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 |  Where am I going, and why am I in this handbasket? |
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Fair Warning: I've upped the rating on this blog. It is now set at GC. |
| I'm starting to feel much better. Maybe it was the 3 hours of sleep I got this afternoon. Maybe it is the arrival of the weekend. Whatever the case, I'm glad to rejoin the land of the living. It looks like I might have a day to myself tomorrow. Both kids are interested in spending the day with their Daddy which has my busy little mind churning as to how to make the best use of the day.  I think I'll skip the housework. I've been itching to spend a day over in the Delaware Water Gap and maybe hike up to the falls. Tomorrow might be the perfect day for it. Have a great weekend everyone! |
| I wandered outside hoping to get some fresh air. Unfortunately I couldn't find any. The air is still. It feels like summer, hot and heavy, but the lawn is covered with little yellow leaves fallen from the birch, and the Virginia Creeper has turned to a brilliant blaze of red. The leaves crunch under my bare feet. The ground beneath feels hard and dry. We could use some rain. In the distance I can hear the rumble of thunder. I hope the promise will be realized. The clouds are building in the sky, but the air does not move. The whites in the garden pop against the gloom... phlox, anemones, boltonia, and these... ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Acidanthera bicolor aka Peacock Orchid Back inside, I wait for the rain. --11:30PM and it is raining. |
Yeah, I already blogged today, but I'm sick so I don't have anything better to do than sit around and write.  Today's second entry was inspired by Wren  's blog of a couple days ago, and last week's poetry newsletter by Red Writing Hood <3  which featured a template for a poem called Where I'm From, originally written by George Ella Lyons. I've been working at this for a couple days. Where I'm from is a bit of a puzzle considering I lived 8 different places before my 18th birthday. Wren lived in 7, and she managed it quite well, so I was inspired to try it, and to think more broadly about concept of home.Here's what I have so far... I am from a garage lined with racquets and bats, mitts and balls; from a silver bike with a banana seat and the cobbled together parts of three other bikes. I am from ice cold Coke in curvy glass bottles that made a forlorn whistle when I blew across the mouth. I am from a secret stash of Hershey bars in the base of the grandfather clock. I am from military housing with plastic sheeting taped over the windows to keep out the winter chills. I am from a jar of butterscotches that matched the harvest-gold kitchen; from the harvest-gold rotary phone mounted near the basement door with its long tangled cord that stretched half way down the steps. I’m from those basement stairs, where I sat talking on the phone, whispering secrets to my friends. I am from gardens where my mother planted the flowers her Grandma loved along with my father's roses. I am from growing too many tomatoes, shelling peas, and shucking corn. I’m from noticing how tall the corn has grown, while driving past the fields, and mooing at the cows out in the pastures. I’m from watching the sunset and looking for rainbows. I’m from the scent of honeysuckle and the twinkle of fireflies on a humid summer night. I am from long summer road trips squeezed between two older brothers in the backseat of the car. I am from traveling with maps, but not reservations, and driving for another hour to find a motel with a vacancy. I’m from taking the scenic route; from countless, streams, rivers, creeks and lakes where we waded, splashed and skipped stones. I’m from “if it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right,” and a Dad who never did anything half-way if he could help it, but could make do with baling twine and duct tape if need be. I’m from checking pennies for our coveted “wheaties,” and saving them in a glass mason jar. I’m from crossword puzzles done in ink over morning coffee. I am from playing cards at the kitchen table, and only cheating when playing solitaire. I’m from beating “the church crowd” to breakfast on Sunday mornings. I am from Iowa with its deep snow and fertile soil. I am from a heritage of farmers who made their way west to Idaho. I am from Revelry at dawn, and Taps at dusk. I am from fresh sweet corn, sprinkling sugar on sliced tomatoes, and salting watermelon. I’m from “go outside and blow the stink off,” and “come home when the street lights turn on.” I’m from a father who was always finding things because he paid close attention to the world around him, who drove in reverse along the shoulder of the interstate to go back and pick up a hammer he spotted laying alongside the road. I am from a mother who hid Christmas presents entirely too well and didn’t find them until it was time to pack up and move. I’m from the world outside of any four walls; from the sandy stretch of beach; from the damp, sun dappled woods; from the rolling green fields; from the breath taking vistas. I am from parents who loved and shared them all. |
