Flying Fingers

It is hard being on a time-table to use a computer!  I am at the public library in Gore Bay, Manitoulin Island, Ontario province.  In a couple of hours, we will take off for island-hopping, internet non-existent places for about four more nights.  Consequently, I am endeavoring to catch up on email and communicate with those whom I love and care for via the internet.  I tried sending emails but my Charter account wouldn't let me send.

I find that on-the-clock typing makes me prone to lots of mistakes.  Any reader, regular or otherwise, should please excuse any typos that are found in this posting.

Ancora imparo is on a hiatus, of sorts, while we are plying the waters of northern Lake Huron and the North Channel.  I have found it to be a challenge to be totally "unconnected" like this.  Oh, do not misunderstand me....I am enjoying myself immensely.  I've kayaked long hours, seen and heard the sounds of loons, watched an eagle devour some poor, unsuspecting creature, and watched fish dance about below my kayak.  I've enjoyed Gore Bay frozen yogurt and I've ridden five-to-six foot waves, on the Aqua RV, that made me feel as if I was riding a bucking bronco.  I've come to feel as if the Aqua RV is more like a floating tent, rather than a power boat.  Capt. SO and I have noticed that all the other boats we've been on, while at anchor, all look about as trashed as ours does.....much to Capt. SO's dismay.  When we get back to our home marina, I KNOW what he'll do, probably first thing!

So, as I end this posting, to mostly let regular readers know where we are and that we are still floating, I say adieu for a few more days as we head out this afternoon, back to the McBean Channel......check your maps..... and perhaps four last nights on the hook, in differing places.  We are doing a much better job this trip of visiting out-of-the-way nooks and crannies on our quest to stay at anchor as many nights as the garbage smell will allow and as long as water lasts in the fresh water tank.  So far, our water conservation has worked well because we've used the sparkling clean North Channel waters as our bathtub and shower.  Lots of fun....once you get past the cold first shock.


We love all of you.  I'm writing a daily entry that I will post when I return to civilization that doesn't have a time limit and cause my fingers to fly.

Ancora imparo

On Holiday

Since I am in Canada and vacations, here, are referred to as "holiday", I will use that term in today's posting.  "When in Rome"......

Canadians, at least the one's we've come in contact with over the years, are very friendly and welcoming to visitors to their country.  Canadian boaters are more than ready to give helpful tips on safe anchorages and quick to share information on where rocks and "deadheads" (sunken trees) are lurking.  Some of these hazards may be marked with official buoys and other simply have gallon milk containers floating atop.....marked more than likely by some unfortunate boat that discovered the hazard in the first place.  Having your prop or props distroyed or royally messed up is bad enough, but the possibility of putting a hole or crack in the hull of your floating house is a boater's nightmare........one every boater desires to avoid, if at all possible.  No boat owner goes to bed dreaming of a hole-in-the-hull adventure for the next day!

Boat owners are also, by and large, friendly and talkative people.  You can be visiting with people - as we did last night - and find that the world is, indeed, a very small place.  We visited with our "dockmates", Jim and Sherrie, last night for about two hours, in which time we discovered that Jim was born in the same small-town hospital and Capt. SO and me, and that his wife worked for twenty-some years with a first cousin of mine that I haven't seen in perhaps forty-five years.  As I stated earlier, the world is, indeed, a very small place.

The four of us were discussing how to stay "connected" while on a boating "holiday" and we agreed that it is a challenge.  We utilize public libraries (as I am now) whenever possible and otherwise hope that we have cell signals - which often is not the case when anchored in remote places with nothing but water and Canadian granite (which is spectacular) surrounding us.  Cell towers are in very short supply where we are. 

Since my computer time is up, I must unplug myself from this machine which, at least, has afforded me the opportunity to check my email, read my Google Reader downloads, catch up on the headlines from my home-town newspaper and read my favorite comic strips.   I now know the important things in life - Hector, in "Zits" has had oral surgery and is loving every minute of the post-surgery "high". 

Now I can sleep soundly tonight!

Ancora imparo

Taming The Beast

If you have ever owned a recreational vehicle, you will know that making a bed in one is an acrobatic feat worthy of a starring role in a Barnum and Bailey center ring.  Many beds in recreational vehicles are accessible only from one side, leaving three other sides that usually butt right up against a wall of some type.  Fortunately, the mattresses in recreational vehicles are often made from foam, rarely having a mattress with box springs.  The flexibility afforded by foam lends itself to bending the mattress into a sandwich-size shape form that allows a fitted sheet to be applied to it, much like varnish over a table.

