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 |  My Blog....Pearls of wisdom and/or foolish mutterings.....You be the judge.... |
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A little of this, a dash of that......epic mood swings.......A LOT of foolish mutterings and occasionally a few words of wisdom. It's a crapshoot. You never know what you'll find in here... |
| Good grief, Ike. Could you just hit land already and let us get on with it?! If I have to listen to Channel 2's Frank Billingsley babble on with his inane, over-the-top "could be" scenarios one more time, I swear I am going to snap. Last night, Neil Frank, former head of the National Hurricane Center, was interviewed on one of the local news channels. He is a very rational. no-nonsense type, not given to histrionics. (I'm surprised he was allowed any air time at all. God forbid that he be the voice of reason. Ratings could plummet!) He was explaining about the effects of storm surge in various regions of Houston, saying that people were comparing this storm to Hurricane Carla (A Category 5 storm that hit the Texas Coast September 11, 1961.) "Now this storm is no Carla, folks," Neil Frank calmly stated, going on to explain what could logically be expected from a Category 2 or Category 3 storm (which Ike is expected to be at landfall.) Not five minutes later, on the same channel, in the same newscast, Frank Billingsley followed Neil Frank's report with a completely ridiculous report of "what ifs." "Now, were we to see a storm surge of 25-30 feet, which we aren't expecting, but if we did get that kind of storm surge, we could see flooding of mammoth proportions, possibly even worse than Carla," Billingsley practically sang as he illustrated his words with computer-generated graphics showing the Texas coastline with flood waters extending almost to the San Antonio area. That was just the beginning of his idiocy. He has been spreading his disaster gospel throughout the day today. Granted, this storm is throwing everyone some curves. The storm surge that has preceeded actual landfall has been quite impressive. The mere size of the storm is disconcerting. But what has been the most disturbing part of the entire event is the chest-thumping, hysteria-hyping reporters one-upping each other at the expense of actual facts and hard data. After the evacuation disaster of Hurricane Rita a few years ago, most people not in mandatory evacuation zones made the decision, as we did, to stay put and ride the storm out. What comfort it would have been to turn on the television and get facts and information as opposed to oh-yeah-well-what-if-this-happens drama queens bent on winning a frenzy-whipping contest. So, in the interest of keeping up with the doomsayers, let me say this. OH MY GOD! WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! DEATH AND DESTRUCTION IN THE GULF! IT'S THE MOTHER OF ALL STORMS! NO ONE WILL SURVIVE! ALL HOMES WILL BE WIPED CLEAN DOWN TO THE SLAB! YOUR HOMES WILL BE DESTROYED! FUTURE GENERATIONS WILL BE BORN WITH ONE EYE AND NO HAIR DUE TO THE FURY OF HURRICANE IKE! ... and finally... LIFE AS WE KNOW IT WILL CEASE TO EXIST! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DO NOT MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH THE STORM! IT WILL FRY YOUR BRAIN! THERE IS NO ESCAPE! KISS YOUR ASS GOODBYE! Yes, that's right, I am applying for a job as a weather reporter when this is all over. I think I've got what it takes, how about you? ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| I remember September 11, 2001. We all do. Even if we wanted to forget, we'll never be able to. At the time, I managed a staffing firm. My office was on the 16th floor of a high rise building in Southwest Houston. My phone rang and it was my eldest son calling from home to tell me that a plane had just flown into the World Trade Center. He and I talked for a few minutes about how something like that could happen, how terribly strange it was. I had no sooner finished telling the other women in my office about my son's call before the phone rang again. It was my son calling back with news of the second plane hitting the towers. I think it dawned on both of us at the same moment that something was very wrong. I heard a note of fear creep into his voice at that moment--the exact same moment that I felt a cold hand of fear clutch my heart. Moments later, I found myself downstairs in the building's deli with a gathering of other tenants. We all stood in complete silence, staring at the television mounted in the corner of the deli, watching images that would never, could never, be forgotten. Collectively, we all gasped in horror at the news reports that got worse by the moment. The only other noise in the room was the murmur of the television, the news reports that were changing our lives forever, even as they were being spoken. Finally, I forced myself away from the terror unfolding before my eyes and literally ran back to my office. I sent my employees home; told them to go pick their children up from school, to go home and be with their families. There was one applicant in my lobby diligently working on an application. I tried to find the words to say to her to send her home. I don't remember what I told her, but I know that she looked at me, not understanding, and insisted that she could stay and finish her application. I said to her, "No, this is very serious. You need to go home. Be with your family." She finally relented, still not grasping the seriousness of what had happened. I called my boss at the corporate office in Downtown Houston and told her I was closing the office. I found out later that the president of the company