A Different Kind of Community

I've been introduced to a different kind of community this summer. A community where people are friendly, outgoing, caring, collegial, hospitable, and helpful. A community where people look out for each other and go the extra mile to demonstrate this.

My parents wintered in Arizona for over ten years, all ten in the same mobile home park. I visited there for probably eight of the ten years and came to recognize that the residents operated as a tight-knit community. Although the park was large, my parents knew many of the residents, through picnics, parades, common-interest groups such as golfing, crafting, woodworking, exercise, jewelry-making, book clubs, etc. They became good friends with immediate neighbors and traveled with these other couples. They enjoyed each others' company both inside and outside of the park. They celebrated each others' joys and comforted each other in times of crisis.

My So and I have had many conversations regarding 'wintering' in warmer climes, finding a retirement community somewhere south of the Mason/Dixon line, but, for one reason or another, have decided it is not for us at this time in our lives. We never thought we'd enjoy the close proximity afforded in mobile home parks, which is kind of funny, considering we keep our aqua RV moored at a marina.........and there is nothing closer than one aqua RV to another, while docked!

However, this summer, has demonstrated that a marina can operate as a caring community, much like the theme song from the television show, Cheers, 'where everybody knows my name'.
This is a new experience for us and we are relishing the change of atmosphere. Even though the aqua RV's are so close to each other that you almost reach out and touch one another's ride, you encounter both a sense of privacy, yet experience overtures of friendship.

There is much to be thankful for.

Ancora imparo

Sunny Days and Tuesdays

I know I will regret this question, because it will date me so badly.....

Do you remember Richard and Karen Carpenter, aka 'The Carpenters'? The brother and sister duo had a hit entitled, "Rainy Days and Mondays". Each verse ended with the line, "Rainy days and Mondays always get me down." Karen Carpenter's soothing and velvety voice was perfect for the lyrics.

Just like everyone else, I could live without Mondays. I'm not fond of Mondays but without them, we'd never get to Wednesday, the middle of the week, and, from there, we'd never experience the rush and thrill of Fridays.

Today, Tuesday, is a gorgeous and cool sunny day. It shows zero evidence of the rain that fell yesterday, on Monday. The only connection to Monday that this day exhibits is that its name is Tuesday and it automatically follows Monday.

For all its brilliance, this day has had its bumps. A flat tire on Baby, discovered this morning and the tires are only three months old! The tire-repair person said it was a slice, through and through, on the sidewall. That, coupled with the ugly sound that a spring just started making on the passenger side rear does not bode well for her. This feels more like a rainy Monday scenario to me than a sunny Tuesday. To add insult to injury, I didn't get my java until well after 2 p.m. today. What's with that?

I think that the next day, Wednesday, should be known as Wild and Woolly Wednesdays - a day when I get to do anything I want, whenever I want, and however I want.

That is not likely going to happen, but, if it does, you'll be the first to know.

Ancora imparo

Instant Feedback

My previous posting, "Possessed and Obsessed: The Same?", no sooner had dried ink than I received a phone call from a friend who receives Ancora imparo electronically as soon as it is posted. After declaring that the question was too intriguing to not address, we had a brief, laughter-filled conversation and I promised that I would continue the train of thought about whether being possessed and/or obsessed were one in the same. We agreed that we each hold traits that could be described as 'being possessed' or obsessed, but we also agreed that those traits are exactly what makes the other person interesting.

What is it that draws us to other people? I'll wager that it is not the traits that could put one to sleep, but, rather the traits that are a bit quirky and eccentric - traits that could possibly be described as 'being possessed' or obsessed. Some weirder characteristics are best left in Pandora's Box, but I've written about a few of mine.....like my aversion to cat litter. I am constantly on the lookout for the tiny pieces of cat litter that Cranky Kitty scatters on the hardwood floors because I go barefoot a lot and I dislike, immensely, stepping on it. I don't think I've ever publicly discussed my refusal to deal with sub-standard music stands (no pun intended) but the members of the choir I direct will tell you that I am very particular about the quality and condition of my music stand. If any part of the stand is loose, forget it. I will not direct with it and will spend time searching out one that is in good, working order before I will begin a rehearsal. I am also obsessed with not letting glassware and stainless steel air-dry in the dish-draining rack because I can't stand to look at water spots. Try calling me on your phone if your number shows up as a blocked or unidentified number and I will not answer your call. If your call begins immediately with the words, "Who is this?", I'll counter with, "No, who is this?".

Yes, I am quirky, eccentric, possessed and obsessed but unwilling to apologize for any one of the four traits. In my case, all four are the same, so I just answered my own question.

Now it is your turn. Are they the same for you?

Ancora imparo

Possessed and Obsessed: The Same?

OK, I just spent time I didn't have, as if I had all the time in the world, with nothing better to do than go online looking at all the music playlists used on the CBS series, Cold Case.

I'm disgusted with myself for using my time poorly, although I could argue that dinner was baking in the oven while I was online but.......there were about one dozen other tasks I could have tackled. Secondly, I'm amazed that if you Google 'music used on Cold Case', you actually get a hit that takes you to a site that lists all of the music used in seasons one through six AND much of it is available on i-tunes. This tells me that there are way too many people, just like me, with nothing better to do than research dumb stuff like this.

Thirdly, although I've not tried this one, I'd be willing to wager that if I Google 'researching dumb stuff', I'll find links to help me do just that.

What is my brain becoming? Is this a sign of true inquisitiveness or just a sign that I need to get a life.........or both? The Sunday newspaper that I 'simply had to drive to purchase' this morning, although it was pouring rain, is still sitting on the counter, patiently waiting for my brain to decide it needs more food than what Google can provide.

I should give myself a little credit, though. I've orchestrated an early-morning run to a recycling center to properly dispose of recyclables that have piled up in our absence from home, I made a great omelet for breakfast, I've completed three loads of laundry, I've baked gluten-free brownies, mixed up a batch of biscoti to take up north, made fresh hummus, toasted three batches of almonds, made salmon patties for dinner, fished out a stuck tooth pick from the garbage disposal, stocked up Kitty's food for the next two weeks, and brushed Cranky Kitty......so I haven't exactly been idle with my feet propped up, eating bon bons. But, come on, Googling music played on Cold Case?