Rarely, unless you engage the services of a custom-bedding manufacturer, does any of the normal bedding components fit the mattresses shape exactly.  Many of these recreational-vehicle mattresses have shapes more like amoebas than the standard, rectangular shape customarily associated with sleeping surfaces.  These non-standard shapes do not lend themselves to easy bed-making.  Rather, putting bedding on these oddly-shaped mattress is more akin to wrestling with an alligator than making a bed.

The first challenge is to determine what size bedding should go on circular, octagonal, or trapezoidal-shaped mattresses.  One you have selected the correct size and have purchased said sized-lines, the next challenge is to make the center of the mattress match the center of the linens.  After this has been determined, the sheets have to be put on the mattress, meaning that you may be working in an area the size of a bathtub, including the walls that are three inches away from your body as you wrangle the sheets, blankets and bedspreads onto the mattress.

Once this task is completed your feeling of accomplishment is diminished by the view of yourself in a mirror.  Your brow is beaded with sweat, your hair is tangled and tousled and you are breathing heavily from excessive exertion.  Anyone unfortunate enough to be near you as you tamed the beast has probably heard a string of blue words escape from your lips and may be in hiding, quaking while waiting for the storm to pass.

Recreational vehicles are not for the faint of heart.  They will bring out the beast in a person every time.  

Ancora imparo

Waiting For Bateau

The title for today's posting is a very, very loose take-off on Samuel Beckett's masterpiece, "Waiting For Godot", in which (to paraphrase) two bums wait and wait for a third guy who indicated he might visit them.  While waiting, they employ any technique they can muster in which to entertain themselves, including bodily-function noises, which they find hilarious in their quest to wait.  In the end, they agree to continue waiting, deciding to do nothing forever.

Capt. SO and I are waiting to take our Aqua RV across the Big Pond - tomorrow - if Mother Nature holds her predicted course.  Of course, (pun intended) she can change her mind, in which case, we will change our minds about our departure date.  While both of us have our lists of to-do tasks, our approach to this intended departure is vastly different.  I've been sleepless for several nights now but Capt. SO seems to be sleeping just fine.  (At least, he sounds as if he is.)  He is methodically accomplishing the tasks from his lists, perhaps drawing upon his engineering training.  I, on the other hand, do have my lists, but they are on mini-legal pads, pages and pages of them.  I wake up in the night, thinking of yet one more task that needs to be accomplished, getting up and finding my beloved mini-legal pad.  If I'm lucky, my thought will go on on one of the pages I've already started.  If I'm unlucky, it belongs under a whole new category and I must start yet another page.

The boat also seems to be waiting, patiently bobbing up and down, nodding in agreement at all that is being done to her.  She's been fueled, washed, wiped, polished, and filled with water.  Her kayaks have extra tie-downs do they can stay attached during the Big Pond crossing ( a seven and one-half hour trip) and she has new and numerous way-point data loaded into her navigation system.  Today her "icky" tank gets pumped out and then she - and, hopefully us - are ready for our early morning crossing. 

Waiting, waiting, waiting.  All the while the heat just seems to pile on, degree after degree.  I'm more convinced than ever that my favorite months are April, May, October and November.

It is time to close.  My task list is calling.

Ancora imparo

There Are Still Good Humor Trucks

I have no idea where the term, "Good Humor Man" came from.  More than likely the term was coined because every person who purchased something - i.e. ice cream treats - from the Good Humor Man's truck came away in good humor.  The little town where I grew up did not have Good Humor Men driving Good Humor Trucks.  We did have an old-fashioned drug store with a real soda fountain and we did have a dairy where you could purchase real ice cream - the kind loaded with fat - for ten cents a very generous scoop.  I can still see and taste the lemon ice cream. 

Good Humor Trucks went by the wayside for a decade or two as our society grappled with the scary idea of children flocking to a moving vehicle operated by a stranger - usually a man.  I read recently that they are making a comeback.  I hope that some sociopath, somewhere, doesn't give Good Humor Trucks a bad name again. 

Today, I could not believe that I gave a five-dollar bill for two thirty-somethings to share so they could visit "the ice cream truck" at a local beach.  Visit they did and they even took pictures of their giant frog popsicles. I guess when the heat and humidity get as high as today's, everyone is entitled to head to a Good Humor Truck to purchase some ice-cold treat that can help lower the body's temperature.  Somehow even fans could not keep up with trying to cool all of the over-heated bodies I saw today. 

I came to the end of my day being hot, sweaty, sticky and kind of cranky.  Even being out on the water couldn't cool me down.  It was as if the humidity swallowed us up, leaving us with imaginary wool underwear to don in this miserably hot weather.  I should have made a trip out to the Good Humor Truck!