was upset that I didn't send my employees to the corporate office to work instead of sending them home. I quit my job when I found out about that. I made the forty-minute trip home in half the time. I remember seeing a white panel truck pulled over on one of the feeder roads, surrounded by Houston policemen, guns drawn; two men standing with hands splayed on the hood of the truck's cab. The Medical Center was on lockdown; all non-essential medical employees were sent home. My daughter was on her way home from her job there. I called to warn her about the mysterious panel truck. When I arrived home, my husband had picked up my youngest son from school which had been canceled for the day. My family converged at our family home. We all sat huddled in front of the television; occasionally one of us would disappear out the back door to look in the direction of the petroleum plants located only miles from our house. No one spoke out loud the fear that we all shared. Would planes soon be crashing into the plants, setting off explosions that would spell certain doom for us? We've all changed since that day in untold ways. Our new lives began on September 11, 2001. We left behind a peace that was never fully appreciated until we lost it. We walked unsteadily into a different world, where security could never again be taken for granted. We lost our innocence that day; we came face to face with our own vulnerabilty. We've learned to live in this new world. It's not comfortable like the old one, but it's what we have now. It's what we have. |
| This entry falls squarely into both camps - pearls of wisdom and foolish mutterings. 1. I’ve learned that I would much rather laugh than cry, but crying comes way too easy. Some might say I’m a cry-baby. I’ll go with that but only because it implies youth in some form and I’m all over that. 2. I’ve accepted the fact that I’m a true smart-ass; nay, I have embraced it. I find that I enjoy it immensely, those around me – not so much. But to them I say, “Hey! I’m fifty. I’ve earned it!” 3. I have a healthy sense of self. I know who I am, what I’m about and where I’m headed (pretty much.) 4. I now have the confidence to pull off sexy, which is really kind of sad since, now that I finally have the confidence, I no longer have the body! 5. I think that God has a very healthy sense of humor. See #4 6. I like to think that when I get to heaven, there will be a prize for the most sardonic wit and that prize will be sitting there waiting for me. Okay, I’m not really expecting that, I just like to think it. 7. I’ve learned that I find unbridled joy in stringing words together in a way that makes other people want to read them. And I’ve learned that I can be very pushy when it comes to telling… err… um… asking others to read my blog. 8. I have the feeling that time is running out so I’d better get busy if I want to get everything accomplished that’s on my list. Yes, I have a list. 9. Turns out bigger isn’t always better; less isn’t always more—sometimes more is more. 10. Ninety percent of the things I worried about never happened. For at least the next fifty years, I have resolved to worry less and enjoy more. 11. Words that are spoken can never be unspoken. I’m still learning to keep my mouth shut, but I’m getting better at it. Listen more, talk less is another of my resolutions. 12. I’ve learned that being completely happy with life is a myth – there will always be something that I wish was different. I also know that it’s easy to become completely miserable trying to be completely happy. I’m learning to cherish the good things and remember that the bad things are supposed to be a learning experience. 13. Attitude really does make all the difference. I have the choice to see the glass as half-full, half-empty or full-of-shit. My choice completely. 14. A good sense of humor is not a luxury. 15. It is the little things in life that make it worthwhile. 16. Once upon a time, I thought I knew everything. Now I know I was wrong and I’m glad because learning is half the fun. 17. Never, ever, ever give up. Reposition yourself, possibly. But never give up. 18. To fail at something doesn’t make you a failure. You’re only a failure if you choose to be. 19. We are blessed with an unending amount of love to give away. I’m determined to give away every last bit that I can. 20. It’s important to laugh out loud at least once a day. A good reason to read my blog every day.  |
I had a blog entry all planned out - had been writing it and re-writing it in my mind all day long (that would have been yesterday now, but whatever.) I'll get around to that one eventually, but after reading Eric Wharton  's blog again just now about his grandson, Zak, I decided to scrap my original plan and write about another awesome grandfather. At the suggestion of someone whose opinion I greatly value, I have made this a stand-alone piece in my portfolio. You can view it at:
Thanks, David McClain  ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