| In high school I had a teacher who warned us against the evils of turning history into a series of stories that romanticized events. I always think of her when I watch the history channel, a network dedicated to the art of turning history into entertainment. Not that there is anything wrong with that. The history channel has provided me with quite a few chuckles over the past couple weeks, and so I thought I'd share them with you. 1. While watching The History of Sex I learned that the ancient Chinese believed that if a man took an aphrodisiac known as "the bald chicken drug" for 60 days, he would have the stamina to satisfy 40 women. Now, I'm thinking that even in a country as populous as China, it might be difficult to round up 40 willing women. My guess is that if the drug worked, it probably inspired a pass time of choking the bald chicken. Warning: erections lasting for more than 4 hours could be a sign of a serious medical problem. 4 hours divided by 40 women? Yeah, I don't think they'd be all that satisfied. We will never know for sure. The drug's exact content has been lost in the sands of time. 2. Okay, The History of Sex again. This time, they were talking about the Victorian Era. Apparently the idea of table skirts was conceived during this era as a way to safeguard morality. There is nothing quite so titillating as a well turned leg... even if it belongs to a table. Apparently the Victorians had a proclivity towards dry humping the furniture. For the cost of a few extra yards of fabric, everyone could finally relax at the dinner table. 3. Las, but not least, on Human Weapon we got to see a group of Marines practicing the "Horizontal Butt Stroke." Call me immature. I won't argue with you, but this one gave me the giggles. Turns out it is a bayonet attack, and the butt in question belongs to a rifle. It probably isn't a good idea to laugh at men who have sharp pointy things on the end of their weapons, but I couldn't help myself. Okay, enough of that. I'm feeling like shit today. Stayed home with a miserable cold. Looking around the blogs, it would seem I've got lots of company. Seems like there's been a run on Chicken Noodle Soup. Take care of yourselves if you're sick, and if you are well, stay healthy! |
| The next time I saw a buffalo, I was 7 years old. My family was living in Iowa at the time, and we decided to make the trip to Idaho to visit relatives. Both my parents are from Idaho, and virtually every relative I have lives in the Nampa Valley. Every couple years, we went to Idaho for a couple weeks to visit the family. For this trip, we went by train. By we, I mean to say my mother, two older brothers, and myself. My father flew out to join us, and then we all flew back together. But for the trip out, we were riding the rails. It was a grand adventure, and we made trips to the store to purchase the amusements necessary to keep three children occupied on a long train trip. Although we were on the train overnight, we didn't have anything as fancy as a sleeping car. We slept right in our seats. The fact is, we were rarely in our seats except for when we were sleeping. The train had a club car and an observation car with stairs leading up to a glass domed riding compartment. That was my favorite place to be. Not that there was a lot to observe. Having traversed the heart of Nebraska, I can honestly say, if you've seen one cornfield, you've seen them all. Fortunately, things picked up when we got in to Wyoming. I think "God forsaken" was the term Mom used, but I had a different perception of it. That was were I saw the buffalo. They were roaming... just like in the song. I also saw herds of other critters that I wasn't acquainted with, but I was thinking they might be the deer and the antelope. There might have been elk in the mix, but I didn't have anyone to sort it out for me. I was mostly just excited to see Buff and Flo's American kin. As night approached, we entered a thunderstorm. I sat under that glass dome with my seat reclined back and watched the lightning flashing across the huge prairie sky. Thunder cracked and every little hair on my body was standing on end, but I loved it. Fear never entered the picture. I was too caught up in the fierce energy and excitement of it. It was spectacular. To this day, I get the expectant excitement when the sky darkens and the wind suddenly blows cold over the baked earth. Oh now I'm just rambling. I'll tell ya, I've been stuck in my own head all day. I've got thoughts tumbling around in there threatening to gel into some kind of important revelation. I started off trying to right about that, but couldn't. I've gotta let it roll around a little more first, but I'll keep ya posted. |
