I was so impressed with my idea! Last night, I declared to my SO that I would set the alarm for an early hour today, get up, make coffee, and depart for the car wash, arriving before the opening, hoping to be first or second in line. I had also checked the weather report and it was forecast to be the perfect day to get the auto cleaned.
In my pre-organized world, I laid all of these plans out in my mind, thinking that I would get the car cleaned and be back home quickly, in time to make breakfast and accomplish many other tasks on my Saturday-task list. I left home, armed with a full mug of freshly brewed coffee and a magazine with which to pleasurably pass the time, waiting for the car wash to open.
As I turned onto the car-wash street, a vehicle in front of me also turned into the establishment's driveway. Smart person, just like me, I thought as I smiled to myself. Imagine my great surprise when I turned into the driveway, almost ten minutes before the advertised opening time, and discovered the big OPEN neon sign lit up and nine other vehicles in front of mine. My magazine and coffee came in handy, plus I got to people-watch.
At this hour of the day, I was the only female in the line and, even at my advancing older age, I was the youngest (looking) person sitting behind the wheel. I felt like I was in Mesa, Arizona or southern Florida, waiting to get my car spit-shined and polished. I kept wondering how it was that other people could have the same good idea I did.
But they did and I so enjoyed my magazine and coffee that once I left with the car, I returned home and decided to go back with Beast, who really needed a bath. After refilling my coffee mug, I climbed up into Beast's comfortable seat, and returned to the car wash. This time there were only five other vehicles in front of me and my time to read and drink coffee was limited.
As I was waiting for Beast to come through the automated line, the gentleman whose car was in front of Beast was watching the crew wipe down his ride. While I approached him, a total stranger, he turned to me and said, "She's a beauty, isn't she? Looks as good today as the day she was new in 2004. " 'She' did. I made the appropriate murmurings about how I agreed with him. He then turned back toward the observation glass and told his car how great 'she' looked. Then he was summoned to drive his car away but he left me realizing that not only wasn't I the only one with the original idea to get my vehicle washed, I also was not the only person who talks to my vehicle.
Beast looked good after his bath and I told him so.
Ancora imparo
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Please, Say It Ain't So!
I accept that there are many imperfect products or people in the world these days that need to be re-designed, remodeled, retro-fitted or removed. For instance: cars that behave irresponsibly of their own volition, public figures that cheat or otherwise erode the public trust, pharmaceutical companies knowingly duping consumers, financial institutions or advisors misusing public or individuals' monies, corporate CEOs that operate only for Numero Uno, or silica producers whose products lump, clump or disintegrate in an unsightly manner. But, there are some Americana 'institutions' that should not be tampered with, and the hot dog is one of them.
Don't get me wrong. I am not advocating the production of a food that is inherently unsafe for those we must protect - our children - BUT, the hot dog has been eaten by millions for centuries. The European hot dog came into existence, in Frankfurt, Germany, in the late fourteen hundreds. The American hot dog appeared in the late eighteen hundreds. I cannot even begin to calculate how many hot dogs have been eaten successfully and safely since either one of those introductions.
Just this past week, the American Academy of Pediatrics issued a choking warning regarding hot dogs and suggested that warning notices be printed on every hot dog package, plus they called for a redesign of the hot dog.
REDESIGN THE HOT DOG?
First of all, American and world-wide makers of the hot dog bun must be sleepless in Seattle at the mere mention of a hot-dog makeover. A learned, early-morning television host suggested that there is already a safe design of the hot dog: bologna. Same thing, different shape. Now there is a tasty concept. Cooking preparation for a slice of bologna would be easy. Grill it, boil it or nuke it. After warming, roll it up and let the child gum it if they are a toddler. The fact that the rolled-up slice comes unfurled constantly, during meals, will simply add another dimension of frustration to the mother of a toddler. I can hardly wait to see lunch time with multiple toddlers munching away on their quasi-hot dogs. Older children could be taught to dip the rolled-up bologna slice in catsup, if they desire. School-aged children and adults could layer two bologna slices together, roll them up, place them in a traditionally-shaped hot dog bun and smother the contents with condiments. Yummy.
I'm certain every mother whose children grew up consuming hot dogs as a food group understands how their children survived this dangerous culinary culprit: CUT IT UP INTO LITTLE PIECES. This is not rocket science. Max, my beloved dog, had a trainer that understood how to prepare hot dogs for dogs. CUT THEM UP INTO LITTLE PIECES. I quickly discovered that what worked for Max worked for my kids.
Let's leave the design of the hot dog alone. Don't we have bigger health issues to combat? Malnutrition (perhaps from eating too many hot dogs), high blood pressure (perhaps from the too-high sodium content of processed meats), or high cholesterol (need I type this, too?). There are many reasons to malign the hot dog, but there is also great reason to celebrate this tasty and time-tested food.
Re-design the hot dog? Either leave it alone or create freeze-dried little chips that could be mixed into everything - cookies, ice cream, breakfast cereal, eggs, candy, vegetables, salads, fruit......even yogurt. The possibilities are endless.
Yummy.
Ancora imparo
Don't get me wrong. I am not advocating the production of a food that is inherently unsafe for those we must protect - our children - BUT, the hot dog has been eaten by millions for centuries. The European hot dog came into existence, in Frankfurt, Germany, in the late fourteen hundreds. The American hot dog appeared in the late eighteen hundreds. I cannot even begin to calculate how many hot dogs have been eaten successfully and safely since either one of those introductions.
Just this past week, the American Academy of Pediatrics issued a choking warning regarding hot dogs and suggested that warning notices be printed on every hot dog package, plus they called for a redesign of the hot dog.
REDESIGN THE HOT DOG?
First of all, American and world-wide makers of the hot dog bun must be sleepless in Seattle at the mere mention of a hot-dog makeover. A learned, early-morning television host suggested that there is already a safe design of the hot dog: bologna. Same thing, different shape. Now there is a tasty concept. Cooking preparation for a slice of bologna would be easy. Grill it, boil it or nuke it. After warming, roll it up and let the child gum it if they are a toddler. The fact that the rolled-up slice comes unfurled constantly, during meals, will simply add another dimension of frustration to the mother of a toddler. I can hardly wait to see lunch time with multiple toddlers munching away on their quasi-hot dogs. Older children could be taught to dip the rolled-up bologna slice in catsup, if they desire. School-aged children and adults could layer two bologna slices together, roll them up, place them in a traditionally-shaped hot dog bun and smother the contents with condiments. Yummy.
I'm certain every mother whose children grew up consuming hot dogs as a food group understands how their children survived this dangerous culinary culprit: CUT IT UP INTO LITTLE PIECES. This is not rocket science. Max, my beloved dog, had a trainer that understood how to prepare hot dogs for dogs. CUT THEM UP INTO LITTLE PIECES. I quickly discovered that what worked for Max worked for my kids.
Let's leave the design of the hot dog alone. Don't we have bigger health issues to combat? Malnutrition (perhaps from eating too many hot dogs), high blood pressure (perhaps from the too-high sodium content of processed meats), or high cholesterol (need I type this, too?). There are many reasons to malign the hot dog, but there is also great reason to celebrate this tasty and time-tested food.
Re-design the hot dog? Either leave it alone or create freeze-dried little chips that could be mixed into everything - cookies, ice cream, breakfast cereal, eggs, candy, vegetables, salads, fruit......even yogurt. The possibilities are endless.
Yummy.
Ancora imparo
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Credibility Is Everything
Credibility. A rather vague concept, the meaning of which is everything.
Websters lists two meanings for credibility: 1. the quality or power of inspiring belief 2. capacity for belief. With credibility, people and organizations can accomplish great things. Without it, groups will falter and fold, leaders will falter and fail. Although some think they do, leaders cannot exist in a vacuum. Leaders must encourage transparency, inspire participation and deliver credibility.......always credibility. If a leader loses credibility, she/he may as well pack it up and go home.
A day ago, I was asked if I thought lost credibility could be retrieved and restored. It wasn't the sort of question that I was comfortable answering quickly. I responded, "I will have to think about that one." And think, I have.
I've come to the personal conclusion that once credibility is damaged, diminished, tainted or lost, trying to restore it is very difficult, if not downright impossible. When a person, group, or organization loses credibility, jaundiced eyes will always be watching and jaundiced ears will always be listening, examining every detail of behavior, action, speech or printed word, searching for that one tiny bit of evidence that will justify the follower's cynicism and distrust. Lost credibility is not the fault of the follower, it is the Achilles' Heel of the leader(s).
Leaders, and those placed in leadership roles, need to be meticulous in how they conduct themselves and the business they are about. Their actions and words must be circumspect and have to be able to withstand the incredible scrutiny that accompanies the role of leader. Just the appearance of breached credibility is crucial. If this occurs, the wise leader(s) will face their followers, willing to rebuild the bridge with transparency and truthfulness. Unwise leaders turn their backs to their followers, cloaking themselves in further secrecy and withdrawal.
Followers can smell the truth and are very skilled at basic mathematics. Two and two need to add to four. Not 3.95 today or 4.07 tomorrow. Two and two must always equal four, not just when it is convenient for the leaders. Convenience does not equate to credibility.
This is Leadership 101. Let's all enroll tomorrow.
Ancora imparo
Websters lists two meanings for credibility: 1. the quality or power of inspiring belief 2. capacity for belief. With credibility, people and organizations can accomplish great things. Without it, groups will falter and fold, leaders will falter and fail. Although some think they do, leaders cannot exist in a vacuum. Leaders must encourage transparency, inspire participation and deliver credibility.......always credibility. If a leader loses credibility, she/he may as well pack it up and go home.
A day ago, I was asked if I thought lost credibility could be retrieved and restored. It wasn't the sort of question that I was comfortable answering quickly. I responded, "I will have to think about that one." And think, I have.
I've come to the personal conclusion that once credibility is damaged, diminished, tainted or lost, trying to restore it is very difficult, if not downright impossible. When a person, group, or organization loses credibility, jaundiced eyes will always be watching and jaundiced ears will always be listening, examining every detail of behavior, action, speech or printed word, searching for that one tiny bit of evidence that will justify the follower's cynicism and distrust. Lost credibility is not the fault of the follower, it is the Achilles' Heel of the leader(s).
Leaders, and those placed in leadership roles, need to be meticulous in how they conduct themselves and the business they are about. Their actions and words must be circumspect and have to be able to withstand the incredible scrutiny that accompanies the role of leader. Just the appearance of breached credibility is crucial. If this occurs, the wise leader(s) will face their followers, willing to rebuild the bridge with transparency and truthfulness. Unwise leaders turn their backs to their followers, cloaking themselves in further secrecy and withdrawal.
Followers can smell the truth and are very skilled at basic mathematics. Two and two need to add to four. Not 3.95 today or 4.07 tomorrow. Two and two must always equal four, not just when it is convenient for the leaders. Convenience does not equate to credibility.
This is Leadership 101. Let's all enroll tomorrow.
Ancora imparo
Future Generations
The day was January first of this year. In an effort to be ultra-organized and with the goal of not keeping unnecessary 'stuff', I had tackled my office, reaching for anything that smacked of 'clutter', determined to toss it. Not thinking, I grabbed the 2009 calendar from the wall,dropped it into the recycling bag, and promptly hung a 2010 calendar.
Segue to two weeks ago, when I realized that all of my forty-plus years of collecting birthdays, anniversary dates, and other important family/friend information had been recorded on that ONE 2009 calendar that was thrown out on January first. I also recognized that I had nary a single back-up source for all of the information I'd carefully assembled over the years. I felt sick to my stomach.
