehab area, it means they are skeered enough that they want you close to where the nurses and doctors are located. Just in case. Ahhhh, that's comforting! But it's also why I chose Pacer. Should something happen, I'm literally across the parking lot from the hospital, one of the biggest in OKC. I'm working out with people in their 60s, 70s and 80s. Hey, for once I am the youngest person in the room, mostly. But it's embarrassing for the 80-year-old man, wearing his little hat, to be whupping my *** on the treadmill to my left.
Don't you worry. It won't take me long to get some of this excess weight off, and the blood pressure will get better. Once I'm out of the red zone, I can start working on strength and shaping, and I'll be on my way to being a babe again. I won't make it by my birthday, but my 50th year is going to be devoted to taking care of me, in as many ways as I can. I have to start by making sure I'll be alive to do some of the other things.
Hi Quirky!!
I just saw a reply on the electric blanket election post from Quirky, a friend from some bulletin boards I read. Just in case she doesn't get back to that post, I wanted to say a big hello to her up here. So... HELLO QUIRKY!!!
Quirky is famous for having amassed a lot of interesting knowledge. She' s been a winner on Jeopardy! and participates in a monthly (I believe) trivia concert in her community in Illinois.
I'm hoping she'll visit often and post so y'all get to know her better. Maybe she'll have a blog of her own! That would be cool.
Quirky is famous for having amassed a lot of interesting knowledge. She' s been a winner on Jeopardy! and participates in a monthly (I believe) trivia concert in her community in Illinois.
I'm hoping she'll visit often and post so y'all get to know her better. Maybe she'll have a blog of her own! That would be cool.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
Where have you been!?
Thanks to Frenzied Feline for this cool meme. It's interesting to have a list of states we've visited, lived in or live in now. Here's mine. There are instructions at the end for getting your own list. It's easy, so just do it.
bold the states you've been to, underline the states you've lived in and italicize the state you're in now...
Alabama / Alaska / Arizona / Arkansas / California / Colorado / Connecticut / Delaware / Florida / Georgia / Hawaii / Idaho / Illinois / Indiana / Iowa / Kansas / Kentucky / Louisiana / Maine / Maryland / Massachusetts / Michigan / Minnesota / Mississippi / Missouri / Montana / Nebraska / Nevada / New Hampshire / New Jersey / New Mexico / New York / North Carolina / North Dakota / Ohio / Oklahoma / Oregon / Pennsylvania / Rhode Island / South Carolina / South Dakota / Tennessee / Texas / Utah / Vermont / Virginia / Washington / West Virginia / Wisconsin / Wyoming / Washington D.C /
Go HERE to have a form generate the HTML for you.
bold the states you've been to, underline the states you've lived in and italicize the state you're in now...
Alabama / Alaska / Arizona / Arkansas / California / Colorado / Connecticut / Delaware / Florida / Georgia / Hawaii / Idaho / Illinois / Indiana / Iowa / Kansas / Kentucky / Louisiana / Maine / Maryland / Massachusetts / Michigan / Minnesota / Mississippi / Missouri / Montana / Nebraska / Nevada / New Hampshire / New Jersey / New Mexico / New York / North Carolina / North Dakota / Ohio / Oklahoma / Oregon / Pennsylvania / Rhode Island / South Carolina / South Dakota / Tennessee / Texas / Utah / Vermont / Virginia / Washington / West Virginia / Wisconsin / Wyoming / Washington D.C /
Go HERE to have a form generate the HTML for you.
Sunday, February 27, 2005
The Day From Bell
A summary of the day:
2:30 a.m. -- got to sleep.
4:30 a.m. -- alarm goes off
5:30 a.m. -- on my way to the church
6:00 a.m. -- on the road to Tulsa
7:00 a.m. -- stopped at McDonald's on Turnpike for breakfast
8:00 a.m. -- arrived at Tulsa Community Center and started set-up
9:00 a.m. -- started rehearsals
noon -- break for lunch
1:30 p.m. -- resumed rehearsals
3:00 p.m. -- concert for public
4:00 p.m. -- breakdown and reload van
6:00 p.m. -- back at church, then headed home
6:15 p.m. -- crashed, hard, on the bed.
9:00 p.m. -- woke up enough to watch a little TV
10:30 p.m. -- phone call from my aunt to let me know my drug-dependent cousin has now crashed her second car in a ditch since I was there after Christmas. Cousin was disoriented when taken to the emergency room by ambulance and incoherent. Assorted tests done, including an EKG which came back with abnormalities. Cousin checks herself out of hospital against medical orders. Cousin's son moves out of house because he's 21 and disgusted with what's happening. All kinds of speculation about consequences. My concern is that cousin will wind up dead or in prison in the immediate future.
It's now 12:46 a.m. according to the clock on my computer. It's time for me to go on to bed, shut my eyes and turn off the day. My lower back is complaining loudly about standing on concrete for so long today.
Oh -- before I forget, part of the bell festival tradition for our group is going to a little dive called El Rio Verde for lunch. It has about six table, and our group usually fills up most of the place. Their specialty is the "wet burrito." Should you want to give the place a try, take Tulsa's I-244 east to the Utica exit. Cross over the highway to the north side service road, which is Admiral. Turn left (westbound) and go to Trenton (landmark: West Side Funeral Chapel). Turn north and go about a block to the grafitti-painted restaurant on the west side of the street. It's across the street from the police tape marking off a burned-out house. Yeah, the neighborhood is real glam, but the food is great! Portions are generous and it's as hot as I can bear it. We NEVER leave hungry, I promise you. My girlfriend and I split a wet burrito today to avoid eating until it was painful.
I'll post a photo tomorrow of our youngest bell choir member having his first wet burrito. Just too wrung out to do it tonight.
Sleep well, everyone!
2:30 a.m. -- got to sleep.
4:30 a.m. -- alarm goes off
5:30 a.m. -- on my way to the church
6:00 a.m. -- on the road to Tulsa
7:00 a.m. -- stopped at McDonald's on Turnpike for breakfast
8:00 a.m. -- arrived at Tulsa Community Center and started set-up
9:00 a.m. -- started rehearsals
noon -- break for lunch
1:30 p.m. -- resumed rehearsals
3:00 p.m. -- concert for public
4:00 p.m. -- breakdown and reload van
6:00 p.m. -- back at church, then headed home
6:15 p.m. -- crashed, hard, on the bed.
9:00 p.m. -- woke up enough to watch a little TV
10:30 p.m. -- phone call from my aunt to let me know my drug-dependent cousin has now crashed her second car in a ditch since I was there after Christmas. Cousin was disoriented when taken to the emergency room by ambulance and incoherent. Assorted tests done, including an EKG which came back with abnormalities. Cousin checks herself out of hospital against medical orders. Cousin's son moves out of house because he's 21 and disgusted with what's happening. All kinds of speculation about consequences. My concern is that cousin will wind up dead or in prison in the immediate future.
It's now 12:46 a.m. according to the clock on my computer. It's time for me to go on to bed, shut my eyes and turn off the day. My lower back is complaining loudly about standing on concrete for so long today.
Oh -- before I forget, part of the bell festival tradition for our group is going to a little dive called El Rio Verde for lunch. It has about six table, and our group usually fills up most of the place. Their specialty is the "wet burrito." Should you want to give the place a try, take Tulsa's I-244 east to the Utica exit. Cross over the highway to the north side service road, which is Admiral. Turn left (westbound) and go to Trenton (landmark: West Side Funeral Chapel). Turn north and go about a block to the grafitti-painted restaurant on the west side of the street. It's across the street from the police tape marking off a burned-out house. Yeah, the neighborhood is real glam, but the food is great! Portions are generous and it's as hot as I can bear it. We NEVER leave hungry, I promise you. My girlfriend and I split a wet burrito today to avoid eating until it was painful.
I'll post a photo tomorrow of our youngest bell choir member having his first wet burrito. Just too wrung out to do it tonight.
Sleep well, everyone!
Friday, February 25, 2005
Little blips
* Vietnam Veterans will be making another pickup at my house on March 4. I love VVA -- not only because of the work they do, but because they have the best organized charity collection system I've ever witnessed. I can count on a call every six weeks. All I have to do is get my stuff to the front porch and put a sign on it saying "VVA". They come when they say they will and take the donation, then leave me a charity receipt in the door. Quick and easy, and my stuff goes to someone who can really use it after I'm through with it. I donate to other places, too, when they call, but VVA's system makes them the winners most of the time.
* My mom died just over five years ago. And yet. The mail keeps coming. The past couple of weeks there's been a blizzard of "NEW MEDICARE BENEFITS INFORMATION!" mailings. The one that really gets me, though, is the catalog "she" receives for The Limited Too, a clothing company for grade school girls. To make it worse, they ALL misspell her first name. It is aggravating. Sometimes I will send a note to the insurance companies to ask if they'll sign me up for coverage of my dead mom. I know, that's probably not respectful, but if you knew my mom, she would be laughing.
* For those of you who live in my vicinity in Oklahoma, I found the neatest information on the Oklahoma County Assessor's web site. You can see your own information about the assessed value of your house, the market value and the taxable market value. There's a picture of your house, as well as a sketch of the lot. BUT you can also look at any other address. That means you can sneak a peek at your neighbor's information. BUT even better yet, you can click one button and get all the comparable houses in your area and see their values. They even have the 10 best matches of recent sales, so you can see what that house down the street just sold for! And believe me, that is fun. No more making phoney calls to a Realtor to inquire. Sure, it's a little creepy knowing some govmint flak was taking photos of my house last September, but that's offset by knowing that the house two doors down just sold for double what I paid for my house in 1996. And my house is better (in my not-so-humble opinion.)
* Ego strokes -- I've gotten a couple of very nice e-mails from people I've recently written about. Those are always nice to receive, especially when they appreciate accuracy more than the fact that they got their name in the paper. And I just picked up a personally hand-written note in my mailbox from the president of a development company (he also had sent one of the e-mails.) That's extra effort on his part and really makes me feel appreciated.
* More ego strokes -- We've had a huge influx of new choir members at my church, which is wonderful. A larger choir always sounds better and we're always happy to have people join us. Wednesday night I got a MAJOR ego stroke from one of the new women singers with us. She had been a choir director at another church before joining us. My stroke came when she made the effort to catch me after rehearsal to tell me she really likes my voice -- not necessarily that I'm a powerhouse singer (which I definitely AM NOT). She said I had a nice tone that she really liked. Wow! Normally I am content to stand in the shadow of my good friend, Anne, who IS a powerhouse singer with a beautiful voice and tremendous range. I love singing duets with her, providing the background harmony for her. A solo singer I'm not, so I was really blown away by this compliment.
* I hate Dillard's at Penn Square Mall. More specifically, I hate the little weasel man who is the manager of the Dillard's at Penn Square Mall. I would have kicked his scrawny little butt around the store if I didn't fear arrest on assault charges. Wednesday I went there to return a jacket that was labeled "machine wash". Well, I had followed the care instructions and the jacket was ruined. Instead of refunding my $49.99 that I paid for the jacket (with the receipt in hand) Mr. Weasel would only refund $18 -- the "current value." I protested, citing the manufacturer's care label. He sniffed, looked over the top of his stupid half-glasses, disdainfully picked up a sleeve of the jacket and flipped it, saying "I wouldn't have washed this, no matter what the label said. So it's not a manufacturing defect."
Jerk. I think the stick he had stuck up his backside was poking at his brains. And now I feel better.
* Light bulbs are a pain. Last night both light bulbs in my office ceiling light blew out on me. They always go at the same time because I replace them at the same time. (Follow that?) Anyway, it seems like I'm replacing these two bulbs every other week. Also the one in the garage. Of course they are the hardest to reach, and the ones most often used. This may explain why my stepladder stays parked in my hallway just outside my office door.
* The other pain at my house is furnace filters. I had my 1951 furnace replaced with new central heat and air four or five years ago, I believe it was. There are now two air intakes in my hallway ceiling where the filters are located. One is 14 x 14 inches. Not too hard to find. The other is 14 x 24 inches, which is becoming more and more scarce. I can't find that size at Home Depot or any Sprawl Mart store. The popular size is 14 x 25 inches. I'd love to replace the filters every month, but when I can find the Filtrete filters in 14 x 24, they run about $15 each. Grr.
* Thanks for all the international votes in my Electric Blanket Vote. I've tried Jimmy Carter's advice of putting on a sweater. Somehow, it just isn't quite as satisfying to sleep wearing heavy socks, sweat pants and a sweat shirt. I normally have a sheet, thermal blanket and quilt on my bed. Sometimes I swap the quilt for a comforter, which has a little more loft. I also have a rice bag that I heat in the microwave for a couple of minutes and slip between the sheets to take the chill off. It's kind of an either-or choice, though. I can either have warm feet or warm shoulders. I'm just afraid a full body-size rice bag won't fit in the microwave -- or it would start a fire.
See y'all later -- that's all the blips from here this morning.
* My mom died just over five years ago. And yet. The mail keeps coming. The past couple of weeks there's been a blizzard of "NEW MEDICARE BENEFITS INFORMATION!" mailings. The one that really gets me, though, is the catalog "she" receives for The Limited Too, a clothing company for grade school girls. To make it worse, they ALL misspell her first name. It is aggravating. Sometimes I will send a note to the insurance companies to ask if they'll sign me up for coverage of my dead mom. I know, that's probably not respectful, but if you knew my mom, she would be laughing.
* For those of you who live in my vicinity in Oklahoma, I found the neatest information on the Oklahoma County Assessor's web site. You can see your own information about the assessed value of your house, the market value and the taxable market value. There's a picture of your house, as well as a sketch of the lot. BUT you can also look at any other address. That means you can sneak a peek at your neighbor's information. BUT even better yet, you can click one button and get all the comparable houses in your area and see their values. They even have the 10 best matches of recent sales, so you can see what that house down the street just sold for! And believe me, that is fun. No more making phoney calls to a Realtor to inquire. Sure, it's a little creepy knowing some govmint flak was taking photos of my house last September, but that's offset by knowing that the house two doors down just sold for double what I paid for my house in 1996. And my house is better (in my not-so-humble opinion.)
* Ego strokes -- I've gotten a couple of very nice e-mails from people I've recently written about. Those are always nice to receive, especially when they appreciate accuracy more than the fact that they got their name in the paper. And I just picked up a personally hand-written note in my mailbox from the president of a development company (he also had sent one of the e-mails.) That's extra effort on his part and really makes me feel appreciated.
* More ego strokes -- We've had a huge influx of new choir members at my church, which is wonderful. A larger choir always sounds better and we're always happy to have people join us. Wednesday night I got a MAJOR ego stroke from one of the new women singers with us. She had been a choir director at another church before joining us. My stroke came when she made the effort to catch me after rehearsal to tell me she really likes my voice -- not necessarily that I'm a powerhouse singer (which I definitely AM NOT). She said I had a nice tone that she really liked. Wow! Normally I am content to stand in the shadow of my good friend, Anne, who IS a powerhouse singer with a beautiful voice and tremendous range. I love singing duets with her, providing the background harmony for her. A solo singer I'm not, so I was really blown away by this compliment.
* I hate Dillard's at Penn Square Mall. More specifically, I hate the little weasel man who is the manager of the Dillard's at Penn Square Mall. I would have kicked his scrawny little butt around the store if I didn't fear arrest on assault charges. Wednesday I went there to return a jacket that was labeled "machine wash". Well, I had followed the care instructions and the jacket was ruined. Instead of refunding my $49.99 that I paid for the jacket (with the receipt in hand) Mr. Weasel would only refund $18 -- the "current value." I protested, citing the manufacturer's care label. He sniffed, looked over the top of his stupid half-glasses, disdainfully picked up a sleeve of the jacket and flipped it, saying "I wouldn't have washed this, no matter what the label said. So it's not a manufacturing defect."