Wait, wait.....I feel another Google search coming on. This must mean that I'm either possessed, obsessed, or both. Are they the same?

Ancora imparo

T'was A Simple Game

My SO and I got to spend time with our grandchildren and their parents today. Due to distance, when these days occur, they are always very special, although time with family would be cherished even if it was possible weekly!

TLV, TLV'sLB and Princess Leia were in fine, giggly form today, ripe for grandparents to interact with. Books were read, Little People were played with, swings were swung, and fish were observed. Each of their distinctive personalities were displayed and a good time was had by all.

Grandchildren are so easy to play with because they love exaggerated sounds and actions. In fact, the more outlandish the physical movements or facial expressions are, the more the children get into whatever activity is happening.

Princess Leia, whose very first birthday was celebrated for the second time (I asked her mother if that made her two!) spent over ten minutes watching the fish in the fish tank. She loved the feel of the glass aquarium and there were some smaller fish that she was particularly attracted to. Each time these fish would swim past her vantage point, she would become very animated, pointing and vocalizing enthusiastically. After that she regaled being pushed in the swing for at least fifteen minutes, smiling the entire time. We communicated with each other by repeating all of the single syllables such as ba, da, and ma. Clapping was a big hit as was any buzzing or bubbling sound that can be made with the lips, which always elicited a big smile, accompanied by the signature crinkled up nose!

The boys loved a game that spontaneously happened. TLV'sLB climbed up on my lap and his belly was just too temping to not tickle. He leaned over backward and I automatically and instinctively grabbed his hands as he leaned over my knees, with his head very close to the floor. As he was chortling, I opened up my knees and said, "Oops", as he moved rapidly downward toward the floor, which was not problem because I had his hands.

And, so the simple game of "Oops" was born and was repeated over and over and over. It only stopped with TLV'sLB because TLV suddenly discovered what was going on and wanted to have his turn. From then on, for perhaps ten minutes more - nonstop - the game of "Oops" was played with alternating, giggling boys. The longer I waited to say "Oops", the longer the suspense played out and the more giggling that came, with the unsuspecting child never quite knowing when the knees would part and the 'drop' would occur.

T'was just a simple game, but granny and the boys had lots of fun. In fact, I don't know which one of us enjoyed the game more!

And all I had to say was, "Oops!"

Ancora imparo

Finally!

I did it. After months of people emailing me, seeing me in person, or chiding me on Facebook and telling me I needed to post a picture on my Facebook page, I finally did! I wanted to use a picture of my beloved dog, Max, but I did not know how to load his picture. My daughter-in-law accomplished what no one thought would ever happen. Thank you, D-I-L!

Now to the picture. It is a picture of my alter (not altar) ego, Patty, the Clown. I love Patty, the Clown, because she gets to be her real self. She gets to do dumb stuff like fall down with great exaggeration and clean her underarms with a giant toothbrush. Her hair never needs hairspray and the huge comb she pretends to tend her coiffure with never helps the frizz at all. She makes children laugh and she gets people to do things without ever saying a word. She just smiles.....or frowns.....or looks confused (that one is really easy).....or acts goofy and no one thinks anything of it. Her favorite part of her 'schtick' is when she puts her hands on her hips, wrinkles her brow, and tap-tap-taps her over-sized shoes in feigned impatience.

We all need a Patty, the Clown, in our lives. The persona we can adopt that gets away with outrageous actions and no one thinks twice about. The persona that models behavior based on memories from kindergarten. The persona that allows a person to act like a three-year old even though that age is more than a half-century past. The persona that lets you touch people on the head with a big, foam mallet and they laugh and giggle.

Now that I think about it, I have other alter egos that come out to play every now and then. My dancer-alter ego just made her appearance today on my early morning walk. When I get back into the condo, after a walk, I cannot bring myself to shut off my i-pod and so every task, for a while, is completed rhythmically while the music is pulsing into my brain. Even emptying the dishwasher can be fun!

Who is your alter ego? If you don't have one that you'll publicly identify, think about declaring yours today. It's never too late to have fun!

Ancora imparo

They Leave A Hole

My friend had to put his dog to sleep this morning. His Facebook status was heart-wrenching, to say the least. He loved that dog maybe more than himself.

I can remember, only too well, how my SO and I felt when we had to put our dog 'to sleep'. Losing a pet leaves this big hole in your heart, whether the pet was large or small, and the hole feels as if it can never be closed. After we came home, that awful day, from the vet's office, I sat down at my computer and wrote a letter to Max. Penning my thoughts about his life and absence did provide me with solace, although some might have scoffed at my actions. I still have lots of pictures of Max in my office and now I smile every time I look at them.

We still miss that dog, maybe every day, in some way. His presence is still fresh in our memories and probably will be for many years to come. Hardly a day goes by that we don't speak Max's name for one reason or another. Pets love us unconditionally and beyond. Our dog instinctively knew when either one of us needed cheering up and he snuggled close and often. Although he was not a small dog, he saw himself as a lap dog and we have the pictures to prove it.

A dog really is man's best friend. My friend's dog's name was Louie Alphonse, quite a dignified name for the dog that had personality plus, much like his owner.

Louie, this one's for you.

Ancora imparo

Louie, this one's for you.

The Generational Difference

The most recent issue of the AARP Bulletin, (from AARP, which I think stands for the American Association of Retired Persons) printed an interesting poll regarding cellphone etiquette. I realize that polls are not to be taken as the gospel truth because numbers can be massaged into data that the pollsters want, but, as printed, the results were quite intriguing.

The question, posed to respondents in one of two age groups, ages 18-49 and 50-plus was:

What is your level of tolerance when you encounter the following?
(The first percentage given for each question corresponds to the youngest age group: 18-49 and is corresponds to the response - very annoying)

Someone talking loudly on a cellphone in public places: 50% vs 61%
Someone interrupting a conversation to take a call: 34% vs 42%
Ringing cellphone in a theater, library, meeting, etc.: 66% vs 75%
Someone driving and talking on a cellphone: 45% vs 59%
Someone texting while talking to you: 42% vs 61%

Clearly, according to these statistics, the younger age group would seem to have less intolerance to cellphone usage, regardless of where and when, than the fifty-plusers. Yet, I see almost as many 'oldsters' (I guess I can refer to 'us' that way because I am one.) using their cellphones in places and at times, that annoy me, as I do 'youngsters'. True, I do see younger persons texting much more than their elder counterparts. Many respondents in the oldest category probably do not even have texting plans for their cellphone contracts. I have a text plan and I love it but would I text someone else while talking to you? No more so than I would have had a dinosaur phone call (you know, the rotary kind of phone) while you were over having coffee or dinner with me.