I spent a few days mentally beating myself up and then began the task of attempting to re-create the data. I understood that some of the info will be lost forever simply because I will not remember everything that was on the calendar's pages and I struggled deciding on where to begin the recovery process.
Some dates have been easy to recover from my own brain, other dates were never stored in my head so I've had to search out sources that will have the information I'm looking for. My mother and father kept fantastically accurate and detailed records of their entire lives and relatives......a trait that I have learned to respect and be thankful for and that is where I started my search......in a folder marked "Family History".
My parents were married in the Great Depression. The first summer they were married, they had four acres of pickles to pick by hand, with the profit theirs to keep. The narrative says they picked from sun-up to sundown...Dad seven days a week, Mom six. When that was done, they helped my paternal grandfather pick potatoes, filling five-gallon pails as quickly as they could. A year later they were still earning money the same way, only pickles were now selling for eighteen cents a bushel. One year later, when my oldest sister was born and mom couldn't pick that summer, there were two acres of pickles to harvest. My dad was paid fifty cents for every one-hundred pounds of pickles. Later that same summer he got a raise to seventy-five cents per one-hundred pounds of pickles. He thought it was a fortune. The cash-crop harvesting was just a part-time job for my dad. He also worked for a Michigan county building bridges for twenty-five cents an hour. The narrative notes that my eldest sister slept on the floor as an infant.
These family accounts almost take my breath away. My parents worked hard......much harder than I could ever fathom......and their lives were hard. My two older sisters were born at home on the dining room table. At least a physician attended each birth.
What will life be like for my children's children? I look back at my parents' lives when they were young and I think about how very different it was than when I was their age. Everything is relative, in terms of 'difficult' or 'hard' so what will our future generations think was difficult or hard about our lives? Will their world be vastly different from ours? Will it be better?
I fervently hope so.
Ancora imparo
Segue to two weeks ago, when I realized that all of my forty-plus years of collecting birthdays, anniversary dates, and other important family/friend information had been recorded on that ONE 2009 calendar that was thrown out on January first. I also recognized that I had nary a single back-up source for all of the information I'd carefully assembled over the years. I felt sick to my stomach.
I spent a few days mentally beating myself up and then began the task of attempting to re-create the data. I understood that some of the info will be lost forever simply because I will not remember everything that was on the calendar's pages and I struggled deciding on where to begin the recovery process.
Some dates have been easy to recover from my own brain, other dates were never stored in my head so I've had to search out sources that will have the information I'm looking for. My mother and father kept fantastically accurate and detailed records of their entire lives and relatives......a trait that I have learned to respect and be thankful for and that is where I started my search......in a folder marked "Family History".
My parents were married in the Great Depression. The first summer they were married, they had four acres of pickles to pick by hand, with the profit theirs to keep. The narrative says they picked from sun-up to sundown...Dad seven days a week, Mom six. When that was done, they helped my paternal grandfather pick potatoes, filling five-gallon pails as quickly as they could. A year later they were still earning money the same way, only pickles were now selling for eighteen cents a bushel. One year later, when my oldest sister was born and mom couldn't pick that summer, there were two acres of pickles to harvest. My dad was paid fifty cents for every one-hundred pounds of pickles. Later that same summer he got a raise to seventy-five cents per one-hundred pounds of pickles. He thought it was a fortune. The cash-crop harvesting was just a part-time job for my dad. He also worked for a Michigan county building bridges for twenty-five cents an hour. The narrative notes that my eldest sister slept on the floor as an infant.
These family accounts almost take my breath away. My parents worked hard......much harder than I could ever fathom......and their lives were hard. My two older sisters were born at home on the dining room table. At least a physician attended each birth.
What will life be like for my children's children? I look back at my parents' lives when they were young and I think about how very different it was than when I was their age. Everything is relative, in terms of 'difficult' or 'hard' so what will our future generations think was difficult or hard about our lives? Will their world be vastly different from ours? Will it be better?
I fervently hope so.
Ancora imparo
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Cabin Phever
Phebruary's weather phacinates me. Many people I know are sick (and tired) and have had to visit their fasicians, whose waiting rooms are phull of people wheezing and couffing. All they need are meds to help them pheel more phrisky and phull of the devil by Phriday. I phind it phunny that farmaceutical companies and the farmacological products they produce are sold at farmacies where a farmacist phinds the medication the patient needs and passes it along to the wheezing and couffing consumer.
Now that I have a page on Phacebook all my phriends can phind me. While I am not on Twitter, many of my phriends are and they all type short, little frases that are sent to each other phaithphully. I see people texting phrenetically and phrantically, trying to communicate while driving, working or relaxing. We are all trying to phorget Phebruary.
At this time of year, most of us are phanticising about vacationing somewhere warm and sunny. Our phaces and phannies are phrozen phrom the cold weather and we don't think it is phun phor winter to still be hanging around in Phebruary. My pheline's phur is pheeling the effects of phrigid weather and my phine, pheathered phriends are having diffculty phinding phood.
Phor me, I'm phine with phinding phault with Phebruary. I'm able to be filoshophical about
the phact that my phlanges are numb. I realize this is a seasonal phaze that will soon phizzle out. Then I can complain about phlies and mosquitoes. Besides, warm weather inspires filanthropy, which is another phascinating topic that should be researched and not phiddled with phlippantly.
There. You have my Phebruary phindings phor now. If you phind more Phebruary phacts, please pass them along. I also welcome philm, fotos, and phabric.
Your phaithful filosopher, Patty Anne
Ancora imparo
Now that I have a page on Phacebook all my phriends can phind me. While I am not on Twitter, many of my phriends are and they all type short, little frases that are sent to each other phaithphully. I see people texting phrenetically and phrantically, trying to communicate while driving, working or relaxing. We are all trying to phorget Phebruary.
At this time of year, most of us are phanticising about vacationing somewhere warm and sunny. Our phaces and phannies are phrozen phrom the cold weather and we don't think it is phun phor winter to still be hanging around in Phebruary. My pheline's phur is pheeling the effects of phrigid weather and my phine, pheathered phriends are having diffculty phinding phood.
Phor me, I'm phine with phinding phault with Phebruary. I'm able to be filoshophical about
the phact that my phlanges are numb. I realize this is a seasonal phaze that will soon phizzle out. Then I can complain about phlies and mosquitoes. Besides, warm weather inspires filanthropy, which is another phascinating topic that should be researched and not phiddled with phlippantly.
There. You have my Phebruary phindings phor now. If you phind more Phebruary phacts, please pass them along. I also welcome philm, fotos, and phabric.
Your phaithful filosopher, Patty Anne
Ancora imparo
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
The Real Deal
Just as a word can have differing meanings, so can a phrase or title. Take, for instance, tea party.
For decades, a tea party would bring to mind a little girl dressed in lace and frills seated at a small table. Three of the four chairs would be filled with stuffed animals, acting as invited guests to this intimate affair. The dishware was probably fine bone china, designed specifically for tiny fingers and hands. Imaginary crumpets or biscuits were shared with her 'friends' as was the tea..........the real deal.
On May 10, 1773 another type of tea party was held - this one in Boston Harbor. This tea party did not seek to invite others or share biscuits or beverage. The intent of this tea party was to garner attention and to protest. And, protest they did.........the real deal.
Orville Redenbacher popcorn has a delightful commercial airing these days. The gist is that this little girl is holding a tea party and she has a bowl full of freshly popped Orville Redenbacher's popcorn prepared. Two adult males smell the popcorn and attempt to 'crash' her party just to eat popcorn. Her firm protestations to the men result in them being full partners, regalia and all, at her tea party...........the real deal.
Teal tea parties can still be found occurring on a regular basis across America. Get-togethers where women gather at the home of another female, conversation ensues, laced with tea, coffee, and tasty pastries..........the real deal.
What's not the real deal? A political party or movement that calls themselves Tea Party. I'll remain an independent thinker and voter who prefers to be referred to as an independent, NOT as a member of the Tea Party movement. Tea parties are for little girls, not adults who are eligible to cast ballots.
Ancora imparo
For decades, a tea party would bring to mind a little girl dressed in lace and frills seated at a small table. Three of the four chairs would be filled with stuffed animals, acting as invited guests to this intimate affair. The dishware was probably fine bone china, designed specifically for tiny fingers and hands. Imaginary crumpets or biscuits were shared with her 'friends' as was the tea..........the real deal.
On May 10, 1773 another type of tea party was held - this one in Boston Harbor. This tea party did not seek to invite others or share biscuits or beverage. The intent of this tea party was to garner attention and to protest. And, protest they did.........the real deal.
Orville Redenbacher popcorn has a delightful commercial airing these days. The gist is that this little girl is holding a tea party and she has a bowl full of freshly popped Orville Redenbacher's popcorn prepared. Two adult males smell the popcorn and attempt to 'crash' her party just to eat popcorn. Her firm protestations to the men result in them being full partners, regalia and all, at her tea party...........the real deal.
Teal tea parties can still be found occurring on a regular basis across America. Get-togethers where women gather at the home of another female, conversation ensues, laced with tea, coffee, and tasty pastries..........the real deal.
What's not the real deal? A political party or movement that calls themselves Tea Party. I'll remain an independent thinker and voter who prefers to be referred to as an independent, NOT as a member of the Tea Party movement. Tea parties are for little girls, not adults who are eligible to cast ballots.
Ancora imparo
Monday, February 22, 2010
That Will Never Happen
How often did I hear myself or others say, "That will never happen." or "I'll never do that." or "My kids will never do that." Of course, 'that' does happen and we either eat our words or conveniently forget that the statement was ever made. As a parent, I tried really hard to refrain from declaring that my children either would or would not do 'something', for it is the law of childhood that once your parents have uttered those words, it is incumbent upon the child to prove the parent(s) wrong.
Just think if an Olympic athlete thought that to him or herself? How far would that person have traveled in their quest for competitive excellence? Personal gratification ? Not too far and most definitely not standing on the medal podium. And, look at the parents behind the Olympic athletes. Not for one minute could I imagine that they thought, "My kid will never do that." Negative thinking is not allowed, I'm sure, to enter the head space of Olympic athletes or their parents.
Months ago, I listened to an interview of a book author on public radio and he was espousing the philosophy "do what you can, with what you have, where you are". This quote garnered my attention and the slip of paper on which I jotted it down has been in plain view on my desk since then. When I first heard these words, uttered in the context of the book's theme, I immediately bought into the concept. Yes, I thought to myself, accept where I am, work with what I have and do what I can. Then I began to really delve into what I believed would happen if I embraced this phrase and I realized that by adopting this philosophy, I would be accepting mediocrity and mediocrity should not be an option.....ever.
Time and time again, during post-Olympic performances, I've listened to the athletes say "It was about doing my personal best." I must say that I am feeling inspired to strive for excellence. These young (and not-so-young) people exhibit dedication and exude, at least outwardly, confidence. Not the false bravada kind of confidence that comes with ego only but the kind of confidence that is backed up by skill, training, and practice.
It will happen, it can happen, and I can make it happen. So can you!
Ancora imparo
Just think if an Olympic athlete thought that to him or herself? How far would that person have traveled in their quest for competitive excellence? Personal gratification ? Not too far and most definitely not standing on the medal podium. And, look at the parents behind the Olympic athletes. Not for one minute could I imagine that they thought, "My kid will never do that." Negative thinking is not allowed, I'm sure, to enter the head space of Olympic athletes or their parents.