Jerk. I think the stick he had stuck up his backside was poking at his brains. And now I feel better.
* Light bulbs are a pain. Last night both light bulbs in my office ceiling light blew out on me. They always go at the same time because I replace them at the same time. (Follow that?) Anyway, it seems like I'm replacing these two bulbs every other week. Also the one in the garage. Of course they are the hardest to reach, and the ones most often used. This may explain why my stepladder stays parked in my hallway just outside my office door.
* The other pain at my house is furnace filters. I had my 1951 furnace replaced with new central heat and air four or five years ago, I believe it was. There are now two air intakes in my hallway ceiling where the filters are located. One is 14 x 14 inches. Not too hard to find. The other is 14 x 24 inches, which is becoming more and more scarce. I can't find that size at Home Depot or any Sprawl Mart store. The popular size is 14 x 25 inches. I'd love to replace the filters every month, but when I can find the Filtrete filters in 14 x 24, they run about $15 each. Grr.
* Thanks for all the international votes in my Electric Blanket Vote. I've tried Jimmy Carter's advice of putting on a sweater. Somehow, it just isn't quite as satisfying to sleep wearing heavy socks, sweat pants and a sweat shirt. I normally have a sheet, thermal blanket and quilt on my bed. Sometimes I swap the quilt for a comforter, which has a little more loft. I also have a rice bag that I heat in the microwave for a couple of minutes and slip between the sheets to take the chill off. It's kind of an either-or choice, though. I can either have warm feet or warm shoulders. I'm just afraid a full body-size rice bag won't fit in the microwave -- or it would start a fire.
See y'all later -- that's all the blips from here this morning.
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Vote Here
This is a very important election. I am putting this to you to decide. Feel free to explain your choice when you reply, to help clarify the issues.
Issue: I get cold, especially at night when I'm trying to fall asleep. I've never had an electric blanket because I've read too many Consumer Product Safety Commission reports about electrical shorts, melting and burn injuries. There's also a business consideration, as most electric blankets are made by Sunbeam (there was a point where the word "monopoly" was tossed around.)
Here are the questions:
Question 1: Should I quit being a worry wart and get an electric blanket?
Question 2: Do you have (and use) an electric blanket?
Question 3: Are the safety concerns great enough to affect purchasing decisions?
(I get a lot of time to think about these things while I'm awake and shivering.)
Issue: I get cold, especially at night when I'm trying to fall asleep. I've never had an electric blanket because I've read too many Consumer Product Safety Commission reports about electrical shorts, melting and burn injuries. There's also a business consideration, as most electric blankets are made by Sunbeam (there was a point where the word "monopoly" was tossed around.)
Here are the questions:
Question 1: Should I quit being a worry wart and get an electric blanket?
Question 2: Do you have (and use) an electric blanket?
Question 3: Are the safety concerns great enough to affect purchasing decisions?
(I get a lot of time to think about these things while I'm awake and shivering.)
Here's the floor plan
I love the way the master suite flows into the closet and then the laundry room. That's one of my favorite features.
Dream home
Frenzied Feline posted an elevation of the home she and her husband are buying in California (see, nothing but positive thoughts here!) It's a beautiful house -- go take a peek!
It brought to mind my own dream house -- the only house I've craved in the couple of years I've been writing about real estate. It's in a neighborhood called "Providence," which in and of itself is charming enough. The builder has taken plans from a historic neighborhood, updated them to include modern necessities and amenities, then planned a neighborly gated community with swimming pool, park and other community perks that make it a REAL neighborhood, just like in the olden days. Kids and families can really play hard and get to know the families living around them. Anyway, here's an elevation of the house I dream of. I'm sure it will be a perpetual dream because this is just so way out of the realm of my budget, but still.
It brought to mind my own dream house -- the only house I've craved in the couple of years I've been writing about real estate. It's in a neighborhood called "Providence," which in and of itself is charming enough. The builder has taken plans from a historic neighborhood, updated them to include modern necessities and amenities, then planned a neighborly gated community with swimming pool, park and other community perks that make it a REAL neighborhood, just like in the olden days. Kids and families can really play hard and get to know the families living around them. Anyway, here's an elevation of the house I dream of. I'm sure it will be a perpetual dream because this is just so way out of the realm of my budget, but still.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Ready for a mass bell choir?
On Saturday, I'll be performing in Tulsa at the American Guild of English Handbell Ringers Tulsa Fest. I won't be alone -- I'll be with the 12 other people in my church handbell choir, as well as 300 to 400 of our closest ringing friends (or more) from Oklahoma and Texas. I think there might even be a couple of 'em from Missouri.
We'll be leaving Oklahoma City at 5:45 a.m. so we have time to stop at the McDonald's midway to Tulsa on the Turnpike.
All of our choirs convene at the Maxwell Convention Center at 8 a.m., set up our bells, eat donuts and drink coffee, go to the bathroom, then take our places for three or four hours of rehearsals before we break for lunch. We're led by a nationally recognized handbell clinician, who changes each year.
Usually the clinician has written or arranged some of the music that's played at the festival, which means rehearsals can be fairly intense. Sometimes we'll hammer out a single measure 10 times until everyone plays it as the director desires.
The thing is, each of the handbell choirs has had the music for a few months. We get familiar with the music in our home choirs. Our group has been rehearsing five pieces of festival music every week since we got it. Some of the pieces are fairly easy; others are killers. Even though we've rehearsed this music until we're happy with it, the clinician may direct the pieces differently, with different nuances in dynamics, tempo, phrasing...
Our choir has played together for a number of years and has become quite accomplished, if I say so myself. We each have some other background in music which drew us into the handbell group. I was terrified when I first started playing, because it's unlike any other musical instrument or singing. Each person plays only a few notes, not the whole song. This limited range is hard, especially for people with a piano background who are used to playing ALL the notes in a piece.
In bells, we're playing about three to five bells each (with a few noteable exceptions; the highest soprano bells are sometimes played 4-in-hand. Essentially, our high-bell ringer plays 8 to 12 bells, depending on the piece.)
I haven't accomplished the 4-in-hand technique. I think I probably could, given enough time to experiment and practice outside of our rehearsal time. I know the player holds two bells in each hand, held perpendicular to each other. One rings with a "ring" motion; the other rings with a "knock" motion. Because of the way the clapper is attached to the inside of the bell, it doesn't ring while it's sideways. That's the short explanation.
One of the highlights each February is LUNCH during festival. Our choir has a tradition of visiting a small authentic Mexican restaurant where we mostly order a specialty known as a "wet burrito supreme." We will wait until we can put enough tables together for a dozen people. Sometimes, we have a pretty lengthy wait, and even if we get a little antsy, we're willing to risk being late getting back. (So far, we haven't really been late.)
After lunch, we rehearse for another couple of hours. Then at 3 p.m., the public is allowed in for our concert. During the concert, some of the bell choirs will perform solo pieces the other choirs haven't prepared. It's a wonderful treat to hear their special pieces. There are some high school choirs that can put the adult choirs to shame -- they have school bell choirs that really put the showmanship into their performances.
We conclude as soon as the concert is over, breaking down our equipment and packing the bell cases. It's a well-tuned dance, packing up the van so everything fits without shifting around.
We always leave Tulsa absolutely exhausted from standing up all day on a concrete floor and concentrating on the music. We whine and ache, but we can hardly wait until next February to go back.
We'll be leaving Oklahoma City at 5:45 a.m. so we have time to stop at the McDonald's midway to Tulsa on the Turnpike.
All of our choirs convene at the Maxwell Convention Center at 8 a.m., set up our bells, eat donuts and drink coffee, go to the bathroom, then take our places for three or four hours of rehearsals before we break for lunch. We're led by a nationally recognized handbell clinician, who changes each year.
Usually the clinician has written or arranged some of the music that's played at the festival, which means rehearsals can be fairly intense. Sometimes we'll hammer out a single measure 10 times until everyone plays it as the director desires.
The thing is, each of the handbell choirs has had the music for a few months. We get familiar with the music in our home choirs. Our group has been rehearsing five pieces of festival music every week since we got it. Some of the pieces are fairly easy; others are killers. Even though we've rehearsed this music until we're happy with it, the clinician may direct the pieces differently, with different nuances in dynamics, tempo, phrasing...
Our choir has played together for a number of years and has become quite accomplished, if I say so myself. We each have some other background in music which drew us into the handbell group. I was terrified when I first started playing, because it's unlike any other musical instrument or singing. Each person plays only a few notes, not the whole song. This limited range is hard, especially for people with a piano background who are used to playing ALL the notes in a piece.
In bells, we're playing about three to five bells each (with a few noteable exceptions; the highest soprano bells are sometimes played 4-in-hand. Essentially, our high-bell ringer plays 8 to 12 bells, depending on the piece.)
I haven't accomplished the 4-in-hand technique. I think I probably could, given enough time to experiment and practice outside of our rehearsal time. I know the player holds two bells in each hand, held perpendicular to each other. One rings with a "ring" motion; the other rings with a "knock" motion. Because of the way the clapper is attached to the inside of the bell, it doesn't ring while it's sideways. That's the short explanation.
One of the highlights each February is LUNCH during festival. Our choir has a tradition of visiting a small authentic Mexican restaurant where we mostly order a specialty known as a "wet burrito supreme." We will wait until we can put enough tables together for a dozen people. Sometimes, we have a pretty lengthy wait, and even if we get a little antsy, we're willing to risk being late getting back. (So far, we haven't really been late.)
After lunch, we rehearse for another couple of hours. Then at 3 p.m., the public is allowed in for our concert. During the concert, some of the bell choirs will perform solo pieces the other choirs haven't prepared. It's a wonderful treat to hear their special pieces. There are some high school choirs that can put the adult choirs to shame -- they have school bell choirs that really put the showmanship into their performances.
We conclude as soon as the concert is over, breaking down our equipment and packing the bell cases. It's a well-tuned dance, packing up the van so everything fits without shifting around.
We always leave Tulsa absolutely exhausted from standing up all day on a concrete floor and concentrating on the music. We whine and ache, but we can hardly wait until next February to go back.
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
*tap tap tap*
Is this thing on? Hello? Anyone out there?
I'm starting to think that the Big Bomb went off and I slept through it. No one else is left out there to talk to. Man, I won't do well being the last woman on earth! It's lonesome around here.
Not that I'm counting or anything, but my last five or six posts have only gotten a couple of responses. I can understand that they might not appeal to everyone, but hey, someone out there must be bored enough to respond!
If you're not, I wanna know what YOU'RE doing that's so dang fun. So here's the challenge -- if you're cruising through here and you're tempted to keep going, STOP. Post something here to let me know what's happening in your neighborhood.
I'm thinking about going to the gym in a bit. Yeah, I signed up at the Pacer fitness center to start taking a pro-active step to being fabu at 50. I've got five weeks before the big Five Ohhh! arrives. I won't be anywhere close to my goal for my birthday, but I do have the chance to get a good start and lay the foundation for a great year. (Yeah, look for me on Oprah...)
Geez. Those are my options for the afternoon? Beg for posts and go sweat at the gym? Hmmm. Could be worse, I guess.
I'm starting to think that the Big Bomb went off and I slept through it. No one else is left out there to talk to. Man, I won't do well being the last woman on earth! It's lonesome around here.
Not that I'm counting or anything, but my last five or six posts have only gotten a couple of responses. I can understand that they might not appeal to everyone, but hey, someone out there must be bored enough to respond!
If you're not, I wanna know what YOU'RE doing that's so dang fun. So here's the challenge -- if you're cruising through here and you're tempted to keep going, STOP. Post something here to let me know what's happening in your neighborhood.
I'm thinking about going to the gym in a bit. Yeah, I signed up at the Pacer fitness center to start taking a pro-active step to being fabu at 50. I've got five weeks before the big Five Ohhh! arrives. I won't be anywhere close to my goal for my birthday, but I do have the chance to get a good start and lay the foundation for a great year. (Yeah, look for me on Oprah...)
Geez. Those are my options for the afternoon? Beg for posts and go sweat at the gym? Hmmm. Could be worse, I guess.
Monday, February 21, 2005
50 of my favorite things
Thanks to Tech at 51313 Harbor Street for this meme. Feel free to take a peek, then take the questions and answer them for yourself. I'd love to see what your favorites are, too!
1. My favorite color: Cobalt blue. Ruby red is up there too.
2. My favorite TV show: Hmmm. I have several that I like to catch. It would be difficult to pick one over another; If forced, I'd have to say Dr. Phil.
3. My favorite movie: Fried Green Tomatoes. Time for another showing.
4. My favorite drink: Diet Coke.
5. My favorite cookie: My homemade chocolate chunk cookies.
6. My favorite candy bar: Hershey bars.
7. My favorite potato chip: I try to avoid them because I'm not picky.
8. My favorite hamburger: Sonic Number 2 Cheeseburger, no lettuce.
9. My favorite vehicle: John Deere Mule, out on an open pasture.
10. My favorite author: It would be impossible to pick one.
11. My favorite song: Which genre? I love many different types of music.
12. My favorite singing group: I couldn't pick just one.
13. My favorite food: Mexican.
14. My favorite pet: Dog.
15. My favorite musical: "Baby" -- only because I saw it in person on Broadway in 1984.
16. My favorite male movie star: Tom Hanks.
17. My favorite female movie star: Meg Ryan.
18. My favorite male TV star: Christopher Meloni.
19. My favorite female TV star: Oprah Winfrey.
20. My favorite clothes: Jeans, T-shirt and tennies.
21. My favorite computer: Gateway.
22. My favorite internet service: Southwestern Bell.
23. My favorite kiss: Any that involve me as a participant.
24. My favorite web site: www.flylady.net.
25. My favorite religion: Christianity.
26. My favorite religious flavor: United Methodist.
27. My favorite hobby: Music performance.
28. My favorite wild land animal: Armadillos. Fascinating critters if you see 'em alive.
29. My favorite wild sea animal: Dolphins.
30. My favorite political party: Democrat, of course.
31. My favorite Congressman: Hillary Clinton.
32. My favorite president: Jimmy Carter or Bill Clinton. JFK if he had been able to complete his term.
33. My favorite national park: Glacier National Park.
34. My favorite national monument: Statue of Liberty. Hands down.
35. My favorite vacation spot: Switzerland.
36. My favorite exercise: Walking. Or dancing wildly.
37. My favorite sleeping position: On my left side.
38. My favorite time of day: Evening.
39. My favorite sexual position: Nunya.
40. My favorite pickup line: Hi!
41. My favorite charity: Rebuilding Together (formerly Christmas in April). Or The Frederik Meijer Gardens in Grand Rapids, MI.
42. My favorite blogger: I love them all equally, just like my imaginary children.
43. My favorite newspaper: This is a trap. I would have to answer "the one I work for".
44. My favorite cartoon: "King of the Hill," I tell you whut.
45. My favorite superhero: Mighty Mouse. "Here I come to save the day!"
46. My favorite person: How can I pick one?
47. My favorite plant: Bouganvilla.
48. My favorite Star Fleet Captain: Jean Luke.
49. My favorite blond(e): I'm not crazy about blondes.
50. My favorite saying: "To everything there is a season."
1. My favorite color: Cobalt blue. Ruby red is up there too.
2. My favorite TV show: Hmmm. I have several that I like to catch. It would be difficult to pick one over another; If forced, I'd have to say Dr. Phil.