Etiquette is etiquette is etiquette. Manners are manners, whether it be at a dinner party, a concert, in church, or while with friends. I can see that there would be a natural generational differing of opinion and actions on many levels but manners should never change, nor have to.

Maybe this poll demonstrates that we 'oldsters' didn't do our jobs very well?

Thoughts, anyone?

Ancora imparo

Knocked Any Sense........?

In the past, I've written about my great mental prowess concerning math and science, which just may be unsurpassed in terms of illusions of grandeur. I am a math-and-science-genius legend only in my own mind.

I do remember a few things from my high school science classes, where I sat in the back of the room and did more inking on my deck tennis shoes' blue lines, than listening to the teacher. What I do remember is that when a movable object meets an immovable object, the movable object - depending on its speed - can take a beating......which is exactly what happened to my hard head this morning when I was coming up, out of a sailboat's interior, and my head didn't realize that there was a hatch/door immediately above it. I should have known better because I know that sailboat's have these doors that you must absolutely duck for, but I didn't. To add further insult to injury, I was really heaving my body heavily upward with my arms, on the rails attached to the steps, because the steps are a little far apart and my legs are a little short. The consequence was a resounding collision between the top of my head and the metal rim of a hatch/door.

Nothing too serious resulted except for a pounding headache and a little temporary case of the dizzies, which some would say is routine with me, anyway. My eyes' pupils are working just fine so no worries there. I just have a bruised ego and knot on the top of my thick skull. People have told me before that I am thick-skulled, but today I was glad to have that trait.

Perhaps the lesson learned, here, is not necessarily to pay attention in science class, but rather more simple in nature.

Duck.

Ancora imparo

Number Five-Hundred

When I began this blogging process, I never imagined, nor considered, the fact that I might reach the five-hundredth posting. The most frequent questions I still receive are where I get the ideas to write about and where does the impetus and incentive come from to write a daily posting.

Where the idea 'kernels' come from is a rather elusive answer. Many of the posting thoughts come from conversations I'm part of, others come from the media, and still others come from observations. It is not unusual for an idea to 'pop' into my head and, with time allowing, I sit down and give it life. Probably most postings have little meaning to others, although I do get a lot of feedback, either verbally or via email. Some topics instantly hit hot buttons with others.

I write daily because I have this determination not to let my brain go to the state of 'mush'. I feared that, once I left my teaching position, my brain would receive inadequate stimulation and I made a promise to myself to keep learning and seeking. Consequently, I write, using my trusty dictionary and thesaurus, trying to avoid the impulse to use the auto-spell correction on my machine.

I think I can still spel. If I can't, let me no. The drooling will start soon afterwerds.

How am I dewing?

Ancora imparo

Padre, Father, Abba

Father's Day (or should it be Fathers' Day?) brought father-type ideas into my head. As the posting title may indicate, I thought of the many ways 'father' figures into our speech and lives.

The Catholic faith may hold the winning number for differing uses of the concept. The titles for priest differ from country to country, language to language. 'Abba' is the Aramaic word for 'father' and appears several times in the New Testament of the Bible. Literature has many phrases with the word 'father' in them. Without thinking at all I can name 'Father-figure', 'fatherless child', 'fatherless'.

And, of course, there are the real-world fathers, those men who helped give us life on this planet. There is no more poignant moment than when your own son becomes a father and you realize not only your mortality but also your immortality within the family tree. My dad, who was most definitely not perfect, lives on in me and my off-spring. Every day I sit in either of my dad's chairs, I feel a powerful connection to him still.

Happy Father's Day to every man who is either a biological father or a symbolic father. The world could not exist without either of you!

Ancora imparo

What Is Age, Anyway?

Age.

What is it? Why is it important? Why do we care so much about age?

To answer my own first question, age is a chronological measure of one's life on this planet.

To answer my second question, age is important for many reasons. I assign an importance to my age because the mirror tells me something is different. Society assigns importance to age because it is a barometer for voting, driving, and drinking.....possibly owning a firearm - I'm not certain about that.....running for certain national political offices, movies one can see without a parent or guardian, when you can first attend school, when you can receive immunization shots, and, when you can get your ARP card and other senior-citizen discounts.

To answer my third question about why we care so much about age......now that is the interesting one to ponder......the question that truly opens Pandora's Box and all of the faeries flutter out. Just why does age matter so much? Our American society does not venerate the elderly like other countries do, but, perhaps that is because in many other countries, the extended family is a societal foundation. When extended families live together, under one roof, the eldest are, most likely, vital in the child-rearing process and therefore are necessary, although not necessarily appreciated.....just necessary.

We are reminded of aging on a daily basis as the air waves and print media constantly throw 'looking youthful' at us. We are bombarded with images of wrinkle-free and stick-shaped males and females who look as if they just stepped out of the fountain of youth. Clearly, media would have us believe that we should never look old.

We have jokes, television shows, and theatre productions that deride and poke fun at relationships where there is a pronounced age difference. 'Robbing the cradle', 'cougars', 'boy toy', 'trophy wife' are some of the terms that come to my mind when I think of how we describe larger-than-usual age differences in relationships or marriages. I've used these phrases without thought, never giving pause to consider that feelings for others do not need to equate with what we think of as 'normal' age differences.

Then there is the word 'normal', a concept most definitely just as vexing as aging and its ramifications.

I won't touch 'normal'. I wouldn't recognize it if it was looking at me in the mirror!

Ancora imparo

Perspicacious

The word 'perspicacious' simply popped into my head, for no apparent reason. I've seen the word in print many times, over the years, and today when it zapped my brain, I felt compelled to look up the meaning and then write a blog posting about it.