Months ago, I listened to an interview of a book author on public radio and he was espousing the philosophy "do what you can, with what you have, where you are". This quote garnered my attention and the slip of paper on which I jotted it down has been in plain view on my desk since then. When I first heard these words, uttered in the context of the book's theme, I immediately bought into the concept. Yes, I thought to myself, accept where I am, work with what I have and do what I can. Then I began to really delve into what I believed would happen if I embraced this phrase and I realized that by adopting this philosophy, I would be accepting mediocrity and mediocrity should not be an option.....ever.
Time and time again, during post-Olympic performances, I've listened to the athletes say "It was about doing my personal best." I must say that I am feeling inspired to strive for excellence. These young (and not-so-young) people exhibit dedication and exude, at least outwardly, confidence. Not the false bravada kind of confidence that comes with ego only but the kind of confidence that is backed up by skill, training, and practice.
It will happen, it can happen, and I can make it happen. So can you!
Ancora imparo
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Some Things Just Don't Change
As I've been seated at my laptop, struggling to stay awake fighting the 'sleepies', which is what I call this state of afternoon sluggishness I find myself in, a friend called. When asked what I was doing, and I responded, "Trying to stay awake." she only laughed and told me some things just do not change. She knows that I am famous for not sleeping well at night but I absolutely cannot nap during the day or I would never sleep a wink during the night.
After our conversation ended, the phrase she used, "Some things just do not change." stayed with me, actually bringing back memories of when others have said that same thing to me, and I began to laugh.
It is true I will go to my grave repeating actions that defy rational thinking but that are so ingrained in my brain there is little hope of changing my behavior without checking into a rehab program somewhere.
I suspect that all human beings have idiosyncrasies that appear foolish or irrational to others. Why, some of my behaviors seem foolish even to me but I have been known to repeat them.......over and over again.
For instance, I have great difficulty properly removing a hangnail from a finger or toe. Logic (and past painful experiences) would suggest that a hangnail should be carefully removed by either nail clippers or cuticle scissors.....not the rip and pull method most often selected by me.
One of my family's favorite to tease me about is my philosophy, 'if one is good, several must be better'. I won't release details about this one except to say that it involved cans of prune juice.
However, I can write....with great pride....that it only took attempting to quick-chill one can of soda in the freezer (and forgetting about it) to realize that was an idea that should most definitely not be repeated.
There must be hope, somewhere in my cerebrum, to believe that I can avoid swollen, painful fingers and toes because I persist in rapidly removing a hangnail or I can avoid the consequences of drinking too much prune juice. Now, if I can just remember that Cranky Kitty does not like to be petted on her right side..................
May your memory be better than mine!
Ancora imparo
After our conversation ended, the phrase she used, "Some things just do not change." stayed with me, actually bringing back memories of when others have said that same thing to me, and I began to laugh.
It is true I will go to my grave repeating actions that defy rational thinking but that are so ingrained in my brain there is little hope of changing my behavior without checking into a rehab program somewhere.
I suspect that all human beings have idiosyncrasies that appear foolish or irrational to others. Why, some of my behaviors seem foolish even to me but I have been known to repeat them.......over and over again.
For instance, I have great difficulty properly removing a hangnail from a finger or toe. Logic (and past painful experiences) would suggest that a hangnail should be carefully removed by either nail clippers or cuticle scissors.....not the rip and pull method most often selected by me.
One of my family's favorite to tease me about is my philosophy, 'if one is good, several must be better'. I won't release details about this one except to say that it involved cans of prune juice.
However, I can write....with great pride....that it only took attempting to quick-chill one can of soda in the freezer (and forgetting about it) to realize that was an idea that should most definitely not be repeated.
There must be hope, somewhere in my cerebrum, to believe that I can avoid swollen, painful fingers and toes because I persist in rapidly removing a hangnail or I can avoid the consequences of drinking too much prune juice. Now, if I can just remember that Cranky Kitty does not like to be petted on her right side..................
May your memory be better than mine!
Ancora imparo
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Taking Sides
Life seems to be filled with the idea of 'sides'. I don't mean the fun 'sides' like you would select in a restaurant; i.e. mashed potatoes with gravy, coleslaw, french fries, a salad, applesauce, dressing, etc. I'm referring to the 'sides' where opinion or position are in the forefront.
Take the Olympics, for instance. There is always petty grumbling about whose nation's athlete should have been awarded the gold medal and this year's games in Vancouver, BC are no exception. The current brouhaha is over the gold in Men's Figure Skating where the Russians are crying foul because their skater performed a 'quad' but received the Silver Medal and the American skater 'only' performed triples but earned the Gold Medal. This will probably not be the lone grumble heard during these Olympic games.
Other 'sides' we hear about are the sides in an argument, the other 'side' of the tracks, the other 'side' of the street, which 'side' your bread is buttered on, to name a few.
In my neighborhood, which side of the street your residence is on determines where your mailbox is located as well as how soon the snow melts off from your tiny driveway. I live on the shaded side of the street, whereas the units across from me have direct sunlight on their driveways and, therefore, their blacktops retain more heat and shed snow much more quickly than those on my 'side'.
Sides in an argument, disagreement or relationship can be pivotal in
determining outcomes or future arrangements. Friendships, partnerships and marriages can have their foundations altered or destroyed depending on how deeply entrenched each 'side' becomes in defending their point of view.
At times, each 'side' can have a skewed viewpoint, with both perspectives owning limitations and weaknesses but unwilling to take a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree view back at themselves. We see this scenario over and over again in politics and personal relationships. This unwillingness to change or acknowledge another's viewpoint usually leads to stalemates or total breakdowns in communication. When this happens, there are no 'winners' or 'losers', only firmly entrenched opinions and actions, incapable of flexibility, understanding or the remote possibility that someone else might have a better mousetrap.
It is at this stage of a deadlock that long showers, chocolate or dogs are the best solution for all involved. These solutions are non-invasive, non-threatening and totally self-indulgent.
What could be better than that when 'taking sides'?
Ancora imparo
Take the Olympics, for instance. There is always petty grumbling about whose nation's athlete should have been awarded the gold medal and this year's games in Vancouver, BC are no exception. The current brouhaha is over the gold in Men's Figure Skating where the Russians are crying foul because their skater performed a 'quad' but received the Silver Medal and the American skater 'only' performed triples but earned the Gold Medal. This will probably not be the lone grumble heard during these Olympic games.
Other 'sides' we hear about are the sides in an argument, the other 'side' of the tracks, the other 'side' of the street, which 'side' your bread is buttered on, to name a few.
In my neighborhood, which side of the street your residence is on determines where your mailbox is located as well as how soon the snow melts off from your tiny driveway. I live on the shaded side of the street, whereas the units across from me have direct sunlight on their driveways and, therefore, their blacktops retain more heat and shed snow much more quickly than those on my 'side'.
Sides in an argument, disagreement or relationship can be pivotal in
determining outcomes or future arrangements. Friendships, partnerships and marriages can have their foundations altered or destroyed depending on how deeply entrenched each 'side' becomes in defending their point of view.
At times, each 'side' can have a skewed viewpoint, with both perspectives owning limitations and weaknesses but unwilling to take a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree view back at themselves. We see this scenario over and over again in politics and personal relationships. This unwillingness to change or acknowledge another's viewpoint usually leads to stalemates or total breakdowns in communication. When this happens, there are no 'winners' or 'losers', only firmly entrenched opinions and actions, incapable of flexibility, understanding or the remote possibility that someone else might have a better mousetrap.
It is at this stage of a deadlock that long showers, chocolate or dogs are the best solution for all involved. These solutions are non-invasive, non-threatening and totally self-indulgent.
What could be better than that when 'taking sides'?
Ancora imparo
Friday, February 19, 2010
Aqua Retreat
Does it ever seem as if 'the world' is encroaching, exacting a bit of energy here and there, until you wake up one morning and realize that boundaries have been broached and need to be re-set? 'The world' easily slips into our daily lives - morning, noon, and night - and this phenomenon occurs with such subtlety that we are not aware it is happening.
I've been sensing too much 'world' as of late and I've discovered the perfect solution for moi: a very long shower. I may have to re-think this solution when our next water bill arrives, but until then, I'm looking forward to having skin that resembles a prune.
Just standing under the coursing water beating down on my skull or neck, steam collecting and rising, warming the room to a rain forest temperature and climate.........now there is true relaxation. Our shower area has two seats and you can sit down, if you prefer, and ponder the meaning of life as the steam swirls around you. Unlike state park showers that I've used over the years that have a pre-determined length of running time and you have to keep whacking the button to maintain a water flow, the home shower simply runs until you, the homeowner, decides to shut it off or your bank account runs dry (pun intended) - whichever comes first.
I find that clarity of thought is a bi-product of an overly-long shower, as is the extended number of people you can pray for, plus it is a way to avoid 'the world'. As a rule, I do not take my cell phone into the shower area, so I am out of contact with 'the world' for a period of time not to exceed what?
That is the beauty of escaping into the shower. I can decide how long I'll stand under the water and hide within the billowing puffs of steam. I know if I am absent for too long, someone will eventually come looking for me and when they do, I'll simply call out that I am alive and well and not done yet.
Just think......I decided all of this and I wasn't even dripping wet! Now that is inspiration!
I think I'll grab my towel and head for the shower. Perhaps more wisdom and personal revelation will follow.
Ancora imparo
I've been sensing too much 'world' as of late and I've discovered the perfect solution for moi: a very long shower. I may have to re-think this solution when our next water bill arrives, but until then, I'm looking forward to having skin that resembles a prune.
Just standing under the coursing water beating down on my skull or neck, steam collecting and rising, warming the room to a rain forest temperature and climate.........now there is true relaxation. Our shower area has two seats and you can sit down, if you prefer, and ponder the meaning of life as the steam swirls around you. Unlike state park showers that I've used over the years that have a pre-determined length of running time and you have to keep whacking the button to maintain a water flow, the home shower simply runs until you, the homeowner, decides to shut it off or your bank account runs dry (pun intended) - whichever comes first.
I find that clarity of thought is a bi-product of an overly-long shower, as is the extended number of people you can pray for, plus it is a way to avoid 'the world'. As a rule, I do not take my cell phone into the shower area, so I am out of contact with 'the world' for a period of time not to exceed what?
That is the beauty of escaping into the shower. I can decide how long I'll stand under the water and hide within the billowing puffs of steam. I know if I am absent for too long, someone will eventually come looking for me and when they do, I'll simply call out that I am alive and well and not done yet.
Just think......I decided all of this and I wasn't even dripping wet! Now that is inspiration!
I think I'll grab my towel and head for the shower. Perhaps more wisdom and personal revelation will follow.
Ancora imparo
Thursday, February 18, 2010
"Those Were The Days, My Friends"
Several weeks ago, I pulled my dusty high school yearbooks off from a shelf in my office, hauled them out to my favorite chair, grabbed a cup of coffee, and prepared to take a trip down memory lane. From time, to time, I have opened one of the six that I own - and, no, it did not take me six years to matriculate through high school. In my small hometown, our high school and junior high school were under one roof so grades seven through twelve shared yearbook space. Back to why I'd ever open my yearbooks.......to look up the picture associated with a name that simply popped into either my or my SO's head. Suffice it to say, the dust on those books does not get disturbed or removed very often.
But, on this one particular day, at this one particular recent time, I did pour through the pages with care. What a 'trip'!
Through subsequent conversations, over the years, with both males and females, I have discovered that the subject "high school years" elicits one of three reactions: Fond memories accompanied by smiles and stories one would never believe, awful memories accompanied by anger or tears or both, OR no memories at all. These latter folk have purposefully and willfully wiped out any remembrance of their formative, but painful, years spent in high school.