3. My favorite movie: Fried Green Tomatoes. Time for another showing.
4. My favorite drink: Diet Coke.
5. My favorite cookie: My homemade chocolate chunk cookies.
6. My favorite candy bar: Hershey bars.
7. My favorite potato chip: I try to avoid them because I'm not picky.
8. My favorite hamburger: Sonic Number 2 Cheeseburger, no lettuce.
9. My favorite vehicle: John Deere Mule, out on an open pasture.
10. My favorite author: It would be impossible to pick one.
11. My favorite song: Which genre? I love many different types of music.
12. My favorite singing group: I couldn't pick just one.
13. My favorite food: Mexican.
14. My favorite pet: Dog.
15. My favorite musical: "Baby" -- only because I saw it in person on Broadway in 1984.
16. My favorite male movie star: Tom Hanks.
17. My favorite female movie star: Meg Ryan.
18. My favorite male TV star: Christopher Meloni.
19. My favorite female TV star: Oprah Winfrey.
20. My favorite clothes: Jeans, T-shirt and tennies.
21. My favorite computer: Gateway.
22. My favorite internet service: Southwestern Bell.
23. My favorite kiss: Any that involve me as a participant.
24. My favorite web site: www.flylady.net.
25. My favorite religion: Christianity.
26. My favorite religious flavor: United Methodist.
27. My favorite hobby: Music performance.
28. My favorite wild land animal: Armadillos. Fascinating critters if you see 'em alive.
29. My favorite wild sea animal: Dolphins.
30. My favorite political party: Democrat, of course.
31. My favorite Congressman: Hillary Clinton.
32. My favorite president: Jimmy Carter or Bill Clinton. JFK if he had been able to complete his term.
33. My favorite national park: Glacier National Park.
34. My favorite national monument: Statue of Liberty. Hands down.
35. My favorite vacation spot: Switzerland.
36. My favorite exercise: Walking. Or dancing wildly.
37. My favorite sleeping position: On my left side.
38. My favorite time of day: Evening.
39. My favorite sexual position: Nunya.
40. My favorite pickup line: Hi!
41. My favorite charity: Rebuilding Together (formerly Christmas in April). Or The Frederik Meijer Gardens in Grand Rapids, MI.
42. My favorite blogger: I love them all equally, just like my imaginary children.
43. My favorite newspaper: This is a trap. I would have to answer "the one I work for".
44. My favorite cartoon: "King of the Hill," I tell you whut.
45. My favorite superhero: Mighty Mouse. "Here I come to save the day!"
46. My favorite person: How can I pick one?
47. My favorite plant: Bouganvilla.
48. My favorite Star Fleet Captain: Jean Luke.
49. My favorite blond(e): I'm not crazy about blondes.
50. My favorite saying: "To everything there is a season."
Sunday, February 20, 2005
Ooooh boy
I may not be the most sophisticated consumer of automobiles. What I want in a car is dependable transportation with a modicum of comfort. I have to have air conditioning and cup holders. I enjoy my sun roof a great deal, but if, suddenly, I had to give it up, I could. It is a treat, but not essential.
I consider myself a somewhat responsible consumer of the earth's resources, so I like a car that gets good gas mileage. I'm old enough that I remember having cars with vinyl seats, so now I require better. Fabric seats are essential.
As I mentioned in the high school meme the other day, I missed out on contemporary pop music while I was in high school. The car I first drove didn't have a radio. Now, I have a 10-year-old car that has AM/FM/Cassette. That's nice. A CD player would be nice. XM radio would be a real luxury, akin to Godiva chocolate for someone who loves Hershey bars. It might just be too much for me.
I am a rare person in our current society. I don't have a cell phone. So I certainly would not want a phone in my car, except, perhaps for cases of emergency. I don't have OnStar or any of the similar tracking services, so I have to rely on myself not to lock my keys in the car. Fortunately, the driver's door requires a key to lock it. I don't have a remote door opener either.
And I have no alarm system. It's a 10-year-old car, remember? The only times I've had any problems, an alarm wouldn't have helped. Once I was at choir practice at church when someone chucked a brick through the passenger window. It was a sheer act of vandalism because they took nothing. They probably had no idea how much the music books in my car were worth -- they certainly had no value for the vandal.
The second time was during a snowy Christmas. I had left my door unlocked so the lock wouldn't freeze shut. During the night, someone drove down the street opening car doors and prowling around. I had just brought a load of things home from my mom's house after her death. All that was left in the car was my late grandmother's overnight case. I hadn't been able to open it, but the prowler did. And what they saw when they opened it was a bit of spilled face powder, a couple of bobby pins and some used Kleenex from 1978 when she last went to the hospital. This prowler had an accomplice, as was evident by the footprints in the snow. They went straight from the street to the car door and back to the street. Too lazy to walk door to door stealing, I suppose.
In any event, to me a car is a modern necessity for getting from one place to the next. I don't want it to serve as a portable living room with entertainment systems, DVD players, televisions or dish washers.
So, my little left eyebrow raises a bit when I see a comment on a bulletin board about a car called a Maybach. Apparently, this car costs $350,000. They aren't sold at car dealerships. No, they are sold at "studios." You don't deal with a car salesman, but a "Maybach Relationship Manager."
I'll leave it to you to Google "Maybach" if you want to look at the features of this vehicle. You can see the recliners (complete with air-cushioned back supports...), the panoramic glass roof and everything else. You might like that stuff.
Meanwhile, I'll be sitting in the cheap seats, shaking my head that the world has come to this. My philosophy of life leans more toward this motto: Live simply, so others may simply live.
I consider myself a somewhat responsible consumer of the earth's resources, so I like a car that gets good gas mileage. I'm old enough that I remember having cars with vinyl seats, so now I require better. Fabric seats are essential.
As I mentioned in the high school meme the other day, I missed out on contemporary pop music while I was in high school. The car I first drove didn't have a radio. Now, I have a 10-year-old car that has AM/FM/Cassette. That's nice. A CD player would be nice. XM radio would be a real luxury, akin to Godiva chocolate for someone who loves Hershey bars. It might just be too much for me.
I am a rare person in our current society. I don't have a cell phone. So I certainly would not want a phone in my car, except, perhaps for cases of emergency. I don't have OnStar or any of the similar tracking services, so I have to rely on myself not to lock my keys in the car. Fortunately, the driver's door requires a key to lock it. I don't have a remote door opener either.
And I have no alarm system. It's a 10-year-old car, remember? The only times I've had any problems, an alarm wouldn't have helped. Once I was at choir practice at church when someone chucked a brick through the passenger window. It was a sheer act of vandalism because they took nothing. They probably had no idea how much the music books in my car were worth -- they certainly had no value for the vandal.
The second time was during a snowy Christmas. I had left my door unlocked so the lock wouldn't freeze shut. During the night, someone drove down the street opening car doors and prowling around. I had just brought a load of things home from my mom's house after her death. All that was left in the car was my late grandmother's overnight case. I hadn't been able to open it, but the prowler did. And what they saw when they opened it was a bit of spilled face powder, a couple of bobby pins and some used Kleenex from 1978 when she last went to the hospital. This prowler had an accomplice, as was evident by the footprints in the snow. They went straight from the street to the car door and back to the street. Too lazy to walk door to door stealing, I suppose.
In any event, to me a car is a modern necessity for getting from one place to the next. I don't want it to serve as a portable living room with entertainment systems, DVD players, televisions or dish washers.
So, my little left eyebrow raises a bit when I see a comment on a bulletin board about a car called a Maybach. Apparently, this car costs $350,000. They aren't sold at car dealerships. No, they are sold at "studios." You don't deal with a car salesman, but a "Maybach Relationship Manager."
I'll leave it to you to Google "Maybach" if you want to look at the features of this vehicle. You can see the recliners (complete with air-cushioned back supports...), the panoramic glass roof and everything else. You might like that stuff.
Meanwhile, I'll be sitting in the cheap seats, shaking my head that the world has come to this. My philosophy of life leans more toward this motto: Live simply, so others may simply live.
Saturday, February 19, 2005
I could have danced all night
Since last I posted, about five or six hours ago, I've been to a wonderful wedding and an even better reception. The wedding was for a young woman at my church that I've known for a dozen years. Her parents and I have been friends during the time I've attended this church, serving on various committees together, cooking for the youth group frequently and for other events such as Bible school or chili cook-offs. Her mom and I play handbells together and her dad and I have worked on several evangelism and mission projects.
Weddings are always weepy events, but more so when you've watched the bride or groom grow up from a grade-school kid to a wondrous adult, ready to start a journey with a partner we all pray will be the love of their lives, for the rest of their lives. I think this couple has everything going for them. The bride's mom and dad have been married 30 years this year. There's a strong faith community standing behind them, ready and willing to help them launch this marriage as smoothly as possible.
The bride and her two sisters have been part of the church since they took their first breaths. Their family vacations have always involved mission trips, serving the most needy in the world. They've built concrete block houses, taught Bible school in Spanish on trips to Belize and Mexico, reaching out in love. At home, they've been reading tutors and teachers for Sunday schools and vacation Bible school. Both parents have always involved them in the projects they've worked on. And because of that, they have enthusiastic love and compassion springing out of their very pores.
So it was a joyous celebration to witness the marriage of the first of these three delightful sisters.
After the ceremony, the party started at Coles Garden, across the road from the Cowboy and Western Heritage Museum. There was the buffet dinner, the chocolate fountain with skewered fruit, pretzels and marshmallows (the hit of the party!), and all the extras.
The dance floor was filled all night after the arrival of the bride and groom and their first dance. My dancin' shoes got a good breaking in, with the jitterbug, the twist, disco dancing and just general aerobic silliness. It was a blast! Everyone from 3-year-olds to the bridal party's grandparents got up and let it shake. Absolute joy ruled the night!
Before I left the church tonight, I had a moment of reflection about all that had taken place there this week. We've celebrated the life of a departed elder, witnessed the union of a husband and wife, shared the Lord's supper together. Tears of sorrow and of happiness have flowed freely there this week. New life and old, dancing babies and dancing grannies.
Life is good. It continues on its way, as it should, bringing us the fullness of the human experience.
I'm a little afraid I may catch myself dancing in the choir loft in the morning.
Weddings are always weepy events, but more so when you've watched the bride or groom grow up from a grade-school kid to a wondrous adult, ready to start a journey with a partner we all pray will be the love of their lives, for the rest of their lives. I think this couple has everything going for them. The bride's mom and dad have been married 30 years this year. There's a strong faith community standing behind them, ready and willing to help them launch this marriage as smoothly as possible.
The bride and her two sisters have been part of the church since they took their first breaths. Their family vacations have always involved mission trips, serving the most needy in the world. They've built concrete block houses, taught Bible school in Spanish on trips to Belize and Mexico, reaching out in love. At home, they've been reading tutors and teachers for Sunday schools and vacation Bible school. Both parents have always involved them in the projects they've worked on. And because of that, they have enthusiastic love and compassion springing out of their very pores.
So it was a joyous celebration to witness the marriage of the first of these three delightful sisters.
After the ceremony, the party started at Coles Garden, across the road from the Cowboy and Western Heritage Museum. There was the buffet dinner, the chocolate fountain with skewered fruit, pretzels and marshmallows (the hit of the party!), and all the extras.
The dance floor was filled all night after the arrival of the bride and groom and their first dance. My dancin' shoes got a good breaking in, with the jitterbug, the twist, disco dancing and just general aerobic silliness. It was a blast! Everyone from 3-year-olds to the bridal party's grandparents got up and let it shake. Absolute joy ruled the night!
Before I left the church tonight, I had a moment of reflection about all that had taken place there this week. We've celebrated the life of a departed elder, witnessed the union of a husband and wife, shared the Lord's supper together. Tears of sorrow and of happiness have flowed freely there this week. New life and old, dancing babies and dancing grannies.
Life is good. It continues on its way, as it should, bringing us the fullness of the human experience.
I'm a little afraid I may catch myself dancing in the choir loft in the morning.
SUCCESS!
OK, it's a minor success, but I'll take it! It's now 4 p.m. and I'm home, triumphant, from my shopping excursion. I scored a $200 dress for $50 (whoo hooo!) and a nice pair of shoes for $40. Then some necessary girl unmentionables to go with the dress... and finally, some knives and a great pair of scissors as a wedding present.
The woman who helped me with my shoe purchase was exasperated, I know, that I wasn't doing cartwheels at her suggestion of silver shoes to go with my teal blue dress. Me? In silver shoes? And high-heeled sandals at that? In the middle of February? I don't think so.
She was probably even more exasperated when I told her the wedding was tonight. "WHAT!!?" she exclaimed. Hey,what's the panic? It was about 2:30 at the time, and the wedding doesn't start until 6. Plenty of time.
She was probably delighted when she brought out three pairs of nice, normal BLACK dress shoes and I squealed when I fell in like with one of the pairs. In the game of shoe buying, it was a three-point score for both teams.
Did I mention that I chose today, of all days, for my excursion. I didn't realize the store was in the midst of its huge mid-winter sale, and this poor woman was being assaulted from all sides by people like me asking for time-consuming help. Not just a "ring this up, please" type of help, but "hey, what goes with this dress" kind of help. She was a great sales associate.
So, I have a bit of resting time before I start the dressing ritual, putting on the rubber-band type undergarments that are supposed to make women look better on such occasions, then the dress and shoes. I'll even do the makeup ritual, clear down to lip-sticky, as one former beau called it. I will look goooooood. (eh, better than my normal jeans and sweats, maybe.)
I'll let you know if anything snaps unexpectedly.
The woman who helped me with my shoe purchase was exasperated, I know, that I wasn't doing cartwheels at her suggestion of silver shoes to go with my teal blue dress. Me? In silver shoes? And high-heeled sandals at that? In the middle of February? I don't think so.
She was probably even more exasperated when I told her the wedding was tonight. "WHAT!!?" she exclaimed. Hey,what's the panic? It was about 2:30 at the time, and the wedding doesn't start until 6. Plenty of time.
She was probably delighted when she brought out three pairs of nice, normal BLACK dress shoes and I squealed when I fell in like with one of the pairs. In the game of shoe buying, it was a three-point score for both teams.
Did I mention that I chose today, of all days, for my excursion. I didn't realize the store was in the midst of its huge mid-winter sale, and this poor woman was being assaulted from all sides by people like me asking for time-consuming help. Not just a "ring this up, please" type of help, but "hey, what goes with this dress" kind of help. She was a great sales associate.
So, I have a bit of resting time before I start the dressing ritual, putting on the rubber-band type undergarments that are supposed to make women look better on such occasions, then the dress and shoes. I'll even do the makeup ritual, clear down to lip-sticky, as one former beau called it. I will look goooooood. (eh, better than my normal jeans and sweats, maybe.)
I'll let you know if anything snaps unexpectedly.
We interrupt this Saturday morning
We interrupt this Saturday morning to go shopping.
I'm finally feeling better after a week or more of sicky-ness. And I may be pushing my luck by setting out with the intention of buying a dress for a wedding. Yeah, the wedding is tonight. I have a dress I can wear if I don't find something I like. Just thought I'd see if I could find THAT dress that magically turns me into a stunning beauty. *cough cough*. I might even buy HIGH HEELS if I find a dress. But that's a conditional matter. I'm also not a high-heels kind of gal.
It's supposed to be bad luck to give a knife as a gift, but I happen to know a guy who owns a knife shop with great knives. I've bought some from him over the past few months and am surprised at how much I love them. So, if the dress shopping goes well, I'll stop by his shop and see if I can find a couple of knives for the wedding couple. I'll put a penny in the gift box so they can pay me for them -- that's part of the knife-gift tradition to ward off the bad luck. And yes, I already have a back-up present too. The bases are covered.
Like I said, I'm not much of a fan of shopping, but I'm in the mood for it today. I'm not overly optimistic about finding something, and I'm not desperate, so there will be no stress or panic on today's journey. That should help too. This will be "recreational" shopping, if there is such a thing. I suppose there is since so many people get a thrill from it.
I'll let you know how it goes. Hope y'all have a great Saturday!
I'm finally feeling better after a week or more of sicky-ness. And I may be pushing my luck by setting out with the intention of buying a dress for a wedding. Yeah, the wedding is tonight. I have a dress I can wear if I don't find something I like. Just thought I'd see if I could find THAT dress that magically turns me into a stunning beauty. *cough cough*. I might even buy HIGH HEELS if I find a dress. But that's a conditional matter. I'm also not a high-heels kind of gal.
