I had the occasion to drive a rental car for most of the day. This is the second time, in my life, that I have been the renter of a rental vehicle. Most of the time it is Capt. SO that secures the vehicle. I'm usually just a passenger and pay little attention to the process.
The rental car was arranged by the automotive repair shop because my vehicle, which I had to have "there" by 7:15 a.m., would be out of commission all day. Not only out of commission, but I knew, in advance, that the bill would be frightfully expensive, which it was. At least I had been pre-prepared (my word) and did not fall faint upon the cement floor when picking up my car, thereby necessitating an ambulance ride.
The small, red, rental car was cute enough, although I think it had a four-cylinder engine. If it had a six-cylinder engine it was the most sluggish six I've ever driven. This little car had all of the acceleration power of ten squirrels and that might be an exaggeration! However, I should not complain. It was a luxury to have a vehicle available to me today so I could run my errands hither, thither and yon. And, hither, thither and yon I did go!
Driving a different vehicle is not something I do very often and today I realized why. We consumers become so accustomed to our own cars, trucks, and mini-vans that we could find most of the interior's gadgets, buttons, gizmos, whatchamcallits, knobs, levers, and thingamabobs blindfolded, could we not? Well, today, nothing was in its customary place. I never could figure out how to lock the car's doors once I was in the car. Every time I tried, the panic alarm went off so I dispensed with that habit for the day. The key was not the kind of key that "disappears" into the key fob thingamajig and because I had at least a dozen stops that I had to make today, I spent at least three tries per stop to get the key to fold back into (or out of) the key "thing". Even at the point of rental return, when I got out of the car to walk into the rental-car building, I automatically pressed some imaginary button that would make the key fold inward! Talk about a creature of habit!
In their defense, I must say that those ten squirrels were quite fuel efficient. The only cost I had to foot was to return the fuel tank to full. One dollar and fifteen cents was what the gas pump registered when the auto-flow valve clicked off to indicate full! I should be nice to those ten squirrels!
I think I could get into this car-rental experience. I can see myself flying to a desired destination and renting a sports car that I could go zoom, zoom, zoom in. As long as I can rent a vehicle that has a disappearing key, has a tilt steering wheel, and is able to be locked when the key is in the ignition, "it" and I would get along famously.
Where should I go? The possibilities are endless, as are the car-rental choices!
Ancora imparo
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
What Have You Learned?
Once again, the fodder for this posting is coming from a recent conversation with friends. A friend, who is an Ancora imparo follower, quipped not too long ago, "You are in a lot of conversations!" Well, yes, I guess I am but I count myself lucky and I learn so much from talking with others.
The topic of a recent conversation that inspired the posting's title was "what had we all learned so far in life?" Participants in this chat were all female and ranged in age from probably fifty to close-to-seventy years of age. Most were in long-term marriages but one was divorced and single, two were widows and another woman was divorced and remarried. As one might expect, there was little pause in discussion and words flowed freely with much ensuing laughter. We laughed heartily and there was the occasional misty-eyed response.
The women's answers, ranging from the sublime to the ridiculous to the subtle to the poignant, created quite the portrait of life in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Women's lives that had seen tremendous social and societal changes. Women's lives that had seen tragedy, triumph, treachery, turmoil yet tranquility. It was fascinating to listen to what everyone had to say. In fact, I listened so much that, at one point, one of the women turned to me and asked me when I was going to contribute any life-lessons. I made some glib remark that made everyone chuckle, then another woman made a comment and the group dialogue went on. I was, truthfully, thankful that I did not have to contribute any words of wisdom then. Later, and subsequently even days later, I have had the opportunity to mull over just what I would say and I realize that to narrow down my life-lessons to anything less than the length of a novel would be a disservice to myself and those that I have learned from.
I will, however, throw out the question to those who read Ancora imparo. "What have you learned in or from life?" Anything you'd like to share with me or with others? I would love to hear what you have to say. I might just learn something because, as the title of this blog translates, "still I am learning".
Ancora imparo
The topic of a recent conversation that inspired the posting's title was "what had we all learned so far in life?" Participants in this chat were all female and ranged in age from probably fifty to close-to-seventy years of age. Most were in long-term marriages but one was divorced and single, two were widows and another woman was divorced and remarried. As one might expect, there was little pause in discussion and words flowed freely with much ensuing laughter. We laughed heartily and there was the occasional misty-eyed response.
The women's answers, ranging from the sublime to the ridiculous to the subtle to the poignant, created quite the portrait of life in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. Women's lives that had seen tremendous social and societal changes. Women's lives that had seen tragedy, triumph, treachery, turmoil yet tranquility. It was fascinating to listen to what everyone had to say. In fact, I listened so much that, at one point, one of the women turned to me and asked me when I was going to contribute any life-lessons. I made some glib remark that made everyone chuckle, then another woman made a comment and the group dialogue went on. I was, truthfully, thankful that I did not have to contribute any words of wisdom then. Later, and subsequently even days later, I have had the opportunity to mull over just what I would say and I realize that to narrow down my life-lessons to anything less than the length of a novel would be a disservice to myself and those that I have learned from.
I will, however, throw out the question to those who read Ancora imparo. "What have you learned in or from life?" Anything you'd like to share with me or with others? I would love to hear what you have to say. I might just learn something because, as the title of this blog translates, "still I am learning".
Ancora imparo
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Walking The Pool
Have you ever heard of "walking the pool"? I had not....until this afternoon. I was outside, reading, and was hailed by a friend who asked, "Would you like to walk the pool with me?" I must have had a confused look on my face because she said, "You know.....walk back and forth from one end to the other?"
This was a new concept to me. I avoid pools like the plague - for a variety of reasons. I'm not fond of chlorine and I don't like chlorinated water in my eyes but it did seem like something that could be fun and I knew I'd enjoy the conversation. Plus.....I have a new bathing suit for this season - one that I might actually allow myself to be seen in by the general public. I usually view wearing a bathing suit as similar to having root canal. I scurried around, actually found the bathing suit, actually donned the bathing suit, and actually stepped out into the sunshine with it on. Of course, I had a pool cover robe on, but still.......this was a big step for me.
Because this is a weekday, the pool was deserted when my friend and I opened the pool gate. "Great," I thought to myself. "All to ourselves!" I followed my friend's lead and for the next hour and forty minutes (I am not exaggerating!) she and I were in continual motion from one end of the pool to the other. Back and forth we went, either walking with constant arm movements, or swimming when the depth was more than tippy-toes could manage. Conversation flowed easily and I was floored when she looked at the pool clock and announced how long we'd been at our water exercise. Now, I must admit that I am one tired puppy. All the fresh air and exercise have made me unusually mellow and very sleepy.
My friend and I had a goal this afternoon. We were hoping that after all that exercise and water making our skin shrink, that we would be size sixes.
The jury is still out on that one.
Ancora imparo
This was a new concept to me. I avoid pools like the plague - for a variety of reasons. I'm not fond of chlorine and I don't like chlorinated water in my eyes but it did seem like something that could be fun and I knew I'd enjoy the conversation. Plus.....I have a new bathing suit for this season - one that I might actually allow myself to be seen in by the general public. I usually view wearing a bathing suit as similar to having root canal. I scurried around, actually found the bathing suit, actually donned the bathing suit, and actually stepped out into the sunshine with it on. Of course, I had a pool cover robe on, but still.......this was a big step for me.
Because this is a weekday, the pool was deserted when my friend and I opened the pool gate. "Great," I thought to myself. "All to ourselves!" I followed my friend's lead and for the next hour and forty minutes (I am not exaggerating!) she and I were in continual motion from one end of the pool to the other. Back and forth we went, either walking with constant arm movements, or swimming when the depth was more than tippy-toes could manage. Conversation flowed easily and I was floored when she looked at the pool clock and announced how long we'd been at our water exercise. Now, I must admit that I am one tired puppy. All the fresh air and exercise have made me unusually mellow and very sleepy.
My friend and I had a goal this afternoon. We were hoping that after all that exercise and water making our skin shrink, that we would be size sixes.
The jury is still out on that one.
Ancora imparo
Displacement Speed
I have boating terminology on the brain - perhaps because I have been living on our little Aqua RV. As part of my feeble (and somewhat unsuccessful) effort to learn how to operate Das Boot, I've had many tutorials and discourses, as of late, on the engines, their optimum speed, care and feeding. Capt. SO has tried to be patient with me as I learn, forget, re-learn, re-forget.......ad nauseam......how to warm up and cool down the engines by putting the transmission into neutral so the rpms can be raised without Das Boot moving forward. I'm certain that my inability to understand and remember the mechanics of this process must be vexing to Capt. SO, to say the least.
As another "chapter" of my boat learnin', I am spending more time behind the wheel as Capt. SO endeavors to teach me how to operate Das Boot in the event that there was an emergency and I had to take the helm. My "comfort" speed is just slightly faster than eight knots, which, if you know anything about power boats, is true displacement speed - or - about the speed of a turtle on steroids. At displacement, I can mange to navigate through rougher water, multiple boats, PWC's and boats pulling skiers or tubers (No, not potato tubers.) without throwing up my hands and covering my eyes.......not a positive trait for someone at the helm. I have learned that there is a nether-world for planing hull boats (at least ours) that is between 900 and 1599 rpms. At this range, our planing hull boat simply pushes water, creating a huge wake, and taking fuel efficiency into toilet territory. Unfortunately, for this helm novice, the range of 900 to 1599 rpms is right in my comfort zone. However, I am becoming more comfortable at 1800 rpms, which, for our Aqua RV, is about 19 to 20 knots. This speed puts the bow down and enables Das Boot to slice through the water, rather than plow through the water. This is a speed that I could safely navigate at, in an emergency, and get Das Boot back to a place of refuge.
But.....yes, there is a but.....I like displacement speed - both for the Aqua RV and life, in general. Displacement speed is like slow and steady, organized and methodical, safe and secure. I do understand that, by moving faster, one does not have to sacrifice safety, security, organization or methodicism (my word). With proper training and preparation, life can go by at tortoise speed or at a Road-Runner pace, but sometimes, displacement speed just feels better, does it not? There may be days when I have to plow through the hours at a speed between 900 and 1599 rpms but, when my head hits the pillow at night, I'll know that my efficiency was compromised. I think the best solution is a day when there is a little of both displacement and planing-hull speeds. Time to take it slow and time to push the throttles forward and move at 2400 rpms. "For everything, turn, turn, turn, there is a season, turn, turn, turn........."
My coffee is gone. Time to move those throttles forward.
Ancora imparo
As another "chapter" of my boat learnin', I am spending more time behind the wheel as Capt. SO endeavors to teach me how to operate Das Boot in the event that there was an emergency and I had to take the helm. My "comfort" speed is just slightly faster than eight knots, which, if you know anything about power boats, is true displacement speed - or - about the speed of a turtle on steroids. At displacement, I can mange to navigate through rougher water, multiple boats, PWC's and boats pulling skiers or tubers (No, not potato tubers.) without throwing up my hands and covering my eyes.......not a positive trait for someone at the helm. I have learned that there is a nether-world for planing hull boats (at least ours) that is between 900 and 1599 rpms. At this range, our planing hull boat simply pushes water, creating a huge wake, and taking fuel efficiency into toilet territory. Unfortunately, for this helm novice, the range of 900 to 1599 rpms is right in my comfort zone. However, I am becoming more comfortable at 1800 rpms, which, for our Aqua RV, is about 19 to 20 knots. This speed puts the bow down and enables Das Boot to slice through the water, rather than plow through the water. This is a speed that I could safely navigate at, in an emergency, and get Das Boot back to a place of refuge.