I fall into the category of having vivid memories from my high school years. I can still see the hallways of my Freshman year 'old' high school, that was subsequently razed when the 'new' high school opened up. The new high school's layout and room locations are still etched in my mind, including most of my seat assignments. Certainly I have some not-so-pleasant memories from that period of my life, but they are few in number and are vastly over-shadowed by those memories that range from wacky to You-would-never-believe-it to life-shaping and character building. (Or, perhaps, the building of a character?)
I enjoyed my recent walk through the past. I found people I'd rather forget but I found many more that I'd like to 'catch up' with, not only to see what we all look like now, but to hear what everyone is doing, where they live.......all of those details that make us who we are today.
Let's all dust off our yearbooks and revive our memories. Some pages will require coffee, some pages might require an alcoholic beverage of some type, and yet other pages will require a beverage in each hand or even a trip to the psychiatrist. Tissues might be needed and that is when we can hug our dogs while we examine our pasts.
"Those were the days, my friends. We thought they'd never end......."
Ancora imparo
But, on this one particular day, at this one particular recent time, I did pour through the pages with care. What a 'trip'!
Through subsequent conversations, over the years, with both males and females, I have discovered that the subject "high school years" elicits one of three reactions: Fond memories accompanied by smiles and stories one would never believe, awful memories accompanied by anger or tears or both, OR no memories at all. These latter folk have purposefully and willfully wiped out any remembrance of their formative, but painful, years spent in high school.
I fall into the category of having vivid memories from my high school years. I can still see the hallways of my Freshman year 'old' high school, that was subsequently razed when the 'new' high school opened up. The new high school's layout and room locations are still etched in my mind, including most of my seat assignments. Certainly I have some not-so-pleasant memories from that period of my life, but they are few in number and are vastly over-shadowed by those memories that range from wacky to You-would-never-believe-it to life-shaping and character building. (Or, perhaps, the building of a character?)
I enjoyed my recent walk through the past. I found people I'd rather forget but I found many more that I'd like to 'catch up' with, not only to see what we all look like now, but to hear what everyone is doing, where they live.......all of those details that make us who we are today.
Let's all dust off our yearbooks and revive our memories. Some pages will require coffee, some pages might require an alcoholic beverage of some type, and yet other pages will require a beverage in each hand or even a trip to the psychiatrist. Tissues might be needed and that is when we can hug our dogs while we examine our pasts.
"Those were the days, my friends. We thought they'd never end......."
Ancora imparo
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Chalk That One Up
Sometimes my culinary skills are legendary only in my mind. I am reminded, not infrequently, that my cooking talents could use some professional assistance. I could sign up for a local cooking class but I think my deficit is so large that I would be better served by living abroad for a year and attending an international cooking school.
Watching the Food Network has helped me gain some skill and has most certainly given me lots of tips and ideas on food preparation and presentation. My days of rhubarb limp, green eggs and ham, ultra-green creamed asparagus over toast and too many variations on a quiche theme are a thing of the past. In fact, I had been gaining the culinary self-confidence to try different recipes and was feeling more secure in the kitchen (in spite of my electric stove), until last night.
You see, yesterday I had a total flop, cooking-wise. Well, the day was dotted with several other frustrating incidences, but the kitchen calamity was the icing on an otherwise not-so-good day.
Several weeks ago I found a recipe, in a local newspaper, for making soup stock. My SO and I enjoy soup all throughout the cold-weather months and I make a large pot of some type of soup about every two weeks. Soup is good for many things: the soul, a head cold, cold-weather chills, a meal that can be ingested quickly before leaving the house, using up veggies from the fridge, or clearing space in a tiny freezer. All of our soups involve fresh (or fresh-frozen), lo-fat or no-fat ingredients, including plenty of legumes.
I was very excited and interested in trying to make my own soup stock and, for the past three weeks, we have been collecting just what the article's author told readers to do: Save your veggie scraps and your apple/orange peels. It felt rather odd freezing what would normally go into and through the garbage disposal, but, what the heck.......it was worth a try. Yesterday came, and with it, a note on my calendar to make soup stock. Since it was written on my calendar, therefore it had to be done.
I found the recipe, assembled all of the pots/pans/accessories necessary, and rummaged through the refrigerator and pantry for the additional ingredients suggested. Throughout the process, small snafus came and went, and should have raised my warning radar that, perhaps, this was the prelude to a flop. And, what a flavor flop it was! Decorum does not allow me to describe what the end result tasted like. Suffice it to say, after about six hours of work and attention, the watery substance masquerading as possible soup stock was dumped, unceremoniously, down the drain.......along with the pseudo-confidence in my gourmet cooking ability.
May I add that the soup stock you can purchase in the grocery store will not be replaced in my pantry any time in the near (or far) future.
I have just one word for yesterday's kitchen experience: Yuck.
Ancora imparo
Watching the Food Network has helped me gain some skill and has most certainly given me lots of tips and ideas on food preparation and presentation. My days of rhubarb limp, green eggs and ham, ultra-green creamed asparagus over toast and too many variations on a quiche theme are a thing of the past. In fact, I had been gaining the culinary self-confidence to try different recipes and was feeling more secure in the kitchen (in spite of my electric stove), until last night.
You see, yesterday I had a total flop, cooking-wise. Well, the day was dotted with several other frustrating incidences, but the kitchen calamity was the icing on an otherwise not-so-good day.
Several weeks ago I found a recipe, in a local newspaper, for making soup stock. My SO and I enjoy soup all throughout the cold-weather months and I make a large pot of some type of soup about every two weeks. Soup is good for many things: the soul, a head cold, cold-weather chills, a meal that can be ingested quickly before leaving the house, using up veggies from the fridge, or clearing space in a tiny freezer. All of our soups involve fresh (or fresh-frozen), lo-fat or no-fat ingredients, including plenty of legumes.
I was very excited and interested in trying to make my own soup stock and, for the past three weeks, we have been collecting just what the article's author told readers to do: Save your veggie scraps and your apple/orange peels. It felt rather odd freezing what would normally go into and through the garbage disposal, but, what the heck.......it was worth a try. Yesterday came, and with it, a note on my calendar to make soup stock. Since it was written on my calendar, therefore it had to be done.
I found the recipe, assembled all of the pots/pans/accessories necessary, and rummaged through the refrigerator and pantry for the additional ingredients suggested. Throughout the process, small snafus came and went, and should have raised my warning radar that, perhaps, this was the prelude to a flop. And, what a flavor flop it was! Decorum does not allow me to describe what the end result tasted like. Suffice it to say, after about six hours of work and attention, the watery substance masquerading as possible soup stock was dumped, unceremoniously, down the drain.......along with the pseudo-confidence in my gourmet cooking ability.
May I add that the soup stock you can purchase in the grocery store will not be replaced in my pantry any time in the near (or far) future.
I have just one word for yesterday's kitchen experience: Yuck.
Ancora imparo
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
When Times Are Tight....
When times are tight......
I heard this moth-eaten phrase recently. It was used to describe the current economic conditions that continue and show little evidence of improving. These 'tight times' are affecting people, businesses,and institutions. Few areas of life, as we know it, are unscathed at the present time. About the only folk seemingly not phased by 'tight times' are local and national politicians. These 'public servants' have forgotten that they exist in their present positions due to voters keeping them where they are.
Almost daily, I receive an email, or a letter arrives from snail mail, that represents an entity begging, pleading, or groveling for more public money. Everybody, everywhere is hurting. Most of these pleas for financial help are legitimate, which makes the whole scenario all the more heart-breaking.
But.....yes, there is a 'but' here......Public Joe and Jane have just so much money in their pockets and choices do have to be made. Do some Joes and Janes make poor financial decisions? Of course. That is human nature and is to be expected. Is every person who declines the opportunity to give more, give deeper, and more often, a 'bad' person? Of course not. But the guilt is heavy-laden and is dispensed frequently and fervently. The reality is that Joe and Jane America's financial resources are limited and that this hypothetical couple has to make difficult choices every day on how to spend their either hard-earned dollars or carefully saved resources.
So, who or what will Joe and Jane America choose to be the recipients of their 'gifted' dollars? How will they make their decisions?
There may be weeks or months when Joe and Jane have no income left over for sharing. They may be faced with medical bills or unexpected failures of an auto or home appliance. Just because their charitable support temporarily wanes does not make them horrible people. When they do have dollars to share they will have multiple choices - all richly deserving that desperately need financial undergirding. The intuitively-led institution understands this waxing and waning effect and will try to plan for those leaner periods 'when times are tight'.
The irresponsible institution's(s') spending patterns never change, regardless of the financial situations supporters face. Many organizations, including our nation's Congress, will feel the wrath of those who vote, give,or both, if responsible spending and budgeting are not in evidence, either overtly or covertly.
'We' still have the power of the pen or the ballot. Both are vehicles of choice.
Choose we will and choose we must.....when times are tight.
Ancora imparo
I heard this moth-eaten phrase recently. It was used to describe the current economic conditions that continue and show little evidence of improving. These 'tight times' are affecting people, businesses,and institutions. Few areas of life, as we know it, are unscathed at the present time. About the only folk seemingly not phased by 'tight times' are local and national politicians. These 'public servants' have forgotten that they exist in their present positions due to voters keeping them where they are.
Almost daily, I receive an email, or a letter arrives from snail mail, that represents an entity begging, pleading, or groveling for more public money. Everybody, everywhere is hurting. Most of these pleas for financial help are legitimate, which makes the whole scenario all the more heart-breaking.
But.....yes, there is a 'but' here......Public Joe and Jane have just so much money in their pockets and choices do have to be made. Do some Joes and Janes make poor financial decisions? Of course. That is human nature and is to be expected. Is every person who declines the opportunity to give more, give deeper, and more often, a 'bad' person? Of course not. But the guilt is heavy-laden and is dispensed frequently and fervently. The reality is that Joe and Jane America's financial resources are limited and that this hypothetical couple has to make difficult choices every day on how to spend their either hard-earned dollars or carefully saved resources.
So, who or what will Joe and Jane America choose to be the recipients of their 'gifted' dollars? How will they make their decisions?
There may be weeks or months when Joe and Jane have no income left over for sharing. They may be faced with medical bills or unexpected failures of an auto or home appliance. Just because their charitable support temporarily wanes does not make them horrible people. When they do have dollars to share they will have multiple choices - all richly deserving that desperately need financial undergirding. The intuitively-led institution understands this waxing and waning effect and will try to plan for those leaner periods 'when times are tight'.
The irresponsible institution's(s') spending patterns never change, regardless of the financial situations supporters face. Many organizations, including our nation's Congress, will feel the wrath of those who vote, give,or both, if responsible spending and budgeting are not in evidence, either overtly or covertly.
'We' still have the power of the pen or the ballot. Both are vehicles of choice.
Choose we will and choose we must.....when times are tight.
Ancora imparo
Monday, February 15, 2010
What Will I Be Like At Her Age?
Our geriatric feline is slowing down. One of her eyes looks as if it may have cataracts but her vet says she can still see and she has no pain associated with her eye issue. I have noticed that she doesn't jump any more like she used to. In fact, we have unwittingly made physical accommodations for her to get into 'her' chair. It was my SO that noted that Cranky Kitty doesn't leap up into her chair any longer. Now she takes an inclined route from a foot stool to a chair, to the arm of the chair, over to an end table, and, finally, one step over into her chair with its comfy cushion.
Cranky Kitty is showing her age. So much so, that I sat down and got serious about figuring out about how old CK is. By my most conservative calculations, she is about one hundred and ten years old in human years. In just two months, she will celebrate her sixteenth year upon this earth. Hers has been a conflicted existence between wanting to sit on the laps of her owners versus biting her owners. I've written about her before. You never know what personality she will be 'wearing' at any given time of the day, therefore, she should always be approached with extreme caution.
