Several of you remarked on the post regarding Diana's solution to her filthy roommate that it seemed clear she had taken after me with regard to her communication style. Yesterday my mother came up to visit me for the afternoon. As she was leaving home she texted me to say she was bringing a friend. The message amused me because it reminded me so much of her mother, my nana.
When my kids were small Nana would often show up at my house unannounced and with a carload of her friends. some folks would find this kind of intruding but I always welcomed it. Mind you, it was no trip around the corner for my grandmother. We lived a good hour and half apart. Invariably, she arrive on a day when the kids were fussy and impossible to settle and I was feeling frazzled. Again, lots of folks might think, "Oh great, now there are guests to entertain." On the contrary. Nana would breeze into the house with her friends, play on the floor with my kids, and chit chat with her friends and me before they all piled back in her car to continue their journey. When they left the air seemed clearer, this kids were calmer, and I felt like I'd had a break while I enjoyed some adult conversation. It was the perfect clarifying interruption.
I was almost never able to convince Nana to stick around long enough to have a little lunch or dinner. The visits were always fairly brief. I enjoyed seeing her friends as much as I enjoyed seeing her because they all had as much personality as Nana did, which meant they were all a bunch of firecrackers. In fact, when Nana died I not only mourned her but I mourned having her carloads of friends descend on my house unexpectedly.
Fast forward (or reverse or side wind, whatever) back to yesterday. Mom's message made me laugh because I thought it was a sign she was becoming her mother that she'd be bringing a friend. I told her so when she arrived. When I invited them for dinner and they both declined saying they had to be on their way I said it was definite, the transformation was nearly complete. She laughed, not unlike my grandmother used to, which of course, amused me even more.
Then the realization struck, if Mom had become Nana, and Diana was becoming me...that must mean I am becoming my mother! I was afraid it meant I might have to start wearing purple since that's her favorite color and my least favorite. I am assured it just means I need to be able to sew and it just means my fashion sense needs to be somewhat bothersome to others....I think my fascination with tie dye covers that.
All in all, there are far worse fates than becoming my mother. I can smile at that change since I think my mom is pretty admirable in a lot of ways. It's when I channel my dad that I really worry!
Monday, November 30, 2009
Friday, November 27, 2009
Da Count-Listening
For today's count I initially thought I'd list 55 things from this past year for which I am thankful. It's been a very busy week so I never got as far as generating that list in a coherent, readable fashion. Also, I've done Da Count (For new readers that's counting the blessings I have rather than bemoaning the things I lack. There's a button with that slogan in the sidebar.) almost every week this year so I'm already close to 55 things for the year anyway.
This week Mr. Lime, Calypso, and Isaac went to New Orleans. Originally Diana was going to accompany them. This was a unilateral decision on my husband's part and he seemed rather annoyed when I told him due to my work schedule I would not be able to join everyone else. I'm the new girl in the office. I cover the other people who want to take off this week. That's not a complaint so much as a statement of fact. When that fact sunk in Diana opted to stay in Pennsylvania with me. I know it was a sacrifice on her part but it is one I was blessed to receive. I am thankful she was willing to listen to things that were both spoken and unspoken and make a thoughtful decision.
Since I am covering vacationing coworkers I've been out a bit more than usual but the time Diana and I have had together have been really sweet. We've had some really rich conversations as she considers her future. We've also had some very sweet times to reminisce over her childhood. Yesterday at my mother's, where the extended family gathered, she and I enjoyed catching up with aunts, uncles, and cousins we only get to see a few times a year. We enjoyed listening and being listened to.
In the past year, certain extended family members have been making a push to do more work on the genealogy, preserve some of our stories, label some antique photo albums. We all spent time listening to the older members of the family fill in some details for those of us who are younger. More and more of the family is being drawn into Aunt B's circle to "listen" to the stories she has written down. Younger family members are beginning to see the importance of keeping a record of some of these things. They are realizing that as a whole generation of family members moves into their 80s time is more of the essence. I'm counting all the listening that has gone on this week.
I want to invite you to do the same in your own families or in the sphere of friends who are like family. Today the StoryCorps Project is encouraging a National Day of Listening. Sit down with someone you know, interview them on a tape recorder, a digital recorder, anything. Listen to that person's story. Record it. Recognize it's worth. That person will feel valued because you listened. You will be enriched because you did.
This week Mr. Lime, Calypso, and Isaac went to New Orleans. Originally Diana was going to accompany them. This was a unilateral decision on my husband's part and he seemed rather annoyed when I told him due to my work schedule I would not be able to join everyone else. I'm the new girl in the office. I cover the other people who want to take off this week. That's not a complaint so much as a statement of fact. When that fact sunk in Diana opted to stay in Pennsylvania with me. I know it was a sacrifice on her part but it is one I was blessed to receive. I am thankful she was willing to listen to things that were both spoken and unspoken and make a thoughtful decision.
Since I am covering vacationing coworkers I've been out a bit more than usual but the time Diana and I have had together have been really sweet. We've had some really rich conversations as she considers her future. We've also had some very sweet times to reminisce over her childhood. Yesterday at my mother's, where the extended family gathered, she and I enjoyed catching up with aunts, uncles, and cousins we only get to see a few times a year. We enjoyed listening and being listened to.
In the past year, certain extended family members have been making a push to do more work on the genealogy, preserve some of our stories, label some antique photo albums. We all spent time listening to the older members of the family fill in some details for those of us who are younger. More and more of the family is being drawn into Aunt B's circle to "listen" to the stories she has written down. Younger family members are beginning to see the importance of keeping a record of some of these things. They are realizing that as a whole generation of family members moves into their 80s time is more of the essence. I'm counting all the listening that has gone on this week.
I want to invite you to do the same in your own families or in the sphere of friends who are like family. Today the StoryCorps Project is encouraging a National Day of Listening. Sit down with someone you know, interview them on a tape recorder, a digital recorder, anything. Listen to that person's story. Record it. Recognize it's worth. That person will feel valued because you listened. You will be enriched because you did.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Happy Thanksgiving
May we cultivate the grateful hearts all year long.Happy Thanksgiving to each of you.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
No Lack of Subtlety
Diana is home for Thanksgiving break. She informed us her exceedingly slovenly roommate finally washed her sheets for the first time. When Calypso asked what brought that about Diana replied, " I bought a bottle of Febreze and sat it on her bed. I told her I could either make her sheets wet with Febreze or she could make them wet in the washing machine. She opted for the washing machine."
Monday, November 23, 2009
Brothers
Great Uncle J. I never met him. I think the last time my grandmother saw him was long before she was even a mother herself. According to her he'd driven the family from New Jersey to Pennsylvania with his borderline lawbreaking antics. She always held a grudge that her father had to leave a good job with the railroad to come to Pennsylvania. She didn't speak to him, didn't know where he was. But faded photos in the top drawer of the attic dresser reveal they had some bit of contact after Jerry had gone to California. Did the mysterious Vera in a few of them send them on to my grandmother?
Her father. As far as I know, if he had brothers they never spoke to him after he married a Protestant. His entire Catholic family disowned him. In my china cabinet here are just two pieces of cut glass which crossed the Atlantic with his immigrant family and somehow entered his possession, later passing to my grandmother after her brother J. headed west and faded into the photo album.