Let's all find one tomorrow.  We'll all feel better.

Ancora imparo

And I Thought Dog-Days Were Just For Weather

We are not only into the dog-days of summer but also the dog-days of television advertising.  While it is hot and steamy outside, inside - on the tiny screen - it is as cold as ice.  Boring, unimaginative, insulting - in some cases, and moronic in others. 

I do not watch a lot of television.  What I do watch is limited mostly to an hour of network morning news and some favorite cable shows at night on either the USA or TNT networks.  Local television advertising, where I am at geographically at the moment, is focused on recall elections and smearing the opposing candidate.  This smearing is not just one-sided but is coming from both political points of view.  I'd like to think this could be a short-term "thing" but then I look at my calendar and note that the next presidential election is in 2012 and I realize that political ads are here to stay for the foreseeable future.

Another ad that just needs to disappear, in my humble opinion, is the ad for a giant, box-type store that begins with bouncing balls and continues on with children pulling beach toy after beach toy off the shelves.  At first, the music was catchy.  I was familiar with the tune but had to look it up to find the title and artist:  "Pictures of Matchstick Men"  (1967) by the British pop group, Status Quo.  However, the ad has saturated the airwaves so effectively that I am tired, beyond belief, of hearing about "looking into your eyes and seeing a funny shade of yellow".  I suppose that, in the advertising world, the commercial has been an incredible commercial (pun intended) success.  I can sing the jingle and I can remember the product (or store, in this case) that the jingle is associated with.  Bingo for the ad execs.  Loss for the viewers.

Finally, if all of the pharmaceutical ads were removed from the airwaves, there would be little left except cute puppies, windshield repair, Farmers Insurance - dum-de-dum-dum-dum, weight-loss programs, and wrinkle-reducers.  In the not-too-distant future we'll see recurring ads featuring buffoons, baboons, gorillas, donkeys, and elephants - all going ape for our vote.  I can hardly wait.

Ancora imparo

Who Listens To The Listeners?

Do you ever wonder who listens to the listeners of this world? 

I have had several church staff jobs in my work life and have had the opportunity to become work friends with pastors, who have also been my bosses.  I can remember these men (interesting.....always men) talking about the fact that even pastors need a pastor - that "men of God" need another "man of God" to whom they can turn to when the need to share is there.  Why, even Tony Soprano's psychiatrist, Dr. Jennifer Melfi, had a psychiatrist that she visited on a regular basis. 

Listeners need listeners.

We humans not only have an innate need to talk, but more importantly, to be heard.  Developmental studies point out the hugely important need of babies and toddlers to be responded to by other humans, in order for them to learn how to interact successfully with others over the course of their lifetimes.

Listening is vital.....but who listens to the listeners?

I can only imagine the enormous responsibility that hot-line "listeners" must feel when fielding calls from persons desperate for someone to hear what they have to say.  Can this responsibility feel like a burden?  Quite possibly so if the listeners do not have someone who will listen to them. 

My father was a highly social individual.  After my mother died, he turned to his cadre of friends for socialization and also became active with new circles of friends.  He loved people and he loved to talk but when he had his stroke and his ability to communicate became severely challenged, it was extremely difficult for him.  I can still hear his words to me, that he would say over and over in his speech-challenged diction - "It is good that I am fond of my own company".

Listeners expend large amounts of energy when listening to those who need to be heard.  Listeners are angels with skin on and their importance cannot be over-estimated.

I tip my hat to all who are willing to hear.

Ancora imparo  

Turning Dreams Into Realities

Turning dreams into realities is not easy.  Since I do not recall anyone ever telling me it would be easy, finding it challenging should come as no surprise to me.  I suspect the ease with which the change comes is somewhat dependent on the dream, in the first place.  If I have a dream of eating a slice of pizza before the Holy Daze this December, then my dream should have little difficulty in turning into a reality.  If I have a dream of petting one of the two English Spring Spaniels down at the end of my dock, then my dream will be an easy reality.  If I have a dream of sleeping eight hours straight then my dream will more than likely be a bust.  Likewise, if I have a dream of becoming a size 6 any time soon......reality is not likely to come any time in the near (or far) future.

My dreams have been known to be silly, wild, impractical, and downright ludicrous but my dreams they are, and I stand by them.  Who knows?  Maybe someday the giant chess pieces of life will fall into place and most of my dreams will be realized and, then again, maybe not.  I do believe that success is ninety percent luck, ninety percent skill and ninety percent being able to capitalize on fortunate experiences.  Some people are just luckier than others.
 