Aging she may be, but she still has two senses that work overtime for her: Smell and sound. Today, she demonstrated her extreme ability to smell anything tuna related. She appeared to be sound asleep, snoring loudly, when I started making tuna salad. Knowing that her olfactory sense is uber-alert when it comes to tuna, I kept my eyes on her as I quietly unzipped the tuna packet. Almost instantly, she lifted her head and began sniffing the air. As the seconds passed, her sniffing became more obvious and intense. Soon she was staring straight across the room at me and shortly after that, she was able to jump down from her perch and scurry across the room, meowing frantically as she moved. At this point, she is highly predictable. She will sit at my feet, loudly complaining until morsels of tuna fish are set at her feet. She gobbles up what she is given, then moves back to her chair, where she proceeds to clean her face and front feet.
I wonder what I will be like at nearly one-hundred and twelve years of age? Heck, I wonder if I will even be alive at one-hundred and twelve years of age? Better yet, will I even want to be alive at one-hundred and twelve? Will I have cataracts covering one or both eyes? Will I need accommodations in order to climb into my favorite place to sleep? Will I still have my hearing? Will I still be able to savor the aroma of coffee beans, bacon frying, chocolate chip cookies baking or fine chocolate?
Weighty questions.
I need a dog.
Ancora imparo
Cranky Kitty is showing her age. So much so, that I sat down and got serious about figuring out about how old CK is. By my most conservative calculations, she is about one hundred and ten years old in human years. In just two months, she will celebrate her sixteenth year upon this earth. Hers has been a conflicted existence between wanting to sit on the laps of her owners versus biting her owners. I've written about her before. You never know what personality she will be 'wearing' at any given time of the day, therefore, she should always be approached with extreme caution.
Aging she may be, but she still has two senses that work overtime for her: Smell and sound. Today, she demonstrated her extreme ability to smell anything tuna related. She appeared to be sound asleep, snoring loudly, when I started making tuna salad. Knowing that her olfactory sense is uber-alert when it comes to tuna, I kept my eyes on her as I quietly unzipped the tuna packet. Almost instantly, she lifted her head and began sniffing the air. As the seconds passed, her sniffing became more obvious and intense. Soon she was staring straight across the room at me and shortly after that, she was able to jump down from her perch and scurry across the room, meowing frantically as she moved. At this point, she is highly predictable. She will sit at my feet, loudly complaining until morsels of tuna fish are set at her feet. She gobbles up what she is given, then moves back to her chair, where she proceeds to clean her face and front feet.
I wonder what I will be like at nearly one-hundred and twelve years of age? Heck, I wonder if I will even be alive at one-hundred and twelve years of age? Better yet, will I even want to be alive at one-hundred and twelve? Will I have cataracts covering one or both eyes? Will I need accommodations in order to climb into my favorite place to sleep? Will I still have my hearing? Will I still be able to savor the aroma of coffee beans, bacon frying, chocolate chip cookies baking or fine chocolate?
Weighty questions.
I need a dog.
Ancora imparo
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Fantasy Meal
Well, the day has arrived, hasn't it? That day that society demands we must proclaim our love in a certain way or our beloveds will not 'feel the luuuv'.
My way of showing love to my family used to be preparing my annual 'red' meal, where everything served was either naturally red or had red poured over it - i.e. the meatloaf, which was smothered in catsup.
Great care was taken to include menu items such as red beets; a salad with tomatoes, radishes, red peppers and shredded red cabbage; tiny red potatoes; the aforementioned catsup-smothered meatloaf; strawberries or raspberries served over vanilla ice cream. I would use as many red serving dishes and plates as possible, all in an effort to create a Valentine's atmosphere for my family.
Since there is only my SO and I to cook for now, and we both are needing to watch our intake of anything fun, we are having a meal of salad, fresh green beans, a wild/brown rice combination, fish, and a low-fat flan with a strawberry sauce reduction sweetened with an artificial sweetener. Very sad, but necessary.
Here is what our fantasy Valentine meal would be comprised of......if only we could:
Shrimp Cocktail
New England Clam Chowder
Caesar Salad
Twice-baked potatoes with sour cream, more bacon, chives, and shredded cheddar cheese
A fine steak, wrapped in bacon
Cauliflower with a Velveeta cheese sauce
And, finally, a turtle sundae, made with the highest grade of vanilla ice cream possible
After which, some major body parts would inevitably malfunction, and I might no longer be a passenger on this earth.........but I will have a smile on my face.
Happy Valentine's Day!
My way of showing love to my family used to be preparing my annual 'red' meal, where everything served was either naturally red or had red poured over it - i.e. the meatloaf, which was smothered in catsup.
Great care was taken to include menu items such as red beets; a salad with tomatoes, radishes, red peppers and shredded red cabbage; tiny red potatoes; the aforementioned catsup-smothered meatloaf; strawberries or raspberries served over vanilla ice cream. I would use as many red serving dishes and plates as possible, all in an effort to create a Valentine's atmosphere for my family.
Since there is only my SO and I to cook for now, and we both are needing to watch our intake of anything fun, we are having a meal of salad, fresh green beans, a wild/brown rice combination, fish, and a low-fat flan with a strawberry sauce reduction sweetened with an artificial sweetener. Very sad, but necessary.
Here is what our fantasy Valentine meal would be comprised of......if only we could:
Shrimp Cocktail
New England Clam Chowder
Caesar Salad
Twice-baked potatoes with sour cream, more bacon, chives, and shredded cheddar cheese
A fine steak, wrapped in bacon
Cauliflower with a Velveeta cheese sauce
And, finally, a turtle sundae, made with the highest grade of vanilla ice cream possible
After which, some major body parts would inevitably malfunction, and I might no longer be a passenger on this earth.........but I will have a smile on my face.
Happy Valentine's Day!
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Fears, Follies and Foibles
Forgive my forthrightness, but my least favorite greeting-card-industry day of public fleecing is less than twenty-four hours away: Valentine's Day. No, I am not anti-love, I do not hate Cupid, and I cherish my SO, but come on.......Valentine's Day has become Madison Avenue's Day-of-Madness.
School children understand the stress associated with Valentine's Day parties, when ALL the children know exactly who received the least number of Valentine cards in their shoe-box-decorated Valentine 'mail boxes'. After the Valentine's have been passed out, fear and trepidation can be seen and felt as the students approach their 'box', ready to take the contents back to their desk for opening and counting.
The foible in this greeting card-industry-induced folly is that individuals, especially adults, are made to feel less-than-desirable if they are not remembered by someone other than themselves on Valentine's Day. We have been sold a collective bill of goods that has led us to believe that love is measured by the delivery of flowers, a heart-shaped box of chocolates, a greeting card to open, the giving of bedazzling jewels and trinkets, or pajamas in a hat box sent via special messenger.
Let's banish the hype and guilting (my word) by marketing wizards and simply say either "I love you." or acknowledge our own self-worth and value. God loves us. That's all we need.
Ancora imparo
School children understand the stress associated with Valentine's Day parties, when ALL the children know exactly who received the least number of Valentine cards in their shoe-box-decorated Valentine 'mail boxes'. After the Valentine's have been passed out, fear and trepidation can be seen and felt as the students approach their 'box', ready to take the contents back to their desk for opening and counting.
The foible in this greeting card-industry-induced folly is that individuals, especially adults, are made to feel less-than-desirable if they are not remembered by someone other than themselves on Valentine's Day. We have been sold a collective bill of goods that has led us to believe that love is measured by the delivery of flowers, a heart-shaped box of chocolates, a greeting card to open, the giving of bedazzling jewels and trinkets, or pajamas in a hat box sent via special messenger.
Let's banish the hype and guilting (my word) by marketing wizards and simply say either "I love you." or acknowledge our own self-worth and value. God loves us. That's all we need.
Ancora imparo
Friday, February 12, 2010
Marraige Olympics
The 2010 Vancouver Winter Olympic Games are set for opening ceremonies tonight. Much of the world will be watching over the next ten days as primo athletes from all over the world compete against each other, vying for the ultra-coveted gold, silver, and bronze medals. Countries, both large and small, send delegations of Olympic challengers in sport categories too numerous to mention in this blog. Suffice it to say, with the exception of some ice skating-type competitions that require grace, elegance, endurance.......not to mention high skill levels, the major requirement, to reign supreme, is 'the need for speed'. Olympic athletes must possess the need for speed and the desire to 'press the envelope' of performance in order to even qualify to represent their countries in their respective sport venues.
I'd like to point out another institution that ranks right up there with the International Olympic Organization and that is the institution of marriage. Valentine's Day is just two days away and I think it is time to recognize marriage as a the great sport that it is. I'm hoping that God appreciates my analogy of marriage to an Olympic sport, because I do see parallels.
With the exception of bands, orchestras and choirs, marriage is the last great team sport. Just because marriage is between only two people does not diminish the importance of its team nature. Think of the analogies that can be drawn:
Not all marriages will be gold medal winners, but winners, none-the-less.
There is no letter I in the word team.
Ancora imparo
I'd like to point out another institution that ranks right up there with the International Olympic Organization and that is the institution of marriage. Valentine's Day is just two days away and I think it is time to recognize marriage as a the great sport that it is. I'm hoping that God appreciates my analogy of marriage to an Olympic sport, because I do see parallels.
With the exception of bands, orchestras and choirs, marriage is the last great team sport. Just because marriage is between only two people does not diminish the importance of its team nature. Think of the analogies that can be drawn:
- Skating on thin ice
- Uplifting your partner
- Skiing on slippery slopes
- Carrying the 'torch' for your partner
- Bestowing that camera-winning smile on your partner
- Picking up the slack when your partner drops the baton
- Skating faster when your teammate cannot
- Navigating the twists and turns of Alpine skiing
- Celebrating life's little victories
- Sharing the frustrations and sorrows that life throws at us
- Rejoicing when a team member wins a 'medal'
Not all marriages will be gold medal winners, but winners, none-the-less.
There is no letter I in the word team.
Ancora imparo
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Uncaffeinated Jolt
Today's posting title is an oxymoron, as far as I am concerned. It is not possible to receive a jolt from any beverage that is lacking in caffeine, but, isn't that the point of caffeine anyway?
Initially, caffeine acts as a stimulant and people react differently to its effect. College students, high school students, sleep-deprived parents, and those whose occupations require staying alert for extended periods of time rely on products that contain caffeine. When I was a college student, if I had to work into the night (or through the night as college students are want to do), my stay-awake-beverage of choice was tea. To this day, black tea will make me wakeful long beyond its time of ingestion. Another young woman from my college days added copious amounts of black pepper to her coffee or tea. Now there's a jolt!
Why am writing about coffee, tea, caffeine, and caffeineless jolts? Because early one recent morning, I felt the effect of an uncaffeinated jolt.......a nearby, lower-level earthquake. Mother Nature must have wanted the attention of my geographic area so she shook our collective shoulders, as any mother would do, and let us know it was time to wake up. Of course, I did not realize that which had awakened me - rattling windows - was the result of an earthquake, but I did quickly rule out all of the usual suspects. Since it was very early morning, I did not think that the neighborhood quarry would be dynamiting at that hour of the day.....I could not hear the road noise of an eighteen-wheeler rumbling by on the highway near us.......and I could not hear any further evidence of snow-removal crews and equipment working on my driveway approach or street. So I lay there in bed, listening intently for a few minutes, then drifted back to sleep, only to be awakened shortly thereafter by a relative in another state, who had just heard about the earthquake on her television and called to see if I had felt it.