| I bit the bullet and did one of the things I hate most in the entire world on Saturday. I had a garage sale. Did I mention that I hate having garage sales? Oh, I did, well, nevertheless I had one. Under duress, I might add. About a year ago--okay, fine, it was 18 months if you want to be all technically correct and stuff--anyway, about 18 months ago, Hubby and I got some kind of wild hair and went to a public auction that Hubby had read about in the newspaper. He asked me if I wanted to go and I said, "Sure, that sounds like fun." Famous last words, my friends, famous last words. We spent the day at the auction and to this day, I am convinced that they were spraying some chemical in the air as people walked in the front door to register. This chemical, whatever its evil name may be, was designed to lower one's impulse control and might I say, it worked very well. At this particular auction, they were hawking items of every kind, anything from furniture to big screen TVs to jewelry to piece of crap power tools to cameras to cars. Let me cut to the chase and just say that not one single instance of impulse control made its way from our brains to our mouths that day. We bought it all, nay, EVERY. THING Apparently the impulse-control-killing inhalant was also laced with a delusional component that caused me to enthusiastically shake my head in the affirmative every time Hubby looked my way and asked, "Can you sell that?" We had to enlist the help of every son, daughter and son-in-law we own to go back with us the next day to drive home all of the numerous cars we bought and--wait, that's not all--we had to rent a trailer to haul home all the shi... err, uh... miscellaneous stuff we bid on and won. Yes, that's right, we were big-doggin' it through the whole day--buying here, buying there. Big Spenders. If I didn't know better, I would swear to you that we both smoked crack before we arrived at the auction. Slowly, ever-so-slowly, we have managed to sell all but two of the cars we bought. No, I will not tell you how many we bought, no freaking way, will I divulge the depths of our stupidity. Suffice to say that I will never wonder if I might want to be a used car dealer - EVER. That leaves all the other crap that we bought and stored in our storage shed in the backyard until such time as I could finagle a way to sell it. My enthusiasm quickly waned for selling the various items, which included: power tools, automobile CD players, DVD players, rings, car speakers, film and digital cameras, the list goes on...; most of which, upon closer inspection turned out to be crap. Consequently, said crap has been setting in my shed mocking me. Additionally, Hubby periodically twists himself into the ceiling thinking about the "investment" in the shed deteriorating. So it was that I came to be holding a garage sale last Saturday. Every time that someone bought one of the aforementioned items, I had to refrain from leaping across the table and planting a big kiss on their cheek. As much as I hate having a garage sale, I have to say that it was a success and I managed to unload... err, I mean, sell a goodly amount of the cra.... merchandise. The sale was so successful that I will be having another one this Saturday in hopes of unloading... oops, I mean selling at a great price, the rest of my merchandise. However, if any of you ever happen to be in close proximity to me and the word AUCTION comes up, I will not be responsible for my actions. |
| Reading Nada 's blog entry tonight with the picture of her and Lance with crash-and-burn Presidential candidate Gary Hart brought to mind a story that I don't believe I've ever shared with all of you about something that happened when we were living in Caracas. Bill Clinton was President when we lived in Venezuela .In October of 1997, President Clinton paid a visit to then-presidentRafael Caldera at the presidential palace Mira Flores. It was a short 24 hour visit, arranged at the insistence of dplomatic forces after Clinton's Latin American tour earlier in the year, in which Venezuela was not included. At the time, American oil companies were heavily investing in Venezuela's massive oil production and it was deemed a faux-pas of major proportions that President Clinton's tour in May completely excluded Venezuela, which was considered a valuable American ally at the time. Oh. my, how times have changed! My children attended the international school Colegio Intermacional de Caracas (known as CIC), a very fine private school which at the time had a large percentage of American students. CIC received an invitation for its senior high school students to attend an afternoon speech given by President Clinton as part of his very tight schedule while in Caracas. My daughter, Kristen, was among the students who attended the Presidential speech. The students were taken to the palace by school bus, approimatey a 45 minute drive at that time of day. October is one of the warmer months and that particular day was quite warm. Traffic was bad, especially when the bus neared the presidential palace where security was extremely tight. The bus was not air-conditioned and with the slow pace of the bus, there was very litle air flow inside the bus. Kristen said she started feeling sick on the bus from the heat. By the time the students were brought through security and shown to their seats in the garden where the speech was to be given, the day had heated up considerably. The heat, combined with car-sickness from the bus ride and the fact that the students had now missed lunch, had worked a number on Kristen. She mentioned to her teacher that she felt faint and thought she might vomit. The teacher ushered her over to the nearest shade tree which is where Kristen was sitting, looking pale and wan, when suddenly along the path came President Clinton with several of his secret service men. Kristen watched as President Clinton got closer and closer, praying that her stomach wouldn't choose the exact moment the President walked past to purge itself of its contents. Much to her amazement, he didn't walk past her. As he got closer, he noticed Kristen sitting there in the shade and made a bee-line for her. He walked up to her, with his SS men in fast pursuit, and leaned down to speak to her. "Are you alright? You look very pale." "I'm okay, I think I just got too hot on the