I know I just recently had a dream come true.  I'm always dreaming about spending time with my grandchildren and that is just what took place over the past few days.  The Three Musketeers and their parents spent a few days "playing" with Capt. SO and me.  (I use the word "playing" very loosely because there is little play involved with camping with three young children.  I'm certain the Musketeers' parents would beg me to choose a different word to describe their tent-camping experience!)  There is no better dream than the dream of having little voices say "I love you!" or little hands reaching out to yours for safety, comfort, or companionship.

If my world ended tonight, I would count myself the luckiest person in the world for having just one dream come true.  Little hands and little voices, along with their parents bigger hands and louder voices.  I can count my dream list as complete for tonight!

Ancora imparo 

Top-Down Inconsistency Doesn't Work

Consistency is difficult.  I learned that when I was teaching.  How odd that something so very crucial is so difficult to achieve. 

When my children were still at home, from infant to college years, consistency, on my part, was highly challenging.  I knew it was necessary, but maintaining consistency was like keeping a finger in a Dutch dike.  Next to impossible.  Part of the difficulty in maintaining consistency, at least with children, is that children can smell parental waffling a mile away.......and, children have a built-in ability to capitalize on parental waffling.

In the classroom, consistency is paramount.  If I thought that children in the home can smell inconsistency, children in the classroom have pre-programmed abilities to recognize and take advantage of teacher inconsistency.  Want classroom disarray?  Be inconsistent.

In the business and other-professional world, consistency is a must, especially when dealing with employees and employee-related issues.  Want a revolt?  Be inconsistent.  Want to encourage mediocrity?  Be inconsistent in your messages - both verbal and non-verbal.  Reward the mediocre employee and see what transpires with the top-producers.  They'll know, instantly, that they can cut back and skate, as the "old" term goes.  Want to really discourage your employees?  Let the management espouse one line and behave in acompletely opposite manner.  Your employees will zero in on your contradictory "message" and will begin to behave in ways that mirror your own.

Yes, top-down inconsistency doesn't work.  Too bad more businesses and organizations and their leaders do not recognize this fact of life.  Talk the talk, then walk the walk.

Ancora imparo

Chained Melody

Remember that beautiful hit by The Righteous Brothers - Bobby Hatfield and Bill Medley - "Unchained Melody", used in the movie "Ghost", starring Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore?  The song had been around awhile but seemed to become immortalized in its association with the pottery scene between Swayze and Moore.

For the last two hours, I've been listening to a different song, one generated by the grating and grinding of one hundred and seventy pounds of 5/8's-inch chain.  As the chain has been unloaded, handled, lifted up and installed, I've heard just about every song metal scraping against metal can produce.  When the chain is "loaded" into the anchor locker, the sound is at its loudest - a sort of banging, clanging, scraping sound accompanied by the groans of the automatic anchor winch.  I kept thinking of Charles Dickens' classic, "A Christmas Carol", where the ghost of Christmas future gives the tightwad, Ebenezer Scrooge, a glimpse of his partner, Jacob Marley, in chains, or pictures from the old prisoner chain-gangs that helped build America's first railroad systems. 

Chains do make a distinctive sound, with each link diameter having its own pitch.  It would be a fascinating experiment to have different chains clanked about, testing what pitch resulted from the varying sized links. 

I guess you could say I've been listening to my owned "Chained Melody".  I don't plan on experiencing what chains would feel like next to my skin but I am thankful for the safety that chain affords when at anchor.  And, I would like to add that I don't plan on finding any "missing links" in the chain that was just installed! 

Here's to heavy metal.

Ancora imparo

Advertising Adjectives

Do you ever read advertising signs?  Or print advertising?  Sometimes I wonder how Madison Avenue settles on the adjectives chosen for marketing purposes.

For many years, my family traveled a northern route through an upper mid-western state.  This national highway took us through tiny towns and very sparsely populated areas, with varying visible economic conditions.  We were constantly intrigued by the motel signs that dotted the highway.  With little variation, the signs all said the same thing:  Clean, kitchenettes.  TV.  Air-conditioning - if the motel was really upscale.  Whenever I see the word "clean" as an advertising adjective I wonder, to myself, "Why use the word?"  Would a business really ever use the word "dirty" to describe itself?

Today I used some liquid hand soap in a small, decorative plastic bottle.  The "fragrance", I guess you'd call it - since it cannot be described as a flavor because who eats liquid hand soap on purpose - was "crisp cucumber and watermelon".  When I saw the use of the word, "crisp" I wondered what the thought process was for using "crisp"?  Obviously, to use the word "limp" with the words cucumber and watermelon would make the caption less-than-appealing.  But, still I wonder, why have to use a descriptor for the word "cucumber" at all? 