Mother Nature's jolt contained no caffeine or products designed to keep people awake, but it did pack a gentle punch that got peoples' attention and, probably, kept them awake afterward. She (Mother Nature) reminded us that she can do anything, at any time, anywhere, and at any 'volume' (look at Haiti). Unlike a human mother, Mother Nature does not differentiate between urban/rural, wealthy/poverty, plains/mountains, or hot/cold. She just dishes out whatever is on her geological menu for that day or night. She determines what her jolt will be.
I think I would prefer trying my old college friend's jolt of black pepper in her coffee and tea.
Ancora imparo
Initially, caffeine acts as a stimulant and people react differently to its effect. College students, high school students, sleep-deprived parents, and those whose occupations require staying alert for extended periods of time rely on products that contain caffeine. When I was a college student, if I had to work into the night (or through the night as college students are want to do), my stay-awake-beverage of choice was tea. To this day, black tea will make me wakeful long beyond its time of ingestion. Another young woman from my college days added copious amounts of black pepper to her coffee or tea. Now there's a jolt!
Why am writing about coffee, tea, caffeine, and caffeineless jolts? Because early one recent morning, I felt the effect of an uncaffeinated jolt.......a nearby, lower-level earthquake. Mother Nature must have wanted the attention of my geographic area so she shook our collective shoulders, as any mother would do, and let us know it was time to wake up. Of course, I did not realize that which had awakened me - rattling windows - was the result of an earthquake, but I did quickly rule out all of the usual suspects. Since it was very early morning, I did not think that the neighborhood quarry would be dynamiting at that hour of the day.....I could not hear the road noise of an eighteen-wheeler rumbling by on the highway near us.......and I could not hear any further evidence of snow-removal crews and equipment working on my driveway approach or street. So I lay there in bed, listening intently for a few minutes, then drifted back to sleep, only to be awakened shortly thereafter by a relative in another state, who had just heard about the earthquake on her television and called to see if I had felt it.
Mother Nature's jolt contained no caffeine or products designed to keep people awake, but it did pack a gentle punch that got peoples' attention and, probably, kept them awake afterward. She (Mother Nature) reminded us that she can do anything, at any time, anywhere, and at any 'volume' (look at Haiti). Unlike a human mother, Mother Nature does not differentiate between urban/rural, wealthy/poverty, plains/mountains, or hot/cold. She just dishes out whatever is on her geological menu for that day or night. She determines what her jolt will be.
I think I would prefer trying my old college friend's jolt of black pepper in her coffee and tea.
Ancora imparo
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Time Measurements
How do you measure the passage of time?
People have differing methods of acknowledging the passage of time. Marking calendar days off with large X's, turning the daily page on a journal of some type, just looking at a calendar, flipping a sheet on one of those desk-calendars with a comic-strip character theme, noticing the date on a personal computer or cell phone..........these are all ways we mark twenty-four-hour date changes.
In past millenniums, ancient man noted the rising and setting of the sun and then took a sharp object to make a mark on stone. Another ancient method involved reading sun dials and, later, complicated machinery to act as a calendar.
I began thinking about how I mark time, this morning, when I put the new pages, for the next fifteen months, in my planner/agenda. This process also involves re-writing calendar notations from some temporary pages to the 'permanent' pages that I just received. My SO and I try to map out our calendars, in very broad strokes, for six to nine months in advance. This helps avoid what I call 'calendar collisions' and enables us to keep our schedules clear for family events and visits to family members. In other words, it helps reinforce our priorities for how we spend our time.
As I paged through the planner pages for the next several months, I realized that other, seemingly trivial activities act as measurements for the passage of time for me: a haircut date, appointments for six-month dental and contact check-ups, or future singing dates for the choir I coach.
It appears that existence is predicated by pre-planning, or, at least, mine is. I wonder what life would be like if I never filled out a calendar page in advance, but just arose every day and thought, "What should I do today?"
This would be spontaneity in its truest sense. Liberating? Emancipating? Unfettering? Or just unrealistic? I have to ponder this one.
If you have tried living life with zero pre-planning, let me hear from you. I'm ready for a lesson.
Ancora imparo
People have differing methods of acknowledging the passage of time. Marking calendar days off with large X's, turning the daily page on a journal of some type, just looking at a calendar, flipping a sheet on one of those desk-calendars with a comic-strip character theme, noticing the date on a personal computer or cell phone..........these are all ways we mark twenty-four-hour date changes.
In past millenniums, ancient man noted the rising and setting of the sun and then took a sharp object to make a mark on stone. Another ancient method involved reading sun dials and, later, complicated machinery to act as a calendar.
I began thinking about how I mark time, this morning, when I put the new pages, for the next fifteen months, in my planner/agenda. This process also involves re-writing calendar notations from some temporary pages to the 'permanent' pages that I just received. My SO and I try to map out our calendars, in very broad strokes, for six to nine months in advance. This helps avoid what I call 'calendar collisions' and enables us to keep our schedules clear for family events and visits to family members. In other words, it helps reinforce our priorities for how we spend our time.
As I paged through the planner pages for the next several months, I realized that other, seemingly trivial activities act as measurements for the passage of time for me: a haircut date, appointments for six-month dental and contact check-ups, or future singing dates for the choir I coach.
It appears that existence is predicated by pre-planning, or, at least, mine is. I wonder what life would be like if I never filled out a calendar page in advance, but just arose every day and thought, "What should I do today?"
This would be spontaneity in its truest sense. Liberating? Emancipating? Unfettering? Or just unrealistic? I have to ponder this one.
If you have tried living life with zero pre-planning, let me hear from you. I'm ready for a lesson.
Ancora imparo
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Facebook and Commercials
I've just read yet another article about this year's Super Bowl commercials. It seems that everyone from newspaper columnists to television talk show hosts, to the 'man on the street' has an opinion they would like to share with the world regarding their views of which Madison Avenue creations were 'successful' this past Sunday night.
I watched the game. Well, I'd use the verb 'watch' loosely. Other women and I were having great fun conversing and we kept our sights on the game.....occasionally. It wasn't too hard because we were in a room with a giant television screen that made it seem that you could reach out and catch the football yourself. When a commercial came on, which was about every five minutes, we'd either pay full attention or half attention, depending on the efficacy of the commercial. Some of them were real conversation stoppers and others (many) were yawn-producers. Some elicited guffaws while others evoked looks of pure boredom.
There were two that exacted instant reactions among those I was with: The commercial for a clothing line that had all the hunter-gatherers running around pantless and the beer commercial that showcased the friendship between a colt and a calf. Later, in this commercial, the punchline comes when the colt has grown to be a draft horse and the calf a bull, complete with a mighty-fine set of horns. My take-a-way from this is that you never know when a friend from your past might burst through 'the fence' and make an appearance in your life.......which is what the whole Facebook 'thing' seems poised to make possible.
Social networking is a fascinating phenomenon. One could literally spend waaaay too many hours per day 'browsing' through Facebook, or other sites like it, searching for people. While Facebook does provide the opportunity to re-connect with people from our pasts, those re-connections are all faceless. I have friends from yesteryear that I would like to 'find' but, ultimately, the best reunion is like the one where the bull bursts through the fence and proceeds to run beside his old friend, the draft horse.
You still cannot beat face-to-face, real-time friendships. I need to remember that.
Ancora imparo
I watched the game. Well, I'd use the verb 'watch' loosely. Other women and I were having great fun conversing and we kept our sights on the game.....occasionally. It wasn't too hard because we were in a room with a giant television screen that made it seem that you could reach out and catch the football yourself. When a commercial came on, which was about every five minutes, we'd either pay full attention or half attention, depending on the efficacy of the commercial. Some of them were real conversation stoppers and others (many) were yawn-producers. Some elicited guffaws while others evoked looks of pure boredom.
There were two that exacted instant reactions among those I was with: The commercial for a clothing line that had all the hunter-gatherers running around pantless and the beer commercial that showcased the friendship between a colt and a calf. Later, in this commercial, the punchline comes when the colt has grown to be a draft horse and the calf a bull, complete with a mighty-fine set of horns. My take-a-way from this is that you never know when a friend from your past might burst through 'the fence' and make an appearance in your life.......which is what the whole Facebook 'thing' seems poised to make possible.
Social networking is a fascinating phenomenon. One could literally spend waaaay too many hours per day 'browsing' through Facebook, or other sites like it, searching for people. While Facebook does provide the opportunity to re-connect with people from our pasts, those re-connections are all faceless. I have friends from yesteryear that I would like to 'find' but, ultimately, the best reunion is like the one where the bull bursts through the fence and proceeds to run beside his old friend, the draft horse.
You still cannot beat face-to-face, real-time friendships. I need to remember that.
Ancora imparo
Monday, February 8, 2010
Involuntarily Silenced
I was involuntarily silenced today - by my dentist. The lengthy mute state was due to my dentist performing a two-hour root canal on moi. If you never have to experience root canal, you will be a better person. You will not be subjected to emotional scarring, which is a natural bi-product for those of us who have undergone root canal, since it is not the most relaxing of dental procedures.
Detailing the mechanics of root canal would serve no purpose. Suffice it to say that it involves having your jaw propped open for a very long time by a torture device that was invented in the Dark Ages, lots of Novocaine (don't think about how that gets administered), drilling, scraping, sawing, sanding, and the sensation that something is being poked and prodded - but you are not quite sure where or how far up into your brain the dentist is going - it just feels like it is reaching the top of your skull.
Other than that, root canal is no big deal.
There was a beautiful quilt, displayed on the ceiling, for the patient to study and concentrate on. I'm certain that I have the pattern memorized and that I could re-produce the quilt readily. Staring at that quilt was like counting the number of tiles on a sanctuary's ceiling during a less-than-inspiring sermon. My favorite moments were when the dentist would apply some 'thing' to my tooth, or take an X-ray. Either one of these scenarios required a brief respite in the procedure. The dentist would leave the room to perform a quick inspection of another patient's mouth and I would get to take a brief power snooze.
The most remarkable part of this morning's procedure was, as indicated in the title of today's posting, that I was silent for such a long period of time. My SO would have never believed that I could be 'tacet' for so long. At least this dentist had the good sense not to ask me questions other than the kind that required a nod or shake of the head in response.
What was my take-a-way from today's root canal? I have a healthier tooth, I got to catch up on some shut-eye, and my wallet is considerably lighter due to no dental insurance. Sadly, no pain medication was prescribed for post-procedure discomfort. I do not plan on having any discomfort, either, but it would have been fun to swing from the chandelier!
Ancora imparo
Detailing the mechanics of root canal would serve no purpose. Suffice it to say that it involves having your jaw propped open for a very long time by a torture device that was invented in the Dark Ages, lots of Novocaine (don't think about how that gets administered), drilling, scraping, sawing, sanding, and the sensation that something is being poked and prodded - but you are not quite sure where or how far up into your brain the dentist is going - it just feels like it is reaching the top of your skull.
Other than that, root canal is no big deal.
There was a beautiful quilt, displayed on the ceiling, for the patient to study and concentrate on. I'm certain that I have the pattern memorized and that I could re-produce the quilt readily. Staring at that quilt was like counting the number of tiles on a sanctuary's ceiling during a less-than-inspiring sermon. My favorite moments were when the dentist would apply some 'thing' to my tooth, or take an X-ray. Either one of these scenarios required a brief respite in the procedure. The dentist would leave the room to perform a quick inspection of another patient's mouth and I would get to take a brief power snooze.
The most remarkable part of this morning's procedure was, as indicated in the title of today's posting, that I was silent for such a long period of time. My SO would have never believed that I could be 'tacet' for so long. At least this dentist had the good sense not to ask me questions other than the kind that required a nod or shake of the head in response.