Of course, now that I've laid my thought 'out there', I have to produce. This will be the fun part.

I had an idea of the word's meaning but I was not certain so I went to the small Webster's Dictionary that I keep on the aqua RV and discovered that this small version doesn't even have the word 'perspicacious' in it. Some dictionary! I miss my big volume from home but it is too big and heavy to keep on the aqua RV and Capt. SO is very sensitive to adding additional anythings. Maybe a bag of feathers but that is about all he would OK.

I resorted to Googling the word and found that it means thoughtful with keen understanding, wise and insightful.

I instantly wondered if I would ever be described as behaving with perspicaciousness. Not likely now but maybe someday when I can barely move, see and breathe. Then I began a mental inventory of just what or who could be described as perspicacious, i.e. thoughtful with keen understanding - wise and insightful. A wise old owl, the old mouse from Teen-Aged Mutant Ninja Turtles, some peoples' grandparents (not us), Frank - the sixty-four inch Musky that never gets caught, the old man from Star Wars, Walter Cronkite, Eric Sevareid........that was all I could think of on the spot.

I was able to think of some people who will never be described as perspicacious: Helen Thomas, the Chairman of BP and Hollywood starlets but then I could not think of anyone else to add to this list. Perhaps that is a good thing. Our world just may possess more individuals with perspicacity than previously thought.

I wonder if writing about being perspicacious will imbue me with perspicacity?

Tomorrow I'll write about beauty and brains.

Ancora imparo

Off-The-Cuff

'Off-the-cuff' remarks usually have two options: Good or regrettable. A chairman of a mega, world-wide corporation made an 'off-the-cuff' remark recently about "little people" that I am certain he is regretting, about now. His corporation is currently in the deepest 'doo-doo' imaginable and his statement is drawing considerable and understandable ire. He suffered, and perhaps still suffers from, the condition of 'open mouth and insert foot' or 'tongue engaged before brain' syndrome.

These are human maladies that all people probably exhibit symptoms of from time to time. I certainly have not been spared the disease of 'hoof in mouth' (pun intended). I have finally learned that I NEVER inquire if a female is expecting or ask the question, "When is your baby due?" I have also learned, the hard way, not to assume that if two people are together - and you know one is married - that the other individual is their spouse. Talk about uncomfortable!

I do understand speaking words that I later rue, but I am also not a multi-multi-multi-million-dollar-compensated corporate chairman, who, one would ASSUME, should know better, or should have an assistant at his elbow who knows better. It is very apparent that the size of the brain is not commensurate with the size of the financial compensation.

After all, I am one of the world's 'little people' and we peons must stick together.

Ancora imparo

Too Many Clicks

As I sat here waiting, not all that patiently, for this slow internet server to spring to life.....any life....I realized that I had clicked on blogger.com about ten to twelve times, as if constant clicking, with my cursor, would speed up the sequence. Of course, it did not and I know that....somewhere in my reptilian brain, but by clicking my mouse's cursor I at least felt as if I was doing something about the problem.

Since the whole process of logging on to blogger.com and actually seeing my dashboard took about fifteen minutes, I had some time to ponder my impatience, its implications and its influence on me and other ways I display impatience besides over-clicking my mouse.

It wasn't too hard to identify other impatient manifestations........like going to the mailbox more than once to see if the mail has been delivered.....opening up the oven door too often to check on the pan of cookies' progress.....frequently signing on to the internet to check email (I won't embarrass myself and define 'frequently').....taking the lid off the slow-cooker repeatedly to ascertain whether the contents are hot.......

And, yet, I do realize that every time I open the oven door or lift the Crockpot's lid, I am simply releasing heat and thereby prolonging the time it takes to finish cooking or baking food. Does the pizza really bake faster if I repeatedly open the oven door to check on the crust's 'doneness'? I KNOW it doesn't but I feel better, as if by somehow being actively involved, in a kinesthetic way, I can actuate the process.

Perhaps I'll take a step back and look at taking my hand off the 'cursor' on my life and try to let it come at a more natural pace rather than the forced speed that I think it should operate at.

This could be hard.

Ancora imparo

Mother Nature's Last Laugh

Oh, the Weather Service got it wrong today! A twenty-percent chance of rain? Not! More like eighty-percent chance of rain with a twenty-percent chance of dry. And, this is the day that SO wanted to wash the aqua RV.

But, wait! Rain notwithstanding, we have been washing the aqua RV and she is a mess. After three weeks of unchecked Mayflies attaching themselves to every square inch - and beyond, plus spiders, flies and birds leaving their calling cards minute-by-minute, she is suffering from the uglies, which Capt. SO cannot fathom. (Appropriate marine pun!) So, we have been washing her together, since it is our anniversary and that is what all good married couples do for togetherness on their anniversaries. We did go out for breakfast, to celebrate, before we began washing the boat in the rain.

The task would have been routine except for the bow holds where the anchor rode is stored. Of course, Capt. SO had to open the hatch, in order to clean the hundreds of dead Mayflies off the trough and lid edges. Then, he decided to examine the rode and anchor chain. Big mistake. After hauling out two to three hundred feet of rode and chain, he discovered that water was standing in the hold area that the rode is stored in. This meant that a drain was clogged somewhere. This tiny hold area is accessible only if you are about three inches wide and twelve inches tall, but Capt. SO was not to be deterred. A small space fit for a two-year old contortionist could not stop him from going in head first, allowing about eighteen inches of leg to be sticking out of the hold. I, of course, remained cool, calm, and collected while reminding him that I had no intention of becoming a widow at such an early age. He replied, in a muffled voice, since his head was so far into the hold, that if he got stuck, I should just call 9-1-1.

I'm just glad that Mother Nature's last laugh was meteorological and did not require the Jaws of Life.

The downpour is over and we are going back out. I love being wet.


Ancora imparo

Sticky

I have been part of several conversations, as of late, concerning the high humidity that my geographical area of the country is experiencing. We do seem to be stuck under a weather pattern that just keeps its counter-clockwise rotation constantly in motion. It is like a meteorological "Groundhog Day". High humidity, cloudy, foggy, rainy - all stacked together like the layered lettuce salad that is so popular with potluck dinner diners.