| Although I was born on the prairies, the first time I ever saw an American buffalo, I was in Japan. The year was 1976, and I was just a tot really, but I remember the buffalo. They were a gift to the Japanese people from the US as part of our bicentennial celebration. The mating pair of Buffalo became residents of a Japanese zoo, but not until they were examined and medically cleared by my father. He was serving in Japan as part of the US Army Veterinary Corp. He was the resident vet at the base were the Buffalo touched down, and got to do the honors. As a result, I got to meet the new arrivals. They were huge! Yep, that's what I remember. The Army sponsored a contest to name the Buffalo. I guess they didn't realize my father had already named them. He called the male Buff and the female Flo. It only made sense. Officially however, they came to be known as Liberty and Belle. I can only assume they lived long happy lives in Japan. |
| Today is a slow Sunday, and that means grocery shopping and laundry. I did the grocery run this morning, but I already have to make another trip to stock up on Diet Coke. No Diet Coke means Kay drinks beer and that has proven to be a bad formula. Wine makes me sleepy, but beer makes me wired. It was approaching 3 this morning before I finally got my ass to bed. Yet somehow I was up early. Go figure. So I started the laundry and made the shopping list: 1. Diet Coke 2. Tylenol 3. Batteries... Yup, only the Diet Coke wasn't on sale. I might be addicted to the stuff, but I'm not made of money. I'll have to make another trip later. After making my list and checking it twice, eating and making myself presentable for the day, I went downstairs to check the laundry. Out of the corner of my eye I caught movement. Something small and dark scurried across the floor. To my credit, I didn't scream, but I did manage to climb on top of the dryer in a hurry. Yep, I've got two useless cats, and now I've got a mouse! Yikes. I am so terrified of mice. I sat on the dryer for awhile making sure I had a clear line of escape (dryer has kind of a nice, gentle vibration to it, ya know). Probably stayed longer than I needed to. Eventually I jumped down and ran for the stairs. I did the grocery shopping, put the groceries away, and cleaned up the kitchen, but I didn't want to go back down to the laundry room. I thought about sending hubby down, but I've banned him from laundry. He can't seem to do a load without ruining something of mine. I sucked it up and went down stairs as loudly as possible. I stomped my feet crossing the floor. If anything was there, I was hoping it would frighten off. Four more trips, and a lot of stomping and swearing later, I've almost got the laundry done. I think I'm starting to get over my rodent phobia... it might not even qualify as a phobia. Thank God I've still got my fear of heights, confined spaces and large crowds (especially the kind that come carrying pitchforks and torches), otherwise I might cease to be an interesting, well-rounded person. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go out and jump on the trampoline with my kids before it gets darks.  |
| Many of you may prefer to just skip over this entry. I’ve got a pretty good idea where I’m headed with this, and I might need to change my blog rating. So, you might wanna just keep moving. Nothing to see here. Just a frustrated gal with a beer and a keyboard. If that scares ya… keep walking. If that doesn’t scare ya… you are a sad, sick person. Now, can I get ya a beer? The other day when titled my blog entry “the new Bob,” a couple of you mistook my meaning. I was talking about an actually person on that occasion. Tonight, however, I’m talking about the other Bob or the B.O.B. variety. I even wrote a limerick. There was once a fine fellow named b.o.b. With a long shaft and big bulbous knob But I broke down and cried When the batteries died Before he could finish the job. I mentioned that I’ve been drinking, right? Seems like the thing to do. Last nights celebration didn’t happen. I went to bed alone while my husband stayed up deeply engrossed in the history channel. I went to bed alone and woke up alone. Today was the Martial Arts seminar that hubby put together so he was gone most of the day. Tonight he is beat… literally and figuratively. It is 8:30 and he is asleep on the coach. Don’t worry, I’m done whining now. WWFW! What I really want to write about are the b.o.b.s of the world. The ones we know and love… and love… and love. The first time I saw b.o.b. I