What was my take-a-way from today's root canal? I have a healthier tooth, I got to catch up on some shut-eye, and my wallet is considerably lighter due to no dental insurance. Sadly, no pain medication was prescribed for post-procedure discomfort. I do not plan on having any discomfort, either, but it would have been fun to swing from the chandelier!
Ancora imparo
Friday, February 5, 2010
That Will Be Two Dollars
I stopped at an estate sale this afternoon. I know the lady whose estate is being liquidated and I know her daughter who is conducting the sale. They both used to live in my neighborhood until the mother could no longer live alone. She now lives in a retirement village where everything is provided and she has need for few possessions other than her clothing and personal items.
The sale was well organized and her belongings were beautifully arranged and displayed. As I looked over the accumulations of seventy-plus adult years,
I was struck at what I was seeing. This woman's life, as an independent person, was laid out in front of me in every room. I realized that this could be me some day.....and probably should be. Whether I will have moved to a different facility or will have taken leave of this earth, my belongings may be inventoried, itemized, and have little white tags on everything. $2, $3, $10, $15, and higher, if my 'estate' is lucky. A lifetime reduced to sales tags.
Her jewelry was lovely as were her hats. I can remember seeing her at neighborhood lunches, and always, a hat on her head, along with a fashionable amount of jewelry. She is a lady and always dressed as one. I can imagine that she will still be dressing 'to the nines' in her new surroundings.
I made two purchases at her sale, one of which is an artfully crocheted table covering that I am told was made by her mother. The design and color patterns are very distinctive. I told her daughter I would give her grandmother's table covering a good home and she smiled one of the few smiles I saw from her at the sale. Seeing your mother's belongings tagged and displayed like merchandise would be very stressful.
Perhaps I should start divesting of my trinkets, junque, vintage items, and memorabilia before someone has to conduct an estate sale for me. My 'stuff' will be labeled with little white tags that say: 5-cents, 10-cents, 15-cents, 20-cents, etc.
My final contribution to the world would be a mathematical one.....how fitting.
Counting by fives.
Ancora imparo
The sale was well organized and her belongings were beautifully arranged and displayed. As I looked over the accumulations of seventy-plus adult years,
I was struck at what I was seeing. This woman's life, as an independent person, was laid out in front of me in every room. I realized that this could be me some day.....and probably should be. Whether I will have moved to a different facility or will have taken leave of this earth, my belongings may be inventoried, itemized, and have little white tags on everything. $2, $3, $10, $15, and higher, if my 'estate' is lucky. A lifetime reduced to sales tags.
Her jewelry was lovely as were her hats. I can remember seeing her at neighborhood lunches, and always, a hat on her head, along with a fashionable amount of jewelry. She is a lady and always dressed as one. I can imagine that she will still be dressing 'to the nines' in her new surroundings.
I made two purchases at her sale, one of which is an artfully crocheted table covering that I am told was made by her mother. The design and color patterns are very distinctive. I told her daughter I would give her grandmother's table covering a good home and she smiled one of the few smiles I saw from her at the sale. Seeing your mother's belongings tagged and displayed like merchandise would be very stressful.
Perhaps I should start divesting of my trinkets, junque, vintage items, and memorabilia before someone has to conduct an estate sale for me. My 'stuff' will be labeled with little white tags that say: 5-cents, 10-cents, 15-cents, 20-cents, etc.
My final contribution to the world would be a mathematical one.....how fitting.
Counting by fives.
Ancora imparo
Broccoli For Breakfast
I love eating broccoli for breakfast. Unlike a not-too-recent U.S. president, I could eat broccoli for any meal. I especially like it when it is finally over-cooked and mushy. It goes down nice and smooth, almost like broccoli soup, another favorite of mine. More common breakfast fare might be cereal and toast, eggs and bacon (only a distant memory in this household), pancakes and sausage, a simple cup of coffee inhaled on the go as one dashes out the door, or the tasty-but-deadly egg/sausage/muffin trio from the local drive-through. Lesser-prepared-but-tastier breakfast dishes would be quiche, omelets, souffles, etc.
Why am I writing about what we eat for breakfast?
Allow me to equate what we choose to eat for breakfast to leadership.
I've written about leadership before.....how some of us choose it and it falls upon some our doorsteps. Within those two categories are four sub-categories: Those who lead well and naturally, those who learn to lead well, those who lead poorly and know it and those who lead poorly but have no clue that they are inadequate and unnatural leaders.
Sometimes leaders have difficult roads to lead others through. The path may be crooked, thorny, dangerous, frustrating, strewn with pitfalls, and lonely. Sometimes the road is dotted with onlookers who scoff, berate, and otherwise disrespect the leader. If the leader is lucky, she or he will have supporters throughout the journey.
If leaders are wise, they will know their constituents and understand their circumstances, abilities, and temperaments. A leader from this group would choose to eat breakfast food that was apropos to the day's tasks and that complimented the tastes and products native to the region being visited that day. A leader from this group knows and cares about the people being led and would take the time to research what foods are indigenous to the area. This leader takes the time to prepare quiches, omelets, souffles, etc. that demonstrate knowledge of the followers and their way of life. Followers of this type of leader will reflect back the respect shown to them.
The unwise leader chooses breakfast food from whatever cupboard door happens to be hanging open. This leader is from the 'grab and run' school of leadership. Whatever is handy gets consumed, no matter the region and customs of the constituents. This leader does not think before eating, care is not taken to eat indigenous foods, nor is concern demonstrated for the opinions of the people served. This leader does not understand that she or he is a leader not because of over-inflated self-importance but that leadership is granted from those served. (double negative intended)
As a follower, I take note of what my leaders eat, how it is prepared and the manner in which it is served. I follow because I choose to. My leaders can leave their hastily and nastily gathered foods in the cupboard or refrigerator until they take the time to prepare a meal for themselves that reflects respect for me.
Bon appetite!
Ancora imparo
Why am I writing about what we eat for breakfast?
Allow me to equate what we choose to eat for breakfast to leadership.
I've written about leadership before.....how some of us choose it and it falls upon some our doorsteps. Within those two categories are four sub-categories: Those who lead well and naturally, those who learn to lead well, those who lead poorly and know it and those who lead poorly but have no clue that they are inadequate and unnatural leaders.
Sometimes leaders have difficult roads to lead others through. The path may be crooked, thorny, dangerous, frustrating, strewn with pitfalls, and lonely. Sometimes the road is dotted with onlookers who scoff, berate, and otherwise disrespect the leader. If the leader is lucky, she or he will have supporters throughout the journey.
If leaders are wise, they will know their constituents and understand their circumstances, abilities, and temperaments. A leader from this group would choose to eat breakfast food that was apropos to the day's tasks and that complimented the tastes and products native to the region being visited that day. A leader from this group knows and cares about the people being led and would take the time to research what foods are indigenous to the area. This leader takes the time to prepare quiches, omelets, souffles, etc. that demonstrate knowledge of the followers and their way of life. Followers of this type of leader will reflect back the respect shown to them.
The unwise leader chooses breakfast food from whatever cupboard door happens to be hanging open. This leader is from the 'grab and run' school of leadership. Whatever is handy gets consumed, no matter the region and customs of the constituents. This leader does not think before eating, care is not taken to eat indigenous foods, nor is concern demonstrated for the opinions of the people served. This leader does not understand that she or he is a leader not because of over-inflated self-importance but that leadership is granted from those served. (double negative intended)
As a follower, I take note of what my leaders eat, how it is prepared and the manner in which it is served. I follow because I choose to. My leaders can leave their hastily and nastily gathered foods in the cupboard or refrigerator until they take the time to prepare a meal for themselves that reflects respect for me.
Bon appetite!
Ancora imparo
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Elusive Definition
Lately, I've done a lot of thinking about what the word 'community' means. One of the definitions of community is a location where people reside. Another meaning is a bit more abstract.....when we refer to a 'sense of community'.
What gives humanity a sense of community?
Is it common shelter, friendship, loyalty, spirit d'corps, a uniform dress code, hair color, breed of dog we own, type of cell phone we use, online social networking sites, religion, language, geography, gates, shoe size? Really. What defines that which we think of as community?
Do you feel a sense of community in your life? Do we need a sense of community in our lives?
Humankind must have differing drives to experience a sense of community or why else would there be so many forms of communication: face-to-face encounters, voice-to-voice conversations, snail mail, web-based dialogue (now there is an oxymoron), tweeting, texting???
I surely do not know the answers to my own questions but I do know that I am missing a sense of community with myself and, if I do not have self-connectedness, is it possible to connect with others in any meaningful way?
After my dad suffered his stroke and lost his ability to communicate effectively, many of his so-called 'friends' dropped off his 'community' landscape. Being the very social person he was, and the fact that he was alone, this loss of companionship with others was very difficult for him. Because he had come to live with me and my family during his post-stroke speech rehabilitation and I had been the one to work with him on speech regeneration, I could understand him. I can still hear his faltering words, when he would be understandably down. "It is good that I am fond of my own company." That sentence comes back to my consciousness frequently when I am feeling isolated even though the world is swirling about me.
My place in the world of community has to begin with me before I can have any dialogue, conversation or relationship with another human. There are life-props that can enable me to connect with myself and others. I've tried bonding with my cranky cat but she is prone to biting the hand that pets her so she is not a dependable life-prop.........which is why I keep fantasizing about another kind of pet.
Hmmm, let's go through the list of possible pets: Birds, snakes, rabbits, gophers, ground squirrels, spiders, white-tail deer, poultry, gerbils, hamsters, mice, rats, snails, horses, cows, pot-bellied pigs.........have I missed any?
Oh, yes. A dog.
Ancora imparo
What gives humanity a sense of community?
Is it common shelter, friendship, loyalty, spirit d'corps, a uniform dress code, hair color, breed of dog we own, type of cell phone we use, online social networking sites, religion, language, geography, gates, shoe size? Really. What defines that which we think of as community?
Do you feel a sense of community in your life? Do we need a sense of community in our lives?
Humankind must have differing drives to experience a sense of community or why else would there be so many forms of communication: face-to-face encounters, voice-to-voice conversations, snail mail, web-based dialogue (now there is an oxymoron), tweeting, texting???
I surely do not know the answers to my own questions but I do know that I am missing a sense of community with myself and, if I do not have self-connectedness, is it possible to connect with others in any meaningful way?
After my dad suffered his stroke and lost his ability to communicate effectively, many of his so-called 'friends' dropped off his 'community' landscape. Being the very social person he was, and the fact that he was alone, this loss of companionship with others was very difficult for him. Because he had come to live with me and my family during his post-stroke speech rehabilitation and I had been the one to work with him on speech regeneration, I could understand him. I can still hear his faltering words, when he would be understandably down. "It is good that I am fond of my own company." That sentence comes back to my consciousness frequently when I am feeling isolated even though the world is swirling about me.
My place in the world of community has to begin with me before I can have any dialogue, conversation or relationship with another human. There are life-props that can enable me to connect with myself and others. I've tried bonding with my cranky cat but she is prone to biting the hand that pets her so she is not a dependable life-prop.........which is why I keep fantasizing about another kind of pet.
Hmmm, let's go through the list of possible pets: Birds, snakes, rabbits, gophers, ground squirrels, spiders, white-tail deer, poultry, gerbils, hamsters, mice, rats, snails, horses, cows, pot-bellied pigs.........have I missed any?
Oh, yes. A dog.
Ancora imparo
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Nouveau Moi
Stop the world, I want to get off! I am traveling through so much uncharted territory I am dizzy from the journey!