When I read advertising for a product, I assume that the highest quality of materials and components have been used, but the advertising industry seems to feel compelled to assure the buying public that no low-quality, sub-standard parts or workmanship was involved. 

Imagine if a restaurant ad contained the following text:  Join us for your next miserable dining experience.  We serve only the poorest quality meats, wines and liquors.  Our desert menu is second to all.  Our staff prides themselves in insulting and ignoring your every dining desire. 

Catchy, don't you think?  Perhaps I missed my calling........or I should be encouraged to keep my day job!

Ancora imparo

Just How Hot Is It?

I'm trying to embrace the heat and humidity today.  I'm trying to envision my increasingly dry and old skin being hydrated by all the perspiration that my body is generating.  I'm trying to imagine that the droplets of sweat on my brow are simply creating a "glow". 

It's so hot that the swimming pool is jammed with unsupervised pre-teens who have taken over the area and are way out of control.  (Where are their parents, I want to know?)  It's so hot that the laundry I laid out on a flat section in the helm area dried almost instantly on the ultra-heated surface.  It's so hot that those same unsupervised children keep running into the showers, grabbing a clean bath mat each time, causing the marina staff to have to do laundry constantly this afternoon. 

It's so hot that all of the Aqua RV's here in the marina are "peeing" almost constantly as their air-conditioning units run almost non-stop.  "Peeing" is what we Aqua RV owners call the circulating water that continually gets re-cycled out of the sides of the boats as the AC units operate. 

It's so hot that I'm certain eggs could be quick-fried right on the bow of Das Boot.....maybe even petrified. 

Being hot saps the energy right out of me.  I know that there are some hardy folk that really embrace heat and humidity.  I am not one of them.  I wrote, a while ago, that my idea of a perfect climate to live in seems to be shrinking in geographic area and my concept of what my favorite months of the year are is also very limiting. 
For now, I am thankful for Das Boot's air conditioning as well as her cabin that keeps the hot sunshine at bay during the waking hours.

I think popsickles are in order, don't you?

Ancora imparo 

Bulk Purchase? No Way!

This should have been a simple task.  I only want 4-5 packets, each, of yellow mustard and ketchup.  We are going to be having a camping experience in the next few days and Capt. SO and I want to eat our coveted turkey bratwurst.......which is about as culinarily (my word) naughty as we get.  Since we rarely eat beef or bacon or ribs or cheese, we just want the fun of cooking bratwurst over an open-flame camp fire.  To have that thrill, the brats need to be turkey.

For those of you who have never savored turkey bratwurst, it is actually not a terrible substitute for the real thing. (I'm certain that the National Association of Turkey Producers would decry my statement that turkey brats are not a terrible substitute for the "real" thing.)  So while I offer my humble apology to the National Association of Turkey Producers, I stand by my statement.

However, I digress.  Capt. SO and I have discovered that if you put enough condiments on substitute foods, you can make just about anything palatable.  (Note that just about is in bold on purpose.)  With the proper, over-zealous application of mustard, ketchup, mayonnaise, pickle relish, and fresh onion, even turkey bratwurst can be truly delicious.

But - yes, there is a but - since we are going camping and are endeavoring to be minimalists about what gear we take, we are trying to keep our food pantry items to the bare essentials only and the need for refrigerated items to zero.  We have decided that we can live with just yellow mustard only, if necessary, but Capt. SO would REALLY like some ketchup on his turkey brat.  We spent some time today brainstorming about how to take ketchup without refrigerating it.

Here's the problem.  Capt. SO has his masters degree in food engineering and while I would eat unrefrigerated ketchup, he will not.  We came up with a plan to go through the Mickey D's drive-through and order one hamburger, requesting six packets of ketchup and six packets of mustard to go with the one hamburger.  We realize that this request might be questioned so we thought we'd further explain that I have trouble swallowing and that I need to liquefy the dried-out meat that Mickey D's uses.  Then we thought that this might not go over well so we've sort of shelved that brilliant idea....at the moment.

For now, our only recourse seems to be a visit to a giant, ware-house-type cooperative place where you can buy condiment packets by the cartload.....boxes containing five hundred ketchup packets.  You know what I'm talkin' about.

Kind of cancels out our desire to keep things to a minimum, doesn't it?

Ancora imparo

Out Of The Mist

Chicago's O'Hare Airport has always fascinated me.  For the dozens, perhaps couple hundred times, or more, that I've either driven or been driven through Chicago, I never tire of watching the airplanes "drop" out of the sky, as they follow their final approaches for landing.  This is an especially vivid phenomenon at night when the planes' headlights appear out of the sky like searchlights on a UFO.