One woman I spoke with was visiting from the Phoenix, Arizona area, where the heat index has been well over one-hundred degrees, but with the famous 'dry heat'. (I'm sorry but hot is hot is hot.) She is miserable here. She said her body has shed more moisture in the past few days than it has in years.

When I came in from an early morning walk today, my SO inquired if it was humid outside. "Is the Pope Catholic?", I responded, taking a quip from my youthful days.

Indeed, it is very humid. I walked through swarms of those tiny bugs that fly everywhere, including into all the orifices of your head. The flying insects were so thick that they simply stuck to my glistening skin, which was glue-like with perspiration, perfect to attract and keep bugs - sort of like body Velcro. Even the leaves of the over-hanging trees on the public walkway were lower to the ground than usual, laden with the extra dew from the humidity. I felt like I was lower to the ground than usual......and that is hard to do (ooh, good pun) when you are short, like I am.

And so we find ourselves in the throes of summer weather here in the mid-west. The bugs and weeds are very happy, as is our shrubbery, which looks as if it is on steroids. Perhaps, if I stood outside all day, I'd loose so much body moisture that I'd be at least one dress size smaller. Plus, I'd burn calories swatting at the bugs.

Sounds like a plan, doesn't it? I'll do a feasibility study.

Ancora imparo

It Went To My Head

Remember the old adage, "Don't let it go to your head."? The gist of this saying basically means that people should keep in mind that, no matter how great or wonderful they become, they always put their pants on one leg at a time, just like all the rest of us. Another variation of this would be, "Make sure your head still fits through the door!"

Last night, I experienced a different slant on "Don't let it go to your head".........only it did.

My SO and I decided to try out a newer, local restaurant that we had not yet taken the opportunity to dine at. In preparation for our upcoming anniversary, we thought this would be the perfect place to hold our annual conversation regarding the renewal of our marital contract. Everything was looking good.......nice table, dusky ambiance, spirited conversation, tasty appetizer and excellent wine. We had each found entrees that we were looking forward to consuming. For him it was an Indian-inspired scallop dish, for me, a pepper-crusted ahi tuna steak, prepared medium-rare.

Our pleasant and attentive waitress brought our entrees and we both agreed that we were pleased with our choices. My tuna steak, while a little heavy on the peppercorns, was excellently prepared, just to my liking. It was nestled on a bed of 'grass', as I called it. I don't know what the weed-like looking stuff was that I was eating but its flavor and texture appealed to my palette. About half way through my tuna steak, I twirled another forkful of the grass, took the bite,and, WHAM, a jolt of heat-lightning slammed through my sinus cavities, straight up through the center of my head. Horseradish, for sure, only this horseradish was unlike any variety I've ever tasted.

I like horseradish. I grew up eating it, mostly smothering any egg that Mom put before me. My dad raised it in his large garden and his homemade recipe had more 'fire' in it than any jar you would ever purchase in a grocery store. I know that, for me, horseradish is a flavorful accompaniment to foods, but I prefer to ingest it in small, if not tiny, quantities at a time. That is, when I am aware that it is present.

I did not know that, underneath the 'grass' I was eating, lurked horseradish, and lots of it. My body's reaction was typical.....heat, sweating, and tears, lots of tears. They flowed, uninvited and unchecked, from the corners of my eyes. The waitress happened to stop by during my siege, and I could tell she felt bad for her customer that was in such obvious distress. Even the ingestion of water, which I immediately reached for, didn't help quell the horseradish heat.

Fortunately, the episode was relatively short-lived, the searing heat waned and I was able to enjoy the rest of my meal. But, I am here to tell you that, it really did 'go to my head'......and how.

Ancora imparo

Special Treats

Do you ever just stop and tell yourself that you are special and deserve a treat? If you did, what would you consider to be a special treat? Chocolate? A puppy? A trip? A nap? Popcorn?

Personal treats will come in as many shapes and sizes as there are humans on this planet. I know someone who considers a personal treat to be outside in a thunderstorm, feeling the wrath of the elements first-hand, rain pelting her skin, wind blowing her hair, arms outstretched to the sky with a 'bring it on' attitude.

Different strokes for different folks.

Yesterday, I needed a personal treat that didn't involve food, puppy breath, thunderstorms or travel. After being outside, doing more bug battle and shrub-trimming, when I came into the condo, all I could 'see' was dirt and dust inside. Granted, there wasn't that much but what there was looked like the result of an Oklahoma dust storm to me and I simply could not let it be. I settled on dust-removal from my office as my number one priority and gave myself the special treat of having a dust-free office........which meant removing everything from the many shelves and surfaces, wiping all down and putting everything back. As I was in the midst of this 'special treat', I did think, once or twice, about re-defining what 'special treat' meant, but I was into the task and wasn't about to stop.

My brain being what it is, as soon as the office project was completed, I instantly knew what my next and final 'special treat' would be for the day.........clean throw rugs. There is little more relaxing or comfortable than the feel of clean, fluffed-up throw rugs for the bare foot to stand on. Granted, to get to that place requires quite a bit of walking and standing, which tends to make bare feet sore, but the end result is, in my opinion, heavenly. After washing and drying the big kitchen throw rug, I have been known to impose a moratorium on walking on this rug.....by anyone but me......for as long as I can get away with it. The feel of the plumped-up fibers is like nothing else to my feet...................

So you know that there is a human side to my nature, just before my SO and I retired for the evening, last night, I invited him to walk on the kitchen throw rug. A real demonstration of love and devotion.

Sadly, I do not make this stuff up.

Ancora imparo

Bugged

My geographic location has had an over-abundance of hot, humid weather recently. A string of rainy, overcast and warm days has given rise to rapid grass and shrubbery growth. Accompanied by the unwieldy size of the horticulture surrounding our condo has been a very healthy crop of bugs. The bugs must be reveling in the excellent habitat for procreation because I have never seen such a high bug population.

In other words, we are 'bugged'.