Uncle T. My father's older brother. He is a Philadelphia lawyer. If you're familiar with the expression, yes...by most accounts, he lives up to it. He's still living but I haven't laid eyes on him since we buried my grandparents four months apart 18 years ago. Before that he and my father didn't speak for a decade over a bottle of wine. I have only a handful of shadowy memories of him from my childhood. The only remnants from him are the frayed edges of a rent family.
My brother. We were both still at home when he stopped speaking to me. His silence lasted 7 years. One day in the midst of the silence and out of desperation I asked, for the sake of Calypso, to borrow his car to get her to the doctor when she had a high fever and a choking cough. He handed me the keys. I thanked him deeply. When I later returned them he inquired about her. Months later we sat together until the wee hours of the morning at his request and were reconciled.
He is a man of few spoken words. He is a very solitary and reserved person. My children have grown up knowing him. They love him and know he loves them. When they were small they loved to play with him. As they've grown he has enjoyed being able to converse intelligently with them. My children and my brother seek each other out at family functions.
Recently, Calypso said she asked him why he didn't speak to me for so long. She was told what his rationale was as it related to a particular incident at the time. He added that he and I, as well as the other parties involved, all could have handled things far better than we each did respectively. He's right.
Regardless, of our personal history I am very thankful my brother and I have not repeated, for the duration of a lifetime, the family history of leaving behind only dead artifacts with no glad stories to warm the cold surfaces of paper and glass. I smile knowing my children look forward to seeing my brother; that he makes time to be a part of their lives even in his own way. I am thankful we've done better. I pray my own children never feel the iciness of of angry separation from each other. May that sort of legacy be what fades like crackled photos and shatters like glass.
Her father. As far as I know, if he had brothers they never spoke to him after he married a Protestant. His entire Catholic family disowned him. In my china cabinet here are just two pieces of cut glass which crossed the Atlantic with his immigrant family and somehow entered his possession, later passing to my grandmother after her brother J. headed west and faded into the photo album.
Uncle T. My father's older brother. He is a Philadelphia lawyer. If you're familiar with the expression, yes...by most accounts, he lives up to it. He's still living but I haven't laid eyes on him since we buried my grandparents four months apart 18 years ago. Before that he and my father didn't speak for a decade over a bottle of wine. I have only a handful of shadowy memories of him from my childhood. The only remnants from him are the frayed edges of a rent family.
My brother. We were both still at home when he stopped speaking to me. His silence lasted 7 years. One day in the midst of the silence and out of desperation I asked, for the sake of Calypso, to borrow his car to get her to the doctor when she had a high fever and a choking cough. He handed me the keys. I thanked him deeply. When I later returned them he inquired about her. Months later we sat together until the wee hours of the morning at his request and were reconciled.
He is a man of few spoken words. He is a very solitary and reserved person. My children have grown up knowing him. They love him and know he loves them. When they were small they loved to play with him. As they've grown he has enjoyed being able to converse intelligently with them. My children and my brother seek each other out at family functions.
Recently, Calypso said she asked him why he didn't speak to me for so long. She was told what his rationale was as it related to a particular incident at the time. He added that he and I, as well as the other parties involved, all could have handled things far better than we each did respectively. He's right.
Regardless, of our personal history I am very thankful my brother and I have not repeated, for the duration of a lifetime, the family history of leaving behind only dead artifacts with no glad stories to warm the cold surfaces of paper and glass. I smile knowing my children look forward to seeing my brother; that he makes time to be a part of their lives even in his own way. I am thankful we've done better. I pray my own children never feel the iciness of of angry separation from each other. May that sort of legacy be what fades like crackled photos and shatters like glass.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Friday 55-Unsettled
I toss under the covers,
staring at the clock.
An hour passes,
then two,
plaguing thoughts
play on endless loop.
I take my pillow,
find the couch,
stare through the window
at the skeletal trees.
They sway in the wind
while rain pelts the roof.
Sleeps comes.
I wake tangled in the afghan
clutching my pillow.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Slice of Lime & Da Count-Mad Alphabetizing Skillz
One of the things about my job that has driven me absolutely out of my mind since the first day there is the filing system. The other 2 girls I work with and the one who trained me to replace her also hated it. The 2 chiropractors seemed blissfully unaware of the shambles it was in mainly because they hand us stuff, tell us to file it, and it gets done...sort of. Alternately, they ask us for something and we find it...usually.
In truth, the things that are supposed to be filed get stacked up in a big box and frequently ignored because just as so many of you have electronic devices and appliances you fear, the other girls feared the filing cabinets because they were a vast black hole into which things were sucked never to appear again. The cabinets functioned as something a blind, illiterate thalidomide victim might have designed and maintained. They were color coded according to the method of payment each patient uses (5 different colors). Each color section was organized by something other than the English alphabet. Medicare patients maybe went according to Cyrillic. Let's order health insurance patients according to zodiac sign. Cash patients we'll file backwards. You get the idea. Ok, I am employing hyperbole, but let's have an actual example.
John Q. Patient first came as a new patient several years ago he was a car accident victim. When his car insurance coverage maxed out he switched to his health insurance coverage which only allows 12 visits per year so now he is a cash patient, but a couple months ago he reached Medicare age. That means when he comes in for a progress check and I have to pull his old records there are 4 different sets of filing drawers I need to look through because no one bothered to update the file in the cabinet or maybe they did after the first change but not the second or third ones. Who knows? It depends on how busy the office was those day years ago when the various changes in coverage occurred. It also depends on who may have been employed in our office at the various stages in John's life. Some of them kept order, some of them didn't. It's all a crap shoot. Oh, and I forgot to tell you. John Q. Patient lives with Jane M. Backache, who has kept her maiden name, and they have a mixture of yours, mine, and our kids with 3 different last names but we know they live together so in the filing cabinet we'll just stick them all together. I am not making this up.
You are all reasonably intelligent readers. Are you seeing the nightmare? Now throw one librarian wannabe (yours truly) into this office and tell her to catch up on the backlog of filing but that she has to keep the current system. Just for the sake of a little irony, introduce into the cast of characters, as a new patient, the dean of the library who strung her along for 4 months telling her she was in the running and she made it to the final 2 candidates but then when the final decision was made for the other person he couldn't be bothered to notify her and neither could HR. Hand to God, it happened. During my interview, the dean complained about the antiquated, behemoth card catalog in the children's department of the library. When he walked into the office I wanted to grab him by the lapels and drag him to the filing cabinets and show him what real disorder looked like as I shouted, "You at least have DEWEY and the ALPHABET! You have a team of cataloguers! Your card catalog is in ORDER! You condemned me to THIS!"
Ok, so that would have been bad. I refrained. I did tell the boss this system needs overhauling and I'm the girl to do it. She disagreed and said it just needed to be cleaned up. I countered that it could be cleaned up and in a couple months it will be a shambles again. She conceded. I said I'd come in when the office was closed to fix it because this isn't something that can be done during office hours and it should be done in one shot. I don't think she believed me.
On Tuesday I spent 5 hours bringing order from chaos. The beast has been mostly tamed (some purging needs to occur but I don't yet know what is safe to purge and what isn't). John Q. Patient and Mary Backache and their mixed brood may live in united bliss under one roof, but in this filing system the letters C-O come between them in one fully integrated colorblind filing world (what a model for world peace, eh?). It gives me great joy. One of the other girls in the office gleefully declared she had done her own filing in about 2 minutes that day. I found homes for most of the orphaned items that have been in the filing box at the front desk for at least 2 months. (The rest will require a descent into basement storage, aka, the 5th circle of filing hell.)