As readers will know, last night I completed my three-hundred and sixty-fifth posting so now, I am into my second year of writing online. I am still pumped about that.
And, as if that was not enough, today I signed up for Facebook! I do not know what has come over me. Perhaps it is because I am sleep deprived, or because I am goofy with over-commitment? Whatever the cause, this is moving at "ludicrous speed". (From Spaceballs) All I am missing is my Winnebago with the little wings and a Bigfoot-type guy to keep me company.
What little time I spent on the Facebook website did alert me to the fact that I could have thousands of 'friends' without trying very hard. I have started with nine 'friends', one of whom is this sweet Labrador Retriever named Molly. I kid you not. This dog has her own Facebook page. How could I not want to be 'friends' with Molly?
It would be fun to connect with friends from college and high school days.......I think. I'll move slowly on this simply because it seems a little reckless to dive into the whole 'friending' thing too quickly.
How electronic social networking has changed the landscape of our social lives.
It used to be that, if you wanted to invite friends over for an evening, you would pick up the phone. If you are old enough, your friends' phone number would be one long and two short rings. Later you got your own phone number but you were on a party line that you had to share with other families. Of course, the phones were rotary-style then but when push-button phones came along we thought we had technology that would take us to outer space and beyond. Then cell phones began to make an appearance. The first models were giant and would hardly let you wrap your hand around them. Over the years, the cell phones became smaller, the computers became smaller and smarter and, one day, the two blended together in 'smart' phones, iPhones, Blackberries, etc. Now if you want to invite friends over, you have your communication choices of phone calls, E-vites, twittering or texting. I suspect, but cannot yet confirm, that I could invite people over using my Facebook page, which, by the way, is still a work in progress.
And so, I sign off tonight with my brain going a million miles a minute. Wasn't it Carol King who sang about "Bein' a friend"? I'm about to find out.
Ancora imparo
As readers will know, last night I completed my three-hundred and sixty-fifth posting so now, I am into my second year of writing online. I am still pumped about that.
And, as if that was not enough, today I signed up for Facebook! I do not know what has come over me. Perhaps it is because I am sleep deprived, or because I am goofy with over-commitment? Whatever the cause, this is moving at "ludicrous speed". (From Spaceballs) All I am missing is my Winnebago with the little wings and a Bigfoot-type guy to keep me company.
What little time I spent on the Facebook website did alert me to the fact that I could have thousands of 'friends' without trying very hard. I have started with nine 'friends', one of whom is this sweet Labrador Retriever named Molly. I kid you not. This dog has her own Facebook page. How could I not want to be 'friends' with Molly?
It would be fun to connect with friends from college and high school days.......I think. I'll move slowly on this simply because it seems a little reckless to dive into the whole 'friending' thing too quickly.
How electronic social networking has changed the landscape of our social lives.
It used to be that, if you wanted to invite friends over for an evening, you would pick up the phone. If you are old enough, your friends' phone number would be one long and two short rings. Later you got your own phone number but you were on a party line that you had to share with other families. Of course, the phones were rotary-style then but when push-button phones came along we thought we had technology that would take us to outer space and beyond. Then cell phones began to make an appearance. The first models were giant and would hardly let you wrap your hand around them. Over the years, the cell phones became smaller, the computers became smaller and smarter and, one day, the two blended together in 'smart' phones, iPhones, Blackberries, etc. Now if you want to invite friends over, you have your communication choices of phone calls, E-vites, twittering or texting. I suspect, but cannot yet confirm, that I could invite people over using my Facebook page, which, by the way, is still a work in progress.
And so, I sign off tonight with my brain going a million miles a minute. Wasn't it Carol King who sang about "Bein' a friend"? I'm about to find out.
Ancora imparo
Monday, February 1, 2010
I Did It!
It's late and I'm tired but somehow I need to write about this.
I've had a big project going for the past two weeks, one that I did not anticipate would turn out to be so time-consuming........restoring a quilt that I made almost forty years ago. As I mended and reinforced, so many of the quilt squares brought back memories because the it was constructed with fabric from my seamstress days. Not that I was a professional seamstress, but that there were a number of years in my high school through early thirties years that I sewed almost everything I wore as well as my SO and children. Each piece of fabric tells a story about what I made and where I wore it. Over the years the quilt had fallen into a state of disrepair and needed hours of work. After replacing many squares, which was like wrestling an alligator to get the large quilt through my sewing machine's rather limited space, I re-tied the entire piece, which I discovered was a VERY labor-intensive task in and of itself. Having just finished the restoration just a few minutes ago, I can admit to have some very sore fingertips. But, the project is completed, the quilt has been given a few more years of life, and I feel a huge sense of accomplishment.
This blog posting will also be a milestone for me, the achievement of a personal goal that I set for myself over a year ago - to compose three-hundred and sixty five postings. I had actually hoped to blog every day consecutively, but there were about thirty-one days, throughout the past year, that I missed a daily posting. I came close, but did not bring my goal in exactly on target. Having said that, I am still immensely pleased with myself that I was able to muster the mostly-daily discipline to write on a regular basis. Writing has become a valuable outlet for my brain's creative waves and I cannot imagine eliminating this mental exercise from my routine each day.
Initially, when I conjured up this goal of three-hundred and sixty five postings, I envisioned compiling a body of work and then stopping when my goal had been met........but now quitting is not an option that I could do or would want to do. I'm hooked on the pleasant rush that comes when I type Ancora imparo and hit the 'publish post' button.
Now I'm looking forward to the pleasant rush when my head hits the pillow. No problem achieving that goal in a very short amount of time!
Good night.
Ancora imparo
I've had a big project going for the past two weeks, one that I did not anticipate would turn out to be so time-consuming........restoring a quilt that I made almost forty years ago. As I mended and reinforced, so many of the quilt squares brought back memories because the it was constructed with fabric from my seamstress days. Not that I was a professional seamstress, but that there were a number of years in my high school through early thirties years that I sewed almost everything I wore as well as my SO and children. Each piece of fabric tells a story about what I made and where I wore it. Over the years the quilt had fallen into a state of disrepair and needed hours of work. After replacing many squares, which was like wrestling an alligator to get the large quilt through my sewing machine's rather limited space, I re-tied the entire piece, which I discovered was a VERY labor-intensive task in and of itself. Having just finished the restoration just a few minutes ago, I can admit to have some very sore fingertips. But, the project is completed, the quilt has been given a few more years of life, and I feel a huge sense of accomplishment.
This blog posting will also be a milestone for me, the achievement of a personal goal that I set for myself over a year ago - to compose three-hundred and sixty five postings. I had actually hoped to blog every day consecutively, but there were about thirty-one days, throughout the past year, that I missed a daily posting. I came close, but did not bring my goal in exactly on target. Having said that, I am still immensely pleased with myself that I was able to muster the mostly-daily discipline to write on a regular basis. Writing has become a valuable outlet for my brain's creative waves and I cannot imagine eliminating this mental exercise from my routine each day.
Initially, when I conjured up this goal of three-hundred and sixty five postings, I envisioned compiling a body of work and then stopping when my goal had been met........but now quitting is not an option that I could do or would want to do. I'm hooked on the pleasant rush that comes when I type Ancora imparo and hit the 'publish post' button.
Now I'm looking forward to the pleasant rush when my head hits the pillow. No problem achieving that goal in a very short amount of time!
Good night.
Ancora imparo
A Good Time Was Had By All
I had the pleasure of dining with my grandchildren yesterday. TLV, TLVLB, and Princess Leia. Although it was a short visit, we had three 'food-interactive experiences', which could lead you to ask, "Is eating all you did while you were there?"
The first epicurean interaction came just before a casual game of Candyland, pre-school style. Being no dummy, when I am in household that might have more desirable 'treats' than my own, I called out, "Do you have any Cheese-Its?" "Yes", came the reply. "Would you like some?" ("Is the head of all Catholics Catholic?", I thought to myself?) "Please", I managed to calmly say. Shortly thereafter, a little bag of Cheese-Its appeared and TLV, TLVLB and I shared the contents of the bag. Pre-schoolers can eat Cheese-Its with rapid-fire quickness, so my number of consumed, forbidden food bits was relatively low.......fortunately. A good time was had by all.
A while later, our little entourage got bundled up and headed for our favorite south-of-the-border-style restaurant. This was, I believe, the first time that TLV, TLVLB and Princess Leia had been out to eat all at once with their parents. The pre-schoolers got their crayons and place mats on which to doodle and Princess Leia got to observe all that swirled about her. The adults got to watch the children, which was great fun.
It was my fortune to feed Princess Leia her pears, which disappeared with no problem, followed by Cheerios, one at a time. It is amazing how babies instinctively know what to do with their mouths when a spoon or hand moves toward them. Her style of 'eating' Cheerios is somewhat limited by the fact that she has no teeth, but that does not impede her enthusiasm for the little round o's. Her meal took just as long to ingest as the adults due to the fact that she was fascinated by simply watching all the movement of customers and wait-staff.
TLV can eat an enormous amount of tostada-style chips and he loves his french fries that look like happy faces. An added bonus is having him whisper "I love you" in your ear.
TLVLB ate every morsel on his plate, including the flour tortilla. His tortilla-eating style is to open the tortilla, eat everything out of the inside, then turn his attention to the actual tortilla, going for the center first. This makes for interesting face clean-up afterward. As we were leaving the restaurant, TLV asked if we were coming back to his house for cookies. Could we say no?
And so it was, about an hour and two cookies later, that two happy grandparents climbed into their car for the ride home. Of course, we had snacks with us to keep us awake..............
A good time was had by all.
Ancora imparo
The first epicurean interaction came just before a casual game of Candyland, pre-school style. Being no dummy, when I am in household that might have more desirable 'treats' than my own, I called out, "Do you have any Cheese-Its?" "Yes", came the reply. "Would you like some?" ("Is the head of all Catholics Catholic?", I thought to myself?) "Please", I managed to calmly say. Shortly thereafter, a little bag of Cheese-Its appeared and TLV, TLVLB and I shared the contents of the bag. Pre-schoolers can eat Cheese-Its with rapid-fire quickness, so my number of consumed, forbidden food bits was relatively low.......fortunately. A good time was had by all.
A while later, our little entourage got bundled up and headed for our favorite south-of-the-border-style restaurant. This was, I believe, the first time that TLV, TLVLB and Princess Leia had been out to eat all at once with their parents. The pre-schoolers got their crayons and place mats on which to doodle and Princess Leia got to observe all that swirled about her. The adults got to watch the children, which was great fun.
It was my fortune to feed Princess Leia her pears, which disappeared with no problem, followed by Cheerios, one at a time. It is amazing how babies instinctively know what to do with their mouths when a spoon or hand moves toward them. Her style of 'eating' Cheerios is somewhat limited by the fact that she has no teeth, but that does not impede her enthusiasm for the little round o's. Her meal took just as long to ingest as the adults due to the fact that she was fascinated by simply watching all the movement of customers and wait-staff.
TLV can eat an enormous amount of tostada-style chips and he loves his french fries that look like happy faces. An added bonus is having him whisper "I love you" in your ear.
TLVLB ate every morsel on his plate, including the flour tortilla. His tortilla-eating style is to open the tortilla, eat everything out of the inside, then turn his attention to the actual tortilla, going for the center first. This makes for interesting face clean-up afterward. As we were leaving the restaurant, TLV asked if we were coming back to his house for cookies. Could we say no?
And so it was, about an hour and two cookies later, that two happy grandparents climbed into their car for the ride home. Of course, we had snacks with us to keep us awake..............
A good time was had by all.
Ancora imparo
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