Not being a bug-lover to begin with, I thought, perhaps, it was just my imagination that I was seeing double (or triple) when it came to bugs. (My family can attest to my determination to rid any habitat of mine of flies. I am deadly with a fly swatter and can amuse myself for hours to keep the flies at bay.) While my SO was on a fishing expedition, I had bug duty to myself and I took it seriously. I waged a daily war against the creepy, crawly things that squiggle and writhe on our deck, cement patio, brink window ledges, condo bricks, and front porch steps. Everywhere I would look, outside, seemed to be covered by unwelcome pests. I'd sweep, stomp, squish, spray and throw as many bugs as I could, but, by the next morning, more would have taken the place of the deceased bugs, as if to thumb their proboscises at the one who dared to remove their relatives. Still, I wondered if I was simply over-reacting to a normal spring bug invasion.

BUT then, this morning, a heating and air conditioner technician paid our condo a scheduled visit to check out the air conditioner. His first task was to inspect and clean the actual outside unit. When he was finished, he came in and, ever-so-politely informed my SO and I that the over-grown shrubbery had given shelter to a too-high number of earwigs and spiders and that we should trim around the AC unit.

"A-ha", thought I to myself. Vindication. Verification.

It is not my imagination. We are truly 'bugged'. This is all-out war.

Ancora imparo

Personal Experiment

Have you ever decided to test your personal limits on something?

I decided, somewhat out of necessity and somewhat out of curiosity, to see how many errands I could tolerate 'running' in one day. My 'to-do-' list was legitimately long. I did not pad the list just to add stops, even though I realize that every item on a 'to-do' list is ultimately a choice. No one ever holds the proverbial gun to my head and forces me to elect to add yet another errand to my list.

When I compiled the list last night, I gathered up all of the notes that I had strewn about, here and there, with scribbled reminders to do this, pick up that, buy this, drop off something, check on this and shop for that. As I examined my many memos-to-self, I put them in a logical geographical order so that my time and gas would not be wasted, businesses that closed for lunch would be considered, as as well as left-hand turns during peak traffic times to be avoided. Comfortable that all was in order, I added up the bulleted points and found I had twelve stops to make. I wondered if I could tolerate climbing in and out of the car twelve times, thirteen if I counted arriving back home and unpacking.

I decided this would be an experiment with myself and a perfect time to ascertain my willingness to run what I considered an obscene number of errands. My SO was not coming with me, which was a good thing because he would NEVER agree to make twelve stops and I wasn't sure it was such a great idea, either.

I fortified myself with good coffee, a granola bar, apple slices, and almonds. My audio companion was a classical music station which, fortunately for me, had some of my favorite selections scheduled for my time in the car. Mother Nature cooperated with sun, no rain, a pleasant breeze and a tolerable temperature. Four hours later, which I didn't think was too bad, I arrived back 'at the ranch', nonetheless worse for wear, feeling smug in all that I accomplished, albeit a little weary.

So what is my verdict on my self-experiment?

I most definitely would not choose to repeat this type of day but I survived and now my entire to-do list for today is done. Well, almost done. I added one more item to the list.

It is five o'clock somewhere.

Ancora imparo

Quantifiable?

I will never cease to be amazed at the concepts created by others in efforts to sell 'movements' and books about those movements.

You've heard of GDP? It stands for Gross Domestic Product, which is a leading indicator of the health of our nation's economy. According to the website FactCheck.org, GDP is the total market value of goods and services....regardless of the nationality of those who produce them. GNP, another leading indicator of national economic health, stands for Gross National Product, which, according to FactCheck.org, is the total market value of goods and services produced by the residents of a country, even if they are living abroad.

There. A basic economic lesson fit for Twitter.

Enter GNH: Gross National Happiness. I kid you not. And, there are those who seek ways to measure this.

I'm all for happiness. Who isn't? The concept of happiness and its pursuit is in one of our country's most famous historical documents: The Declaration of Independence. Our forebears felt it was important enough to list, so why not have a definable Gross National Happiness?

GNH had its birth in the tiny country of Bhutan in 1972, fostered by Buddhists, and, naturally found its way to the United States, the hotbed of international desires to be happy. National Public Radio had a short segment on GNH this morning. A man, close to the U.S. center for GNH, discussed how this concept could be measured and the importance of achieving a high level of GNH.

Really? As if creating and looking at a chart that measures national happiness will inspire and invoke feelings of happiness. Consider this morning conversation between Joe and Sally Citizen:

Joe: "Hey, babe, have you gone online to see what the figures are for today's GNH? I'm
feeling really happy today!"

Sally: "No, darling, but I will right now."

Sally: "OMG, the numbers plummeted overnight. We are now in an official state of national depression. We can't be happy today!"

OK, so very silly, but, hopefully my sappy dialogue between Joe and Sally demonstrates the futile nature of measuring happiness. Happiness is an individual choice, as is what makes each one of us happy. For one, happiness may be fishing on the dock of the oil-choked bay.....for another it may be cleaning the goo off the oil-soaked pelicans. What trips your happiness trigger just may not trip your neighbor's.

Do we have to measure everything? We can't accurately measure the crude oil spewing from the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico so how do expect to measure happiness.

I have an idea: Stop the oil.

Ancora imparo

This Is Privacy?

The explosion of the Internet and electronic/wireless devices has given rise to instantaneous data sharing and information transfer. Part of me wonders if this will ultimately be a boon to individuals or the beginning of a horror story, the plot of which has not yet been defined, outlined, nor communicated.

Yesterday, I was at a local health-care facility to have routine laboratory work done prior to my physical. While at the check-in desk, the usual questions regarding personal information were asked: "Is your address still....?" "Is your phone number still....?" "Is your primary insurance still with...?" "Who is your physician?" These questions are always justified with the statements, "We need to update our records.", and, "To protect your personal privacy.....", all the while a line of people behind you are listening. (This is oxymoronic as far as I'm concerned.) However, if you want to achieve your goal of seeing a physician or taking advantage of an offered medical service, i.e. the lab, you have to play the game.

Just when I thought the annoying circumstance was over, the receptionist then proclaimed that, "for privacy protection", she needed to see my driver's license and insurance cards. Although my insurance cards have always been in my 'file', I agreeably acquiesced. Upon producing them to her, she took them, slid them through this slick, tiny scanner, after which she stated that they were now in my 'file' and I could proceed to the lab. As I moved toward the door that would take me to the incompetent lab tech who would fail to read my lab paperwork carefully, to whom I would have to politely insist that she had left out one 'step' and would eventually re-read the paperwork and discover that, yes, I was correct, I began wondering just why my driver's license was really a necessary part of my medical file's history. Oh, I heard the part about identity-theft prevention, but my ever-growing cynicism tells me that this is just one more link in the web of interconnected personal information that is being compiled about each of us, in a system that is about as secure as the reading skill - or lack thereof - of the lab technician that was more interested in jabbering about the weather to me than reading my paperwork carefully.