But.....yes, there is a but.....I like displacement speed - both for the Aqua RV and life, in general. Displacement speed is like slow and steady, organized and methodical, safe and secure. I do understand that, by moving faster, one does not have to sacrifice safety, security, organization or methodicism (my word). With proper training and preparation, life can go by at tortoise speed or at a Road-Runner pace, but sometimes, displacement speed just feels better, does it not? There may be days when I have to plow through the hours at a speed between 900 and 1599 rpms but, when my head hits the pillow at night, I'll know that my efficiency was compromised. I think the best solution is a day when there is a little of both displacement and planing-hull speeds. Time to take it slow and time to push the throttles forward and move at 2400 rpms. "For everything, turn, turn, turn, there is a season, turn, turn, turn........."
My coffee is gone. Time to move those throttles forward.
Ancora imparo
Monday, June 27, 2011
Stress, Strudel, and Stroganoff
How do you deal with stress?
Books, television talk shows, movies, documentaries, lectures and seminars are among the media dedicated to this topic. The pharmaceutical industry must rake in billions just in anti-depressants, mood altering-drugs, and anxiety-reducing meds all in an effort to lower the stress levels of humans world-wide. Let's face it.....life can be very stressful and pharmaceutical executives are probably smiling all the way to their Cayman Island bank accounts.
For the lowly plebe who feels stressed and either doesn't have access to health insurance-provided prescription coverage or doesn't need heavy-duty drugs to weather the stressful storm, the variations of relief-remedies is vast. Herbalists will tell you that ground up roots and leaves can provide a sense of calm. Certain medical providers will insist that by pressing on this or that nerve, either manually or by acupuncture can relieve pain and stress. Health and wellness experts proclaim that exercise and meditative motion will provide lower levels of stress, if not eliminating stressful feelings completely. Prominent world religions proffer that by following their "deity" one can find inner peace and understanding.
Then there is the food factor. Unfortunately, food can be a very real "drug" with which people can attempt to feel less stressed. I am one of those unfortunate folk who use food as a stress-reliever, only to find that once I've felt better for the seconds or minutes that I was eating, even more stress returns in the ugly and non-productive form of guilt. If I thought that stress was the fodder that entire industries are built upon, then guilt is right there with stress. Guilt can be thought of as the fire-starter for stress.....but then that is another blog topic all together.
For now, I'm sticking with my posting title: Stress, strudel and stroganoff. Two of the three are definite winners for instant stress-reduction, although strudel and stroganoff will also lead to guilt.....but maybe they are simply guilty pleasures????
Ancora imparo
Books, television talk shows, movies, documentaries, lectures and seminars are among the media dedicated to this topic. The pharmaceutical industry must rake in billions just in anti-depressants, mood altering-drugs, and anxiety-reducing meds all in an effort to lower the stress levels of humans world-wide. Let's face it.....life can be very stressful and pharmaceutical executives are probably smiling all the way to their Cayman Island bank accounts.
For the lowly plebe who feels stressed and either doesn't have access to health insurance-provided prescription coverage or doesn't need heavy-duty drugs to weather the stressful storm, the variations of relief-remedies is vast. Herbalists will tell you that ground up roots and leaves can provide a sense of calm. Certain medical providers will insist that by pressing on this or that nerve, either manually or by acupuncture can relieve pain and stress. Health and wellness experts proclaim that exercise and meditative motion will provide lower levels of stress, if not eliminating stressful feelings completely. Prominent world religions proffer that by following their "deity" one can find inner peace and understanding.
Then there is the food factor. Unfortunately, food can be a very real "drug" with which people can attempt to feel less stressed. I am one of those unfortunate folk who use food as a stress-reliever, only to find that once I've felt better for the seconds or minutes that I was eating, even more stress returns in the ugly and non-productive form of guilt. If I thought that stress was the fodder that entire industries are built upon, then guilt is right there with stress. Guilt can be thought of as the fire-starter for stress.....but then that is another blog topic all together.
For now, I'm sticking with my posting title: Stress, strudel and stroganoff. Two of the three are definite winners for instant stress-reduction, although strudel and stroganoff will also lead to guilt.....but maybe they are simply guilty pleasures????
Ancora imparo
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Hydro Therapy
Therapy can come in differing forms. Sometimes it appears as four-legged creatures, young and old, large or small. Happy canines that are just glad to see you and aren't afraid to let you know. Sometimes therapy is reading a book, talking with a friend, taking a walk, reading to a grandchild, hugging a grandchild, being hugged by a grandchild, or maybe taking a nap.
Today, therapy came in the form of two Volvo diesel engines, four-hundred-seventy-six hp each, cranked up to two-thousand rpms, skimming across the water, working in tandem together to provide a powerfully smooth ride, despite the three-foot waves The sun, wind and temperature cooperated in unison, for once, to create a rare day on the water. Even the tiny Aqua RV got its time on the water, little 3-horse engine running smoothly, although it preferred newer gas to the older mix.
There is nothing like the wind blowing your hair about, a little water spray to keep a body cooled, and the sound of the diesels as they kick up the water, creating spray and wakes that ripple through the water farther than the eye can see. In a larger body of water, it is not unusual to run for several miles before encountering another Aqua RV. Often these sightings are miles apart - so far will the other vessel be from yours that it is difficult to tell the size of the other vessel, other than you know it must be somewhat large or you'd not be able to see it at all. An occasional PWC will find you and cavort about from side to side, crossing the wake at the optimum time in order to catch "air". Yes, I am pootered (my word) but it is a good feeling. Perhaps I'll sleep soundly tonight instead of the restless and interrupted sleep that I so often experience. Perhaps I'll fall asleep with the sound of the diesels in my head.
Hydro therapy. Not a bad thing at all.
Ancora imparo
Today, therapy came in the form of two Volvo diesel engines, four-hundred-seventy-six hp each, cranked up to two-thousand rpms, skimming across the water, working in tandem together to provide a powerfully smooth ride, despite the three-foot waves The sun, wind and temperature cooperated in unison, for once, to create a rare day on the water. Even the tiny Aqua RV got its time on the water, little 3-horse engine running smoothly, although it preferred newer gas to the older mix.
There is nothing like the wind blowing your hair about, a little water spray to keep a body cooled, and the sound of the diesels as they kick up the water, creating spray and wakes that ripple through the water farther than the eye can see. In a larger body of water, it is not unusual to run for several miles before encountering another Aqua RV. Often these sightings are miles apart - so far will the other vessel be from yours that it is difficult to tell the size of the other vessel, other than you know it must be somewhat large or you'd not be able to see it at all. An occasional PWC will find you and cavort about from side to side, crossing the wake at the optimum time in order to catch "air". Yes, I am pootered (my word) but it is a good feeling. Perhaps I'll sleep soundly tonight instead of the restless and interrupted sleep that I so often experience. Perhaps I'll fall asleep with the sound of the diesels in my head.
Hydro therapy. Not a bad thing at all.
Ancora imparo
Friday, June 24, 2011
New Is Nice
Some very special people just bought a new vehicle. As I was texting and speaking with "them", as well as seeing pictures of the new vehicle, I was reminded of all of the new vehicles I've experienced in my lifetime.
My parents were Ford people. Growing up, the families that I knew seemed to find a car company they liked and they would become customers for life. My cousins' family was a "Chevy" household and our backyard neighbor, George, was a Chrysler man. I do not remember brand "hopping" back then, whereas today, brand "hopping" is very common.
My parents always bought the largest Ford station wagons that Ford produced. Our station wagons always had eight cylinders and were built like Sherman tanks. They were purchased to haul massive amounts of stuff to and from our lake property in northern Michigan and I used them plow through massive snow drifts in the country roads to and from my sister's home. My goal was to be the first set of tracks through the snow drifts (still is) and I never got stuck.
Capt. SO and I have purchased many new vehicles in our life together, but we have not been a one-brand household. Our purchases of new vehicles have been Chevy Nova, one of the first Honda Civics (the very tiny ones), a Toyota pickup, a Plymouth Volare, Buick Regal, numerous Pontiac models, a Ford Aerostar, a GMC Safari, a Chevy Tahoe, a Chevy Suburban and a Volvo. Quite a variety, if I do say so myself. Our later purchases had everything to do with hauling kids, lots of stuff and boats. Now we're more into comfort. Our last purchase, the Volvo, was made purely on the fact that its seats suited my body the best.
We're not too far away from needing to purchase one or two more replacement vehicles and I'll be very curious to see what we settle on. We've been having a great time brainstorming what we'd like to purchase. We have not yet decided if hauling is still in our future, if we'll opt for comfort, or if we'll move in the luxury direction.
What I do know is that new is nice. There is just nothing quite like the smell of a new vehicle's interior, or the feel of its pristine exterior, with its smooth-as-glass surface that you really hate to see get wet or dirty. As I wrote about recently, I do bond with my vehicles and it will be difficult to think of either one of ours being in the hands of another party.
But then, new is nice.
Ancora imparo
My parents were Ford people. Growing up, the families that I knew seemed to find a car company they liked and they would become customers for life. My cousins' family was a "Chevy" household and our backyard neighbor, George, was a Chrysler man. I do not remember brand "hopping" back then, whereas today, brand "hopping" is very common.
My parents always bought the largest Ford station wagons that Ford produced. Our station wagons always had eight cylinders and were built like Sherman tanks. They were purchased to haul massive amounts of stuff to and from our lake property in northern Michigan and I used them plow through massive snow drifts in the country roads to and from my sister's home. My goal was to be the first set of tracks through the snow drifts (still is) and I never got stuck.
Capt. SO and I have purchased many new vehicles in our life together, but we have not been a one-brand household. Our purchases of new vehicles have been Chevy Nova, one of the first Honda Civics (the very tiny ones), a Toyota pickup, a Plymouth Volare, Buick Regal, numerous Pontiac models, a Ford Aerostar, a GMC Safari, a Chevy Tahoe, a Chevy Suburban and a Volvo. Quite a variety, if I do say so myself. Our later purchases had everything to do with hauling kids, lots of stuff and boats. Now we're more into comfort. Our last purchase, the Volvo, was made purely on the fact that its seats suited my body the best.
We're not too far away from needing to purchase one or two more replacement vehicles and I'll be very curious to see what we settle on. We've been having a great time brainstorming what we'd like to purchase. We have not yet decided if hauling is still in our future, if we'll opt for comfort, or if we'll move in the luxury direction.
What I do know is that new is nice. There is just nothing quite like the smell of a new vehicle's interior, or the feel of its pristine exterior, with its smooth-as-glass surface that you really hate to see get wet or dirty. As I wrote about recently, I do bond with my vehicles and it will be difficult to think of either one of ours being in the hands of another party.
But then, new is nice.
Ancora imparo
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Turned Too Many Pages
I like to follow a schedule - those who read this blog on any regular basis know this. It helps me to function at peak efficiency when I have an idea of where I'm going, how I'll get there, and what I'll need along the way. Imagine my surprise these past few days as I've discovered I must be the victim of some chronological duping of the highest degree. I feel as if I'm now part of a Dan Brown novel about some secret group who is charged with the systematic climatological deception of an entire continent or hemisphere.
I look at my calendar and the print says that it is now the season of summer but my body and mind know differently. Gone is the heat, humidity and sun-parched earth that the global-warming prognosticators trumpet. Instead, there are constant cloudy skies, temps so low that mittens and blankets come out during evening outdoor concerts, and cold rains either sprinkling or pouring down on the rain-soaked surroundings. Any day I expect to see Noah, his ark and pairings of animals selected to ensure planet survival.