was about 15 years old. I was in the kitchen with my Mom and we both wanted chocolate. Now my father had a fierce sweet tooth and always kept chocolate stashed. We were checking all the known hiding spots when my mother spotted a box on top of one of the kitchen cupboards. She told me to climb up and investigate. I dragged a kitchen chair over and climbed up to the shiny red box. It didn’t have chocolate though. Instead it held a… Oh my… oh, oh, ICK! (come on. I was 15 and it was my parents' toy). After some explanations about how it was just a bad gag gift, (which Mom had forgotten about  ) we both really needed some frickin’ chocolate.Now, many of the parenting lessons I’ve learned in life have come from my friend Bonnie. She taught me the importance of discrete hiding places. B.o.b. used to hang out in a basket on her nightstand, but one day her daughters were in her room watching TV and Bonnie heard a strange noise. “Do you hear that?” she asked. “Yeah, what is that,” her girls wanted to know. They turned off the TV to listen carefully to the strange noise. They walked around the room trying to locate the source. “Mom, I think it’s coming from this basket.” “Oh! Oh! I’ll get it. It must be my pager. Yep it’s on vibrate,” she lied.  After that she took to hiding b.o.b between the mattress and box spring. When the nice men came to deliver her new mattress and dispose of the old one. They were kind enough to move b.o.b. to his new digs at no extra charge. B.o.b. didn’t enter my own life until after I was married. My husband thought b.o.b. was a great Christmas present. B.o.b and his relatives showed up under the tree every year. Now, in the days of small children, I couldn’t go to the bathroom with out a child standing at the door whining “MommEEEEEE!” I don’t know when he thought I’d find the time or privacy for b.o.b. It became a bit of a running joke until one Christmas I put my foot down. “Forget the toys,” I said. “What I need is a big locking box to hide them in.” |
| It is Friday! As if that weren't good news in and of itself, I have great things to share. Good news! Finally! TONY PASSED! WOOHOO! He passed the Examination for the Practice of Professional Psychology also know as the dreaded EPPP. He passed it by a generous margin and we are both thrilled. Now we just have to wait six months for him to retake the first exam (which he failed). In other good news. I got a raise. This should be better news, but the raise coincided with a big hike in what I have to pay in for health insurance. Since I am covering both hubby and the kids, it is pricey stuff. By the time all was said and done the raise amounted to JACK! Which was exactly 50% less than the JACKSHIT raise I was anticipating. Still, that extra $15 per pay might really come in handy. Another success... The HR department got a new Civil Service list, and a week from this coming Monday I might get to start interviewing! We'll be going out to dinner with the kids tonight to celebrate(yep, I'm gonna splurge the whole $15 and then some) and then later we'll put the kids to bed and celebrate some more. |
| I was up in Scranton for a meeting today and saw my work buddy Bob. He has moved up in the world and is so very busy and important that we never get to chat anymore. It was nice to talk to him! Bob and I have a similar sense of humor, and we've spent the last 5 or 6 years playing off each other. I enjoyed working with him. We've got history... and a lot of running jokes. Bob has moved on, and now I have to work with his replacement... "The New Bob." His replacement has no sense of humor and that makes it hard for me to make a connection. Bob and I would make up reasons to call each other and then just sit there and try to make each other laugh. We always could. When things were really bad for me at work (God! hard to believe they were worse than now... there's some perspective!) talking to Bob was a bright spot. Not only is his replacement stiff and impersonal, he is a pompous MBA type, but he has yet figured out that I have a zero tolerance policy for bullshit. I've been dealing with this guy for several years now as fiscal person. He has the concrete, linear thinking of a fiscal person, (no insult intended to any fiscal people who might be out there) but with the integrity of a sand flea. We don't get along. I'm happy for Bob's success. I truly am, but I resent being saddled with his successor. Still, Bob reminded me of something today that I hadn't heard in awhile. Have you heard of Hanlon's razor? It is an adage that says "never attribute to malice that which can be adequately explained by stupidity.” Yep, I think that philosophy will help me keep the new guy in the proper prospective. Oh... and Bob is the new guys boss now. |
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