So this week, here's a picture of me with the tamed beast. No more need for chairs held at arm's length or whips or guns when approaching. (Sorry for the poor quality. All I had was my camera phone and the lighting wasn't good.) Also, Da Count is a day early and it is for the wonders of alphabetization by surname. What a sleekly, efficient joy that is.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Fragrances, Rock Bands, and Phones...Oh My!
More tales from the carpool today, which for me is a good thing because I was kind of scraping for a post idea. It was a good thing I had to drive the carpool this morning. Good grief, clearly, the early mornings are affecting my brain if I think schlepping 6 teenagers at 6 am in a borderline functional minivan (Poor Gracie really needs some work done on her.) is a good thing. I hope my judgment hasn't been so adversely affected that you read this whole post and click onto the next one shaking your head in disbelief at the drivel tossed out here. If you stick around to the end we can have some fun. Trust me.
One of the migraine triggers in my life is artificial fragrance. It's one of the reasons I don't wear perfume. Most women's perfume drive me right up the wall. The flowery scents are the worst. First my nose starts to itch, then the headache hits. My girls love perfume, but they have been well trained to check with me before the purchase any to see if it's one I can tolerate being around. I can tolerate fruity or spicy smells a little better so that's the compromise we've come to. It becomes a little more problematic when one of their friends gives them a gift without knowing this. Diana and Calypso have a few scents they know I absolutely cannot tolerate. May I just say Tommy Girl has to be one of the worst I've ever encountered, closely followed by any flowery thing from Bath & Body Works. I've been known to make them change clothes and wash if I catch a whiff of Tommy Girl. I've also ridden with the windows down in the car...in January...because they used it in the car. Seriously, I'm unwilling to endure a migraine for the sake of perfume. This morning in the carpool one girl passed around some Bath & Body Works stuff which is a known offender. They were a little shocked when the car heat went off and the cool air came on. Crisis averted.
The conversation turned to music as it often does. My car radio no longer plays nicely with the iPod adapter I have so we've been limited to radio stations with a lot of morning show nonsense but one finally played this song. I made the comment that I couldn't decide if I liked the song or if it got on my last nerve. The girls went round and round about which songs they have the same reaction to. I'm not talking about the music you completely loathe but the stuff that one day you could bop along to and the next day want to turn it off. Conversation progressed to musical groups and artists who produce one melody and just change up the lyrics for every "new" song. It was generally agreed that Nickelback falls squarely in this category.
The other main topic this morning was Eva's new Droid phone, which she just acquired last night. She was still exploring all its groovy features. She asked Calypso to text her so we could all hear the weird robot notification voice. I dunno, sounds like a robotic belch to me. Then she cycled through a bunch of ring tones. There seemed to be a whole sub-menu devoted to world music which caused Pris to exclaim, "It's like you can travel all over the world just on ring tones!" Eva continued to demonstrate the various features she had discovered and find more new ones. Several of them seem to be automatic features that require the user to do nothing before they kick in. Eva was delighted but eventually made the observation, "This thing is like almost alive! I think I'd better be nice to it or it may kill me in my sleep!"
Ok, so now that I've bored you nearly to tears with the content of my early morning carpool discussions I'll get to the whole point of this post. It's audience participation time so please answer the questions in your comment.
1. Which smells aside from the obvious rotting roadkill,/skunk spray/sewer gas, which are pretty universally accepted as putrid, do you find unpleasant and why?
2. In your mind, which songs straddle the line between "turn up the radio/shut that crap off?"
3. Which electronic device, appliance, or other mechanical device in your life do you need to be nice to so it doesn't kill you in your sleep?
One of the migraine triggers in my life is artificial fragrance. It's one of the reasons I don't wear perfume. Most women's perfume drive me right up the wall. The flowery scents are the worst. First my nose starts to itch, then the headache hits. My girls love perfume, but they have been well trained to check with me before the purchase any to see if it's one I can tolerate being around. I can tolerate fruity or spicy smells a little better so that's the compromise we've come to. It becomes a little more problematic when one of their friends gives them a gift without knowing this. Diana and Calypso have a few scents they know I absolutely cannot tolerate. May I just say Tommy Girl has to be one of the worst I've ever encountered, closely followed by any flowery thing from Bath & Body Works. I've been known to make them change clothes and wash if I catch a whiff of Tommy Girl. I've also ridden with the windows down in the car...in January...because they used it in the car. Seriously, I'm unwilling to endure a migraine for the sake of perfume. This morning in the carpool one girl passed around some Bath & Body Works stuff which is a known offender. They were a little shocked when the car heat went off and the cool air came on. Crisis averted.
The conversation turned to music as it often does. My car radio no longer plays nicely with the iPod adapter I have so we've been limited to radio stations with a lot of morning show nonsense but one finally played this song. I made the comment that I couldn't decide if I liked the song or if it got on my last nerve. The girls went round and round about which songs they have the same reaction to. I'm not talking about the music you completely loathe but the stuff that one day you could bop along to and the next day want to turn it off. Conversation progressed to musical groups and artists who produce one melody and just change up the lyrics for every "new" song. It was generally agreed that Nickelback falls squarely in this category.
The other main topic this morning was Eva's new Droid phone, which she just acquired last night. She was still exploring all its groovy features. She asked Calypso to text her so we could all hear the weird robot notification voice. I dunno, sounds like a robotic belch to me. Then she cycled through a bunch of ring tones. There seemed to be a whole sub-menu devoted to world music which caused Pris to exclaim, "It's like you can travel all over the world just on ring tones!" Eva continued to demonstrate the various features she had discovered and find more new ones. Several of them seem to be automatic features that require the user to do nothing before they kick in. Eva was delighted but eventually made the observation, "This thing is like almost alive! I think I'd better be nice to it or it may kill me in my sleep!"
Ok, so now that I've bored you nearly to tears with the content of my early morning carpool discussions I'll get to the whole point of this post. It's audience participation time so please answer the questions in your comment.
1. Which smells aside from the obvious rotting roadkill,/skunk spray/sewer gas, which are pretty universally accepted as putrid, do you find unpleasant and why?
2. In your mind, which songs straddle the line between "turn up the radio/shut that crap off?"
3. Which electronic device, appliance, or other mechanical device in your life do you need to be nice to so it doesn't kill you in your sleep?
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Obervations and Advice from the Waiting Room
I have done a bit of complaining about certain things at work but there are aspects of the job I really love. Mostly, that would boil down to the patients. First of all, I am a devoted people watcher and a waiting room is a great place for such activity. (If you have a little time or need a real belly laugh you can check out this post from when I was a patient. Of course, sometimes the health car e providers themsleves are the source of humor, intentional or otherwise, and if you have a lot more time here's a link to a series of posts about Diana's encounters with her orthodontist.) Secondly, interacting with some of the patients is a real hoot sometimes. Allow me to share.
OBSERVATIONS
OBSERVATIONS
- Certain parents are going to have one hell of a rough time in the teen years if they already let toddlers run the show.
- It's completely endearing to see a sweet, quiet, unassuming 82 year old woman shake it like a Poloroid picture when Outkast plays on the office iPod.
- Free food brings long lost patients out of the woodwork.