And now, my own rhetorical questions:

Just where is this all headed? Do we really want to know 'the end of the story'?

Ancora imparo

Tent-ative

Tents popped into my head today......for no apparent reason other than I've been under one recently and I know people who slept in one last night. Since I am uncertain about any meaning to the thoughts that travel in and out of my brain, I thought I'd run with this 'tent' idea and see where my fingers on the keyboard took me.

Actually, multiple images of 'tents' exploded onto the cinematic screen of my imagination. Tents that you camp in, the 'tent' cities that crop up - often in areas of nature-made disasters, tent dresses from the 1960's, tent caterpillars, tent sales, under the 'big' tent circuses, and the big tents you rent for events.

Since my SO and I have been long-time tent campers, the very first image I have of a tent is one on a campsite in a state park. Our family had many years of wonderful experiences tent camping and we still combine, as a family, to tent camp once a year. Well, our kids do. My SO and I sort of cheat and bring our floating 'tent' along, which no one seems to mind. Tenting brings back memories of when we could eat anything, including hot dogs, ground round burgers, grilled Spam, steaks, pizza pies made in pie irons, somemores and the ultimate cuisine of outdoor camping......bacon and eggs fried in bacon grease. Makes my mouth water just thinking about all that now-forbidden food.

I don't know why the not-so-stylish tent dresses of the 1960's popped out from my memory box but they did. Perhaps it was because they were so easy to sew and, back then, I sewed almost everything I wore. I even sewed my wedding dress in my dorm room during a finals week.

Tent sales usually mean price reductions, which are always fun to scope out. Circus 'big tents' have a magical and mystical lure to them, probably for the joy of seeing your children experience a circus first-hand. I remember the one circus our children went to see, almost in our backyard, and they talked about it for years afterward.

Tent caterpillars are another matter.....an ecological and entomological problem/nuisance that is difficult to control and eliminate. These tents are easy to spot and can almost completely take over certain trees and bushes.

Tent cities are never a positive sign for those living in them. The occupants are most certainly there under duress and the influence of the unfortunate circumstances that drove them from their homes to begin with. The one-hundred-eighty-degree turn from a tent city is that of the event-tent that is rented for some special occasion, such as a wedding reception. The tent-event that stands out in my mind is one that I attended, in December, for a corporate holiday party. Guests were greeted at the door of the hosts' spacious Chicago home, coats were taken, and then ushered through the home to this huge tent literally attached to the patio doors, complete with indoor heaters everywhere. While snow was swirling outside, we were toasty warm, surrounded by glitter and glam, oblivious to the fact that a major December snowstorm was happening as we partied.

I'll stop now and you can escape the 'tent-acular' nature of this posting.

Ancora imparo

Overwhelmed or Underjoyed?

I seldom feel an overpowering sense of overwhelming defeat. To be sure, like most humans, there have been times in my life when I felt overwhelmed, usually regarding some relatively inane event like a big concert, a party, or my masters' project. Everything is relative and I realize that feeling overwhelmed about concerts, parties, and projects pales in comparison to death, disease, and poor health. The healthy human mind can, over time, process seemingly overwhelming feelings with order and organization to the point where the individual can ride the tidal wave to sense and sensibility, thereby restoring an atmosphere of comparative peace and inner harmony.

Zen.

At the moment, my sense of feeling overwhelmed is well, overwhelming. No, this will not be a kiss-and-tell or a point-and-shoot post, but I am going to give voice to a growing personal sense of dis-ease and I do not believe that I am alone.

Oddly enough, my desire to remain up-to-date and connected to the news of the world is what is fueling my mounting discontent and overpowering notion that somehow, my foundation feels as if it is built on sinking sand.

I've written about my disillusionment with the health-care system and the unheard and ignored plight of those of us unlucky enough to have chosen to provide ourselves with self-insurance. An umbrella of fear hangs over our heads on a regular basis with absolutely NO ONE who cares one whit that our insurance can be canceled with little, if any, recourse or that our rates can be raised at will, once again with little, if any, recourse. It is, as if, we (this is a corporate 'we') deserve to be punished simply because we have chosen to include a monthly payment in our budgets for health insurance. Add to that the huge catastrophe in the Gulf of Mexico.......an environmental and wildlife tragedy of epic proportions, with hourly and daily media reminders, warnings, predictions and alarms. My sense of rage at the ruination of untold and under-estimated habitats, environments, and livelihoods grows exponentially each day. The final insult-to-injury came in the local newspaper's lead story about the lack of solvency of our fine state's pension system.......one that I had been counting on to provide a possible health insurance solution for at least myself.

Overload.

Dashed hopes, mounting finality..........it is almost more than my psyche can process and, to repeat myself, I do not think I am alone. In fact, I know I am not alone in this morass that I feel is surrounding me/us. Overwhelmed or underjoyed - the effect is the same.

There is only one place I can go to escape and that is on my knees. I think my callouses will be thick.

Ancora imparo

What Would You Say?

I was part of a conversation, today, about what advice people would give high school graduates. When asked, I replied, "I'd have to think about that."

Well, I did and here is what I'd say:

• Practice kindness. There's too little of it in our society.
• Take responsibility. Don't point the finger at another or in another direction.
• If you screw up, admit it, then fix it. Don't wait for someone else to fix your mess.
• 'Thank you' and 'You're welcome' will take you far.
• Learn how to spell.
• If you absolutely cannot spell, learn how to use a dictionary.
• Shower every day. The world will appreciate it.
• If you said you would do it, do it.
• If you can't do it, the sooner you let someone know, the better.
• When you are with someone you care about, turn your ringer off. Better yet, turn off your phone.
• Surprisingly, the other shoppers in stores do not care one whit about your end of a phone conversation.
• When using a cart in any store, follow the rules of the road.
  