Somewhere, in my zeal to maintain a schedule with my outmoded Franklin planner, it is I who has single-handedly changed the atmospheric future of our entire planet. It is I who will have set the course for the evolution-tsunami of the extinction of warm-blooded creatures, two and four-legged. I've been writing appointments on the wrong pages. Instead of June, I accidentally turned the planning pages to October. It is I who has confused the mid-West weather patterns.
Tomorrow I will change out all my appointments and transfer them to the correct month - June. Perhaps then the weather will get the message.
Ancora imparo
I look at my calendar and the print says that it is now the season of summer but my body and mind know differently. Gone is the heat, humidity and sun-parched earth that the global-warming prognosticators trumpet. Instead, there are constant cloudy skies, temps so low that mittens and blankets come out during evening outdoor concerts, and cold rains either sprinkling or pouring down on the rain-soaked surroundings. Any day I expect to see Noah, his ark and pairings of animals selected to ensure planet survival.
Somewhere, in my zeal to maintain a schedule with my outmoded Franklin planner, it is I who has single-handedly changed the atmospheric future of our entire planet. It is I who will have set the course for the evolution-tsunami of the extinction of warm-blooded creatures, two and four-legged. I've been writing appointments on the wrong pages. Instead of June, I accidentally turned the planning pages to October. It is I who has confused the mid-West weather patterns.
Tomorrow I will change out all my appointments and transfer them to the correct month - June. Perhaps then the weather will get the message.
Ancora imparo
It's All In The Tone
A friend of mine is a retired teacher. She was a master teacher long before the catch-phrase became a buzz-word in educational circles. To this day, her opinion on matters of either classroom discipline or at-home behavioral issues is routinely sought after. When I was actively teaching, there were times when I'd run a scenario past this friend to seek her thoughts on possible alternative solutions. Her ideas were always grounded on common sense, respect, and reality. One of her oft-recited responses was, "It's all in the tone." As my years went by and I became more proficient at reading people and situations, I, too, became adept at delivering words, not always popular words, in a way that lead to an outcome that was palatable to all, including me.
Another piece of my "tone" training came from my work days at a YWCA. This particular "Y" had a history of consumer complaints regarding front-desk employees' treatment of the general public and at the time of my hire, an employee-education series of seminars was just being launched, so I was on the front end of a public-relations skill-training period for me, arming me with abilities that would remain for a life-time. One of our first exercises involved the simple sentence, "How may I help you?" Working with the instructor, in a one-on-one setting, we had to state the sentence five times, each time emphasizing a different word in the sentence.
"How may I help you?"
"How may I help you?"
"How may I help you?"
"How may I help you?"
"How may I help you?"
With inflection changing in every sentence, each one communicates a slightly differing message to the listener.
Tone. It makes all the difference in communicating with any other human being. There are many among us who could use a human-relations training session or a refresher course.
Guess I'd better go listen to myself.
Ancora imparo
Another piece of my "tone" training came from my work days at a YWCA. This particular "Y" had a history of consumer complaints regarding front-desk employees' treatment of the general public and at the time of my hire, an employee-education series of seminars was just being launched, so I was on the front end of a public-relations skill-training period for me, arming me with abilities that would remain for a life-time. One of our first exercises involved the simple sentence, "How may I help you?" Working with the instructor, in a one-on-one setting, we had to state the sentence five times, each time emphasizing a different word in the sentence.
"How may I help you?"
"How may I help you?"
"How may I help you?"
"How may I help you?"
"How may I help you?"
With inflection changing in every sentence, each one communicates a slightly differing message to the listener.
Tone. It makes all the difference in communicating with any other human being. There are many among us who could use a human-relations training session or a refresher course.
Guess I'd better go listen to myself.
Ancora imparo
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
This Is Not Good
When I was a little tyke, I'm afraid my fate was sealed in terms of the development of my tactile sense. For some reason, unknown to anyone other than God, I was imbued with a very low tolerance to anything scratchy touching my skin, especially when it came to fabrics that would come in contact with my torso, arms, neck, and thighs. I have memories earlier than five years of age, refusing to wear undershirts or slips, for little girls, that had any type of lace attached. More than once, I can also recall getting into trouble for taking scissors to my clothing in order to remove any offending scratchiness.
This quirk has not lessened as I've aged.......rather my aversion to any feeling other than silky-soft coming in contact with my skin has intensified to the point where Capt. SO refers to me as the principal character in "The Princess and the Pea." I will not even tolerate a grain of sand in my bedsheets. If I feel one microscopic granule of anything, I'm throwing off the covers and searching for it with my hands.
I do not understand why garment industry designers persist in adding scratchy laces, threads.....even plastics here and there to clothing. I just cut off some plastic that was strangely attached between two shoulder seams that seemed to have zero structural purpose and, most definitely, no design purpose. Go figure. Some worker (or workers) in some underdeveloped country (or countries) is toiling away at a subsistence wage, sewing in these pieces of plastic, that will get removed immediately by a consumer once the garment is purchased and taken home.
If my scratchy "fetish" intensifies any more, I'll be wearing only 700-count bedsheets wrapped around my body like a sari. This is not good!
This quirk has not lessened as I've aged.......rather my aversion to any feeling other than silky-soft coming in contact with my skin has intensified to the point where Capt. SO refers to me as the principal character in "The Princess and the Pea." I will not even tolerate a grain of sand in my bedsheets. If I feel one microscopic granule of anything, I'm throwing off the covers and searching for it with my hands.
I do not understand why garment industry designers persist in adding scratchy laces, threads.....even plastics here and there to clothing. I just cut off some plastic that was strangely attached between two shoulder seams that seemed to have zero structural purpose and, most definitely, no design purpose. Go figure. Some worker (or workers) in some underdeveloped country (or countries) is toiling away at a subsistence wage, sewing in these pieces of plastic, that will get removed immediately by a consumer once the garment is purchased and taken home.
If my scratchy "fetish" intensifies any more, I'll be wearing only 700-count bedsheets wrapped around my body like a sari. This is not good!
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
The Few and the Many
Rules. One of life's mandates, I guess. Life would be dangerous and chaotic without rules, yet when too many rules present themselves, we chafe against the imagined and real limitations, don't we?
When I was growing up, one of the not-infrequent platitudes I would hear teachers (especially) say, when a class got in trouble, was "Just a few of you spoiled it for the rest." I grew up understanding that this was true, understanding that the ill-will I felt toward the few that spoiled it for the many was animosity that I was not anxious to ever have directed toward me. Thinking of the personality test where the outcomes are described by dog-types, I probably have a significant amount of golden retrieve in me. I do not wish to displease (most of the time...)
Then the day arrived when I had my own classroom and I realize I uttered those same words. "You could have done thus and so but a few of you blew it for the rest.", or something along those lines. Now when I hear that sentence uttered aloud, it seems so retributive that I wish I'd never used the phrase.
It is a fact of being that a few can spoil it for the many. In my perfect world, I'd hope for a better mechanism or process for identifying the few that do spoil the outcome for the many. I'm not certain when the group mindset turned the corner and began dictating what has to happen for all. Is this not a poor message to send to both "sides" - a message to one group that says no matter how close you follow the "rules", a person or a few people can mess things up for you and, simultaneously, a message is sent to the group that says, "You have a lot of power here. Just a few of you can sway things your way."
No easy compromise between the individual and the group. No easy answers when considering the relationship between the few and the many.
Ancora imparo
When I was growing up, one of the not-infrequent platitudes I would hear teachers (especially) say, when a class got in trouble, was "Just a few of you spoiled it for the rest." I grew up understanding that this was true, understanding that the ill-will I felt toward the few that spoiled it for the many was animosity that I was not anxious to ever have directed toward me. Thinking of the personality test where the outcomes are described by dog-types, I probably have a significant amount of golden retrieve in me. I do not wish to displease (most of the time...)
Then the day arrived when I had my own classroom and I realize I uttered those same words. "You could have done thus and so but a few of you blew it for the rest.", or something along those lines. Now when I hear that sentence uttered aloud, it seems so retributive that I wish I'd never used the phrase.
It is a fact of being that a few can spoil it for the many. In my perfect world, I'd hope for a better mechanism or process for identifying the few that do spoil the outcome for the many. I'm not certain when the group mindset turned the corner and began dictating what has to happen for all. Is this not a poor message to send to both "sides" - a message to one group that says no matter how close you follow the "rules", a person or a few people can mess things up for you and, simultaneously, a message is sent to the group that says, "You have a lot of power here. Just a few of you can sway things your way."
No easy compromise between the individual and the group. No easy answers when considering the relationship between the few and the many.
Ancora imparo
Monday, June 20, 2011
Fateful Find
I wasn't looking for "love" in all the wrong places. I wasn't looking for trouble and I wasn't looking to purchase articles of clothing. I simply went into the department store because I needed one item of cosmetics that this store carries. I wasn't even planning on using one of my precious and coveted one-day shopping passes that are not easy to come by. My reasoning for paying full price for the cosmetics was that the fifteen percent I'd save on the cosmetics, with the one-day pass, just wasn't warranted because I can walk to this department store, whereas at home I'd have to drive, in which case, the gas used would wipe out the fifteen-percent savings.
Capice?
So, into the department store I went. My intention was to head directly to the cosmetics counter but the shoe sale caught my eye. I wandered about in the shoe department for a bit, found no great bargains, but all the sale signs throughout the store enticed me to head to a particular clothing department, just to "see" what was on sale.
There were racks and racks of clothing set aside on sale during the "yellow-dot" sales event for end-of-season clothing. Mind you, the summer doesn't begin until tomorrow but much of the summer clothing is on sale now, at deeply discounted prices.
Capice?
I sorted through one sales rack, idly sliding the hangers past me and......Voila! There hung a little black dress, or, in the fashion world known as a LBD. A LBD, in my size, a style that caught my eye, a fabric that won't wrinkle and will travel well, a fabric that doesn't itch and will be just perfect in hot weather. I thought this might be fashion love but I wasn't certain until I tried the dress on and it was truly love at first sight! Grabbing the dress, I headed back to the shoe department, hoping to find a pair of dressy black sandals to complete my "love-at-first-sight" find but to no avail.
I did use a one-day shopping pass and purchased my LBD for next-to-nothing. Even Capt. SO would think this was a great deal.
It was a fateful find. Capice?
Ancora imparo
Capice?
So, into the department store I went. My intention was to head directly to the cosmetics counter but the shoe sale caught my eye. I wandered about in the shoe department for a bit, found no great bargains, but all the sale signs throughout the store enticed me to head to a particular clothing department, just to "see" what was on sale.
There were racks and racks of clothing set aside on sale during the "yellow-dot" sales event for end-of-season clothing. Mind you, the summer doesn't begin until tomorrow but much of the summer clothing is on sale now, at deeply discounted prices.
Capice?
I sorted through one sales rack, idly sliding the hangers past me and......Voila! There hung a little black dress, or, in the fashion world known as a LBD. A LBD, in my size, a style that caught my eye, a fabric that won't wrinkle and will travel well, a fabric that doesn't itch and will be just perfect in hot weather. I thought this might be fashion love but I wasn't certain until I tried the dress on and it was truly love at first sight! Grabbing the dress, I headed back to the shoe department, hoping to find a pair of dressy black sandals to complete my "love-at-first-sight" find but to no avail.
I did use a one-day shopping pass and purchased my LBD for next-to-nothing. Even Capt. SO would think this was a great deal.
It was a fateful find. Capice?
Ancora imparo
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Where Did The Contents Go?