- It's a thing of beauty to see couples who have spent a lifetime together being tender with each other.
- Some folks receive healing from a little meaningful conversation as much as from chiropractic care.
- The older folks with a good sense of humor and who are inclined to smile the most are the ones who have the handsomest wrinkles.
- If the doctors could offer attitude adjustments along with spinal adjustments, many parents would sign up their kids for that service.
- Some people are just dumber than a box of rocks.
- Other people who have so many odds stacked against them, so few resources from which to draw, and who keep persevering are very admirable.
- I must be prepared to quickly disarm patients who pick up this implement and hold it to their temples. See also: dumber than a box of rocks.
- Viewing x-rays and getting to see all the weird places people have piercings is pretty hilarious. Somehow all those piercings are far less "sexy" though highly entertaining on a skeleton.
ADVICE
- From the couple who just celebrated their 61st anniversary when asked what was their secret. The husband replied, "She's a great cook." The wife added, "Kissing doesn't keep. Cooking does."
- Another patient lets me know where all the best grocery deals are every week. I like a good bargain but I suppose given the prior advice I could also consider it a form of marriage therapy.
- I should not wear a particular pair of pants because it makes me look "wide." A second opinion declares I should wear them because I got "good booty."
- Finally, if I have a need I shouldn't be shy about expressing it like one patient does with this button on her purse. And yes, I had permission to take a picture of it.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Because It's Been a While...
...Since I tormented you all with a meme.
1. Have you ever witnessed/been in a wet t-shirt contest?
Not intentionally
2. Hot dogs or hamburgers?
Veggie Burger
3. What's your favorite kind of chips?
Blue
4. Have you ever twisted up a swing and then untwisted it and spun around?
What kid hasn't done this?
5. What was your favorite contraption at a playground when you were a kid?
Swings. I always wanted to see if I could swing high enough to get it to go all the way around. I'll pretend all of you are shocked by that.
6. What's a helix lucorum?
Do you speak to your mother with that mouth?
7. What's your favorite aquatic creature?
Hugh Jackman walking out of the surf.
8. Who's the best teacher in your school?
I don't own or accept personal responsibility for any schools
9. Would you ever eat hufu?(FYI...Hufu is a tofu-based product that is meant to resemble, as realistically as possible, the taste and texture of human flesh.)
The more appropriate question is who on earth invented hufu and why? Additionally, who would even ask this question?
10. How far away do you live from Ontario, Canada?
As the crow flies or driving distance? And why are crows the measurement standard in terms of bird flight anyway? Why not as the duck waddles?
11. Have you ever been to Alaska?
Nope. I can't even see it from my house.
12. Ever drive your car on a sidewalk?
I don't drive drunk.
13. Would you rather bake brownies or cookies?
What sadist is making me choose between two delights. If I'm the one baking and cleaning up after myself I should get to bake both if I want.
14. Do you like to make s'mores at a campfire?
Have you forgotten smorgasms already?
15. What's your favorite flavor coffee?
None.
16. Do you own a knife?
No, I just puree my steaks before eating them. I spread PB and J with my fingers. For Thanksgiving we will all just rip into the turkey with our bare hands.
17. Are you pro or against the death penalty?
I am pro-grammar and I think the author of this question needs to be remediated or shot at dawn in a hail of punctuation.
18. How many scars do you have on your body, that are non-surgical?
Big one on my right shin from tripping over a baby gate while carrying an overly full laundry basket. Not all of my scars have groovy zipline stories to go with them.
19. What is one turn-off of someone you are interested in?
I'm sorry, I just can't get past the horror that is the syntax of this question.
20. What is one turn-ON of someone you are interested in?
For the love of Strunk and White, make it stop!!!!
21. Do you own a fish?
There is some cod in my freezer. Does that count?
22. Do you think there's other life in the universe?
There's plenty right here to keep me entertained and interested for a good while.
23. Are you afraid of cemeteries?
Nope. I actually enjoy them and find them peaceful.
24. Ever been in a bar fight?
Well, since you took all my knives up in #16, I had to start using bars as weapons.
25. Do you wear hats/beanies?
When it's cold.
26. Do you sleep with your bedroom door open or closed?
I don't sleep with the door. It's not very comfortable sharing the bed with it.
27. What are you mostly addicted to?
Mostly? So that means partly not addicted to? Doesn't that mostly negate the concept?
28. Are you supposed to be doing something else instead of this survey?
Pfft.
30. Have you ever eaten anything that was inside a garbage can?
Dumpster diving is an art.
31. How many times do you say fuck a day?
I don't think I've ever said "fuck a day."
32. How bored are you, exactly?
This is quantifiable? Can I use English measurements or must I use metrics? Do I measure it in volume, length, or weight?
1. Have you ever witnessed/been in a wet t-shirt contest?
Not intentionally
2. Hot dogs or hamburgers?
Veggie Burger
3. What's your favorite kind of chips?
Blue
4. Have you ever twisted up a swing and then untwisted it and spun around?
What kid hasn't done this?
5. What was your favorite contraption at a playground when you were a kid?
Swings. I always wanted to see if I could swing high enough to get it to go all the way around. I'll pretend all of you are shocked by that.
6. What's a helix lucorum?
Do you speak to your mother with that mouth?
7. What's your favorite aquatic creature?
Hugh Jackman walking out of the surf.
8. Who's the best teacher in your school?
I don't own or accept personal responsibility for any schools
9. Would you ever eat hufu?(FYI...Hufu is a tofu-based product that is meant to resemble, as realistically as possible, the taste and texture of human flesh.)
The more appropriate question is who on earth invented hufu and why? Additionally, who would even ask this question?
10. How far away do you live from Ontario, Canada?
As the crow flies or driving distance? And why are crows the measurement standard in terms of bird flight anyway? Why not as the duck waddles?
11. Have you ever been to Alaska?
Nope. I can't even see it from my house.
12. Ever drive your car on a sidewalk?
I don't drive drunk.
13. Would you rather bake brownies or cookies?
What sadist is making me choose between two delights. If I'm the one baking and cleaning up after myself I should get to bake both if I want.
14. Do you like to make s'mores at a campfire?
Have you forgotten smorgasms already?
15. What's your favorite flavor coffee?
None.
16. Do you own a knife?
No, I just puree my steaks before eating them. I spread PB and J with my fingers. For Thanksgiving we will all just rip into the turkey with our bare hands.
17. Are you pro or against the death penalty?
I am pro-grammar and I think the author of this question needs to be remediated or shot at dawn in a hail of punctuation.
18. How many scars do you have on your body, that are non-surgical?
Big one on my right shin from tripping over a baby gate while carrying an overly full laundry basket. Not all of my scars have groovy zipline stories to go with them.
19. What is one turn-off of someone you are interested in?
I'm sorry, I just can't get past the horror that is the syntax of this question.
20. What is one turn-ON of someone you are interested in?
For the love of Strunk and White, make it stop!!!!
21. Do you own a fish?
There is some cod in my freezer. Does that count?
22. Do you think there's other life in the universe?
There's plenty right here to keep me entertained and interested for a good while.
23. Are you afraid of cemeteries?
Nope. I actually enjoy them and find them peaceful.
24. Ever been in a bar fight?
Well, since you took all my knives up in #16, I had to start using bars as weapons.
25. Do you wear hats/beanies?
When it's cold.