Today Capt. SO and I had the Aqua RV out on the big pond.  As we motored through the shipping channel on our way to Lake Michigan,  we encountered legions of dead alwives, tiny fish that have died by the thousands, perhaps millions, as the result of who-knows-what natural occurrence in Lake Michigan and the Bay of Green Bay.  As you move through the water, you can see the fish carcasses floating in a variety of formations.  Some formations look like parallel lines, as if Mother Nature drew a diagram with a ruler, that resembles a music staff.  Other formations are in a circular pattern, swirling like little eddies, while yet other carcasses float in one giant line, much like the oil-containment lines put up in the Gulf of Mexico during the last oil spill.  I can only imagine the stench that these dead fish will create once their bodies wash up onto the miles of shoreline.

There was a light mist on the eastern horizon and every minute or so the mist opened up to reveal boat after boat emerging, ready to complete their westward crossing of Lake Michigan.  The appearance of each boat reminded me of aeroplanes dropping from the sky in Chicago.  Like the Chicago planes preparing for their final descent into O'Hare, these boats were on their final approaches into the relative safety of the shipping canal, perhaps to a marina destination either as transients or slip-holders.  It is a favorite pastime of  mine to imagine where a boat has been and where it might be headed to. 

Just as the alewives lifeless forms are floating on top of the water in the mist - their journeys having come to an unfortunate end, the boats are emerging from the mist, probably reveling in the fact that they can see land and knowing that the hardest part of their travels are behind them.......for the moment. 

Never Underestimate The Power of Breath

Last summer I had the best yoga teacher.  She had been well-trained and was obviously skilled in what she was doing as well as caring about her yoga students.  She accepted each one of us eager students as unique and gave individual attention and instruction to every woman.  Part of the yoga concept is to breath - deeply and almost in a rhythm - being conscious of the air entering, moving about and exiting the body.  She clearly explained the different methods of breathing, although I do not remember the official names, only the importance of the regularity and depth of each breath.  She was very patient with all, most of her class being plebes in the yoga world. 

Part of her successful demeanor was her calming voice and countenance.  In class (I have no way of knowing what she was like in her own, personal world.) her voice was low and measured, as if she had all day to impart her knowledge and we had all day to process what she was saying.  It was not uncommon, at the conclusion of the class, just before she had us slowly sit up, that at least one participant would have fallen asleep in the final prone position. 

Since that time with her last summer, I've become much more aware of my own breathing and the power that breathing in and out has.  Obviously, our bodies need to breath in and out for the sake of our own survival.  Oxygen is one of the vital fuels for our bodies.  But the act of breathing in and out can also serve as a calming agent just as efficiently as high-priced and high-powered pharmaceuticals.  When I am stressed and can remember to practice proper yoga breathing technique, my mood can lighten almost within a minute or two.  The effect that breathing has upon my being when it is in an anxious state is incredible.  It is as if I can feel the flow of pure oxygen in and out of my body, which is really my temple. 

Get in touch with your breath.  It can heal as no other natural agent can.  Breath is more powerful than drugs, alcohol, food or any other controlled substance.  Breath is the true "chill pill" and it costs nothing more than your own concentration and effort. 

Try breathing.  You'll wonder why you waited so long.

Ancora imparo

Some Like It Hot, Some Like It Cold

This is the time of year when thermostatic schizophrenia occurs.  With the wild fluctuations of outdoor temperatures, indoor environments struggle to maintain any consistency.  Consequently, when one moves from structure to structure, you are apt to experience a wild array of thermostatic settings.  One store - or even residence - will require a winter coat, or sweater at the very least, while the next will feel almost steamy and rain-forest like, resulting in the desire to strip down to the barest articles of socially-acceptable clothing. 

Yes, this is summer, in all its glory.  A time when not only the external temperatures can vary but peoples' own thermostatic preferences are as disparate as the weather.   I visited with a neighbor last night and we began our conversation, at day's end, out of doors, on her spacious front steps.  There was a slight breeze and I thought being outside was delightful but she soon became uncomfortable with the humidity and invited the two of us to go inside her home.  Once I had been inside only a few moments, I quickly realized that her thermostat must have been set quite "high" because the interior temperature (for me) was way too high.  There was no air movement, certainly no AC on, and I found it to be much more stultifying than the out-of-doors had been.  The conversation was great but I was miserable with the heat.  However, when in Rome........