I've been searching for the contents of my brain for the better part of the last two hours and I am disappointed to report that I've had no success in locating what used to be the brains behind my brain. This could be due to several reasons: Tired, stressed, tired or stressed. I'm fairly certain that one of these factors is contributing to the fog I now find myself encased in.
Brain-fog feels like my head is filled with either cottage cheese or applesauce - I'm not sure which would be the most aptly descriptive food to use as imagery. A group of people I was with last night was involved in talking about how the weather, atmospheric lows and barometric pressure gave many of them headaches, backaches, and other aches they couldn't seem to describe. Perhaps that is what is affecting my cognitive performance.
I haven't lost anything today, nor have I misplaced items, so I do not think my cottage-cheesed brain is in too much trouble, but it does feel as if I am weaving through a maze of those Halloween-type fake cobwebs. It is a good thing that I had plenty of lists previously prepared that I can rely on to remember all of the tasks that I need to accomplish. It is also fortunate that I did not plan on doing any baking or elaborate cooking today, because the outcome might have been a bit compromised for either one of those activities. I can only imagine how chocolate chip cookies would taste with baking powder instead of baking soda, or one teaspoon of salt versus one tablespoon of salt would change the outcome. I think there would be lots of wrinkled facial muscles and more than a few "yucks" uttered.
Consequently, when you read this posting please read it with a grain of tolerance salt. If there are phrases, sentences, or syntax that simply mean very little, or make no sense at all, just understand from whence my brain cameth today. Out of the briar patch, through the smoke, around the debris and across the swamp is the route that the contents of this posting took to reach a point of conclusion where I could type:
Ancora imparo
Brain-fog feels like my head is filled with either cottage cheese or applesauce - I'm not sure which would be the most aptly descriptive food to use as imagery. A group of people I was with last night was involved in talking about how the weather, atmospheric lows and barometric pressure gave many of them headaches, backaches, and other aches they couldn't seem to describe. Perhaps that is what is affecting my cognitive performance.
I haven't lost anything today, nor have I misplaced items, so I do not think my cottage-cheesed brain is in too much trouble, but it does feel as if I am weaving through a maze of those Halloween-type fake cobwebs. It is a good thing that I had plenty of lists previously prepared that I can rely on to remember all of the tasks that I need to accomplish. It is also fortunate that I did not plan on doing any baking or elaborate cooking today, because the outcome might have been a bit compromised for either one of those activities. I can only imagine how chocolate chip cookies would taste with baking powder instead of baking soda, or one teaspoon of salt versus one tablespoon of salt would change the outcome. I think there would be lots of wrinkled facial muscles and more than a few "yucks" uttered.
Consequently, when you read this posting please read it with a grain of tolerance salt. If there are phrases, sentences, or syntax that simply mean very little, or make no sense at all, just understand from whence my brain cameth today. Out of the briar patch, through the smoke, around the debris and across the swamp is the route that the contents of this posting took to reach a point of conclusion where I could type:
Ancora imparo
Friday, June 17, 2011
A Versatile Application?
There was a recent, fascinating newspaper article featuring a college student whose family I am acquainted with. This young man, an industrial design student, has designed a lamp, featured in an Italian trade show, that is environmentally friendly. It works for one hour, stops working, and "dumps a mess on the table". What type of "mess" is not specified. The student goes on to explain that the lamp was not meant to be functional, nor practical, but rather eye and mind-catching because of its conceptual nature.
I could not agree more. Moreover, it seems to me that the concept of working for one hour and then "dumping a mess" has application far beyond the whimsical nature of this lamp.
Consider lawn mowers or vacuum sweepers. Why cannot these machines be built and programmed to mow or vacuum, respectively, for one hour, then dump the collected mess at a pre-determined spot. This would eliminate the need for either machine to have a collection bag that accumulates tiny particles of dust, debris and ODOR. While a lawn mower bag mostly just smells like cut grass - unless an unsuspecting tiny critter got caught up in the blades - a vacuum-sweeper bag can acquire quite the ugly smell, especially if you have a pet or you've vacuumed up lots of bugs, followed by vacuuming some level of moisture. Disgusting odor, to say the least. My nose always alerts me to when my vacuum-sweeper bag needs changing.....but if the device could be re-designed to simply dump at a pre-determined AND pre-authorized dump site, then the odoriferous issue could be solved.
Perhaps, in the future, a micro-chip would be developed that could be implanted (Yes, safely!) into toddlers for purposes of potty-training. Imagine the delight and relief of parents, world-wide, if they knew there was help during this most trying of processes? Child plays about for one hour then "dumps a mess" at a location of the parent's choosing.
Hmmm.....could be applicable for adults traveling longs distances in cars or other vehicles? Maybe one hour could be stretched to two....three....four.....a whole day????????? Pets? I could have a dog on the Aqua RV!
I'm gonna give this young man a call!
Ancora impottyaro
I could not agree more. Moreover, it seems to me that the concept of working for one hour and then "dumping a mess" has application far beyond the whimsical nature of this lamp.
Consider lawn mowers or vacuum sweepers. Why cannot these machines be built and programmed to mow or vacuum, respectively, for one hour, then dump the collected mess at a pre-determined spot. This would eliminate the need for either machine to have a collection bag that accumulates tiny particles of dust, debris and ODOR. While a lawn mower bag mostly just smells like cut grass - unless an unsuspecting tiny critter got caught up in the blades - a vacuum-sweeper bag can acquire quite the ugly smell, especially if you have a pet or you've vacuumed up lots of bugs, followed by vacuuming some level of moisture. Disgusting odor, to say the least. My nose always alerts me to when my vacuum-sweeper bag needs changing.....but if the device could be re-designed to simply dump at a pre-determined AND pre-authorized dump site, then the odoriferous issue could be solved.
Perhaps, in the future, a micro-chip would be developed that could be implanted (Yes, safely!) into toddlers for purposes of potty-training. Imagine the delight and relief of parents, world-wide, if they knew there was help during this most trying of processes? Child plays about for one hour then "dumps a mess" at a location of the parent's choosing.
Hmmm.....could be applicable for adults traveling longs distances in cars or other vehicles? Maybe one hour could be stretched to two....three....four.....a whole day????????? Pets? I could have a dog on the Aqua RV!
I'm gonna give this young man a call!
Ancora impottyaro
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Hold On, We'll Confuse You As Soon As Possible!
I've never given much thought to class structure - of a socio-economic nature, that is. As a former educator and still-active music instructor, I have given a great deal of thought to the structure of each and every class I've taught and rehearsal I've directed. This will never change, for to do otherwise is to waste everyone's time, including my own - and time is a terrible concept to waste.
Tonight, I am pondering the whole idea of class structure. The country of India refers to its class structure as a "caste system". Before and, for a time, during the French Revolution, class structure was at the forefront of the conflict between the three classes, also known as "estates". The 1st Estate was the Clergy, the 2nd Estate was the Nobility, and the 3rd Estate was simply known as "everybody else". Being "everybody else" must have felt as if you were faceless, powerless and ineffective.
I feel as if I am part of a 3rd Estate, right here in the good 'ole U.S.of A. I have access to group health insurance, for which I am forever grateful, so I do not wish to sound as if I am complaining, for I am not. I was self-insured for a number of years, with poor coverage, high monthly premiums and an ultra-high deductible - basically major medical insurance. With my 60th birthday last fall, I became eligible for group health insurance through the state retired employees' health insurance "pool". I pay a fair amount for my coverage - I have no free lunch.
Much has been written and spoken about the difference between insurance coverage and cost for public versus private. I have been a part of both health insurance systems over the years. Never once did I feel like a member of the 3rd Estate when I was covered under private (corporate) health policies. This is in stark contrast to the games that are currently being played at the state level with my health insurance for retired public workers. Over the last four weeks, or so, I feel as if I am suffering from a "battered-child syndrome". Conflicting, contradictory information has been tossed about, almost capriciously, or so it feels. Literally, there are day-to-day changes in what is offered, with announced changes coming multiple times per day. One day you may have an insurance plan you have selected, but by the end of the next day that carrier may have been arbitrarily cast aside by a faceless judge. Keep in mind, all the while, there is this deadline of June 17 - TOMORROW - by which time you must have made a choice - based on conflicting and contradictory information - and, oh-by-the-way, if you don't choose a plan, based on disappearing information, you will automatically still be insured, only by a plan that is nearly four times the premium cost you are currently experiencing.! Not to worry, new information is coming out on an hourly basis. Just keep reading the fine print, because there is lots of information buried there intentionally to obfuscate any clarity you might have thought you'd gained.
I do know that I am grateful to at least have coverage. Wait, let me re-phrase that. I do know that I am grateful to have been offered coverage, even though the offers may only last an hour or so, before they are replaced by new, two-hour offers.
Just sign me Confused and Discouraged
Ancora imparo
Tonight, I am pondering the whole idea of class structure. The country of India refers to its class structure as a "caste system". Before and, for a time, during the French Revolution, class structure was at the forefront of the conflict between the three classes, also known as "estates". The 1st Estate was the Clergy, the 2nd Estate was the Nobility, and the 3rd Estate was simply known as "everybody else". Being "everybody else" must have felt as if you were faceless, powerless and ineffective.
I feel as if I am part of a 3rd Estate, right here in the good 'ole U.S.of A. I have access to group health insurance, for which I am forever grateful, so I do not wish to sound as if I am complaining, for I am not. I was self-insured for a number of years, with poor coverage, high monthly premiums and an ultra-high deductible - basically major medical insurance. With my 60th birthday last fall, I became eligible for group health insurance through the state retired employees' health insurance "pool". I pay a fair amount for my coverage - I have no free lunch.
Much has been written and spoken about the difference between insurance coverage and cost for public versus private. I have been a part of both health insurance systems over the years. Never once did I feel like a member of the 3rd Estate when I was covered under private (corporate) health policies. This is in stark contrast to the games that are currently being played at the state level with my health insurance for retired public workers. Over the last four weeks, or so, I feel as if I am suffering from a "battered-child syndrome". Conflicting, contradictory information has been tossed about, almost capriciously, or so it feels. Literally, there are day-to-day changes in what is offered, with announced changes coming multiple times per day. One day you may have an insurance plan you have selected, but by the end of the next day that carrier may have been arbitrarily cast aside by a faceless judge. Keep in mind, all the while, there is this deadline of June 17 - TOMORROW - by which time you must have made a choice - based on conflicting and contradictory information - and, oh-by-the-way, if you don't choose a plan, based on disappearing information, you will automatically still be insured, only by a plan that is nearly four times the premium cost you are currently experiencing.! Not to worry, new information is coming out on an hourly basis. Just keep reading the fine print, because there is lots of information buried there intentionally to obfuscate any clarity you might have thought you'd gained.
I do know that I am grateful to at least have coverage. Wait, let me re-phrase that. I do know that I am grateful to have been offered coverage, even though the offers may only last an hour or so, before they are replaced by new, two-hour offers.
Just sign me Confused and Discouraged
Ancora imparo
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Great Minds At Work
It started out as a craft session to do with TLV and TLV'sLB.
I've been collecting cardboard boxes, paper towel cardboard inserts, as well as toilet-paper cardboard inserts. Throw in some facial-tissue boxes and other assorted VERY HEAVY-DUTY cardboard rolls and that was my assorted components for a dragon or dinosaur-making session with two little boys. Add to that the rolls of Duck Tape, (No, I did not buy duct tape.) and other crafty-type decorations two-thirds of the Three Musketeers could use and I figured I was covered for one whale-of-a-creation session, the time and place to be announced. Then, out of the blue, like a gift from God, TLV and TLV'sLB's dad called and said, "Hey, what are you doing on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday?" I could have been scheduled for heart transplant surgery and I would have called the heart surgeon, insisting to re-schedule just to be able to see these three "men".