26. Do you sleep with your bedroom door open or closed?
I don't sleep with the door. It's not very comfortable sharing the bed with it.
27. What are you mostly addicted to?
Mostly? So that means partly not addicted to? Doesn't that mostly negate the concept?
28. Are you supposed to be doing something else instead of this survey?
Pfft.
29. Where's the last country you think you'd ever go on vacation to?
Well, if I am travelling alphabetically, I'd say Zimbabwe. Of course Robert Mugabe's policies doesn't make it all that attractive a destination anyway.
30. Have you ever eaten anything that was inside a garbage can?
Dumpster diving is an art.
31. How many times do you say fuck a day?
I don't think I've ever said "fuck a day."
32. How bored are you, exactly?
This is quantifiable? Can I use English measurements or must I use metrics? Do I measure it in volume, length, or weight?
Friday, November 13, 2009
Da Count-A Little Birdie Told Me
Monday is my Aunt B's 87th birthday. Aunt B never had any of her own children but she is the favorite aunt in the family. She may be 87 but she is still going strong. For her 80th birthday the family took up a collection to send her parasailing because that's what she wanted to do more than anything else. She loved it.
My favorite memories of Aunt B are of the times "in the mountains" when I'd go up with my grandparents (the place I recently wrote about). She still has the property adjoining what used to be theirs. She still drives up there to go visit her favorite place and all her animal friends.
A couple years ago when my uncle died Aunt B started writing little stories as a way of working through her grief. I believe it started when she sent a thank you note to someone who had travelled a great distance to come to the funeral. In it she reminisced about times in the mountains they all had shared. The idea was born and she began recording other simple stories, mostly about the animals she loves so much. She showed her two sisters who were less than encouraging in their response. In fact, they were downright discouraging. Aunt B continued writing but became highly selective about who got to read her stories. Last Thanksgiving I was welcomed into that circle. I was delighted by that. Since that time she has sent me several stories she has first shared with other folks. For my birthday this year she sent me one she said she wrote just for me. That was a very precious gift. A few days ago I found another one in my mailbox, which was also written just for me but she said I may share it.
Most of her stories are very simply written. Some folks like the other aunts could be very critical of the style because it lacks polish or sophistication. But the stories express Aunt B's heart, which I find quite lovely. The latest one was also deeply special because it revealed something about my grandfather I never knew. I knew he had lost part of a foot and had the same leg damaged rather extensively during his service in WW2. I knew that his time in the mountains was something that soothed his scarred spirit. I also have memories of how he could sit in the backyard and coax the songbirds to come eat seed from his very hands. Aunt B's story brought all of that into focus in a new way. Allow me to share her story without edit as well as part of her preface in the letter.
Michelle,
Here is a story for you to share. I had seen this many times. It was amazing how that bird would fly to him when he would walk up to see me. He said he called the bird "Skip." He said he named the bird that because he said when he and the bird were walking he felt like skipping but he had a hard time doing that because of his foot.
Love to all,
BeeBee
Hello, I am a chickadee. I have a story to tell you. I lived in the mountains with a friend I miss. His name was Russell. He would come and stay in the mountain home and then we would visit. Russell would sit on his back porch and have a pan full of sunflower seeds and other kinds of food for me to eat. He would hold the food in his hand and I would sit there and eat the food. One day I flew from his hand and I sat on his hat. He got up and was walking around so I stayed on his hat. From then on when I was flying by I would sit on his hat. We would walk all around to see the neighbors and it made Russell feel happy that the neighbors could see us walking. He would walk and I would ride on his hat. That way my wings did not get tired. We were friends for many years. Then one day he went away and never came back. I looked for him for a long time but never found him again.
Ok, a bit melancholy perhaps but a precious gift to me to have a fuller idea of the peace my grandfather found on the trails with Skip. So today I'm counting a grandfather who shared the places of peace, an aunt who has found peace in writing, and the gift of her sharing it with me. For her birthday I plan to share some of the things I've written about my time in the mountains. I hope mine make her smile the way hers have made me smile.
My favorite memories of Aunt B are of the times "in the mountains" when I'd go up with my grandparents (the place I recently wrote about). She still has the property adjoining what used to be theirs. She still drives up there to go visit her favorite place and all her animal friends.
A couple years ago when my uncle died Aunt B started writing little stories as a way of working through her grief. I believe it started when she sent a thank you note to someone who had travelled a great distance to come to the funeral. In it she reminisced about times in the mountains they all had shared. The idea was born and she began recording other simple stories, mostly about the animals she loves so much. She showed her two sisters who were less than encouraging in their response. In fact, they were downright discouraging. Aunt B continued writing but became highly selective about who got to read her stories. Last Thanksgiving I was welcomed into that circle. I was delighted by that. Since that time she has sent me several stories she has first shared with other folks. For my birthday this year she sent me one she said she wrote just for me. That was a very precious gift. A few days ago I found another one in my mailbox, which was also written just for me but she said I may share it.
Most of her stories are very simply written. Some folks like the other aunts could be very critical of the style because it lacks polish or sophistication. But the stories express Aunt B's heart, which I find quite lovely. The latest one was also deeply special because it revealed something about my grandfather I never knew. I knew he had lost part of a foot and had the same leg damaged rather extensively during his service in WW2. I knew that his time in the mountains was something that soothed his scarred spirit. I also have memories of how he could sit in the backyard and coax the songbirds to come eat seed from his very hands. Aunt B's story brought all of that into focus in a new way. Allow me to share her story without edit as well as part of her preface in the letter.
Michelle,
Here is a story for you to share. I had seen this many times. It was amazing how that bird would fly to him when he would walk up to see me. He said he called the bird "Skip." He said he named the bird that because he said when he and the bird were walking he felt like skipping but he had a hard time doing that because of his foot.
Love to all,
BeeBee
Hello, I am a chickadee. I have a story to tell you. I lived in the mountains with a friend I miss. His name was Russell. He would come and stay in the mountain home and then we would visit. Russell would sit on his back porch and have a pan full of sunflower seeds and other kinds of food for me to eat. He would hold the food in his hand and I would sit there and eat the food. One day I flew from his hand and I sat on his hat. He got up and was walking around so I stayed on his hat. From then on when I was flying by I would sit on his hat. We would walk all around to see the neighbors and it made Russell feel happy that the neighbors could see us walking. He would walk and I would ride on his hat. That way my wings did not get tired. We were friends for many years. Then one day he went away and never came back. I looked for him for a long time but never found him again.
Ok, a bit melancholy perhaps but a precious gift to me to have a fuller idea of the peace my grandfather found on the trails with Skip. So today I'm counting a grandfather who shared the places of peace, an aunt who has found peace in writing, and the gift of her sharing it with me. For her birthday I plan to share some of the things I've written about my time in the mountains. I hope mine make her smile the way hers have made me smile.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Slice of Lime-The Face of Enthusiasm
Earlier this week I was called into the boss lady's office for a talking to. The list of grievances, in a nut shell, were my seeming lack of enthusiasm, that I am not a team player, and my lack of work ethic. I was quite honestly more than a tad shocked by the whole thing as were my coworkers who said they thought I was deserving of a bonus. After a moment of thought, when they noticed my look of consternation upon emerging from the dungeon for my flogging, one of them offered, "Ah yes, that's right. It's right on schedule. We both got the same speech as did the girl you replaced. The next speech on the schedule is the 'You're ruining the practice' speech. Just be ready for it." The other girl nodded as she recalled "going through the series."