On the opposite side of the "coin", when I am in my favorite supermarket's dairy and meat section, I can become quickly and easily chilled, to the point where shivering can commence and I then wish I had a jacket or sweater on.  Normally, my personal thermostat runs hot and, in summer months, you will find me wearing only light-weight cotton and natural-fiber clothing.  Perhaps the most challenging time within the routine twenty-four-hour period is at night when too much air from fans can be just as disruptive to sleep as too little.  You know the kind of night when one moment you are grabbing for the nearest corner of a sheet, blanket, or both OR you are throwing off covers right and left, with little regard for anyone or anything else that might be sharing your bed.

I think that the "dog" days of summer are here.  Lawns are browning and the need to mow lawns is decreasing.  The corn is knee-high and summer ice-cream haunts are crowded during business hours.  Some do like it hot and some do like it cold. 

Me - I'm definitely in the cold camp.

Ancora imparo 

"Check Engine" Light

My car just had a major physical last week, getting probed and prodded for its one-hundred-twenty-thousand mile check-up.  For the past few days, she's been purring along, seemingly pleased with her current condition.....until this morning, when her "Check Engine" warning light went on and has not gone off.  I do truly hope that this message's appearance is just an electronic glitch, some little switch that the mechanic forgot to flick into the "down" or "off" position. 

Seeing this message reminded me of some warning lights I think people should be born with.  In the past, I've written about wishing there was a warning light on people's foreheads for impending moronic behavior.  I still think this is a great idea, one that could save the world billions of dollars and one that could save many careers.  Maybe this light should also have a tiny warning signal that begins to emit a beeping sound to alert the human that he, or she, is about to make a deal-busting decision or action.  Perhaps getting people to think before "leaping" or think before engaging mouth?

Now that I've become more familiar with Facebook and Twitter, I think there should be a ten-second delay feature before the message or "status" is actually sent.  This delay might prevent people from embarrassing themselves, or others, with inane or inappropriate comments.  Too many morons are revealed on Facebook and Twitter.  People who used to be "closet" morons, but disclose themselves to the horror of their friends and associates.   It seems that almost daily, some person publicly crashes and burns using a social media.  Yes, social media needs to incorporate a ten-second delay!

I would like to have my body outfitted with a locking mechanism that prevents my mouth from opening up to accept any further food beyond the point that my stomach announces it is full.  There seems to be a great communication delay between my stomach and my brain. 

And now it is time to think about preparing the evening meal.  If only I had a warning signal that alerted Capt. SO that I am in no mood to cook......life would be so much easier!

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Corralling My Thoughts

It is the Fourth of July  and you would think that my brain has been blown up by an early display of fireworks, scattering my thoughts far, wide, and and irretrievably high.  I believe this may be known as "the scattergun approach".  Whatever the name, the results are the same.  One thought runs here and three dozen run in opposite directions.  Our GPS would have a field day with my cerebrum at this moment. 

One thought-direction that came to mind (pun intended) was house-building.  We've built three times now in Capt. SO's and my life together.  I'm more than ready for Time-Number-Four but Capt. SO would probably rather have root-canal work done or visit a proctologist.  However, having worked with an architect on all three projects, I can tell you that the design would never resemble an inverted triangle.  The top floor of a structure would not be bigger (wider) than the lowest floor.  If anything, the lowest level would be the broadest, middle floor less broad and the top would be the narrowest part of the building.  Makes sense, does it not?  A structure where the top levels are wider than the bottom would never survive yet some organizations still operate under that model.  Where are the collective brains of these organizations?

There is lots of activity in my neighborhood today.  I see many instances of extra parked cars and trucks, people probably coming together for family picnics and gatherings.  Our one nod to the picnic-tradition of this day is that Capt. SO will grill pork chops and I've made my world-famous (no exaggeration there) potato salad.  Capt. SO ventured out earlier in the day and purchased another el-cheapo folding lawn chair which will come in handy the rest of the summer season and it is red.....to go along with our blue and white lawn chairs.

My mind flew over my dad while I was cooking the eggs and potatoes for the potato salad.  Even though my father passed away ten years ago, I am still visited with vignettes of him and things he said.  While I was multi-tasking and cooking four things at once, I made a good-sized goof (Fixable, thankfully!) and I heard my inner voice say, "Patreesha Mareesha", which was one of Dad's "pet" names for me.  Funny how the memory retrieves details in random ways, places and times.

I have a red-white-and-blue dessert planned for today, in honor of our nation's independence.  While Capt. SO and I chomp down on blueberries, strawberries and pineapple (OK, so yellow is close to white - especially if it is covered in Cool Whip!) we'll listen to public radio's day of music-by-American-composers.  