With these two little boys, you know you are assured of a length of time where they will be totally engaged in creating either dragons or dinosaurs from cardboard, with liberal applications of "duck" tape, and, in today's case, pipe cleaners. Today was an exception when the boys were mostly design consultants and assistants, while a father and son were the builders of the "critters". It was fascinating to watch Daddy and Grandpa go to work, each constructing a dragon, following the instructions of their respective design consultant. Copious amounts of duck tape, scissors, a few pipe cleaners, and massive amounts of cardboard can result in some fairly creative "creatures", worthy of mention in a Steven Spielberg sci-fi flick. The end result, from each engineering "camp" was unique, featuring differing concepts, complete with movable parts.
I had a ring-side seat to an epic challenge. Watching the two "creations" come to "life" was fascinating and fun to observe. Both boys (You can figure out which "boys" I am referring to!) had a great time and were completely engrossed and immersed in the activity.
I just had to be a spectator and make lunch. Tough job! All worth missing a heart transplant!
Ancora grannyparo
I've been collecting cardboard boxes, paper towel cardboard inserts, as well as toilet-paper cardboard inserts. Throw in some facial-tissue boxes and other assorted VERY HEAVY-DUTY cardboard rolls and that was my assorted components for a dragon or dinosaur-making session with two little boys. Add to that the rolls of Duck Tape, (No, I did not buy duct tape.) and other crafty-type decorations two-thirds of the Three Musketeers could use and I figured I was covered for one whale-of-a-creation session, the time and place to be announced. Then, out of the blue, like a gift from God, TLV and TLV'sLB's dad called and said, "Hey, what are you doing on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday?" I could have been scheduled for heart transplant surgery and I would have called the heart surgeon, insisting to re-schedule just to be able to see these three "men".
With these two little boys, you know you are assured of a length of time where they will be totally engaged in creating either dragons or dinosaurs from cardboard, with liberal applications of "duck" tape, and, in today's case, pipe cleaners. Today was an exception when the boys were mostly design consultants and assistants, while a father and son were the builders of the "critters". It was fascinating to watch Daddy and Grandpa go to work, each constructing a dragon, following the instructions of their respective design consultant. Copious amounts of duck tape, scissors, a few pipe cleaners, and massive amounts of cardboard can result in some fairly creative "creatures", worthy of mention in a Steven Spielberg sci-fi flick. The end result, from each engineering "camp" was unique, featuring differing concepts, complete with movable parts.
I had a ring-side seat to an epic challenge. Watching the two "creations" come to "life" was fascinating and fun to observe. Both boys (You can figure out which "boys" I am referring to!) had a great time and were completely engrossed and immersed in the activity.
I just had to be a spectator and make lunch. Tough job! All worth missing a heart transplant!
Ancora grannyparo
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Bad, Very Bad
Why does it seem that all that is tasty is bad for your.......health, waistline, body, heart, cholesterol, teeth, bones......heck, just about every body part one has?
I chose - no one forced me - to eat a grilled hot dog in a white-bread hot dog bun last night at dinner. I planned - no one forced me - a meal that consisted of grilled, all-beef hot dogs, white-bread buns, Bush's pork and beans, cooked fresh carrots, and grilled Vidalia onions. The beans had minimal amounts of fat per serving, as did the carrots and onions. Of course, the one hot dog that I ate, plus the beans, probably had a sodium content that was off the charts, so to speak. I cannot even consider how much fat was in the hot dog. I didn't look at the label.....didn't want to. Fresh fruit, consisting of either strawberries, blueberries, or cantaloupe was served as a pre-closer. Those who wanted could top their meal off with freshly baked chocolate-chip cookies. At least I did not eat any of those. Since I understood that I was eating "forbidden fruit" in the form of the hot dog, I ate it slowly and relished (pun intended) every savory bite, even enjoying the cavernous emptiness of the white-bread bun, which incidentally, was probably just as bad for me as was the hot dog.
Why am I blogging about eating a hot dog? Perhaps this is my "cuisine confessional". More likely, just to complain that while there are many foods that do taste good and are good for the human body, there are many, many more that have boundless flavor, either natural or artificial, that are either nominally healthy or flat-out widow-makers. What was (or is) it about that hot dog in that air-bun that was so satisfying to consume? Was it the salt? Was it the mushy texture? Was it the condiments of mustard and pickle relish that enabled me to relish eating every morsel?
All I do know is that there are way too many bad, very bad, foods that taste oh-so-good. I won't even begin to make a list of them in this posting because then I'd have the ideas stuck in my head that would set up a whole craving-chain of unfortunate food events. Perhaps today I should eat copious amounts of oatmeal to cleanse my arteries?
But, it did taste good.....oh-so-good.
Ancora imparo
I chose - no one forced me - to eat a grilled hot dog in a white-bread hot dog bun last night at dinner. I planned - no one forced me - a meal that consisted of grilled, all-beef hot dogs, white-bread buns, Bush's pork and beans, cooked fresh carrots, and grilled Vidalia onions. The beans had minimal amounts of fat per serving, as did the carrots and onions. Of course, the one hot dog that I ate, plus the beans, probably had a sodium content that was off the charts, so to speak. I cannot even consider how much fat was in the hot dog. I didn't look at the label.....didn't want to. Fresh fruit, consisting of either strawberries, blueberries, or cantaloupe was served as a pre-closer. Those who wanted could top their meal off with freshly baked chocolate-chip cookies. At least I did not eat any of those. Since I understood that I was eating "forbidden fruit" in the form of the hot dog, I ate it slowly and relished (pun intended) every savory bite, even enjoying the cavernous emptiness of the white-bread bun, which incidentally, was probably just as bad for me as was the hot dog.
Why am I blogging about eating a hot dog? Perhaps this is my "cuisine confessional". More likely, just to complain that while there are many foods that do taste good and are good for the human body, there are many, many more that have boundless flavor, either natural or artificial, that are either nominally healthy or flat-out widow-makers. What was (or is) it about that hot dog in that air-bun that was so satisfying to consume? Was it the salt? Was it the mushy texture? Was it the condiments of mustard and pickle relish that enabled me to relish eating every morsel?
All I do know is that there are way too many bad, very bad, foods that taste oh-so-good. I won't even begin to make a list of them in this posting because then I'd have the ideas stuck in my head that would set up a whole craving-chain of unfortunate food events. Perhaps today I should eat copious amounts of oatmeal to cleanse my arteries?
But, it did taste good.....oh-so-good.
Ancora imparo
Monday, June 13, 2011
Beast and I
I'll admit something, if you promise not to tell anyone else! I anthropomorphize my vehicles. I've done this for as long as Capt. SO and I have owned vehicles together. Do not ask me why I attribute human-like characteristics to my "rides" for I would not be able to give you a cogent answer.....or an answer that you wouldn't laugh at!
Just as most people would refer to their boats as "she's", I have thought of our cars as "she's", but this Chevrolet Suburban that we've owned for about eight years just doesn't seem to have any feminine attributes, hence my name for "him" - Beast. Beast is big, but not as big as a Humvee, thank goodness. Beast has a lot of roomy, interior cargo space - which our kids have taken advantage of during a few moves and Beast can haul a lot of weight - although since we sold our trailerable boat, Beast has been given a reprieve.
I feel very safe driving Beast because he has all-wheel and 4-wheel drive capabilities. Beast has taken us safely through some very deep snow and very scary winter driving conditions, on interstate trips and just going to and from workplaces. Because I am short and Beast is tall, I have a bird's-eye view of the world when I am driving him.
Beast does have one personality "flaw", if you will. When I drive Beast, he makes this funny sucking sound as the gas just passes straight through him, with no thought of digestion at all. In other words, Beast is not very fuel efficient. In fact, putting the words "Beast" and "fuel-efficient" in the same sentence is an oxymoron of the highest order. We just do not keep Beast for his fuel-efficiency.
Beast and I have just spend seven days together, getting to know each other once again. Yes, he is a bit over-sized and clunky, especially when parking in tight spaces, but I know every square inch of him - where his front, back, sides and corners are. We get along very well together, Beast and I.
Beast serves us well. He carts lots of people and hauls beaucoup pounds without complaining. His interior is spacious and very comfy for people with all lengths of legs. I especially like his velour seat fabric. It is soft - non-sticky in hot weather and cozy in the winter.
We've had quite the adventures this past week and each and every time he has brought me home safely, day or night. Thank you, Beast.
Ancora imparo
Just as most people would refer to their boats as "she's", I have thought of our cars as "she's", but this Chevrolet Suburban that we've owned for about eight years just doesn't seem to have any feminine attributes, hence my name for "him" - Beast. Beast is big, but not as big as a Humvee, thank goodness. Beast has a lot of roomy, interior cargo space - which our kids have taken advantage of during a few moves and Beast can haul a lot of weight - although since we sold our trailerable boat, Beast has been given a reprieve.
I feel very safe driving Beast because he has all-wheel and 4-wheel drive capabilities. Beast has taken us safely through some very deep snow and very scary winter driving conditions, on interstate trips and just going to and from workplaces. Because I am short and Beast is tall, I have a bird's-eye view of the world when I am driving him.
Beast does have one personality "flaw", if you will. When I drive Beast, he makes this funny sucking sound as the gas just passes straight through him, with no thought of digestion at all. In other words, Beast is not very fuel efficient. In fact, putting the words "Beast" and "fuel-efficient" in the same sentence is an oxymoron of the highest order. We just do not keep Beast for his fuel-efficiency.
Beast and I have just spend seven days together, getting to know each other once again. Yes, he is a bit over-sized and clunky, especially when parking in tight spaces, but I know every square inch of him - where his front, back, sides and corners are. We get along very well together, Beast and I.
Beast serves us well. He carts lots of people and hauls beaucoup pounds without complaining. His interior is spacious and very comfy for people with all lengths of legs. I especially like his velour seat fabric. It is soft - non-sticky in hot weather and cozy in the winter.
We've had quite the adventures this past week and each and every time he has brought me home safely, day or night. Thank you, Beast.
Ancora imparo
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Clonable Weather
I know that "clonable" is probably not a word - yet. Just give it some time and a nudge from internet aficionados and it may very well become a word, both in the Urban Dictionary and in the official Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, Twelveth Edition.
How it gains acceptance remains to be seen. Cloning or to be cloned first gained notoriety and attention with Dolly, the sheep. Since the Age of Dolly, I've lost track of what other animals have been cloned. I do note that I hear the word freely bandied about in conjunction with off-the-cuff remarks such as, "I'd like to clone him!", or "I'd love to clone this recipe!", or "I wish we could clone this weather!", a remark I heard just this morning.
As I wrote not too long ago, I'm finding that I really like the weather of only about four months of the year: April, May, October and November. The rest of the months could be described within the pages of the children's book, "Goldilocks and the Three Bears" - too hot or too cold. But today's weather? Glorious, simply glorious.
Mother Nature couldn't have concocted a more perfect cocktail for weather than she did today. Moderate temperatures, gentle sunlight, zero rain (here, at least) and low-to-non-existent humidity have been the hallmarks of the meteorological landscape for the greater part of today. Usually I am railing against Mother Nature and her Quixotic and mercurial temper tantrums. She must have had a good night's sleep and awakened on the "right" side of her bed because she has outdone herself for at least ten hours in a row!