Oh, trust me, I will be ready.
In the meantime, I am practicing my look of enthusiasm...or constipation...
.
In other news and in keeping with a holiday theme this week. Today is Web Day. On this day in 1990 tim Berners-Lee and Robert Cailliau sent a memo entitled WorldWideWeb: Proposal for a HyperText Project. That's had just a few ripples, dontcha think? It seems fitting that today's picture was taken with a webcam for the express purpose of putting it on the web.
Happy Web Day! And thanks to all of you who make the web so fun to visit.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Remembering Those Who Serve
World War 1 ended on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month in 1918. A year later President Woodrow Wilson proclaimed November 11 Armistice Day. In 1938 it was made a legal holiday "dedicated to the cause of world peace and to be thereafter celebrated and known as 'Armistice Day'." In 1954 it was renamed Veteran's Day. In countries of the British Commonwealth is it observed as Remembrance Day.
Whatever you call it, wherever you live, regardless of what you think about the current foreign policies and actions of respective governments, please take time to thank and honor those who have honorably served you with all that they have. And let us work toward true peace.
I want to personally thank the veterans among my readers and their families for the sacrifices they have made.
In order to make your gratitude more tangible I'd encourage you to check out Soldiers' Angels, which does quite a lot to directly encourage, support, and meet the needs of those in active duty and those who have returned home wounded. In fact, today is the final day for the Valour-IT fundraising competition in which the various branches of the military are competing to see which can raise the most for voice activated laptops to aid soldiers who have been severely wounded. You may wonder why a wounded soldier would have need of such a thing. I think the cartoon below says it better than I could.
Being able to remain connected to folks who love you during a long convalescence from severe injuries does wonders for the human spirit. Those of you who have been reading me long enough were a great support during my own long months of rehabilitation from a devastating hand and arm injury sustained through my own stupidity. I appreciated it deeply and being able to keep connection to the outside world when I couldn't drive helped me stay sane. My injury was one I managed to recover from almost completely (and it was only one hand) even though there had been no guarantee made. If I multiply my own injury by 2 and magnify it into a permanent loss sustained in service to my nation...well, it's a leap of imagination that is not very comfortable to make. How much less so to be living it? I have no doubt these gifts of technology can go a long way. If you're able please take time today to go contribute. If finances are limited check the site anyway because there are a myriad of ways to be supportive throughout the year and that's needed too.Whatever you, please take time to thank a vet.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Can You Tell Me How to Get to Sesame Street?
Since I was born in 1968 I am just a few years too young to be considered a Baby Boomer. Demographers have referred to my generation as Baby Busters (because of the plummeting birthrate between 1961 and 1981), Generation 13 (because we are considered reactive, nomadic, and somewhat mercenary), and Generation X (because demographers have an utter lack of creativity in naming groups and they view us somewhat suspiciously). We far exceed the education levels of our predecessors and yet ours heads of household have less individual earning power than their fathers did at the same age, thus demonstrating a massive shift in historical trends. We came of age after Vietnam and grew up during times of relative peace for our nation. However, our memories of historical events begin with things like Watergate, include the recession of the 70's and the shift away from nuclear families to huge growth in single parent families and a generation of latchkey kids who were instructed to hide inside the house until a parent got home. Our coming of age occurred during the unchecked greed of the 80s. We recall the Iran-Contra affair and raising our own young children during times when the US President was getting blow jobs in the Oval Office and his incompetent successor was massively expanding the powers of the Executive Branch while stomping around the Middle East for no good reason. Then the demographers label us a bunch of cynics and slap a few derogatory names on us. Pfft.
I beg to differ and I suggest an alternate title on this 40th anniversary of the show my generation grew up with, the Sesame Street Generation. All you Boomers can go ahead and laugh at us if you want but I think it highlights something more positive and hopeful. It's a show that broke the mold in the way it respected kids for who they were and didn't talk down to them. It gave them credit for being able know the difference between right and wrong (Yes, we understood that Cookie Monster had terrible table manners and that a diet entirely of cookies was not a good idea. We also understood that he was a made up character [How many of us know living breathing creatures covered in blue fur and with eyes that spin? Seriously now, folks.] and made up characters get to break the minor rules kids dream of breaking and still be ok. That's one of the beauties of imagination. I respectfully suggest that today's producers of the show aren't giving kids enough respect by turning Cookie Monster into a vegetarian. Ok, this parenthetical has taken on a life of its own now...). It celebrated imagination. It showed us the fun in playing with language too and let us laugh at mistakes. We knew mistakes weren't the end of the world.
Sesame Street presented a multicultural neighborhood where everyone got along and people looked out for each other. It showed us different personalities finding a way to have enduring friendships. It showed country kids the fun in the city. It showed city kids the fun in the country. It treated our sadness gently when Mr. Hooper died and showed us it was ok to cry but that there is still happiness to be found. (Ok, let me also ask my peers who among you felt a little gut punch when Jim Henson left this world at too young an age?) It also celebrated silliness and was just plain fun. And who didn't love seeing the famous people goofing around with muppets who sometimes got the better of them.
It gave us an example of something to aspire to in terms of unity and community. Laughing and singing together, learning new ways from each other, and giving each other support in sadness are great ways to build community if you ask me. We certainly preferred enjoying the show a second time around by sitting down to share it and a few giggles with our own kids rather than having to process certain news events with them. So demographers might prefer to highlight our more negative traits and influences but I'd rather hang on to the more positive influences and the things we once hoped for which now seem more commonplace.
Happy Birthday, Sesame Street!
I beg to differ and I suggest an alternate title on this 40th anniversary of the show my generation grew up with, the Sesame Street Generation. All you Boomers can go ahead and laugh at us if you want but I think it highlights something more positive and hopeful. It's a show that broke the mold in the way it respected kids for who they were and didn't talk down to them. It gave them credit for being able know the difference between right and wrong (Yes, we understood that Cookie Monster had terrible table manners and that a diet entirely of cookies was not a good idea. We also understood that he was a made up character [How many of us know living breathing creatures covered in blue fur and with eyes that spin? Seriously now, folks.] and made up characters get to break the minor rules kids dream of breaking and still be ok. That's one of the beauties of imagination. I respectfully suggest that today's producers of the show aren't giving kids enough respect by turning Cookie Monster into a vegetarian. Ok, this parenthetical has taken on a life of its own now...). It celebrated imagination. It showed us the fun in playing with language too and let us laugh at mistakes. We knew mistakes weren't the end of the world.
Sesame Street presented a multicultural neighborhood where everyone got along and people looked out for each other. It showed us different personalities finding a way to have enduring friendships. It showed country kids the fun in the city. It showed city kids the fun in the country. It treated our sadness gently when Mr. Hooper died and showed us it was ok to cry but that there is still happiness to be found. (Ok, let me also ask my peers who among you felt a little gut punch when Jim Henson left this world at too young an age?) It also celebrated silliness and was just plain fun. And who didn't love seeing the famous people goofing around with muppets who sometimes got the better of them.
It gave us an example of something to aspire to in terms of unity and community. Laughing and singing together, learning new ways from each other, and giving each other support in sadness are great ways to build community if you ask me. We certainly preferred enjoying the show a second time around by sitting down to share it and a few giggles with our own kids rather than having to process certain news events with them. So demographers might prefer to highlight our more negative traits and influences but I'd rather hang on to the more positive influences and the things we once hoped for which now seem more commonplace.