It's supposed to be bad luck to give a knife as a gift, but I happen to know a guy who owns a knife shop with great knives. I've bought some from him over the past few months and am surprised at how much I love them. So, if the dress shopping goes well, I'll stop by his shop and see if I can find a couple of knives for the wedding couple. I'll put a penny in the gift box so they can pay me for them -- that's part of the knife-gift tradition to ward off the bad luck. And yes, I already have a back-up present too. The bases are covered.
Like I said, I'm not much of a fan of shopping, but I'm in the mood for it today. I'm not overly optimistic about finding something, and I'm not desperate, so there will be no stress or panic on today's journey. That should help too. This will be "recreational" shopping, if there is such a thing. I suppose there is since so many people get a thrill from it.
I'll let you know how it goes. Hope y'all have a great Saturday!
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
Another screaming meme
Well, now, it may really be a "meeeeem" instead of a "meemee." Depends on who you ask and whether you've heard the word spoken out loud, I suppose. Don't ask me.
Anyway, here is the "High School Interrogatory," which I lifted from E.R. It's a fine set of questions to respond to, so feel free to lift and separate (your answers from mine, I mean. Get your mind outta the gutter again.)
What year was it?
I am a proud member of the Class of '73.
What were your three favorite bands (performers)?
Honestly, I was kept in the dark about popular music. You may think I'm making it up, but I didn't have a radio or record player. Not even a radio in the car (yes, used to be cars came without audio equipment. Once I started commuting from Norman to OKC in 1976, I had a small, battery-operated AM radio that I could take with me on the seat of the car to help me stay awake late at night.)
What was your favorite outfit?
I had a navy blue dress with a big white collar trimmed in lace. The dress buttoned up the front with round brass buttons and had princess seaming which I found flattering at the time.
What was up with your hair?
Here. Look. Just like everygirl my age, it was long, straight, parted in the middle, with bangs. It was our "individual identity" and we shared it with thousands of others. There were a few times I cut it short a la Dorothy Hammill, thinking it would smell wonderful like the shampoo she hawked.
Who were your best friends?
Rena,my hippy-dippy cool friend, and Juan(ita), the one with a solid gold soul, who lived three houses down on the other side of the alley.
What did you do after school?
I did my homework and read like a fiend. I rode my bike 20 miles a day and played basketball. And I roller skated at the gym.
Where did you work?
I wasn't allowed to work. As far as my parents were concerned, my job was to get good grades.
Did you take the bus?
No. Most of the time I rode with my friends who had moms who could drive (mine couldn't.) I paid them $2 for gas money to let me tag with them. And a lot of times I walked to school. Finally, my senior year my dad would let me take him to work and then drive to school. I think somewhere in there is when he got a second car which made life easier for us both.
Who did you have a crush on?
I had a series of crushes -- later I discovered a trend. Most of the boys were gay. To this day, I can walk in a room, and be attracted to the one man there who's gay. Not all of them were. One in particular crush remains a dear and close friend, 32 years later.
Did you fight with your parents?
Oh my word. Did the sun rise in the east? Duh, yeah. We had some pretty major encounters, both verbal and physical. Today I probably would have been removed from the home.
Who did you have a CELEBRITY crush on?
Not a clue now, really. Oh, I did have a major crush on Davy Jones of The Monkees and collected all the bubble gum cards to make the Monkees poster so I could kiss him good night.
Did you smoke cigarettes?
Never did. Not one.
Did you lug all of your books around in your backpack all day because you were too nervous to find your locker?
There was no such thing back in my day. We used our lockers and lugged the books home every night in our arms.
Did you have a ‘clique’?
Kind of. We were the "GADS" which stood for Give a Damn. We were kind of an anti-clique.
Did you have “The Max” like Zach, Kelly, and Slater?
What the heck? This isn't even in my language. Beats me.
Admit it, were you popular?
Not a chance in hell.
Who did you want to be just like?
Marlo Thomas or Mary Tyler Moore, I guess.
What did you want to be when you grew up?
A journalist, particularly a political reporter. I was groomed for it in high school and college.
Where did you think you’d be at the age you are now?
I figured I'd be highly successful in my career, reporting from the state Capitol, probably married with children who would be grown by now. Possibly grandchildren by now. Everyone pegged me to be the mom in the wood-paneled station wagon. (In modern terms, a soccer mom.)
Anyway, here is the "High School Interrogatory," which I lifted from E.R. It's a fine set of questions to respond to, so feel free to lift and separate (your answers from mine, I mean. Get your mind outta the gutter again.)
What year was it?
I am a proud member of the Class of '73.
What were your three favorite bands (performers)?
Honestly, I was kept in the dark about popular music. You may think I'm making it up, but I didn't have a radio or record player. Not even a radio in the car (yes, used to be cars came without audio equipment. Once I started commuting from Norman to OKC in 1976, I had a small, battery-operated AM radio that I could take with me on the seat of the car to help me stay awake late at night.)
What was your favorite outfit?
I had a navy blue dress with a big white collar trimmed in lace. The dress buttoned up the front with round brass buttons and had princess seaming which I found flattering at the time.
What was up with your hair?
Here. Look. Just like everygirl my age, it was long, straight, parted in the middle, with bangs. It was our "individual identity" and we shared it with thousands of others. There were a few times I cut it short a la Dorothy Hammill, thinking it would smell wonderful like the shampoo she hawked.
Who were your best friends?
Rena,my hippy-dippy cool friend, and Juan(ita), the one with a solid gold soul, who lived three houses down on the other side of the alley.
What did you do after school?
I did my homework and read like a fiend. I rode my bike 20 miles a day and played basketball. And I roller skated at the gym.
Where did you work?
I wasn't allowed to work. As far as my parents were concerned, my job was to get good grades.
Did you take the bus?
No. Most of the time I rode with my friends who had moms who could drive (mine couldn't.) I paid them $2 for gas money to let me tag with them. And a lot of times I walked to school. Finally, my senior year my dad would let me take him to work and then drive to school. I think somewhere in there is when he got a second car which made life easier for us both.
Who did you have a crush on?
I had a series of crushes -- later I discovered a trend. Most of the boys were gay. To this day, I can walk in a room, and be attracted to the one man there who's gay. Not all of them were. One in particular crush remains a dear and close friend, 32 years later.
Did you fight with your parents?
Oh my word. Did the sun rise in the east? Duh, yeah. We had some pretty major encounters, both verbal and physical. Today I probably would have been removed from the home.
Who did you have a CELEBRITY crush on?
Not a clue now, really. Oh, I did have a major crush on Davy Jones of The Monkees and collected all the bubble gum cards to make the Monkees poster so I could kiss him good night.
Did you smoke cigarettes?
Never did. Not one.
Did you lug all of your books around in your backpack all day because you were too nervous to find your locker?
There was no such thing back in my day. We used our lockers and lugged the books home every night in our arms.
Did you have a ‘clique’?
Kind of. We were the "GADS" which stood for Give a Damn. We were kind of an anti-clique.
Did you have “The Max” like Zach, Kelly, and Slater?
What the heck? This isn't even in my language. Beats me.
Admit it, were you popular?
Not a chance in hell.
Who did you want to be just like?
Marlo Thomas or Mary Tyler Moore, I guess.
What did you want to be when you grew up?
A journalist, particularly a political reporter. I was groomed for it in high school and college.
Where did you think you’d be at the age you are now?
I figured I'd be highly successful in my career, reporting from the state Capitol, probably married with children who would be grown by now. Possibly grandchildren by now. Everyone pegged me to be the mom in the wood-paneled station wagon. (In modern terms, a soccer mom.)
Wonderful memories
A smile which pushes a tear from a mourner's eye is perhaps the best eulogy any of us can hope for when we pass from this life. Today, Harry S. Culver received many such eulogies. Many sweet stories of Harry's life were shared during his funeral service -- so many that the service lasted an hour and a half.
Among the mourners were countless Oklahoma journalists and politicians, including former Gov. George Nigh. Gathered was a rainbow of people who ranged in age from children to Harry's mother-in-law, who is 101 or 102.
Harry was 82 at his passing. He and his wife were married in September of 1945. That's nearly 60 years, folks. That's true love.
Harry's family was seated all together -- black, white, young or old, it made no difference. Harry saw only loving and loved souls, not color or station.
Harry's service pointed out what a mosaic our lives are. Each of us knew Harry. Many of us knew others in the crowd, in different settings. The facets of our connections are like the facets of a gem, creating depth, fire, clarity and color in our lives. Harry sparkled from the life he led.
I mentioned yesterday one story about Harry's plane being shot down. That was but one of four times during his military service that his plane was downed. He was a prisoner in Sweden after one incident.
Despite the demands on Capt. Culver during the war, Harry wrote daily long letters to the love of his life, Lee. Many of the letters were 10 to 12 pages long. Harry was what all journalists dream of being -- a thinker and a writer.
So many people spoke their memories of Harry -- a cousin who was more like a brother, a couple of friend/ministers, and his son David, a minister living in Kansas City. Each told the kind of stories that produced those smiles that made the eyes leak just a little.
The sweetest story was told by son David. He remembered Harry's fondness for reading the works Robert Louis Stevenson, as well as a poignant tale of Stevenson's childhood in the mid-1800s.
Stevenson, a somewhat sickly child, pressed his face against the glass of an upstairs window in his family's apartment.
"Child, step away from the glass before you catch your death of cold!" his mother exclaimed.
Stevenson continued his intent gaze, face contorted against the glass, straining to see a lamplighter at work on the street.
"But mother," he replied. "Come look! There's a man down there poking holes in the darkness!"
The same could be said of Harry. Both as a journalist and as a Christian strong in his faith, Harry Culver poked holes in the darkness of the human experience and let the light shine through.
His light and spirit will be missed.
Among the mourners were countless Oklahoma journalists and politicians, including former Gov. George Nigh. Gathered was a rainbow of people who ranged in age from children to Harry's mother-in-law, who is 101 or 102.
Harry was 82 at his passing. He and his wife were married in September of 1945. That's nearly 60 years, folks. That's true love.
Harry's family was seated all together -- black, white, young or old, it made no difference. Harry saw only loving and loved souls, not color or station.
Harry's service pointed out what a mosaic our lives are. Each of us knew Harry. Many of us knew others in the crowd, in different settings. The facets of our connections are like the facets of a gem, creating depth, fire, clarity and color in our lives. Harry sparkled from the life he led.
I mentioned yesterday one story about Harry's plane being shot down. That was but one of four times during his military service that his plane was downed. He was a prisoner in Sweden after one incident.
Despite the demands on Capt. Culver during the war, Harry wrote daily long letters to the love of his life, Lee. Many of the letters were 10 to 12 pages long. Harry was what all journalists dream of being -- a thinker and a writer.
So many people spoke their memories of Harry -- a cousin who was more like a brother, a couple of friend/ministers, and his son David, a minister living in Kansas City. Each told the kind of stories that produced those smiles that made the eyes leak just a little.
The sweetest story was told by son David. He remembered Harry's fondness for reading the works Robert Louis Stevenson, as well as a poignant tale of Stevenson's childhood in the mid-1800s.
Stevenson, a somewhat sickly child, pressed his face against the glass of an upstairs window in his family's apartment.
"Child, step away from the glass before you catch your death of cold!" his mother exclaimed.
Stevenson continued his intent gaze, face contorted against the glass, straining to see a lamplighter at work on the street.
"But mother," he replied. "Come look! There's a man down there poking holes in the darkness!"
The same could be said of Harry. Both as a journalist and as a Christian strong in his faith, Harry Culver poked holes in the darkness of the human experience and let the light shine through.
His light and spirit will be missed.
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
What's new?
OK, OK. E.R. is gigging me for not posting since Friday. Well, truth is, there's not much to write about. The weekend was just kind of a gray blur. The daylight hours Monday were OK. I actually went in to "the office" briefly... it sounds so weird to write that since I no longer have the right to consider it "my" office -- not since I departed two and a half years ago.
It stirred up a weird combination of emotions, one being a huge loss of identity considering my lengthy affilation with the company. The other was same ol' story, umpteenth verse, feeling a huge loss of income during that time. I guess I really do miss having serious money coming in in a huge way. Anyway, my mind's not in the right place for dealing with that issue now.
I was pretty severely sick all night last night and got no sleep during the dark hours. And that made me somewhat less than optimally functional today. I tried stealing some time for naps between efforts to get some work done, and both suffered from the divided attention. It will be time to try again soon for a full night's sleep. I predict no problem in falling asleep and can only hope that tonight I'll manage to stay asleep without any rude interruptions.
Tomorrow morning I will be going to a funeral for a man I've known through church for the past 12 years. He was a true hero, not just militarily. During World War II he was a captain and pilot of a B-17 bomber in the Eighth Air Force, flying 33 combat missions over Germany. One day, the plane was heavily damaged and fell 10,000 feet before he could regain control. In recent years he shared that he heard a voice saying to him, "Harry, why haven't you tried to pray?"
He did pray and the plane stopped its fall. He and his crew were able to land in friendly territory.
After the war, he worked nearly 35 years as a reporter for United Press International, mostly covering the state Capitol, and in 1979 was inducted into the Oklahoma Journalism Hall of Fame.
I know the church will be bursting at the seams tomorrow for Harry's service. He was a pillar of strength, faith and devotion. By the time I came to know him, he had long been retired. It was by accident that I learned of his professional background. He rarely spoke about his work or his military service. But as long as he and his wife were physically able, he was present in the community of faith, always learning more through Bible study, and always teaching by his example. I'm sure he had no idea how his life influenced so many people who met him. The ripples in his pond touched more than he could have imagined.
It stirred up a weird combination of emotions, one being a huge loss of identity considering my lengthy affilation with the company. The other was same ol' story, umpteenth verse, feeling a huge loss of income during that time. I guess I really do miss having serious money coming in in a huge way. Anyway, my mind's not in the right place for dealing with that issue now.
I was pretty severely sick all night last night and got no sleep during the dark hours. And that made me somewhat less than optimally functional today. I tried stealing some time for naps between efforts to get some work done, and both suffered from the divided attention. It will be time to try again soon for a full night's sleep. I predict no problem in falling asleep and can only hope that tonight I'll manage to stay asleep without any rude interruptions.
Tomorrow morning I will be going to a funeral for a man I've known through church for the past 12 years. He was a true hero, not just militarily. During World War II he was a captain and pilot of a B-17 bomber in the Eighth Air Force, flying 33 combat missions over Germany. One day, the plane was heavily damaged and fell 10,000 feet before he could regain control. In recent years he shared that he heard a voice saying to him, "Harry, why haven't you tried to pray?"
He did pray and the plane stopped its fall. He and his crew were able to land in friendly territory.
After the war, he worked nearly 35 years as a reporter for United Press International, mostly covering the state Capitol, and in 1979 was inducted into the Oklahoma Journalism Hall of Fame.
I know the church will be bursting at the seams tomorrow for Harry's service. He was a pillar of strength, faith and devotion. By the time I came to know him, he had long been retired. It was by accident that I learned of his professional background. He rarely spoke about his work or his military service. But as long as he and his wife were physically able, he was present in the community of faith, always learning more through Bible study, and always teaching by his example. I'm sure he had no idea how his life influenced so many people who met him. The ripples in his pond touched more than he could have imagined.
Friday, February 11, 2005
It's Friday!
La la la it's Friday! Last night I made a batch of chocolate chunk cookies, so I have a treat to go with my Diet Coke. MMMMmmm.
E.R. is writing more about testicles, just in case anyone is looking for something interesting to read. (There just seems to be a lot of testicle news this week. Mostly about how they are coming unhinged from their owners. Nasty stuff. Sounds very painful.)