Here in the mid-west, we have a saying, "If you don't like the weather, wait twelve hours." Please, please, M.N, let us keep this weather pattern a bit longer. You can share your good mood and no one will ever know.
I won't tell......will you?
Ancora imparo
How it gains acceptance remains to be seen. Cloning or to be cloned first gained notoriety and attention with Dolly, the sheep. Since the Age of Dolly, I've lost track of what other animals have been cloned. I do note that I hear the word freely bandied about in conjunction with off-the-cuff remarks such as, "I'd like to clone him!", or "I'd love to clone this recipe!", or "I wish we could clone this weather!", a remark I heard just this morning.
As I wrote not too long ago, I'm finding that I really like the weather of only about four months of the year: April, May, October and November. The rest of the months could be described within the pages of the children's book, "Goldilocks and the Three Bears" - too hot or too cold. But today's weather? Glorious, simply glorious.
Mother Nature couldn't have concocted a more perfect cocktail for weather than she did today. Moderate temperatures, gentle sunlight, zero rain (here, at least) and low-to-non-existent humidity have been the hallmarks of the meteorological landscape for the greater part of today. Usually I am railing against Mother Nature and her Quixotic and mercurial temper tantrums. She must have had a good night's sleep and awakened on the "right" side of her bed because she has outdone herself for at least ten hours in a row!
Here in the mid-west, we have a saying, "If you don't like the weather, wait twelve hours." Please, please, M.N, let us keep this weather pattern a bit longer. You can share your good mood and no one will ever know.
I won't tell......will you?
Ancora imparo
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Merrian-Webster Could Have Prevented This
Twitter. This word, along with "Google", has now become a verb. Who knew? Too bad Al Gore wasn't alive back in Shakespeare's era so that "methinks" could have become a verb, or Shakespeare's rather iconic phrase, "a pox upon thee" could have morphed into the verb, "poxuponthee". Alas, Twitter had not a chance in the late 1500's and early 1600's, but today? Another matter entirely.
Twitter has had quite the press opportunity the past couple of weeks, if for no other reason than a vehicle for the ever-increasingly popular practice known as "sexting". I won't get into the mechanics of sexting, nor touch the moral and ethical implications that accompany this New Age form of communication, but I will say that only a bird-brain would dare think that he (or she) could possibly remain anonymous in the now-world of instant (and traceable, I might add) communication. Where a person's brain goes to engage in a hare-brained (use of "hare" intentional) Twitter relationship (casual encounter.....give me a break) is beyond me. Anyone who is "Twitterpated" enough to imagine that photos and tweets sent into The Cloud will stay there is delusional, to say the least.
I possess not one ounce of sympathy for someone who finds him or herself in a Twitter entanglement. It seems to me that Twitter should have a link to a tome that would keep twits out of trouble - an instant link to Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, Eleventh Edition. Ninth, Tenth, Eleventh - any edition could have helped. In fact, I believe there should be an "app" that Twits everywhere can download for this book. If an "app" had been available, the word "imbroglio" would have popped up immediately. This is a fun word, one that you just do not see everyday......but I'll bet Shakespeare knew about it. It means, and I quote: from the Italian imbroglieare to entangle. 1: a confused mass 2 a: an intricate or complicated situation (as in a drama or novel) b: an acutely painful or embarrassing misunderstanding.
To avoid an imbroglio, here are some suggestions:
Ancora imparo
Twitter has had quite the press opportunity the past couple of weeks, if for no other reason than a vehicle for the ever-increasingly popular practice known as "sexting". I won't get into the mechanics of sexting, nor touch the moral and ethical implications that accompany this New Age form of communication, but I will say that only a bird-brain would dare think that he (or she) could possibly remain anonymous in the now-world of instant (and traceable, I might add) communication. Where a person's brain goes to engage in a hare-brained (use of "hare" intentional) Twitter relationship (casual encounter.....give me a break) is beyond me. Anyone who is "Twitterpated" enough to imagine that photos and tweets sent into The Cloud will stay there is delusional, to say the least.
I possess not one ounce of sympathy for someone who finds him or herself in a Twitter entanglement. It seems to me that Twitter should have a link to a tome that would keep twits out of trouble - an instant link to Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, Eleventh Edition. Ninth, Tenth, Eleventh - any edition could have helped. In fact, I believe there should be an "app" that Twits everywhere can download for this book. If an "app" had been available, the word "imbroglio" would have popped up immediately. This is a fun word, one that you just do not see everyday......but I'll bet Shakespeare knew about it. It means, and I quote: from the Italian imbroglieare to entangle. 1: a confused mass 2 a: an intricate or complicated situation (as in a drama or novel) b: an acutely painful or embarrassing misunderstanding.
To avoid an imbroglio, here are some suggestions:
- Remember that "The Cloud" is no longer associated with just Mr. Whipple's Charmin
- If you want to avoid being a twit, be careful what you Tweet
- Instant communication means just that
- There is no such thing as anonymity any more
- Let's leave "twitterpated" with Bambi and Walt Disney
Ancora imparo
Friday, June 10, 2011
Too Bad Sandals and A Necklace Weren't Enough
The futility of it all was evident as I readied myself to go to a concert last night. Wanting to look "hip" because the concert's venue is a very "hip" place, normally frequented by equally "hip"-looking people, my goal was to not look square and school-marmish. (I apologize to all those school teachers - former and present - who may read this posting.)
Planning for my outing began early in the day as I began mulling the necessary preparations. I can now see what my aging father meant when he said it "took him twice as long to get half as much done". Knowing I was the driver for a late-night return trip, I acknowledged I should add an afternoon nap, if at all possible, to the day's schedule. Details then began to fall into place such as the choice to wear glasses instead of contacts, the choice to have a late lunch so I could eat a meal at the club during the concert, and the really tough questions: What do wear and what to do with my hair. To repeat myself, I was eager to appear "hip" so I agonized over what to wear, finally settling on my skinny-looking jeans that I wrote about several months ago. Mother Nature had played nice and dropped her temperatures about thirty degrees from the day before, thus making denim a comfortable clothing option. Of course, open-toed sandals were a must but I thought I could sacrifice the reality of cold feet for hipness. I carefully scanned my additional wardrobe choices, settling on a sleeveless, black mock-turtleneck and a black and white sweater.
With clothing all laid out, I set my alarm for a sixty-minute nap, went into the bathroom area to put something away, and heard an oh-so-subtle noise that I knew shouldn't be anywhere. To shorten this story, I spent the next thirty-five minutes searching out the source of the noise, which sounded like water running......somewhere. Turns out it was a toilet tank that had not filled properly since 8 a.m. Subsequently, water had been constantly running for over eight hours. Capt. SO will love the next water bill! With now twenty-five minutes left to rest before getting ready to look hip, I laid down, only to have a phone-texting "conversation" begin that would continue over the next fifteen minutes. I did the math and concluded that ten minutes of quiet was better than none.
Wrestling with my "new" electrified hairstyle took longer than it should, the sweater I'd chosen to wear over the black mock-turtle looked suddenly dumpy so I tossed it and began frantically moving hangers from side to side, finally settling on a black, cotton mini-jacket. I donned the jacket and then determined that the ensemble needed a necklace or some "bling" to add some pizazz. Now I'm running out of time before I must leave in order to be on time to meet the people who would ride with me to the concert. Opening up my jewelry case to where the necklaces hang, my eyes fall on what I think will be the perfect "bling" to go with my "hip" look. Groping sightlessly with the clasp, I finally get it closed, only to discover that the necklace is on backward, with all of the attached trinkets upside down. Lots of ensuing grunts, blue-words and finger-fumbling finally ended with the necklace in its proper position. A mirror check confirms that my hair is an issue but I am out of time. Hoping that the concert venue will be suitably dark, I dash out the door, open-toed sandals slipped on and a raincoat over my elbow.
The concert was great and my avoidance of mirrors, throughout the concert, was intentional. After arriving home - way past my bedtime - I hazarded one look in the mirror and concluded that it was good I resisted looking in mirrors all evening. But......the necklace was a perfect addition to the open-toed sandals!
Ancora imparo
Planning for my outing began early in the day as I began mulling the necessary preparations. I can now see what my aging father meant when he said it "took him twice as long to get half as much done". Knowing I was the driver for a late-night return trip, I acknowledged I should add an afternoon nap, if at all possible, to the day's schedule. Details then began to fall into place such as the choice to wear glasses instead of contacts, the choice to have a late lunch so I could eat a meal at the club during the concert, and the really tough questions: What do wear and what to do with my hair. To repeat myself, I was eager to appear "hip" so I agonized over what to wear, finally settling on my skinny-looking jeans that I wrote about several months ago. Mother Nature had played nice and dropped her temperatures about thirty degrees from the day before, thus making denim a comfortable clothing option. Of course, open-toed sandals were a must but I thought I could sacrifice the reality of cold feet for hipness. I carefully scanned my additional wardrobe choices, settling on a sleeveless, black mock-turtleneck and a black and white sweater.
With clothing all laid out, I set my alarm for a sixty-minute nap, went into the bathroom area to put something away, and heard an oh-so-subtle noise that I knew shouldn't be anywhere. To shorten this story, I spent the next thirty-five minutes searching out the source of the noise, which sounded like water running......somewhere. Turns out it was a toilet tank that had not filled properly since 8 a.m. Subsequently, water had been constantly running for over eight hours. Capt. SO will love the next water bill! With now twenty-five minutes left to rest before getting ready to look hip, I laid down, only to have a phone-texting "conversation" begin that would continue over the next fifteen minutes. I did the math and concluded that ten minutes of quiet was better than none.
Wrestling with my "new" electrified hairstyle took longer than it should, the sweater I'd chosen to wear over the black mock-turtle looked suddenly dumpy so I tossed it and began frantically moving hangers from side to side, finally settling on a black, cotton mini-jacket. I donned the jacket and then determined that the ensemble needed a necklace or some "bling" to add some pizazz. Now I'm running out of time before I must leave in order to be on time to meet the people who would ride with me to the concert. Opening up my jewelry case to where the necklaces hang, my eyes fall on what I think will be the perfect "bling" to go with my "hip" look. Groping sightlessly with the clasp, I finally get it closed, only to discover that the necklace is on backward, with all of the attached trinkets upside down. Lots of ensuing grunts, blue-words and finger-fumbling finally ended with the necklace in its proper position. A mirror check confirms that my hair is an issue but I am out of time. Hoping that the concert venue will be suitably dark, I dash out the door, open-toed sandals slipped on and a raincoat over my elbow.
The concert was great and my avoidance of mirrors, throughout the concert, was intentional. After arriving home - way past my bedtime - I hazarded one look in the mirror and concluded that it was good I resisted looking in mirrors all evening. But......the necklace was a perfect addition to the open-toed sandals!
Ancora imparo
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Far From Pathetic
It feels so incongruous, giving a music history lesson, but present it I must, in order to give due to Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky and his Symphony No. 6, titled "Pathetique" (pronounced path-a-teek). There are a number of classical composers, Tchaikovsky among them, that speak to my soul. I've written about Johannes Brahms, whose music I can almost always identify and Tchaikovsky's music is a soul-equal for me.
As first-year, university music major, I went to my Big Ten University with some talent, desire and a great determination, but lacking in a body of knowledge about music and its history. Arriving at school, my ears were opened to a "brave new" musical world and they quickly soaked in the brilliance of Baroque, the decorum of the Classical Period, the lushness of the Romantic Period and the avant guard nature of Twentieth Century music. In a word, I was a sponge, and I absorbed information that will stay with me until I listen to my last notes.