Happy Birthday, Sesame Street!
Monday, November 09, 2009
Eat up!
According to this post at Slashfood.com today is National Scrapple Day. I am willing to bet few of you have so much as the slightest inkling as to what scrapple is. No cheating by Googling or checking out the links first!
Let's back up a bit. Many of you know I used to do Trini Tuesday posts featuring information about the culture, history, and foods of Trinidad or sharing some of my experiences of living there. After about a year and a half of that weekly feature I switched to my home culture and started doing Pennsylvania German Tuesday posts.
Well, scrapple falls very firmly (or should I say splats rather disgustingly) into the Pennsylvania German category. It's a food. Though I have shared recipes of sumptuous delectables I grew up eating and though I observe certain culinary traditions with great gusto this is not one I would ever choose to celebrate. Why, you ask? Let's just take a little looksee at the ingredient list shall we? According to an article found here it is:
"cornmeal mush made with the meat and broth of pork, seasoned with onions, spices and herbs and shaped into loaves for slicing and frying."
image from http://home.comcast.net/~jomercer/Dutch%20Blitzkrieg/db%20pics/faq/scrapple.jpg
Heck, that sounds vaguely similar to sausage and really not too bad at all. But wait! There's more! True enough the old adage tells you if you enjoy sausage don't watch it being made. Scrapple is even worse. First off, it starts by boiling a pig's head. Secondly the "meat" used in scrapple is the stuff not even good enough for sausage. It includes skin, tongues, hearts, brains, livers or as many a Pennsylvania German likes to say, "everything but the oink." After all that offal is boiled with the head to make a broth the meat is removed and cornmeal along with the seasonings and possibly buckwheat is boiled into the broth and the finely minced meat is added back in. Once it's all glopped up it is formed into loaves and left to set up. And you thought spam was a horrid thing!
I have to admit Mr. Lime, Diana, and Isaac are all fans of this dish which Calypso and I find especially vile. If the lovers of loaved hog offal in this house wish to celebrate National Scrapple Day they will have to do so by their own efforts. Calypso and I will instead be observing an alternate holiday, which Slashfood.com also lists for today, Cook Something Bold & Pungent Day. Bring on the curried venison!
Friday, November 06, 2009
Friday 55ish & Da Count-The Moon
FRIDAY 55ish
Yes, it's a little more than 55 words long. You'll live. Apologies to the photographer, I don't recall where I found this picture a long time ago. The words are my own though.
He follows his far away mistress, the moon.
Her soft light gives hope in the night.
Ever his
Yet never to be reached.
She reaches for her falling star lover
His bright glory drops wishes in the dark.
Ever hers
Yet never to be grasped.
Beheld together by lovers below
The mistress moon
And king of stars
Ever roam
Yet never meet.
Her soft light gives hope in the night.
Ever his
Yet never to be reached.
She reaches for her falling star lover
His bright glory drops wishes in the dark.
Ever hers
Yet never to be grasped.
Beheld together by lovers below
The mistress moon
And king of stars
Ever roam
Yet never meet.
DA COUNT
The poem is one I wrote and posted back in the early days of the blog. I kicked around a few other ideas for a 55 this week but work has been kicking my butt and no new ideas were seeming to work out. This week I've enjoyed a few moments each night pondering the moon. The first full moon night I watched a silvery circle hover in a milky pink sky. It was kind of strange to see the way the eastern sky was pinker than the western sky. The whole effect put me in a very different mood than before I noticed it all. It was soothing. The next night it was already quite dark before I got outside and the moon took my breath away. Each night I've looked for it and breathed deeply when I found it. It's been a week of pressure from more than one direction. This week I'm counting the moon and the relaxing moments in its light.
Thursday, November 05, 2009
Slice of Lime-One Morning
One morning.All I ask for is one single morning in the week when I don't have to get up early.
I want one morning a week when an alarm clock is not necessary and I won't be jangled into consciousness by the less than dulcet tones of Ozzy Osborne on his @#$%^#$ Crazy Train or by the alarm on my phone.
I want one morning a week when an alarm clock is not necessary and I won't be jangled into consciousness by the less than dulcet tones of Ozzy Osborne on his @#$%^#$ Crazy Train or by the alarm on my phone.
I want one morning a week when I can pull the covers around my head and snore blissfully until the sun is well up in the sky and I awake slowly with a stretch and a genuinely refreshed sigh.
I might even continue to lay in bed for a while after my eyes open and slowly muse about the day ahead as I prepare mentally for it.
You may say early mornings would not be so bothersome if I went to bed earlier.
Trust me, I am 41 years old. I know my own rhythms. Even when I do go to bed earlier and early morning is not any easier, particularly when the rest of the house is awake and making noise as I try to fall asleep.
During the school week the day starts about 5:15 am.
(Yes, the farmers may feel free to laugh at me.)
Now that I work on Saturdays I get up early then too.
Although for many years we have gone to the late morning service at our church on Sundays, Mr. Lime has recently made the ever so thoughtful unilateral decree that we shall now go to the EARLY service on Sunday mornings.
Seven days a week I have to get up early.
I am less than thrilled by this arrangement.
Call me a whiny baby if you want.
Thursday is my day off.
I've tried to claim it as a chance to sleep in since I don't have to drive the carpool that morning or go in to work.
It does not work well when Ozzy is screaming at me,
or Mr. Lime is screaming at the kids,
or banging on the bathroom door,
or the kids are tromping through my room to get at my bathroom,
or asking what is around to pack for lunch.
Yes, I am a whiny baby.
I am a grouch.
I am sleep deprived.
I am going back to bed, dammit.
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
Weekend to Remember
It was November and Grampop had left the world six weeks earlier. Three weeks after he died I turned 13. He was the man who took me on hikes in the deep woods. He made up Indian names for each one of us, taught us about the animals, told us the local history and legends. He taught me how to fish, shoot a gun, use a bow and arrow, and row a boat. In spite of those more boyish pursuits I was always his "Princess." He was the only one who could call me that because I knew he didn't mean the ball gown and glass slipper type but the buckskin and moccasin type (even though he made sure I had a steady supply of white patent leather go-go boots as I was growing up). He showed me the fun in sitting to watch the deer and bears come forage for food. He showed me how to get a chipmunk to eat from my hand. I watched him feed wild song birds from his hands. He's the only person I ever knew who could manage that. He also had his own repertoire of silly songs he'd sing on the long drive up and back. I was missing him terribly that weekend.
This fun took place in the musty old trailer (and environs) he and Nana had in the mountains for weekend escapes. It wasn't much to look at but that place was a haven for me. Right next door was a somewhat newer trailer my great aunt and uncle owned for similar purposes. Nana and I were making our first escape since Grampop had left us. She told me I was welcome to invite a friend for the first time. I think she may have figured we'd both feel kind of lost with out Grampop and maybe need the distraction.
I asked Patti to come along. I had only known her since we both moved up to 7th grade in September. The girl who had been my best friend since 2nd grade had dropped me rather abruptly once we moved up to the Junior High School. Thirteen is such an awkward age to begin with. I was devastated when Grampop died and stinging from my friend's rejection. Patti seemed as unsure as I felt but she also seemed genuinely nice and we got along well. I was glad when her mom said she could come along to "the mountains."