Nothing nearly that shocking is happening around my house. I've been pleasantly busy with some writing assignments which are making me realize just how good the economy is here. For everyone but me, but no, I'm not bitter. Yet. A little jealous, perhaps. I won't be bitter until second quarter, probably, according to forecasts.
I talked to a businessman today who also is a body builder (it came up in conversation, honest!) The man has shoulders wide enough to park an SUV on. I know his suits and shirts have to be custom tailored to fit him. Fortunately for him, he's in the thick of this economic uptick here, so I'm sure he can afford it. Why is it you rarely hear about homeless body builders? Hmmm. Something to ponder over the weekend, should you get tired of testicle news.
I hope y'all do something fun to refresh your spirits this weekend. I'll finish up a little work and maybe go to An Affair of the Heart," a frequently held girly-type event at the state fairgrounds. It's a cross between an antiques sale and craft show It would give any man hives, I promise.
I'll also be waiting for the conclusion of Tech's crime story, "An Unattended Death." He's kept us hanging on and now claims to be sick. I'm going to be sick if he leaves us waiting much longer!
Good weekend wishes to Dr. E.R., home after some heavy traveling this week. She's got a good idea about moving some expenses "off budget," just like the President. and for Frenzied Feline, we're hoping for some great news for her and her family about job opportunities and home buying. Rah! Go!
There's the news from Mount Ivy, best as I can recollect. I'd update you on a few other people but they seem to have lost their way in Blogland and haven't been posting for my entertainment of late. Hope everything is going well with them and that we'll read more from them very soon.
Evening approaches. It's time for me to light my candles, check out the fridge and kick back. Deadline? What deadline? We don' need no stinkin' deadlines on a Friday night!
E.R. is writing more about testicles, just in case anyone is looking for something interesting to read. (There just seems to be a lot of testicle news this week. Mostly about how they are coming unhinged from their owners. Nasty stuff. Sounds very painful.)
Nothing nearly that shocking is happening around my house. I've been pleasantly busy with some writing assignments which are making me realize just how good the economy is here. For everyone but me, but no, I'm not bitter. Yet. A little jealous, perhaps. I won't be bitter until second quarter, probably, according to forecasts.
I talked to a businessman today who also is a body builder (it came up in conversation, honest!) The man has shoulders wide enough to park an SUV on. I know his suits and shirts have to be custom tailored to fit him. Fortunately for him, he's in the thick of this economic uptick here, so I'm sure he can afford it. Why is it you rarely hear about homeless body builders? Hmmm. Something to ponder over the weekend, should you get tired of testicle news.
I hope y'all do something fun to refresh your spirits this weekend. I'll finish up a little work and maybe go to An Affair of the Heart," a frequently held girly-type event at the state fairgrounds. It's a cross between an antiques sale and craft show It would give any man hives, I promise.
I'll also be waiting for the conclusion of Tech's crime story, "An Unattended Death." He's kept us hanging on and now claims to be sick. I'm going to be sick if he leaves us waiting much longer!
Good weekend wishes to Dr. E.R., home after some heavy traveling this week. She's got a good idea about moving some expenses "off budget," just like the President. and for Frenzied Feline, we're hoping for some great news for her and her family about job opportunities and home buying. Rah! Go!
There's the news from Mount Ivy, best as I can recollect. I'd update you on a few other people but they seem to have lost their way in Blogland and haven't been posting for my entertainment of late. Hope everything is going well with them and that we'll read more from them very soon.
Evening approaches. It's time for me to light my candles, check out the fridge and kick back. Deadline? What deadline? We don' need no stinkin' deadlines on a Friday night!
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
Goodbye, Carly
Goodbye to Hewlett-Packard's CEO, Carly Fiorina, fired today by a board claiming she failed to deliver on goals to reduce costs and boost revenues. Maybe the board was right; stocks rose 6 percent after the announcement.
CEOs come and go based on performance. We can only hope performance was indeed the reason for Fiorina's departure. Her six years in charge were more often notable because of her gender. Indeed, the announcement of her election to CEO was documented as an awkward, televised dance, where neither Fiorina nor the male with her knew whether to shake hands, give each other high fives, hug or dance. Seeing that tape again tonight was still embarrassing for all involved.
Fiorina's personal career notwithstanding, she was good for women in business. Under her reign, women were hired without that same awkward "gee, we got another girl" kind of nonsense that Fiorina herself had to endure. Women, like men, were considered based on their merit, their abilities and talents.
I started working in a male-dominated field in 1976 (if you don't count high school and college). I so clearly remember being told by the old men I worked with that women, especially young women, were a bad risk for companies because we would probably get married, get pregnant and quit. God help anyone who got the order of that wrong!
Well, most of those old men are dead now, and hiring practices have progressed. But equality won't be real until events like Fiorina's firing are no longer newsworthy because of her personal plumbing. Hired or fired, gender should not matter.
CEOs come and go based on performance. We can only hope performance was indeed the reason for Fiorina's departure. Her six years in charge were more often notable because of her gender. Indeed, the announcement of her election to CEO was documented as an awkward, televised dance, where neither Fiorina nor the male with her knew whether to shake hands, give each other high fives, hug or dance. Seeing that tape again tonight was still embarrassing for all involved.
Fiorina's personal career notwithstanding, she was good for women in business. Under her reign, women were hired without that same awkward "gee, we got another girl" kind of nonsense that Fiorina herself had to endure. Women, like men, were considered based on their merit, their abilities and talents.
I started working in a male-dominated field in 1976 (if you don't count high school and college). I so clearly remember being told by the old men I worked with that women, especially young women, were a bad risk for companies because we would probably get married, get pregnant and quit. God help anyone who got the order of that wrong!
Well, most of those old men are dead now, and hiring practices have progressed. But equality won't be real until events like Fiorina's firing are no longer newsworthy because of her personal plumbing. Hired or fired, gender should not matter.
Close, but blessed
I'd just gotten off the phone with E.R. when I turned around in my kitchen. The timer on the stove dinged to let me know my dinner -- a burger on the Foreman grill -- was ready for me. I pulled the plug, put the patty on my plate and grabbed paper towels to wipe down the grill while it was still hot. That's the best time to clean it, before it cools down and all the bits harden like concrete.
So I just finished my cleanup and was reaching to toss the paper towel in the trash when I caught the edge of the plastic grease tray and pulled it off the counter, right at belly height. Reflexes were good today and I managed to leap back. Unfortunately, the grease leaped also and fell squarely into the fabric of my favorite striped shirt. I had managed to keep flesh out of the way, I thought. And so, I did what I could, stripping off the shirt while mentally apologizing to any neighbors who might be gazing into my windows. Since I was in the kitchen, I was able to saturate the spill with dishwashing liquid and soak it in the sink. I hope I was able to avoid permanent damage; I'm really fond of that shirt!
After I got that part under control, I started surveying the collateral damage. Thick grease on the tile floor. Splatters on the baseboard and kitchen drawers.
I did a preliminary cleanup with more paper towels, minding the clock. Ash Wednesday service starts at 6:30 p.m. and it was almost 5:30 now.
With every step, I spread thick grease across the whole kitchen. Fortunately I realized it before I stepped onto my white carpet throughout the rest of the house. Now I have a shirt soaking in the sink and nasty house slippers kicked off in the middle of the floor.
Finally, I looked down at the great white whale which is my belly and noticed a large patch of gooey grease. No red skin or blistering, thank the good Lord! Easily cleaned up and oh my skin is SO soft now. *rolly eyes*.
I'll give the floor a good hard soapy scrub after I get home from church this evening. And this reminder of my klutzy nature will also prompt me to be more careful around the Foreman grill. Let this be a horrible example for the rest of you!
I'm so glad I had spent my evenings last week cleaning off my kitchen cabinets aand countertops. It could have been so much worse in the clutter. (And here's where I thank Flylady!)
Y'all be careful out there. I'm on my way to the Imposition of Ashes to mark the beginning of Lent. I wonder if I could give up clumsiness this season?
So I just finished my cleanup and was reaching to toss the paper towel in the trash when I caught the edge of the plastic grease tray and pulled it off the counter, right at belly height. Reflexes were good today and I managed to leap back. Unfortunately, the grease leaped also and fell squarely into the fabric of my favorite striped shirt. I had managed to keep flesh out of the way, I thought. And so, I did what I could, stripping off the shirt while mentally apologizing to any neighbors who might be gazing into my windows. Since I was in the kitchen, I was able to saturate the spill with dishwashing liquid and soak it in the sink. I hope I was able to avoid permanent damage; I'm really fond of that shirt!
After I got that part under control, I started surveying the collateral damage. Thick grease on the tile floor. Splatters on the baseboard and kitchen drawers.
I did a preliminary cleanup with more paper towels, minding the clock. Ash Wednesday service starts at 6:30 p.m. and it was almost 5:30 now.
With every step, I spread thick grease across the whole kitchen. Fortunately I realized it before I stepped onto my white carpet throughout the rest of the house. Now I have a shirt soaking in the sink and nasty house slippers kicked off in the middle of the floor.
Finally, I looked down at the great white whale which is my belly and noticed a large patch of gooey grease. No red skin or blistering, thank the good Lord! Easily cleaned up and oh my skin is SO soft now. *rolly eyes*.
I'll give the floor a good hard soapy scrub after I get home from church this evening. And this reminder of my klutzy nature will also prompt me to be more careful around the Foreman grill. Let this be a horrible example for the rest of you!
I'm so glad I had spent my evenings last week cleaning off my kitchen cabinets aand countertops. It could have been so much worse in the clutter. (And here's where I thank Flylady!)
Y'all be careful out there. I'm on my way to the Imposition of Ashes to mark the beginning of Lent. I wonder if I could give up clumsiness this season?
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
A quiet, cozy day
I had a hard night last night. I went to bed early (for me -- read that as "early late" for most of you.) I think it was about 10:30 when I hit the pillow. Within the hour I was awakened to the pain of an ear infection. I could hardly lift my head without feeling as though my ear drum would burst. Fortunately, I regularly take an antibiotic, the same one I usually have to take when the ear acts up. It's feeling better this evening after a quiet day.
I made a few calls today, and this evening went to the Designer Show House to check on the progress being made there. I'm doing a series of stories on the house's transformation between now and April. I feel special -- they've given me 24 hour access to the house. Tonight I caught a couple of people there but had hoped some of the designers would be working. Every one of them are doing this on their own time, without pay, after their regular working hours.
A rainy night and a social dinner across town kept many of them away. Several others are under the weather with a variety of ailments.
I'll continue checking back during the evenings -- things will also pick up after some of the major reconstruction work is done. They are about 14 days behind at this point. Part of the delay is a kitchen remodeling job which is not part of the designers' work, but which has to be finished before they can get into some of their rooms. For now, huge saws are filling the formal living room and dining room. Sawdust does not mix well with wet paint, so someone has to wait.
I spent the day cooking -- a crockpot filled with black-eyed peas, ham hocks, crushed tomatoes and diced onions. It's smelling wonderful. Tomorrow I'll make some rice to go with that. I also had a pot on the stove making "Sloppy Mikes," a vegetarian version of sloppy Joes. It's a mix of diced onions, diced bell peppers (two green, one red, one yellow), a small can of sliced black olives, a can of Rotel, a can of whole-kernel corn, a can of pinto beans and a can of chili beans. Saute the hard veggies, add the other stuff, bring to a boil and then lower the temp and let it simmer until it thickens up a bit. This can be served on rice, on pasta, rolled in a tortilla, on buns or alone as a soup.
So here I am, on a rainy night, starting to feel a little better. I'm well fed, glad I didn't have a more demanding work day today. Now American Idol is on and I'm enjoying the show. Hey, where else can you get great music from unknowns with an occasional dud to laugh at? I love it. It looks like a good crop of talent this season.
I may try going to bed early again tonight. I might even try to crash by 10 p.m. -- which is unheard of here at Chez Trixie. Honest folks, there are a lot of nights I'm still awake at 3 or 4 a.m. That's what years of working nights will do to your biological schedule.
Hope you're enjoying a cozy, content evening too!
I made a few calls today, and this evening went to the Designer Show House to check on the progress being made there. I'm doing a series of stories on the house's transformation between now and April. I feel special -- they've given me 24 hour access to the house. Tonight I caught a couple of people there but had hoped some of the designers would be working. Every one of them are doing this on their own time, without pay, after their regular working hours.
A rainy night and a social dinner across town kept many of them away. Several others are under the weather with a variety of ailments.
I'll continue checking back during the evenings -- things will also pick up after some of the major reconstruction work is done. They are about 14 days behind at this point. Part of the delay is a kitchen remodeling job which is not part of the designers' work, but which has to be finished before they can get into some of their rooms. For now, huge saws are filling the formal living room and dining room. Sawdust does not mix well with wet paint, so someone has to wait.
I spent the day cooking -- a crockpot filled with black-eyed peas, ham hocks, crushed tomatoes and diced onions. It's smelling wonderful. Tomorrow I'll make some rice to go with that. I also had a pot on the stove making "Sloppy Mikes," a vegetarian version of sloppy Joes. It's a mix of diced onions, diced bell peppers (two green, one red, one yellow), a small can of sliced black olives, a can of Rotel, a can of whole-kernel corn, a can of pinto beans and a can of chili beans. Saute the hard veggies, add the other stuff, bring to a boil and then lower the temp and let it simmer until it thickens up a bit. This can be served on rice, on pasta, rolled in a tortilla, on buns or alone as a soup.
So here I am, on a rainy night, starting to feel a little better. I'm well fed, glad I didn't have a more demanding work day today. Now American Idol is on and I'm enjoying the show. Hey, where else can you get great music from unknowns with an occasional dud to laugh at? I love it. It looks like a good crop of talent this season.
I may try going to bed early again tonight. I might even try to crash by 10 p.m. -- which is unheard of here at Chez Trixie. Honest folks, there are a lot of nights I'm still awake at 3 or 4 a.m. That's what years of working nights will do to your biological schedule.
Hope you're enjoying a cozy, content evening too!
Friday, February 04, 2005
This'll be fun too! "The Last" Survey
Y'know one thing E.R. is good for? He's good for stealin' ideas from. Like this one, which he admitted to lifting from somewhere else. I do believe this is what's called a "meme," which means an idea lifted from one blogger and scattered among others for nearly simultaneous discussions.
Anyway, I lifted this from E.R. My answers are included. Feel free to lift and post on your own blog with your own answers. And if yours wind up looking like mine, well, heck, we'll both be surprised!
The "Last" Survey
Last Cigarette: Never smoked one. Not ever in my life. My mom offered to let me light a cigarette for her when I was 4, and the notion of it put me off so bad that I was never tempted. I was also repulsed by both of my "smoked-like-chimneys" parents and the mess that is associated with smoking. Not to mention that it killed everyone in my family.
Last Alcoholic Drink: I had a couple of beers on a date two weeks ago.
Last Car Ride: With me driving? This afternoon, coming back from a photo shoot. With me as passenger? On the same date mentioned above.
Last Kiss: Um, well, that date is supplying wayyyyy too many answers for this quiz... (NOSY quiz!)
Last Good Cry: Yesterday, I believe, after seeing some sappy commercial which got me missing my mom. That's the one sorrow that will always trigger tears.
Last Library Book: Three books on the business of freelancing.
Last Book Purchased: "Sharing Good Times" by Jimmy Carter.
Last Book Read: "Sharing Good Times" by Jimmy Carter. (No, silly. I did not read it on my date.)
Last Movie Viewed in a Theater: Lemony Snicket's "A Series of Unfortunate Events" (or whatever that movie is called. In early January. I enjoyed it.)
Last Movie Rented: Not really sure. It's been a year. I believe it might have been "Bruce Almighty." Or "Pirates of the Caribbean".
Last Profanity Uttered: Probably the "D" word.
Last Beverage Drank: Diet Coke with dinner.