Happy Independence Day, America!

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From Your Mentor

I serve as a mentor to a young woman, college-aged, who is just beginning to wade through the jungle we call "the world".  We had lunch today and she shared with me that when she was in high school, she felt protected and insulated from "the big, bad world", as she referred to "it".  She said she had her parents, teachers and other adult leaders to help guide her when she sought guidance.  Now about to be a junior in college, she is struggling with a relationship with a young man that she recognizes is not quite positive for her, yet she feels unprepared to cut the strings with him and strike out into new and unfamiliar relationship territory.  Over lunch she talked and I listened, occasionally asking a probing question but mostly just indicating that I was actively listening and not making judgmental statements.  After lunch, we went our separate ways and I thought of the myriad of things I wish I could have said, but did not feel was my place to state.

If only..........

I wish I could impress upon her that she has value and worth in her own right and that her worth is not determined by whether or not she is in a relationship with some guy.

I wish I could help her believe in her own self.....to see the outer and inner glow that she exudes to others and that she could "see" it for herself.

I wish I could help her understand that, in a relationship, she is not always the one who needs fixing.

I wish I could help her become comfortable with herself and see that alone time is valuable, too.

I wish she could gain the confidence to look in the mirror (both a glass mirror and the mirror of life) and be comfortable with her own reflection.

If only............

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I Just Don't Like Them

Sticky things - I just do not like them.  I do not know why God made me this way - I have not asked and probably wouldn't get an answer anyway.

Of all my foibles, fetishes, and quirks, this is probably one of the more minor ones, but I was reminded of my "sticky-dislike" after I paid an arm and a leg to get the car looking pristine early this afternoon.  Upon leaving  the car wash, I parked in a near-by-store lot, got out to inspect the car and found a glue-like substance on the roof, probably pitch from a pine tree.  I rubbed and rubbed with a towel but all that happened was that fibers from the towel got stuck, too, and now it looks as if spots on my car's roof need a haircut.  I got back into the car and noticed an expired state-park sticker from 2010 that needed to be removed but I could not get it to budge.  A few errands later, I stepped in some spilled-soft-drink puddles and, with every step thereafter, my shoes made this annoying sound that served as a constant reminder that something sticky was on the bottom of my shoe.  My last stop found me parked next to a car that was covered in bumper stickers.  This was proof to me that God does have a sense of humor.

The rationality for peppering a perfectly good automobile with bumper stickers has always left me puzzled.  Have you ever tried removing bumper stickers from the paint-surface of a car or from the plastic bumper?  It is a thankless and time-consuming task that often leaves bits, pieces, or shreds of sticker on the surface, plus exposes the underlying glue substance that attracts all sorts of road grime, grit, seeds, and bugs to it.

You won't find (nor have ever found) bumper stickers on my vehicles.  I suspect that this means that I was a rotten mother, concerned more with the appearance and resale value of my cars and trucks, than with proclaiming that I had an honor student at Smith Junior High or that "My daughter and my money go to National College" or that I supported Erma Bombeck for President. You also won't find Rubbermaid (or any other brand of plastic storage container) bins in my possession with the stickers still on them.  If I buy a three-ring binder, the label comes off instantly.  New dishes?  No sticky sticker glue left on the bottom of mine.

You should see the glass containers that go in my recycling bin. 

I told you, I just don't like sticky things.  Pray for me.  I need it. 

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Socially Unacceptable

"Please continue to hold.  Your call will be answered in the order in which it was received."

"Wait times will be longer than normal due to the volume of calls being received."

"There is no record of you in the system."

"Your application form has not been entered into our data base, therefore you have been defaulted to the Acme Insurance program until which time your request to change your coverage to the Blahblahblah Insurance Company is recorded."

"We cannot guarantee a date for the arrival of your new insurance cards or for an enrollment number to be issued."

"Everyone is guaranteed insurance coverage during this transition period."

"If you must seek medical attention during this nightmare, you should carry with you, at all times, a copy of your application request, a copy of the email that simply says everyone will have coverage, and this telephone number1-XXX-XXX-XXXX, which, by the way, should a doctor's office or hospital need to call to verify coverage, will place the caller on hold for a minimum of fifteen minutes."

"If you'd like, you can call the new insurance company you requested, every two days, to see if they have an enrollment number assigned to you yet."

Most of the above statements are direct quotes, taken from about two hours today of a combination of "on-hold" or conversations with tired and testy bureaucrats and pencil-pushers.  I am not bitter nor angry but I am frustrated and weary.  What I would like to do is go out on my deck and scream obscenities.

But, that is socially unacceptable.

This is unfortunate.

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