• Don't park your cart in the middle of an aisle and expect others to wait while you decide what size peanut butter to buy.
• Pick up after yourself in the workplace, or any place, for that matter. Your mother will not always be by your side.
• Don't say, "Let's do lunch.", unless you mean it.
• If you don't have anything constructive to say, be quiet.
• If you are not part of the solution, then you are part of the problem.
• Don't be a slacker. Carry your share of the load.
  
• Lastly, never, ever, waste the time of a volunteer.

I'm curious what advice you would give today's graduates. I'd like to hear your thoughts on this!

Ancora imparo

Sorely Tested

A few days ago, I wrote about succumbing to the 'Call of the Cheese-Its". The loss of will-power was temporarily devastating to my sense of pride and self-esteem, but I recovered quickly. After all, isn't it the dream of every Cheese-Its lover to be face-to-face with the fat-laden/buttery/cheesy delight?

Feeling sufficiently chagrined after a good bout of self-chastisement, I entered the same lounge yesterday and experienced nary a twinge of desire, even though faced with three Cheese-It boxes. I left with a great sense of empowerment and personal satisfaction that I was able to ignore the 'Call of the Cheese-Its'.

Segue to today.

Lunchtime came and I found myself alone in the lounge. The other, grade-level staff had taken their students to a local park to blow off end-of-the-year steam and pent-up energy. I sat down at the table, absent-mindedly removing items from my lunch box. I happened to look up, and what was right in front of me, before my very eyes......not more than three or four inches away.......a box of Cheese-Its. "This is not fair!", exclaimed I to myself. "What a terrible fate to befall me and test my resolve!"

I successfully avoided eating any Cheese-Its today, but it was difficult. I had to keep my gaze lowered and avert my eyes from 'the box'. After a short while, I simply had to push the box as far down the table as I could. Still it called to me but I WAS STRONG. I kept telling myself, "You are stronger than that box of Cheese-Its........you know you are!"

I passed the test today but will I be able to resist the next time temptation comes a-callin'?

Ancora imparo

The Final Daze

Regular readers of this blog may remember that I had frequently mentioned the Holly Daze in December postings. December is a time of year when sleep and common sense are often in short supply.

The final days (daze) of a school year are similar, in nature. Everyone is giddy with excitement, laughter abounds, smiles run from ear to ear, summer vacation plans are being discussed, rooms are being cleaned, books are being scurried to the librarian, squirrely bodies are brimming with excessive and unnatural energy, normally shy and retiring individuals seem light-hearted, while the depressed and withdrawn people of the world have a more positive facial countenance........and that is just the faculty.

You should see the students.

Happy daze are here again.

Ancora imparo

Saying Goodbye

Two instances of 'saying goodbye' came to the forefront today.

My pastor always writes an article in our church's monthly newsletter and this month's article was about saying goodbye. In less than two weeks, he and his wife will leave our congregation after an eleven-year pastorate. He discussed varying ways to say 'adieu' and the many reactions he has experienced as people and groups have bid him farewell.

The other instance of 'saying goodbye' came through a friend of my SO. The man has traveled into the area from another state and one of the 'things' he wanted to do, while here, was to visit a former co-worker who is suffering from an incurable disease and has not been given long to live. This friend of my SO's came into town but then decided he was not able to see his old friend in his current condition. He said he simply couldn't bring himself to 'say goodbye'.

Why is saying 'farewell' so difficult? Perhaps it is because, although we pledge to keep in touch, we instinctively realize that the reality is we will more than likely never see the other person again. No matter the promises we make, life does get in the way and other people and activities fill our lives in our new surroundings. Likewise for those we leave behind. Our place in our friends' hearts and minds becomes filled with fresh acquaintances as well.

It is a cycle of life, much like birth and death. We may feel as if we are irreplaceable but the reality is that we are not. We hopefully remain in the memories of those we leave behind but even memories dim from the passage of time.

There is a bittersweet quality to the word 'goodbye', whereas 'until we meet again' at least presents hope. I like that concept better. It is more comforting to think of being able to see someone again than to face the reality of never being in the presence of that friend or loved once more.

Until we meet again (or the next blog posting),

Ancora imparo

Something Came Over Me

This is a public confession. I'm reasoning perhaps, if I make a public pronouncement that I 'done wrong', it will serve to somehow mitigate the circumstance I found myself in today.

It was about three o'clock, p.m. My initial intent was to return two remotes to the media room and then perambulate down to a room where I would turn in my two dollars towards a going-away luncheon. At this point, my intentions seemed pure. Little did I know that once I turned the last corner, Satan's tempters would begin their siren song - directed at moi!

I rounded the corner toward the teacher's room to turn in the money and I saw the door to the staff lounge, where earlier a farewell luncheon - ala Bon Voyage theme - had been held. During lunch, I ate the food I had prepared and brought with me, munching only on some extra forbidden treats. "Not too many", I told myself at lunch, and I stayed true to my self-entreaty.

However, at three o'clock p.m., with my resolve and will power severely depleted and, after dropping off the two dollars, I felt drawn to the lounge like a moth to a flame. I entered the teachers' lounge and there it was, still on the small side-table. Not a large box, 'orange-ish' in color, filled with a dangerous, possibly-life-threatening snack......yet I was not able to resist the strong pull to walk towards the box.

With hands shaking, legs trembling, breath shallow and rapid, I took a napkin, folded it out, and reached for the box. My fingers quickly found the edges and a firm grasp took hold of the box. My other hand easily located the opening of the box top and eager fingers slid open the cardboard. Next came the inner pouch, which gave way with little resistance, only to reveal the contents. Tipping the box, out tumbled about two dozen. I know that I should have stopped pouring at once but I found I was defenseless at the sight of those little orange-ish squares.

Yes, this afternoon, I ate two dozen Cheese-Its. I haven't eaten Cheese-Its since the Holly Daze and I am certain my cholesterol levels will reflect my dietary indiscretion.

There you have it. I've acknowledged my sin for today. Satan grabbed hold of my taste buds and gave me my 'devil-may-care' attitude.

Let's all pray that the box is gone by tomorrow. I am weak in the presence of Cheese-Its.

Ancora imparo