Last Food Consumed: Broiled steak and a baked tater.
Last Phone Call: Just a bit ago, about 11 p.m. Unexpected call from a guy I dated in the fall. We talked about an hour with him catching me up on a trade show he went to in Vegas.
Last TV Show Viewed: "Roseanne" on Nick at Night.
Last Time Showered: Late morning today.
Last Shoes Worn: Do house slippers count?
Last CD Played: "On Eagle's Wings," Piano orchestrations by Steve Hall. Recommended by my aunt on my last visit to Missouri and very enjoyable inspirational songs.
Last Item Bought: Other than groceries, the last items I recall purchasing were a dish drainer and drain board.
Last Download: An e-mailed photograph from a homebuilder.
Last Annoyance: Being in a Catch-22 situation regarding work.
Last Thing Written: A newspaper story for publication later this month, on home improvement shows.
Last Key Used: Front-door key.
Last Words Spoken: "OK, talk to you later. Behave yourself." at the conclusion of the aforementioned telephone call.
Last Sleep: 3 a.m. to 7 a.m. today.
Last Ice Cream Eaten: Ben & Jerry's New York Super Fudge Chunk last week.
Last Webpage Visited: Oklahoma Housing Finance Agency (http://www.ohfa.org/)
Whew! That was fun! I expect to see your answers soon when I visit your blogs. Oh, and one more thing: WRITE SOMETHING! I need to be entertained!!!
Anyway, I lifted this from E.R. My answers are included. Feel free to lift and post on your own blog with your own answers. And if yours wind up looking like mine, well, heck, we'll both be surprised!
The "Last" Survey
Last Cigarette: Never smoked one. Not ever in my life. My mom offered to let me light a cigarette for her when I was 4, and the notion of it put me off so bad that I was never tempted. I was also repulsed by both of my "smoked-like-chimneys" parents and the mess that is associated with smoking. Not to mention that it killed everyone in my family.
Last Alcoholic Drink: I had a couple of beers on a date two weeks ago.
Last Car Ride: With me driving? This afternoon, coming back from a photo shoot. With me as passenger? On the same date mentioned above.
Last Kiss: Um, well, that date is supplying wayyyyy too many answers for this quiz... (NOSY quiz!)
Last Good Cry: Yesterday, I believe, after seeing some sappy commercial which got me missing my mom. That's the one sorrow that will always trigger tears.
Last Library Book: Three books on the business of freelancing.
Last Book Purchased: "Sharing Good Times" by Jimmy Carter.
Last Book Read: "Sharing Good Times" by Jimmy Carter. (No, silly. I did not read it on my date.)
Last Movie Viewed in a Theater: Lemony Snicket's "A Series of Unfortunate Events" (or whatever that movie is called. In early January. I enjoyed it.)
Last Movie Rented: Not really sure. It's been a year. I believe it might have been "Bruce Almighty." Or "Pirates of the Caribbean".
Last Profanity Uttered: Probably the "D" word.
Last Beverage Drank: Diet Coke with dinner.
Last Food Consumed: Broiled steak and a baked tater.
Last Phone Call: Just a bit ago, about 11 p.m. Unexpected call from a guy I dated in the fall. We talked about an hour with him catching me up on a trade show he went to in Vegas.
Last TV Show Viewed: "Roseanne" on Nick at Night.
Last Time Showered: Late morning today.
Last Shoes Worn: Do house slippers count?
Last CD Played: "On Eagle's Wings," Piano orchestrations by Steve Hall. Recommended by my aunt on my last visit to Missouri and very enjoyable inspirational songs.
Last Item Bought: Other than groceries, the last items I recall purchasing were a dish drainer and drain board.
Last Download: An e-mailed photograph from a homebuilder.
Last Annoyance: Being in a Catch-22 situation regarding work.
Last Thing Written: A newspaper story for publication later this month, on home improvement shows.
Last Key Used: Front-door key.
Last Words Spoken: "OK, talk to you later. Behave yourself." at the conclusion of the aforementioned telephone call.
Last Sleep: 3 a.m. to 7 a.m. today.
Last Ice Cream Eaten: Ben & Jerry's New York Super Fudge Chunk last week.
Last Webpage Visited: Oklahoma Housing Finance Agency (http://www.ohfa.org/)
Whew! That was fun! I expect to see your answers soon when I visit your blogs. Oh, and one more thing: WRITE SOMETHING! I need to be entertained!!!
Monday, January 31, 2005
Time for a game!
It's time for another episode of: "Grab a Book!"
Fellow blogger and friend The Downtown Guy -- http://downtownguy.blogspot.com -- whose entire blog is dedicated to the promotion of downtown Oklahoma City, a cause I support but a fetish I do not share, has launched one of those fun what-are-you-reading games. (This come via E.R.'s blog. Pass it on).
He wants Page 123, sentence 5.
1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. In a comment on this blog, and on your own blog, post the sentence along with these instructions.
(He's kinda persnickety about it. He says:)
5. Don’t search around and look for the “coolest” book you can find. Do what’s actually next to you.
Here's mine:
"Life as we have known it has been transformed."
--from Stephanie Marston, "If Not Now, When?" Chapter 6, "Growing Up Isn't for Sissies" (New York: Warner Books Inc., 2002.)
Editorial comment: As we approach middle age, we begin to experience losses that bring our own immortality into sharp focus. We lose friends, parents and others to death. We experience more serious illnesses, either our own or those of people dear to us. Sometimes, separation comes from fractured relationships.
Sometimes it's hard to understand that we are not alone in these life changes. As surely as puberty, this mid-life transition awaits us all. We can choose to wallow in the pain, impotent, or we can get a grip, face it down and claim our own lives, living more fully than we could have imagined.
Fellow blogger and friend The Downtown Guy -- http://downtownguy.blogspot.com -- whose entire blog is dedicated to the promotion of downtown Oklahoma City, a cause I support but a fetish I do not share, has launched one of those fun what-are-you-reading games. (This come via E.R.'s blog. Pass it on).
He wants Page 123, sentence 5.
1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. In a comment on this blog, and on your own blog, post the sentence along with these instructions.
(He's kinda persnickety about it. He says:)
5. Don’t search around and look for the “coolest” book you can find. Do what’s actually next to you.
Here's mine:
"Life as we have known it has been transformed."
--from Stephanie Marston, "If Not Now, When?" Chapter 6, "Growing Up Isn't for Sissies" (New York: Warner Books Inc., 2002.)
Editorial comment: As we approach middle age, we begin to experience losses that bring our own immortality into sharp focus. We lose friends, parents and others to death. We experience more serious illnesses, either our own or those of people dear to us. Sometimes, separation comes from fractured relationships.
Sometimes it's hard to understand that we are not alone in these life changes. As surely as puberty, this mid-life transition awaits us all. We can choose to wallow in the pain, impotent, or we can get a grip, face it down and claim our own lives, living more fully than we could have imagined.
Saturday, January 29, 2005
Friday, January 28, 2005
All dressed up with no place to go
This day is almost as good as being 8 and hearing that school's been cancelled!
I was supposed to have an outdoor photo shoot for a landscaping story this morning. It was a rush-around morning, getting showered and dressed. I had heard on the late news last night that there was a chance for snow in some parts of the state, but as of 3:30 a.m., when I finally crashed, there wasn't any sign of it here.
So I dress warmly, if not professionally, and open the drapes in my living room as I gathered up my note-taking materials. And then, I stopped. And laughed.
My car in the driveway is playing hide-and-seek. "You can't seeeeeeeee me," I hear it taunting me. "Don't look! You can't seeeeeeeee me!"
There was no point in even opening the door. I made the necessary calls to make sure everyone was on the same page about cancelling the appointment and trying again on Monday.
Now, here I am, all cozy, warm and freshly showered and made up. Too bad no one can see me!
So I will have a great day all alone, sipping cocoa, playing on the computer, reading...
Nanny nanny boo-boo to those of you who had to go to work anyway!! THIS is why I DON'T make the big bucks any more!
I was supposed to have an outdoor photo shoot for a landscaping story this morning. It was a rush-around morning, getting showered and dressed. I had heard on the late news last night that there was a chance for snow in some parts of the state, but as of 3:30 a.m., when I finally crashed, there wasn't any sign of it here.
So I dress warmly, if not professionally, and open the drapes in my living room as I gathered up my note-taking materials. And then, I stopped. And laughed.
My car in the driveway is playing hide-and-seek. "You can't seeeeeeeee me," I hear it taunting me. "Don't look! You can't seeeeeeeee me!"
There was no point in even opening the door. I made the necessary calls to make sure everyone was on the same page about cancelling the appointment and trying again on Monday.
Now, here I am, all cozy, warm and freshly showered and made up. Too bad no one can see me!
So I will have a great day all alone, sipping cocoa, playing on the computer, reading...
Nanny nanny boo-boo to those of you who had to go to work anyway!! THIS is why I DON'T make the big bucks any more!
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
A tasty treat
It's been a day of domestic activity as I ponder some major life issues. I've done my marketing, did a little kitchen cleaning, tossed a little trash from my office (the kitchen and office need considerably more work, but the point is I got started on them and did something towards the goal.)
I was unreasonably satisfied with the grocery shopping -- to the point of giddiness. I bought what I needed to fill out a month's worth of menus, and spent only $40. Yay!
Several meals will be made from Coke Roast, a recipe shared by a friend on a bulletin board. Give this one a try! It is wonderful!
Coke Roast
1 roast (I used a $7 arm roast. I'm guessing that was about 3 lbs.)
2 pkgs. Lipton beef-onion dried soup mix
12 oz. Coca-Cola (not diet).
Braise the roast -- dust with flour and brown in oil in a large, heavy ovenproof pan.
Sprinkle with the dried soup mix
Pour Coke over all -- enjoy the show, because it fizzes up like crazy!
Cover and cook in 350 oven for two hours, then remove lid, turn roast and continue cooking for another 40 minutes or so.
Near end of cooking time, cook noodles of your choice (friend used bow tie pasta and I used extra wide egg noodles.)
Remove roast from pan and allow to rest before carving.
Mix 3 TBS. flour with water to form a slurry and add to pan juices to thicken and use as a gravy. Salt and pepper to taste and serve with noodles and roast.
MMMMMMM good! It helps take your mind off your troubles to cook a good meal.
I was unreasonably satisfied with the grocery shopping -- to the point of giddiness. I bought what I needed to fill out a month's worth of menus, and spent only $40. Yay!
Several meals will be made from Coke Roast, a recipe shared by a friend on a bulletin board. Give this one a try! It is wonderful!
Coke Roast
1 roast (I used a $7 arm roast. I'm guessing that was about 3 lbs.)
2 pkgs. Lipton beef-onion dried soup mix
12 oz. Coca-Cola (not diet).
Braise the roast -- dust with flour and brown in oil in a large, heavy ovenproof pan.
Sprinkle with the dried soup mix
Pour Coke over all -- enjoy the show, because it fizzes up like crazy!
Cover and cook in 350 oven for two hours, then remove lid, turn roast and continue cooking for another 40 minutes or so.
Near end of cooking time, cook noodles of your choice (friend used bow tie pasta and I used extra wide egg noodles.)
Remove roast from pan and allow to rest before carving.
Mix 3 TBS. flour with water to form a slurry and add to pan juices to thicken and use as a gravy. Salt and pepper to taste and serve with noodles and roast.
MMMMMMM good! It helps take your mind off your troubles to cook a good meal.
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
Loopy Lexicon
New Words for 2005
The Washington Post's Style Invitational once again asked readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition. Here are this year's winners:
1. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.
2. Foreploy (v): Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.
3. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period.
4. Giraffiti (n): Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.
5. Sarchasm (n): The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.
6. Inoculatte (v): To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.
7. Hipatitis (n): Terminal coolness.
8. Osteopornosis (n): A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)
9. Karmageddon (n): It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.
10. Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.
11. Glibido (v): All talk and no action.
12. Dopeler effect (n): The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.
13. Arachnoleptic fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.
14. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.
15. Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a grub in the fruit you're eating.
And the pick of the literature:
16. Ignoranus (n): A person who's both stupid and an asshole.
The Washington Post's Style Invitational once again asked readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition. Here are this year's winners:
1. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.
2. Foreploy (v): Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.
3. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period.
4. Giraffiti (n): Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.
5. Sarchasm (n): The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.
6. Inoculatte (v): To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.
7. Hipatitis (n): Terminal coolness.
8. Osteopornosis (n): A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)
9. Karmageddon (n): It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.
10. Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.
11. Glibido (v): All talk and no action.
12. Dopeler effect (n): The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.
13. Arachnoleptic fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.
14. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.
15. Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a grub in the fruit you're eating.
And the pick of the literature:
16. Ignoranus (n): A person who's both stupid and an asshole.
Saturday, January 22, 2005
At second glance...
No, this isn't my laundry. Take a closer look.
This is another one of my phantom dogs.
Just loved
the picture too much.
Thursday, January 20, 2005
The Fable of the Antsy Blogger
Once upon a time, in a world controlled by electronic blips and bloops, there was a land known as Blogville.
In this kingdom lived all manner of people, known as posters. Some posters were wordy and would tell tales about anything and nothing, just for the sake of writing to entertain themselves and the other Bloggers.
There were also posters who would tease their fellow countrymen. Once a week they would spin tales so alluring that others would wait for the next story, often neglecting their other duties until their reverie was interrupted by other life obligations. The teasers would post just often enough to keep the flame of hope burning.
Another group of bloggers were the meanies. The meanies were enormously interesting people who spun some of the greatest of tales. Their magical writings about their own lives astounded their readers. Ah, but just as the readers heaped praises upon these writers, they would suddenly stop posting. They knew the power they wielded in Blogville and they used it to their advantage. Readers clammered for more stories from the meanies, only to be rebuffed by silence.
In the corners of the land were the minor Bloggers. They told good stories, but few readers ever saw them. The readers were always glad to read a minor story from a minor Blogger, but for some reason the power of the meanies was so great that the readers were pulled away from the minors, dreaming of being thrown a morsel by a meanie.
Scattered among the different factions in Blogville were stories of all types, on all topics. Many are serious, dealing with the politics of the day or matters of theology. "What would Jesus blog?" some ask.
Not all posters are so erudite as those who study history. But the universal truth about Blogville is that nearly all the residents like to read and write. And so they learn more about themselves, each other, and the world of blips and bleeps and bloops. And if you post enough, you can get out of washing a truck.
The End.
In this kingdom lived all manner of people, known as posters. Some posters were wordy and would tell tales about anything and nothing, just for the sake of writing to entertain themselves and the other Bloggers.
There were also posters who would tease their fellow countrymen. Once a week they would spin tales so alluring that others would wait for the next story, often neglecting their other duties until their reverie was interrupted by other life obligations. The teasers would post just often enough to keep the flame of hope burning.
Another group of bloggers were the meanies. The meanies were enormously interesting people who spun some of the greatest of tales. Their magical writings about their own lives astounded their readers. Ah, but just as the readers heaped praises upon these writers, they would suddenly stop posting. They knew the power they wielded in Blogville and they used it to their advantage. Readers clammered for more stories from the meanies, only to be rebuffed by silence.
In the corners of the land were the minor Bloggers. They told good stories, but few readers ever saw them. The readers were always glad to read a minor story from a minor Blogger, but for some reason the power of the meanies was so great that the readers were pulled away from the minors, dreaming of being thrown a morsel by a meanie.
Scattered among the different factions in Blogville were stories of all types, on all topics. Many are serious, dealing with the politics of the day or matters of theology. "What would Jesus blog?" some ask.
Not all posters are so erudite as those who study history. But the universal truth about Blogville is that nearly all the residents like to read and write. And so they learn more about themselves, each other, and the world of blips and bleeps and bloops. And if you post enough, you can get out of washing a truck.
The End.