Nana pretty much trusted us to wander around the whole wide woods by ourselves because I knew where I was going. I took Patti on all our old trails. She couldn't believe how deep into the woods we were allowed to go. I pulled out the BB gun and set up the tin cans (Nana said no to the .22 that weekend). Patti thought we were like Annie Oakley knocking them down. I showed her how to get the chipmunks to take a peanut out of her hand. She decided she'd rather watch them eat from my hand in case they wanted to nip her fingers.
Then I asked Nana if we could go to the lake and take the row boat out. I had never been allowed to take the row boat without an adult before. Nana shocked me by saying we could go by ourselves. I didn't wait around for her to change her mind. I grabbed Patti by the arm and all but dragged her as we practically ran the mile to the lake. I plopped a life vest around her neck and tied her into it before having her plunk down in the boat as I shoved it out into the water as fast as I could. I got us about halfway out to the little island in the middle of the lake before I noticed the slightly terrified look on Patti's face. I asked her if she was alright. She nodded kind of tentatively but wasn't very convincing. I asked again before she confessed that she was a little frightened because she didn't know how to swim and her mother never let her anywhere near water. I asked her if she wanted to go back because I felt bad for never really asking if she wanted to go in the first place. She thought about it for a minute and asked about the safety of the situation. I read her the safety rating on the life vest, showed her how shallow the water actually was by poking one of the oars down to the mud and still having part of it above water, and made her promise not to stand up in the boat except when and where I told her to. She asked excitedly, "Can we go over to that island and look around?" When I told her that was part of the plan all the time she grinned broadly in great anticipation. We had a ball and after checking out the island she asked me to teach her how to row the boat. She couldn't get over being able to get us from the island back to shore by herself.
We went to bed that night gabbing about all the day's adventures and how she felt so liberated by being able to do so much exploring. As we relaxed I started sharing my broken heart over my grandfather's death other friend's rejection. Patti listened and provided true comfort which left my soul feeling freer. She shared wisdom and truth with me in a clear way no adult had been able or willing to do. She learned from me how to feel stronger and more confident in the physical world. I learned from her how to begin finding comfort and strength in a spiritual world. A lifetime later in the slanting golden light of early November, when I see the trees with only a few brown leaves clinging tenaciously to branches, when I see the early frost on dried stalks of wildflowers and corn, and when I hear the chill wind whisper of impending winter I remember how after one death came a new awareness of life and hope in living it.
This fun took place in the musty old trailer (and environs) he and Nana had in the mountains for weekend escapes. It wasn't much to look at but that place was a haven for me. Right next door was a somewhat newer trailer my great aunt and uncle owned for similar purposes. Nana and I were making our first escape since Grampop had left us. She told me I was welcome to invite a friend for the first time. I think she may have figured we'd both feel kind of lost with out Grampop and maybe need the distraction.
I asked Patti to come along. I had only known her since we both moved up to 7th grade in September. The girl who had been my best friend since 2nd grade had dropped me rather abruptly once we moved up to the Junior High School. Thirteen is such an awkward age to begin with. I was devastated when Grampop died and stinging from my friend's rejection. Patti seemed as unsure as I felt but she also seemed genuinely nice and we got along well. I was glad when her mom said she could come along to "the mountains."
Nana pretty much trusted us to wander around the whole wide woods by ourselves because I knew where I was going. I took Patti on all our old trails. She couldn't believe how deep into the woods we were allowed to go. I pulled out the BB gun and set up the tin cans (Nana said no to the .22 that weekend). Patti thought we were like Annie Oakley knocking them down. I showed her how to get the chipmunks to take a peanut out of her hand. She decided she'd rather watch them eat from my hand in case they wanted to nip her fingers.
Then I asked Nana if we could go to the lake and take the row boat out. I had never been allowed to take the row boat without an adult before. Nana shocked me by saying we could go by ourselves. I didn't wait around for her to change her mind. I grabbed Patti by the arm and all but dragged her as we practically ran the mile to the lake. I plopped a life vest around her neck and tied her into it before having her plunk down in the boat as I shoved it out into the water as fast as I could. I got us about halfway out to the little island in the middle of the lake before I noticed the slightly terrified look on Patti's face. I asked her if she was alright. She nodded kind of tentatively but wasn't very convincing. I asked again before she confessed that she was a little frightened because she didn't know how to swim and her mother never let her anywhere near water. I asked her if she wanted to go back because I felt bad for never really asking if she wanted to go in the first place. She thought about it for a minute and asked about the safety of the situation. I read her the safety rating on the life vest, showed her how shallow the water actually was by poking one of the oars down to the mud and still having part of it above water, and made her promise not to stand up in the boat except when and where I told her to. She asked excitedly, "Can we go over to that island and look around?" When I told her that was part of the plan all the time she grinned broadly in great anticipation. We had a ball and after checking out the island she asked me to teach her how to row the boat. She couldn't get over being able to get us from the island back to shore by herself.
We went to bed that night gabbing about all the day's adventures and how she felt so liberated by being able to do so much exploring. As we relaxed I started sharing my broken heart over my grandfather's death other friend's rejection. Patti listened and provided true comfort which left my soul feeling freer. She shared wisdom and truth with me in a clear way no adult had been able or willing to do. She learned from me how to feel stronger and more confident in the physical world. I learned from her how to begin finding comfort and strength in a spiritual world. A lifetime later in the slanting golden light of early November, when I see the trees with only a few brown leaves clinging tenaciously to branches, when I see the early frost on dried stalks of wildflowers and corn, and when I hear the chill wind whisper of impending winter I remember how after one death came a new awareness of life and hope in living it.
Tuesday, November 03, 2009
I'm Late! I'm Late!
Ok, so it's several hours later than I normally post and I have to go to work soon and don't have time to wax humorous or philosophical (but if I had time to wax I'd probably wax my upper lip instead). Today let's play fill in the blank, ok?
I love ________________ as much as the next person, but__________________.
Be serious. Be silly. Be sublime.
I love ________________ as much as the next person, but__________________.
Be serious. Be silly. Be sublime.
Monday, November 02, 2009
I Thought Those Clouds Seemed Vaguely Familiar
As I was driving along to do my carpool duties I noticed how lovely the weather was. I love a clear blue sky on an autumn day. Few things are lovelier. As I admired the beautiful weather I noticed the clouds had an unusual formation.
I kept trying to figure out how best to describe them and their texture. Nothing quite seemed to sum it up clearly and accurately. It was like the conundrum Billy Crystal's character faces in Throw Mama from the Train when he keeps trying to describe the mood of a humid southern night. "The night was wet? The night was moist? The night was damp?" Nothing quite fits until the surly old lady spits out, "The night was sultry!" The perfect word choice nearly dope slaps him when he realizes that's exactly what he meant.
The clouds were rippled. The clouds were bumpy. The clouds were pitted.
The teenagers poured out of the school and headed to the van. On the way home I heard the conversation turn to the unique cloud formations and heard Barbie state with a bit of repugnance, "They look like fat lady cottage cheese thighs."
Not quite as succinct as, "The night was sultry!" but I nearly veered off the road when the aptness of the description hit me. The damned clouds reminded me of my own thighs and butt!
Thus I shall title this photo...
Cloudy with a Chance of Cellulite
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