Early on, in Music Literature, a listening assignment drew my attention to Tchaikovsky's 6th Symphony, Pathetique, and I was hooked........for a lifetime. Hooked enough, that I desperately searched for organ transcriptions of the work so the organ major who was to play for Capt. SO's and my wedding could play portions of No. 6 as a recessional. Just the other day, my public radio classical station played the Pathetique Symphony and, once again, I was transported to another place and time - calmed and comforted by Tchaikovsky's gorgeous music. How ironic it was then, that the announcer came on at the conclusion of the symphony and gave the "Grace Notes" story about how Symphony No. Six was Tchaikovsky's last work, a work that was not well-received, its "public" failure perhaps contributing to the composer's death just days after he conducted the premier of the work. If only Peter Ilyich could have lived long enough, into the future, to learn that his Pathetique Symphony is one of his most beloved works today.
Far from the Anglicized word, "pathetic", his Symphony No. 6, Pathetique, lives on, bringing peace, tranquility and joy to people such as moi. Thank you, Peter.
End of music history lesson.
Ancora imparo
As first-year, university music major, I went to my Big Ten University with some talent, desire and a great determination, but lacking in a body of knowledge about music and its history. Arriving at school, my ears were opened to a "brave new" musical world and they quickly soaked in the brilliance of Baroque, the decorum of the Classical Period, the lushness of the Romantic Period and the avant guard nature of Twentieth Century music. In a word, I was a sponge, and I absorbed information that will stay with me until I listen to my last notes.
Early on, in Music Literature, a listening assignment drew my attention to Tchaikovsky's 6th Symphony, Pathetique, and I was hooked........for a lifetime. Hooked enough, that I desperately searched for organ transcriptions of the work so the organ major who was to play for Capt. SO's and my wedding could play portions of No. 6 as a recessional. Just the other day, my public radio classical station played the Pathetique Symphony and, once again, I was transported to another place and time - calmed and comforted by Tchaikovsky's gorgeous music. How ironic it was then, that the announcer came on at the conclusion of the symphony and gave the "Grace Notes" story about how Symphony No. Six was Tchaikovsky's last work, a work that was not well-received, its "public" failure perhaps contributing to the composer's death just days after he conducted the premier of the work. If only Peter Ilyich could have lived long enough, into the future, to learn that his Pathetique Symphony is one of his most beloved works today.
Far from the Anglicized word, "pathetic", his Symphony No. 6, Pathetique, lives on, bringing peace, tranquility and joy to people such as moi. Thank you, Peter.
End of music history lesson.
Ancora imparo
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Such Minute Matters
I've been busy feeling sorry for myself today. I'm trying out a new hair style, which - so far - looks as if I am a convicted felon whose electrocution went awry and, to add insult to injury (in my mind), my mouse's battery has failed and I am forced to utilize the keypad. I'll bet I've grabbed my mouse more than fifty times today, out of habit. Plus, it is hot and I do not like heat, although I was able to successfully shop in the heat for over three hours today. Guess my hate of heat is conditional and situational!
This whole hair "thing" has had me frustrated, vexed, and perturbed for more than a year now. My maternal grandmother's genes have clearly dominated the hairs on my head and my thinning hair gives me much consternation. I'm afraid I'll be mistaken for Yul Brenner or Hines Ward in a few more years. Hence, the constant search for a hair style that will flatter or mask my thinning hair. So far, not-so-good. For the past forty-eight hours, I've opted for a natural, curly look. At first, I thought it was flattering, but today, every time I got in front of a mirror I thought to myself, "My gosh, you look foolish!" One of these days, I'll simply grab my mom's old hair clippers and - zip, zip - be done with the dilemma.
I've had lots of self-pity for myself......until I got a phone call, then a text update about a friend's surgery, heard from a worried daughter about her mother, and read a blog posting that broke my heart. Suddenly, my small, insignificant troubles came into perspective and I realized that I was just feeling churlish and I should get over it.....which I have......mostly. I have a little over two hours before I must attend a meeting - two hours in which to figure out just what do to do about my "electrified" hairdo. I don't mind having an electric personality, but an electric hairdo just won't do.
Ancora imparo
This whole hair "thing" has had me frustrated, vexed, and perturbed for more than a year now. My maternal grandmother's genes have clearly dominated the hairs on my head and my thinning hair gives me much consternation. I'm afraid I'll be mistaken for Yul Brenner or Hines Ward in a few more years. Hence, the constant search for a hair style that will flatter or mask my thinning hair. So far, not-so-good. For the past forty-eight hours, I've opted for a natural, curly look. At first, I thought it was flattering, but today, every time I got in front of a mirror I thought to myself, "My gosh, you look foolish!" One of these days, I'll simply grab my mom's old hair clippers and - zip, zip - be done with the dilemma.
I've had lots of self-pity for myself......until I got a phone call, then a text update about a friend's surgery, heard from a worried daughter about her mother, and read a blog posting that broke my heart. Suddenly, my small, insignificant troubles came into perspective and I realized that I was just feeling churlish and I should get over it.....which I have......mostly. I have a little over two hours before I must attend a meeting - two hours in which to figure out just what do to do about my "electrified" hairdo. I don't mind having an electric personality, but an electric hairdo just won't do.
Ancora imparo
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Dig, Verify, Then Verify the Verification
What a yo-yo ride the past fifteen hours has been, riding the waves of uncertainty as I have waded through bureaucratic gobbledygook, tech-speak, and incomplete information regarding health insurance coverage and choices. I do not understand why the health insurance industry finds it necessary and standard to obfuscate and complicate literature and information. Web sites are often difficult to navigate and, most definitely, not user-friendly. Waits of an indeterminate length to speak to a representative are "usual and customary"......that is, if you can ever get to the prompt that takes you to a human. All of this angst because the state, in its infinite wisdom, deemed carrier and coverage change is necessary.
Mind you, the state doesn't make it easy, nor obvious, to discover that an insured person has to make a change. Perhaps that is the game nature of the "dance". Make the peons work for their coverage. Keep them guessing and on their toes. Uninformed people are powerless people. Is that the way our state thinks the budget deficit can be erased......by forcing an alternative insurance plan on hapless individuals who, by default, will have to select a plan that - oh by the way, costs about two-and-one-half times the current plan you are in....and - oh by the way - your current plan has been discontinued.
The yo-yo part of this posting comes in the form of a last-minute-information-reprieve gleaned from an off-the-cuff remark made by a health-care-provider representative who encouraged me to make yet another phone call. I took his suggestion and benefited greatly, all after nearly two total hours of being "on hold".
I guess the moral of my story is to dig, dig, dig for information. After you've dug, then you must verify, verify, verify, after which it is a good idea to verify the verification. After all, a lot is riding on your discovery.
Ancora imparo
Mind you, the state doesn't make it easy, nor obvious, to discover that an insured person has to make a change. Perhaps that is the game nature of the "dance". Make the peons work for their coverage. Keep them guessing and on their toes. Uninformed people are powerless people. Is that the way our state thinks the budget deficit can be erased......by forcing an alternative insurance plan on hapless individuals who, by default, will have to select a plan that - oh by the way, costs about two-and-one-half times the current plan you are in....and - oh by the way - your current plan has been discontinued.
The yo-yo part of this posting comes in the form of a last-minute-information-reprieve gleaned from an off-the-cuff remark made by a health-care-provider representative who encouraged me to make yet another phone call. I took his suggestion and benefited greatly, all after nearly two total hours of being "on hold".
I guess the moral of my story is to dig, dig, dig for information. After you've dug, then you must verify, verify, verify, after which it is a good idea to verify the verification. After all, a lot is riding on your discovery.
Ancora imparo
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Let's Add Laundry to the List
Laundry: a fact of life - inescapable - sometimes insurmountable - omnipresent. Getting clothes clean seems to be a thankless affair. We just expect to go to the drawer or closet and pull out something to wear. The trouble with dirty laundry is that you can only escape it for about twelve hours and then it is back again, just like a boomerang or the proverbial bad penny. I can only relish the empty laundry basket for a short while until more garments get thrown into it.
I understand the alternative to washing dirty clothes - aka "doing the laundry".....spotted, soiled and stinky garments......the kind of clothing, if worn, that would cause people to wrinkle up their noses, perhaps hold their noses, and maybe get up and move. This is not a scenario I would chose to be a player in so I "do the laundry", but it doesn't mean I have to enjoy it.
I can still "see" the laundry process that my mother and grandmother had to endure back in the early 1950's. The wringer washer was in the Michigan cellar - no great place to hang out - and the wash tub, with its pleated bottom for hand scrubbing, was nearby. If a household was lucky (we were not) there would be running water present. In our case, water had to be carted down the steep stairs from a well pump somewhere out-of-doors. After the clothes were cleaned, the wet garments had to be hauled back up the steep steps in order to be hung on an outside clothesline. Inclement weather meant that the clothesline had to be strung in the cellar from rafter to rafter. It is no wonder that work clothes and overalls were worn as many days in a row as the nose could handle. "Doing the laundry" was hard work then.
In recent years, the Proctor and Gamble Company has sent out a Tide tractor-trailer to areas hard hit from natural disasters, like the devastation of New Orleans from the Gulf hurricane and subsequent flooding. This remarkable semi must seem like a gift from heaven to those who have no access to washing machines and running water. Each time I see a Tide tractor-trailer, whose capability makes it like a rolling laundramat, I say "kudos" to Proctor and Gamble for making it possible.
I know that there are supposed to only be three things you can count on in pop culture: Death, taxes, and Mom. Let's add laundry to that list.
Ancora imparo
I understand the alternative to washing dirty clothes - aka "doing the laundry".....spotted, soiled and stinky garments......the kind of clothing, if worn, that would cause people to wrinkle up their noses, perhaps hold their noses, and maybe get up and move. This is not a scenario I would chose to be a player in so I "do the laundry", but it doesn't mean I have to enjoy it.
I can still "see" the laundry process that my mother and grandmother had to endure back in the early 1950's. The wringer washer was in the Michigan cellar - no great place to hang out - and the wash tub, with its pleated bottom for hand scrubbing, was nearby. If a household was lucky (we were not) there would be running water present. In our case, water had to be carted down the steep stairs from a well pump somewhere out-of-doors. After the clothes were cleaned, the wet garments had to be hauled back up the steep steps in order to be hung on an outside clothesline. Inclement weather meant that the clothesline had to be strung in the cellar from rafter to rafter. It is no wonder that work clothes and overalls were worn as many days in a row as the nose could handle. "Doing the laundry" was hard work then.
In recent years, the Proctor and Gamble Company has sent out a Tide tractor-trailer to areas hard hit from natural disasters, like the devastation of New Orleans from the Gulf hurricane and subsequent flooding. This remarkable semi must seem like a gift from heaven to those who have no access to washing machines and running water. Each time I see a Tide tractor-trailer, whose capability makes it like a rolling laundramat, I say "kudos" to Proctor and Gamble for making it possible.
I know that there are supposed to only be three things you can count on in pop culture: Death, taxes, and Mom. Let's add laundry to that list.
Ancora imparo
Friday, June 3, 2011
Too Much Confounding Air Today
Mother Nature, my frequently named-nemesis, can stop with her huffing and puffing any time. Actually, this is way beyond huffing and puffing and more like jet-engine air streams. Roaring winds have been the norm for the past four or five days, stirring up white caps in places where they are not regularly seen, straining lines to the point of needing doubled lines and snubbers to prevent powerful yanking of the Aqua RV, creating LOUD lapping of waves against the hull, and annoying my ears to no end with the powerful sounds of thirty-plus knots, gusting to forty to fifty. Just too much wind. Oddly enough, just forty-five to sixty miles south of here, there is little wind and pleasant summer conditions.