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Going to the animals
OK, zits and chin hairs must not have been punishment enough today. I opened the mail about 1 p.m. and had a letter from Animal Control threatening me with a $175 fine for allowing my dog to run loose, without a current rabies vaccine. There was a hand-written note highlighted at the bottom saying my dog was aggressive towards the mail carrier, and mail service to the entire block could be suspended.
Sigh. I don't have a dog. Haven't had one since my dear Fefe died four years ago.
As soon as I read the letter, I turned on the TV, and my cable promptly went out. I called Cox Cable and they sent someone right over (within a half hour. He arrived an hour sooner than they expected, so hey, something went right.) He quickly diagnosed the problem: Squirrels had eaten my cable. Yep. Squirrels.
I think I'll be checking to see if an elephant is strolling down the street towards the grade school down the block. It's about the only animal I haven't dealt with the past couple of days. So far, it's donkeys, dogs and squirrels.
I hear Santa did answer some Christmas requests. For example, this tortoise got just what he asked for: He got a hippopotamus for Christmas! Hee hee!
Here's a bit of good news. There was a bank robbery a few blocks from my house today. The good news is I had just closed my accounts there recently, so I know he didn't get MY money!
Sigh. I don't have a dog. Haven't had one since my dear Fefe died four years ago.
As soon as I read the letter, I turned on the TV, and my cable promptly went out. I called Cox Cable and they sent someone right over (within a half hour. He arrived an hour sooner than they expected, so hey, something went right.) He quickly diagnosed the problem: Squirrels had eaten my cable. Yep. Squirrels.
I think I'll be checking to see if an elephant is strolling down the street towards the grade school down the block. It's about the only animal I haven't dealt with the past couple of days. So far, it's donkeys, dogs and squirrels.
I hear Santa did answer some Christmas requests. For example, this tortoise got just what he asked for: He got a hippopotamus for Christmas! Hee hee!
Here's a bit of good news. There was a bank robbery a few blocks from my house today. The good news is I had just closed my accounts there recently, so I know he didn't get MY money!
Don't fret
I don't mean to distress anyone with my lengthy, late-night ramblings, so here's a quick morning glimpse of my life.
I'm at that stage in life where my morning ritual includes using my acne medicine and then plucking the grandma hairs from my chin. Somehow, that just sums up all that is unfair.
I'm at that stage in life where my morning ritual includes using my acne medicine and then plucking the grandma hairs from my chin. Somehow, that just sums up all that is unfair.
Part 2: Confidence
I've had a little time to settle down, quit shaking some and think.
There's another component to my distress tonight. Besides feeling a need for encouragement, I'm feeling a loss of confidence.
A lot of times we have to fake it until we make it... bluff our way through the tough times as we convince ourselves and others that we are, indeed, capable and successful people. Other times, we truly are on top of the world, secure in our abilities and fully knowing that God put us where He wants us to be, doing exactly what He made us to do.
I've got a foot in each of those worlds at the moment. I know I have skills, talents and abilities. What I lack for the moment is direction and a sense of purpose. Not good.
I think what may be happening is a shift, much like being on a sailboat as it is coming about to change the direction of its tack. That moment when the sail moves from one side of the boat to the other is a moment without direction, with the sail violently flapping as the boat luffs. It's a time when the boat could easily capsize. All it would take is for the crew to shift too far to one side or the other, or to take too much or too little time making the shift. For a moment the boat is without direction or power, pivoting on its own center as it finds a new path.
The wind can be a metaphor for encouragement and support. A supportive hand on our back can make the transition smoother and easier, like pushing the boom across the deck. If we don't have it, we can founder.
I want to say thank you to all of you who have supported me on this blog through the past several months. It is nice to have a group of people with such diverse interests who have become real friends, offering advice and encouragement.
And I think this catharsis tonight just means I should start getting out more and stop staying cloistered at home.
There's another component to my distress tonight. Besides feeling a need for encouragement, I'm feeling a loss of confidence.
A lot of times we have to fake it until we make it... bluff our way through the tough times as we convince ourselves and others that we are, indeed, capable and successful people. Other times, we truly are on top of the world, secure in our abilities and fully knowing that God put us where He wants us to be, doing exactly what He made us to do.
I've got a foot in each of those worlds at the moment. I know I have skills, talents and abilities. What I lack for the moment is direction and a sense of purpose. Not good.
I think what may be happening is a shift, much like being on a sailboat as it is coming about to change the direction of its tack. That moment when the sail moves from one side of the boat to the other is a moment without direction, with the sail violently flapping as the boat luffs. It's a time when the boat could easily capsize. All it would take is for the crew to shift too far to one side or the other, or to take too much or too little time making the shift. For a moment the boat is without direction or power, pivoting on its own center as it finds a new path.
The wind can be a metaphor for encouragement and support. A supportive hand on our back can make the transition smoother and easier, like pushing the boom across the deck. If we don't have it, we can founder.
I want to say thank you to all of you who have supported me on this blog through the past several months. It is nice to have a group of people with such diverse interests who have become real friends, offering advice and encouragement.
And I think this catharsis tonight just means I should start getting out more and stop staying cloistered at home.
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Encouragement
This is one of those blog pieces I need to write to get rid of some intense feelings. I'm not sure if I'll be able to express this as I wish to, but I must try, even if I don't hit a bull's eye. Please forgive me if I fall short.
I'm so tied up in knots that my tremor is making it difficult for me to use my hands. Earlier I nearly had to sit on my hands to keep from slapping myself in the face unintentionally. (I have what's known as an essential tremor, which simply means I shake sometimes, but it's not caused by any diagnosed medical problem. It's something that runs in the family on my mom's side and is often mistaken for Parkinson's when it's bad. It's something I first noticed in myself about 1980 when I was working for DHS and had a client who was trying to scam me. I started shaking so hard while trying to take notes that I couldn't read my own writing. It flares up when emotions run high. Typing usually isn't a problem, but when this starts, I might as well just forget about holding a pencil or pen. That's one of the key reasons I use my Palm Pilot with a folding keyboard for most of my note-taking on assignments, or I type directly into my computer when doing phone interviews. Sorry for the long explanation, but I thought it might be relevant. I don't know.)
Anyway, back to the original thoughts. I think I've calmed down enough that I can write this without having to use words like @#*$#@!( and @%#*$*$$! to avoid offending my friends who are sensitive to bad language.
I think those of you who read this blog, at least the ones I am aware of, are in creative fields or have serious creative pursuits of some sort. Most of us are writers, which automatically makes us attention "hounds" (not the word I would have used before. I edited.)
We write because we believe we have something to share with the world. And we want (need) to know if we're hitting the mark and making a difference in the world. The only way we know is if we get feedback, right? We blog because the very medium of blogging invites response of some sort. We hope and pray for applause of sorts -- some kind word such as "WOW! That's profound." Or "Hey, that didn't stink!" Or "Thanks for posting that - you gave me something to think about."
There are even days when we'd be happy to hear "Are you out of your @#*$U mind?" "Are you @#$* crazy???" or "You be nutz." You get the idea. Even negative attention is attention, right? At least someone was reading, and they were moved enough to comment and let you know how much they hate you.
I don't think the need for feedback is limited to those of us who write. There are many disciplines where it's more than nice, it's necessary. I think feedback is in the same category as encouragement. We ALL NEED IT. Children often get it from their parents or teachers. As we start careers we get it from mentors and superiors (if we are lucky.) Other times, we just work for asses. (Sorry, that one slipped through. There's such a long list.)
Honestly, I don't think it's expecting too much to want to get some encouragement and an occasional kind word from those in our lives. We weren't built to be solitary automatons -- we ARE people, and as such we have needs for validation, belonging, affirmation, encouragement, appreciation and reward.
The cruelest action we can take against another, aside from physical abuse, is to ignore them. To pretend they don't exist, or they don't have a talent, or they have no right to participate. How much more succinctly can we make it clear to someone else that we don't value them?
An example: You meet someone, have a few conversations, then perhaps a first date. The first date is sufficient as far as one party is concerned. So, the second party inquires about future dates. What does the first person say? "Sorry, I'm busy that night. And that one. And that one." Maybe it seems less cruel than simply saying "Thanks, but I don't see this going anywhere." But what are we doing but letting that person know they have no place in our lives and we don't care how they feel?
It's also a lot like being the only kid in the class that isn't invited to the popular kid's birthday party, and yet the invitations are handed out during class, so everyone knows you are not worthy. (I have actually had this exact thing happen in a work setting. Worse yet, the "hostess" made a point of telling me, at lunch, in front of everyone else, that I wasn't invited because they would be having a pool party at her house and everyone knew I got sunburned very easily. You know. We wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable while we're all having a good time. That would be such a downer.)
There's a new book called "Shine: A Powerful 4-Step Plan for Becoming a Star in Anything You Do." It's written by Larry A. Thompson. I picked it up tonight after reading reviews and seeing a mention on TV. The inside of the jacket outlines the steps: 1) Identify your talent. 2) Summon your rage. 3) Assemble a team and 4) Learn to be lucky.
We all have natural gifts (point 1). And we need supporters, including mentors, professionals, role models, motivators (point 3). And I do believe I've found my rage. Hence the shaking tonight. Now comes figuring out a game plan and assembling the "team".
Before anyone makes the mistake of thinking that I'm talking about my current working situation, I'm not. I'm very happy with the work I do, although I will need to make some changes shortly to make more money. It's a simple fact of economics and not a sign of any discontent on that front. But "work" is not what this is about.
This is something I think we all need to think about as we deal with others. We're all in the same boat as far as needing encouragement and as far as being able to offer it to others.
If you want to destroy someone's personal passion, never offer encouragement. Never acknowledge that the person has skills and talents. Make sure you create a setting which denies them any opportunity to use their talents, if you have the power. At some point, if you're really good at this, the person will either become suicidal or so depressed that they'll stop trying. Or they will love themselves enough to leave the situation and go someplace where they can be who they were created to be.
Sometimes I think it would be wonderful if we were built in such a way that we didn't need support from others. I know it would make my life a lot easier, since support is not something that I have a big supply of. But I think that would also be a very cold, empty life too, if we were simply content to be "units" instead of being part of one body.
So here's my challenge to you. If you know someone who needs to hear a kind word, speak it. If someone needs to have a creative outlet, offer it. If someone needs a mentor, be one. If someone needs support, give it.
We'll all be richer for it as we become the people we were made to be.
I'm so tied up in knots that my tremor is making it difficult for me to use my hands. Earlier I nearly had to sit on my hands to keep from slapping myself in the face unintentionally. (I have what's known as an essential tremor, which simply means I shake sometimes, but it's not caused by any diagnosed medical problem. It's something that runs in the family on my mom's side and is often mistaken for Parkinson's when it's bad. It's something I first noticed in myself about 1980 when I was working for DHS and had a client who was trying to scam me. I started shaking so hard while trying to take notes that I couldn't read my own writing. It flares up when emotions run high. Typing usually isn't a problem, but when this starts, I might as well just forget about holding a pencil or pen. That's one of the key reasons I use my Palm Pilot with a folding keyboard for most of my note-taking on assignments, or I type directly into my computer when doing phone interviews. Sorry for the long explanation, but I thought it might be relevant. I don't know.)
Anyway, back to the original thoughts. I think I've calmed down enough that I can write this without having to use words like @#*$#@!( and @%#*$*$$! to avoid offending my friends who are sensitive to bad language.
I think those of you who read this blog, at least the ones I am aware of, are in creative fields or have serious creative pursuits of some sort. Most of us are writers, which automatically makes us attention "hounds" (not the word I would have used before. I edited.)
We write because we believe we have something to share with the world. And we want (need) to know if we're hitting the mark and making a difference in the world. The only way we know is if we get feedback, right? We blog because the very medium of blogging invites response of some sort. We hope and pray for applause of sorts -- some kind word such as "WOW! That's profound." Or "Hey, that didn't stink!" Or "Thanks for posting that - you gave me something to think about."
There are even days when we'd be happy to hear "Are you out of your @#*$U mind?" "Are you @#$* crazy???" or "You be nutz." You get the idea. Even negative attention is attention, right? At least someone was reading, and they were moved enough to comment and let you know how much they hate you.
I don't think the need for feedback is limited to those of us who write. There are many disciplines where it's more than nice, it's necessary. I think feedback is in the same category as encouragement. We ALL NEED IT. Children often get it from their parents or teachers. As we start careers we get it from mentors and superiors (if we are lucky.) Other times, we just work for asses. (Sorry, that one slipped through. There's such a long list.)
Honestly, I don't think it's expecting too much to want to get some encouragement and an occasional kind word from those in our lives. We weren't built to be solitary automatons -- we ARE people, and as such we have needs for validation, belonging, affirmation, encouragement, appreciation and reward.
The cruelest action we can take against another, aside from physical abuse, is to ignore them. To pretend they don't exist, or they don't have a talent, or they have no right to participate. How much more succinctly can we make it clear to someone else that we don't value them?
An example: You meet someone, have a few conversations, then perhaps a first date. The first date is sufficient as far as one party is concerned. So, the second party inquires about future dates. What does the first person say? "Sorry, I'm busy that night. And that one. And that one." Maybe it seems less cruel than simply saying "Thanks, but I don't see this going anywhere." But what are we doing but letting that person know they have no place in our lives and we don't care how they feel?
It's also a lot like being the only kid in the class that isn't invited to the popular kid's birthday party, and yet the invitations are handed out during class, so everyone knows you are not worthy. (I have actually had this exact thing happen in a work setting. Worse yet, the "hostess" made a point of telling me, at lunch, in front of everyone else, that I wasn't invited because they would be having a pool party at her house and everyone knew I got sunburned very easily. You know. We wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable while we're all having a good time. That would be such a downer.)
There's a new book called "Shine: A Powerful 4-Step Plan for Becoming a Star in Anything You Do." It's written by Larry A. Thompson. I picked it up tonight after reading reviews and seeing a mention on TV. The inside of the jacket outlines the steps: 1) Identify your talent. 2) Summon your rage. 3) Assemble a team and 4) Learn to be lucky.
We all have natural gifts (point 1). And we need supporters, including mentors, professionals, role models, motivators (point 3). And I do believe I've found my rage. Hence the shaking tonight. Now comes figuring out a game plan and assembling the "team".
Before anyone makes the mistake of thinking that I'm talking about my current working situation, I'm not. I'm very happy with the work I do, although I will need to make some changes shortly to make more money. It's a simple fact of economics and not a sign of any discontent on that front. But "work" is not what this is about.
This is something I think we all need to think about as we deal with others. We're all in the same boat as far as needing encouragement and as far as being able to offer it to others.
If you want to destroy someone's personal passion, never offer encouragement. Never acknowledge that the person has skills and talents. Make sure you create a setting which denies them any opportunity to use their talents, if you have the power. At some point, if you're really good at this, the person will either become suicidal or so depressed that they'll stop trying. Or they will love themselves enough to leave the situation and go someplace where they can be who they were created to be.
Sometimes I think it would be wonderful if we were built in such a way that we didn't need support from others. I know it would make my life a lot easier, since support is not something that I have a big supply of. But I think that would also be a very cold, empty life too, if we were simply content to be "units" instead of being part of one body.
So here's my challenge to you. If you know someone who needs to hear a kind word, speak it. If someone needs to have a creative outlet, offer it. If someone needs a mentor, be one. If someone needs support, give it.
We'll all be richer for it as we become the people we were made to be.
Sunday, January 09, 2005
In Memory of Rosemary Kennedy
Rosemary Kennedy, President John F. Kennedy's younger sister, died on Saturday. She was 86.
Rosemary was mentally retarded. Her life was complicated when she was 23 and her family subjected her to an ill-advised pre-frontal lobotomy. At the time, medical experts thought such an operation would protect Rosemary and the family from her radical changes in moods and prevent behavior which could be "an embarrassment" to the Kennedy family. Read that to mean: Rosemary was a bit of a wild child at that point in her life. Her biological urges outraced her reasoning abilities. The Kennedys feared pregnancy and/or disease. She already had become adept at escaping from the convent where she lived at the time.