The wind has driven me to distraction today.....so much so that when I decided to change the bag on the vacuum sweeper, Capt. SO asked me why. "Why don't you wait until tomorrow morning when I vacuum up more May flies?" He persisted but I persisted more persistently and changed the bag anyway. Keep in mind, now, that there is a clean bag in the sweeper.
I don't use this sweeper all that often so when I do, it is a mystery to me all over again. Not being highly mechanical, this sweeper is not terribly user-friendly, in my opinion. I am usually the one who changes the bag because I can smell when it needs changing. Apparently, Capt. SO's nose is not as sensitive as mine. But, apart from changing the bag, the rest of the sweeper is just not logically designed......IMO. On each end of the sweeper's main section, there are openings where one can hook up the hose. I can never remember which end blows out and which end sucks in. I hooked up the hose and pressed the "on" button. (Remember that I now had a clean bag in the unit.) A few little particles appeared on the wooden floor, but I couldn't understand why fuzz wasn't being sucked in. I held the palm of my hand up to the end of the hose and, Eureka! No suction. It was then I remembered the two ends and their two functions. You guessed it way before I did. I had hooked the hose up to the "blow-out" end - not the "suck-in" end. Can you imagine how relieved I was when I realized that if I had not persisted persistently and changed the bag, I would have been blowing probably thousands of dead bugs from the interior of the dirty bag.
Air has (and is) factored majorly in my day thus far - either from Mother Nature outside or my $^* vacuum sweeper inside. As Capt. SO so gently pointed out......"it is not the sweeper's fault." This man lives dangerously.
Ancora imparo
The wind has driven me to distraction today.....so much so that when I decided to change the bag on the vacuum sweeper, Capt. SO asked me why. "Why don't you wait until tomorrow morning when I vacuum up more May flies?" He persisted but I persisted more persistently and changed the bag anyway. Keep in mind, now, that there is a clean bag in the sweeper.
I don't use this sweeper all that often so when I do, it is a mystery to me all over again. Not being highly mechanical, this sweeper is not terribly user-friendly, in my opinion. I am usually the one who changes the bag because I can smell when it needs changing. Apparently, Capt. SO's nose is not as sensitive as mine. But, apart from changing the bag, the rest of the sweeper is just not logically designed......IMO. On each end of the sweeper's main section, there are openings where one can hook up the hose. I can never remember which end blows out and which end sucks in. I hooked up the hose and pressed the "on" button. (Remember that I now had a clean bag in the unit.) A few little particles appeared on the wooden floor, but I couldn't understand why fuzz wasn't being sucked in. I held the palm of my hand up to the end of the hose and, Eureka! No suction. It was then I remembered the two ends and their two functions. You guessed it way before I did. I had hooked the hose up to the "blow-out" end - not the "suck-in" end. Can you imagine how relieved I was when I realized that if I had not persisted persistently and changed the bag, I would have been blowing probably thousands of dead bugs from the interior of the dirty bag.
Air has (and is) factored majorly in my day thus far - either from Mother Nature outside or my $^* vacuum sweeper inside. As Capt. SO so gently pointed out......"it is not the sweeper's fault." This man lives dangerously.
Ancora imparo
Broke The Rule
Our household has had a long-standing movie rule, thanks to TLV-TLV'sLB-TLVLS's father. This rule stems from the era when movie-rental "houses" had mostly video and game-disk rentals, all neatly lined up against the walls and on racks crossing the entirety of the store. It took a while, but I finally subscribed to the rule - only rent movies that 1: have more than one copy available to rent 2: feature actors/actresses whose names are recognizable or both 1 and 2. This rule was established after a pattern emerged of bringing home odd movies that everyone groaned through. Actually, the only odd thing, to me, is that we would usually watch the movie in its totality, even though the groaning may have been louder than the movie itself. ,
Yesterday, Capt. SO picked out a movie from the Big Red Rectangle. The movie was billed as the "Best Movie of the Year", albeit with a cast listing of nary a recognizable name. Oops, big rule violation right there, but it was a thoughtful gesture and I did not want to cast immediate aspersions on this spontaneous act. The one identifiable surname associated with it was Coppola and, knowing the reputation from Francis Ford and his progeny, we thought we'd give it a try.
Strange, indeed. Strange but brilliant in this bizarre sort of way. Opening scenes, perhaps the first eight to ten minutes, were wordless and devoid of music background. In fact, the film had zero background music, other than music that was playing as part of a scene. It was immediately evident that this was not your usual movie. Cinematographically speaking, it was highly creative, not in the standard sort of vista-view way, but more in the vein of how NBC's "The Office" is shot.
I'm not recommending this movie but I will say that I'd be very interested in the opinion of others who have watched it. When the movie ended last night, Capt SO and I simply looked at each other and wordlessly went about preparing for sleep. I guess the movie inspired us in that respect. By the way, the title of the film is "Somewhere".
Ancora imparo
Ancora imparo
Yesterday, Capt. SO picked out a movie from the Big Red Rectangle. The movie was billed as the "Best Movie of the Year", albeit with a cast listing of nary a recognizable name. Oops, big rule violation right there, but it was a thoughtful gesture and I did not want to cast immediate aspersions on this spontaneous act. The one identifiable surname associated with it was Coppola and, knowing the reputation from Francis Ford and his progeny, we thought we'd give it a try.
Strange, indeed. Strange but brilliant in this bizarre sort of way. Opening scenes, perhaps the first eight to ten minutes, were wordless and devoid of music background. In fact, the film had zero background music, other than music that was playing as part of a scene. It was immediately evident that this was not your usual movie. Cinematographically speaking, it was highly creative, not in the standard sort of vista-view way, but more in the vein of how NBC's "The Office" is shot.
I'm not recommending this movie but I will say that I'd be very interested in the opinion of others who have watched it. When the movie ended last night, Capt SO and I simply looked at each other and wordlessly went about preparing for sleep. I guess the movie inspired us in that respect. By the way, the title of the film is "Somewhere".
Ancora imparo
Ancora imparo
Thursday, June 2, 2011
You Just Can't Shove The Horse's Head Into The Water Trough
This posting may resonate with those readers who have loved ones - not necessarily just family members - who, for one reason or another (some logical, some illogical), are unwilling to make decisions that would benefit either their health, well-being, or both. These loved ones are quite frustrating to those who care about them, presenting the vexing issue of how much to press and - ultimately - annoy.
What is it that makes people refuse to do what is best for themselves? In some cases, they are truly maintaining a situation that is both unsuitable and dangerous, yet the stubbornness sets in, becomes deep-seated and unfathomable to those watching. Since these are adults, with seeming adequate cognitive abilities, the situation is doubly confounded. You cannot hog-tie a loved one and you cannot symbolically beat logic into a fellow human being. The logic is either present or not present. Period. You can talk, nudge, cajole, whine, browbeat, threaten, or plead until you are the proverbial blue-in-the-face and, more than likely, the person to whom you were talking, nudging, cajoling, whining, browbeating, threatening, or pleading will not have changed his or her mind one iota.
This issue is no stranger to many families and age doesn't seem to be the defining factor, either. I know numerous individuals who are facing this issue with loved ones and all share the same storyline: Fear for the loved one.
I'm going to paraphrase an old adage: You can lead a horse to water, but you just cannot shove the horse's head into the trough. If the horse don't want to drink, there is nothing you can do about it.
Ancora imparo
What is it that makes people refuse to do what is best for themselves? In some cases, they are truly maintaining a situation that is both unsuitable and dangerous, yet the stubbornness sets in, becomes deep-seated and unfathomable to those watching. Since these are adults, with seeming adequate cognitive abilities, the situation is doubly confounded. You cannot hog-tie a loved one and you cannot symbolically beat logic into a fellow human being. The logic is either present or not present. Period. You can talk, nudge, cajole, whine, browbeat, threaten, or plead until you are the proverbial blue-in-the-face and, more than likely, the person to whom you were talking, nudging, cajoling, whining, browbeating, threatening, or pleading will not have changed his or her mind one iota.
This issue is no stranger to many families and age doesn't seem to be the defining factor, either. I know numerous individuals who are facing this issue with loved ones and all share the same storyline: Fear for the loved one.
I'm going to paraphrase an old adage: You can lead a horse to water, but you just cannot shove the horse's head into the trough. If the horse don't want to drink, there is nothing you can do about it.
Ancora imparo
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Antonym For Apathy
Does it feel as if our society is being pulled - not necessarily apart - by the opposing forces of apathy and caring? Is it possible to care to a fault? Apparently so if you think about the tragic death of a Chicago-area man who was struck and killed by a limousine on the Tri-State Freeway as he went onto the roadway in an effort to protect a mother duck and her ducklings as they waddled across the dizzyingly fast lanes of traffic. I could really identify with this story because I nearly asked Capt. SO to stop the car recently on a northern Interstate highway for the very same reason. The mother duck and her babies were avoided by us but she was preparing to march them across the oncoming lanes and the traffic was heavy on that side. I'm certain there was probably not a happy ending for some or all of them. What I could have done was beyond my ken but my instinct was to try to stop the oncoming traffic. Now there is a good definition of insanity.
The recent spate of natural disasters, both national and international, have elicited an overwhelmingly positive response from mankind, in general, and the outpouring of love, materials, time, and dollar donations has been monumental. Yes, we do care about each other, but why does it have to take a disaster to prompt overt caring? It is not difficult to ascertain that caring is present when the coffers are full-to-brimming with people, donations, and dollars.
Apathy is another breed of social "animal", one that much harder to define, describe, and detect. I must admit that I resort to apathy when I feel like I've met the definition of insanity - beating my head against the same brick wall over and over. Apathy feels safe and definitely helps relieve my headache. I had a recent fascinating conversation about apathy and all of the individuals involved admitted to being apathetic about something at some time. Several admitted to present apathy about many topics and situations. I recently wrote about umbilical cords in my life and I wonder if apathy is just another umbilical cord? Perhaps apathy is yet another self-protective measure whereby we say to ourselves, "I just don't care any more!", when in reality we care too much but caring can bring hurt and humiliation and really - who needs hurt and humiliation?
As long as the caring gene exists in mankind, then apathy will continue to be present, if for no other reason than as an antidote for over-caring.
Ibuprofen, anyone?
Ancora imparo
The recent spate of natural disasters, both national and international, have elicited an overwhelmingly positive response from mankind, in general, and the outpouring of love, materials, time, and dollar donations has been monumental. Yes, we do care about each other, but why does it have to take a disaster to prompt overt caring? It is not difficult to ascertain that caring is present when the coffers are full-to-brimming with people, donations, and dollars.
Apathy is another breed of social "animal", one that much harder to define, describe, and detect. I must admit that I resort to apathy when I feel like I've met the definition of insanity - beating my head against the same brick wall over and over. Apathy feels safe and definitely helps relieve my headache. I had a recent fascinating conversation about apathy and all of the individuals involved admitted to being apathetic about something at some time. Several admitted to present apathy about many topics and situations. I recently wrote about umbilical cords in my life and I wonder if apathy is just another umbilical cord? Perhaps apathy is yet another self-protective measure whereby we say to ourselves, "I just don't care any more!", when in reality we care too much but caring can bring hurt and humiliation and really - who needs hurt and humiliation?
As long as the caring gene exists in mankind, then apathy will continue to be present, if for no other reason than as an antidote for over-caring.
Ibuprofen, anyone?
Ancora imparo
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