After the lobotomy, Rosemary was reduced to an infantile state, having lost the ability to think and communicate nearly entirely. Before the surgery (I so want to call it butchery, but it was considered the best option at the time), Rosemary had been able to keep diaries of her social activities -- not something every mentally retarded young adult could manage to do. It is so tempting to wonder "what if" the lobotomy had not been performed... what could Rosemary have accomplished with the skills she had been born with?
There's little point in wondering. What was done, was done. Of course, 60 years later it is easy to look back and say "how in the world!" But the decision was made with the best possible advice that was available at the time, we must remember.
As the President's sister, Rosemary brought a greater focus to the lives of mentally retarded people overall. Because of her, Special Olympics was formed by Eunice and Sargant Shriver, giving mentally handicapped children the ability to show everything they ARE capable of accomplishing.
Because of Rosemary, society and families have advanced in their treatment of the mentally retarded and those with physical disabilities. State homes that acted as warehouses were shut down. Families stopped closeting members who were handicapped. Society started looking at the gifts and abilities of all people and started making room for them to be used and shared.
Why does this concern me so much?
Because I had a brother, Bob, who was both mentally retarded and physically handicapped.
And because, today, on a bulletin board I frequent, some ass decided he would post "The Retard Kennedy Died." His post was filled with horrible, thoughtless, hurtful words, including "retard" and "gimp."
I so thought we were past that. So did a lot of other people who joined me in lambasting the fool.
He was offended that the moderators edited his post to take out the most offensive terms. His reaction, equally offensive, won him a week's banishment from that board. We'll see if he learns anything.
My Bob was a couple of weeks short of his 44th birthday when he died in 1997.
He filled his days listening to the police scanner for the town gossip,
figuring out how things work and playing with his beagle, Tippy.
Bob never worked; his job in life simply was to be who he was, and he did
it well.
We were blessed to have grown up in a small Oklahoma town. Bob had the
chance to be at home there, which wouldn't have been possible in a larger
city. People knew Bob, and were patient with him. They listened to him even
when it was hard to understand him. And that's all that really mattered
to him, because he liked to talk.
Education and training opportunities for Bob and his peers were severely limited in our hometown in the 1960s. Bob attended special school until he was 12; from that age on, he was at home, under our mother's care. There was no need for assisted living, or group homes, or institutionalization in our family. We were lucky that it was possible for Bob and Mom to live together and take care of each other.
He was fascinated with power tools and electricity, and his week was not
complete without several hours of how-to programs on public television.
Employees in all the hardware stores in town knew Bob and his latest
project.
He finished few, but finishing was never the point to any of Bob's
projects. One work he did complete has a permanent home in my kitchen - a
simple wooden stepstool he made so I could reach my cabinets. I use it
every day.
Yes, Bob's main job was simply to be who he was. He needed no day planner;
scheduling wasn't important. There was no rat race, no corporate ladder
that needed climbing. He lived on God's timetable.
His needs were simple - eating a grilled cheese sandwich, visiting with
his bingo buddies, studying the displays at the hardware store, playing
the piano by ear.
But he had goals, and worked toward those until he achieved them. Most of
them were goals he had for helping someone else, including me. I learned
how to rewire lamps by watching him.
His last big goal was to help me buy a dishwasher for the old house I had
recently bought. His last Thanksgiving, he handed me an envelope filled with
money; he had saved his allowance until he could afford my
Christmas present, the dishwasher.
He wanted to make sure I bought it before Christmas. I did, but it remained
in the carton, uninstalled, for almost a year because I didn't made the time in my
over-scheduled life to get it put in. I wish he could have seen it work.
Christmas was the big day of the year for him, because that was when he
could give his presents. It was impossible for him to keep a secret, though,
so we always knew what was under the tree before we unwrapped our packages.
Bob didn't understand much about religion or theology, but he knew the
Christmas story, and he believed in angels and heaven. Before it became
physically difficult for him to attend, he enjoyed going to church,
especially to hear the music and to visit with his friends.
He prayed for people instinctively. I think that's why he loved gospel
music so much; the messages in the music were already rooted in who he was.
He died, peacefully, in his sleep. Mom tried to wake him so he wouldn't
miss hearing Paul Harvey on the radio, but the angels had already visited
in the night and told him the rest of the story.
It seemed right, somehow, that many of his bingo buddies heard the news
on the police scanner.
Here are a couple of photos from our preschool days, before and after he had surgery to correct his crossed eyes. How can anyone make horrible comments about such a loving brother?
Rosemary was mentally retarded. Her life was complicated when she was 23 and her family subjected her to an ill-advised pre-frontal lobotomy. At the time, medical experts thought such an operation would protect Rosemary and the family from her radical changes in moods and prevent behavior which could be "an embarrassment" to the Kennedy family. Read that to mean: Rosemary was a bit of a wild child at that point in her life. Her biological urges outraced her reasoning abilities. The Kennedys feared pregnancy and/or disease. She already had become adept at escaping from the convent where she lived at the time.
After the lobotomy, Rosemary was reduced to an infantile state, having lost the ability to think and communicate nearly entirely. Before the surgery (I so want to call it butchery, but it was considered the best option at the time), Rosemary had been able to keep diaries of her social activities -- not something every mentally retarded young adult could manage to do. It is so tempting to wonder "what if" the lobotomy had not been performed... what could Rosemary have accomplished with the skills she had been born with?
There's little point in wondering. What was done, was done. Of course, 60 years later it is easy to look back and say "how in the world!" But the decision was made with the best possible advice that was available at the time, we must remember.
As the President's sister, Rosemary brought a greater focus to the lives of mentally retarded people overall. Because of her, Special Olympics was formed by Eunice and Sargant Shriver, giving mentally handicapped children the ability to show everything they ARE capable of accomplishing.
Because of Rosemary, society and families have advanced in their treatment of the mentally retarded and those with physical disabilities. State homes that acted as warehouses were shut down. Families stopped closeting members who were handicapped. Society started looking at the gifts and abilities of all people and started making room for them to be used and shared.
Why does this concern me so much?
Because I had a brother, Bob, who was both mentally retarded and physically handicapped.
And because, today, on a bulletin board I frequent, some ass decided he would post "The Retard Kennedy Died." His post was filled with horrible, thoughtless, hurtful words, including "retard" and "gimp."
I so thought we were past that. So did a lot of other people who joined me in lambasting the fool.
He was offended that the moderators edited his post to take out the most offensive terms. His reaction, equally offensive, won him a week's banishment from that board. We'll see if he learns anything.
My Bob was a couple of weeks short of his 44th birthday when he died in 1997.
He filled his days listening to the police scanner for the town gossip,
figuring out how things work and playing with his beagle, Tippy.
Bob never worked; his job in life simply was to be who he was, and he did
it well.
We were blessed to have grown up in a small Oklahoma town. Bob had the
chance to be at home there, which wouldn't have been possible in a larger
city. People knew Bob, and were patient with him. They listened to him even
when it was hard to understand him. And that's all that really mattered
to him, because he liked to talk.
Education and training opportunities for Bob and his peers were severely limited in our hometown in the 1960s. Bob attended special school until he was 12; from that age on, he was at home, under our mother's care. There was no need for assisted living, or group homes, or institutionalization in our family. We were lucky that it was possible for Bob and Mom to live together and take care of each other.
He was fascinated with power tools and electricity, and his week was not
complete without several hours of how-to programs on public television.
Employees in all the hardware stores in town knew Bob and his latest
project.
He finished few, but finishing was never the point to any of Bob's
projects. One work he did complete has a permanent home in my kitchen - a
simple wooden stepstool he made so I could reach my cabinets. I use it
every day.
Yes, Bob's main job was simply to be who he was. He needed no day planner;
scheduling wasn't important. There was no rat race, no corporate ladder
that needed climbing. He lived on God's timetable.
His needs were simple - eating a grilled cheese sandwich, visiting with
his bingo buddies, studying the displays at the hardware store, playing
the piano by ear.
But he had goals, and worked toward those until he achieved them. Most of
them were goals he had for helping someone else, including me. I learned
how to rewire lamps by watching him.
His last big goal was to help me buy a dishwasher for the old house I had
recently bought. His last Thanksgiving, he handed me an envelope filled with
money; he had saved his allowance until he could afford my
Christmas present, the dishwasher.
He wanted to make sure I bought it before Christmas. I did, but it remained
in the carton, uninstalled, for almost a year because I didn't made the time in my
over-scheduled life to get it put in. I wish he could have seen it work.
Christmas was the big day of the year for him, because that was when he
could give his presents. It was impossible for him to keep a secret, though,
so we always knew what was under the tree before we unwrapped our packages.
Bob didn't understand much about religion or theology, but he knew the
Christmas story, and he believed in angels and heaven. Before it became
physically difficult for him to attend, he enjoyed going to church,
especially to hear the music and to visit with his friends.
He prayed for people instinctively. I think that's why he loved gospel
music so much; the messages in the music were already rooted in who he was.
He died, peacefully, in his sleep. Mom tried to wake him so he wouldn't
miss hearing Paul Harvey on the radio, but the angels had already visited
in the night and told him the rest of the story.
It seemed right, somehow, that many of his bingo buddies heard the news
on the police scanner.
Here are a couple of photos from our preschool days, before and after he had surgery to correct his crossed eyes. How can anyone make horrible comments about such a loving brother?
Friday, January 07, 2005
Truth-telling at last
Longevity runs on my mom's side of my family. Most of the ancestors in my grandparents' generation lived into their late 80s or 90s. One great aunt lived to be 101 -- she was born in 1898, lived all the way through the 20th century and died Jan. 1, 2000, a few months after her birthday. I try to fathom the changes that took place in the world during her lifetime and it's so hard to imagine -- going from horse-and-buggy days to the Space Station.
If I maintained a noble heart, I would attribute the longevity to lives filled with kindness and love, with lofty goals for making the world a better place to be. No doubt good old-fashioned farm life, full of hard work, provided the foundation for these long-living relatives.
Yeah... that's what I believed. And then the alarm clock rang and I woke up.
Now I am pretty sure they were all trying to outlive each other so they could control who knew the truth about their lives. They were each too mean to die and let their lives be exposed for what they were.
After visiting with my cousins last week, I learned about infidelities; unknown children born of illicit affairs; lifestyles born of revenge; molestation; abuses; and hatred.
While going through my aunt's possessions, my cousins found a letter from one of the great aunts which confirmed things we all thought, and added more information that filled in a few missing puzzle pieces.
It's amazing what you can learn in a few moments of intense, truth-telling talking with your relatives. Since our time together was limited, we each took advantage of what stolen minutes we could find to share missing information with each other. Those bits of knowledge helped form a more complete picture of this mess that is my heritage.
Now I can almost understand the thread of alcoholism that has run through so many generations, because now I see it's not limited to one cousin. Now I think I may be the "odd" one in the family because I'm not chemically dependent. (Yeah. Not to say I don't abuse food the way they abuse vodka and other enhancements.) And maybe it's because I came late to the party and missed all the gory details of their lives, being so wrapped up in my own. Hey, it's hard to know about a cheating uncle when you're getting whupped up on daily.
Anyway, here's the truth as I know it, summarized:
Life can stink. Bad things happen in all families. No one's life is perfect, no matter what it looks like to outsiders. And eventually, truth will win out, even if it is ugly as sin. And ugly never can be hidden deep enough to pretend it's not there, just waiting for the chance to ooze to the surface.
But we also have a choice. We can pick ourselves up out of the ooze and move on to better things. With honesty and love, we can support one another and build each other up. And we can stop the cycle.
Truth is a beautiful thing.
If I maintained a noble heart, I would attribute the longevity to lives filled with kindness and love, with lofty goals for making the world a better place to be. No doubt good old-fashioned farm life, full of hard work, provided the foundation for these long-living relatives.
Yeah... that's what I believed. And then the alarm clock rang and I woke up.
Now I am pretty sure they were all trying to outlive each other so they could control who knew the truth about their lives. They were each too mean to die and let their lives be exposed for what they were.
After visiting with my cousins last week, I learned about infidelities; unknown children born of illicit affairs; lifestyles born of revenge; molestation; abuses; and hatred.
While going through my aunt's possessions, my cousins found a letter from one of the great aunts which confirmed things we all thought, and added more information that filled in a few missing puzzle pieces.
It's amazing what you can learn in a few moments of intense, truth-telling talking with your relatives. Since our time together was limited, we each took advantage of what stolen minutes we could find to share missing information with each other. Those bits of knowledge helped form a more complete picture of this mess that is my heritage.
Now I can almost understand the thread of alcoholism that has run through so many generations, because now I see it's not limited to one cousin. Now I think I may be the "odd" one in the family because I'm not chemically dependent. (Yeah. Not to say I don't abuse food the way they abuse vodka and other enhancements.) And maybe it's because I came late to the party and missed all the gory details of their lives, being so wrapped up in my own. Hey, it's hard to know about a cheating uncle when you're getting whupped up on daily.
Anyway, here's the truth as I know it, summarized:
Life can stink. Bad things happen in all families. No one's life is perfect, no matter what it looks like to outsiders. And eventually, truth will win out, even if it is ugly as sin. And ugly never can be hidden deep enough to pretend it's not there, just waiting for the chance to ooze to the surface.
But we also have a choice. We can pick ourselves up out of the ooze and move on to better things. With honesty and love, we can support one another and build each other up. And we can stop the cycle.
Truth is a beautiful thing.
Monday, January 03, 2005
No resolutions but this...
I was just chatting with a friend about how we seem to find ourselves surrounded by dysfunction. It's so true! My blog is full of it!!
My thought, relative to New Year's resolutions, isn't to eliminate that dysfunction. Heck, not even Dr. Phil would take this project on, I promise you. No, I think I need to take a different tack and just set some hard limits on how I allow the crazy folk to affect me.
After the past week, spent mostly with relatives, I have enough material at hand to write a best-seller. Horrible truths were revealed about close ancestors and their misdeeds. They range from Jackie Collins type stuff to Jerry Springer material. A lot of pain and sadness was revealed to me for the first time. And the truth has explained so much that has always been a puzzle for me.
The good news is that none of what was revealed has a direct impact on my life, although it certainly has stirred my sympathies. Now I understand why some relatives have acted in certain ways (though I don't think I would have reacted in the same way.)
I've had to step back and look at everyone as characters in a book, and I've seen them write my plot lines.
So there it is, the good news. All this dysfunction has turned out to be an inspiration for me. Maybe some good will come from all these generations of problems. At least maybe Dr. Phil will get some new material so others will know they are not alone in dealing with these problems! At most, it'll make me filthy rich.
My thought, relative to New Year's resolutions, isn't to eliminate that dysfunction. Heck, not even Dr. Phil would take this project on, I promise you. No, I think I need to take a different tack and just set some hard limits on how I allow the crazy folk to affect me.
After the past week, spent mostly with relatives, I have enough material at hand to write a best-seller. Horrible truths were revealed about close ancestors and their misdeeds. They range from Jackie Collins type stuff to Jerry Springer material. A lot of pain and sadness was revealed to me for the first time. And the truth has explained so much that has always been a puzzle for me.
The good news is that none of what was revealed has a direct impact on my life, although it certainly has stirred my sympathies. Now I understand why some relatives have acted in certain ways (though I don't think I would have reacted in the same way.)
I've had to step back and look at everyone as characters in a book, and I've seen them write my plot lines.
So there it is, the good news. All this dysfunction has turned out to be an inspiration for me. Maybe some good will come from all these generations of problems. At least maybe Dr. Phil will get some new material so others will know they are not alone in dealing with these problems! At most, it'll make me filthy rich.
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