bus. I'm trying to cool off." Kristen said to the PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES. President Clinton turned to one of his SS men and instructed him to get Kristen some cold water. Then he turned back to Kristen and said to her, "He's going to get you some water. If you need anything else, you just let him know and he will get it for you, okay?" Kristen nodded her head. Then, before heading to the podium to give his speech, he asked her again, "Now are you sure you're okay? Is there anything I can get for you?" Only after she assured him she was alright did he turn and head to the stage to give his speech. And when the speech was over, he came by and checked on her one final time. Personally, I was not a supporter of Bill Clinton. I was outraged by his behavior while he was in the White House and was embarrassed at having to answer questions about him from people from other countries who were my friends and neighbors in Caracas. I do not agree with his politics and I did not vote for him. But this small act of humanity in a foreign country by the leader of the free world to a 17 year old high school who was about to puke her guts up has stayed with me over the years. He was the President, for crying out loud. On a very tight schedule, surrounded by Secret Service men, on his way to give a speech to a sizeable crowd on a hot day. He could have been forgiven for not even aknowledging Kristen as she sat there under that tree. He could have just walked on by; no one would have thought anything of it. If he felt he had to do something for her, he could easily have turned to one of his men and charged him with checking on Kristen. He chose to do none of those things, instead choosing to extend a small kindness personally. I have to admit I laughed when the superintendent of the school, upon learning of the incident, said to my husband, "We're lucky he didn't ask her on a date." I think Bill had that one coming, though. Still, it doesn't take away from the personal touch of the kindness Bill Clinton extended to my daughter that day. No matter what else you can say about the man, and God knows he made it easy, I give him credit for being genuinely nice to my child. In that instance, he was a gentleman. |
| Okay, NOW it's time to pay attention. Ray Nagin, New Orleans' mayor, has ordered a mandatory evacuation for his Chocolate City (hey, don't look at me. He said it, not me. That was right after Katrina, when he said, "We need to build a new city, a chocolate New Orleans.") Yep, that's what he said. And they still elected him as their mayor again. The same goober who held off issuing an evacuation order for Katrina until the storm was practically licking at the shores of the bayous. At least this time, he seems to have learned from his mistake and has already issued the order. It is looking like Louisiana will take it on the chin again, but really it's anyone's guess right now. According to an article from the AP earlier today, forecasting a hurricane's path is less of a crapshoot now, improving by half over the last two decades, but there is still quite a margin of error. The article goes on to say: But over the same time, the accuracy of intensity forecasts is virtually unchanged. Those are off by an average of 25 mph five days in advance, a margin of error that can mean the difference between a low-end Category 1 hurricane and a devastating Category 4. Average error improves to about 12 mph a day in advance. Which, in its simplest form, translates as: Until about 24 hours before landfall, it's all basically a guessing game. And by that time, you're pretty much screwed anyway. So we wait and wonder. And we hope and pray that the doomsayers have it wrong or that God's hand will reach down and still the waters. Gustav, you're not welcome anywhere along the Gulf Coast and New Orleans certainly doesn't need any of your shenanigans. How about you just stall out in the Gulf and dissapate like a good boy? |
| THIS JUST IN...from the AOL World News Desk Two people were knocked down by huge waves as they tried to take pictures of the storm on Little Cayman, but there were no other immediate reports of injuries, said Hemant Balgobin, disaster manager for the Red Cross in the British territory. "Things weren't really as bad as they could have been," he said. The American News media was unable to hide their immense disappointment. Fox News immediately issued their own account of the incident, which reads as follows: "Two people were knocked down by huge waves, scraping their knees badly, as they tried to take pictures of the killer storm on Little Cayman. Unfortunately, there were no other immediate reports of injuries, said Hemant Balgobin, disaster manager for the Red Cross in the British territory. "Things weren't really as bad as they could have been," he said. Fox News reports that the injuries suffered by the two amateur photographers may yet prove to be life-threatening. A random stranger interviewed in front of the hospital stated that he has heard rumors that severe knee scrapes have been known to lead to amputation. Stay tuned to Fox News for further developments. |
| Okay, now these menopause mood swings have just gotten completely out of control. My sister, Kathy, saw me online tonight and sent me an IM. Little did she know the hell she was about to unleash upon her poor unsuspecting self. She innocently asked me if we were getting ready for Hurricane Gustav. Oh. My. God. I don't know what came over me. WHAM! I believe I said something like this, "WHAT F*&%KING HURRICANE? I'M SO TIRED OF THE HYSTERICAL MEDIA HYPING THIS THING AND SCARING EVERYBODY.......blah, blah, blah...." And I may or may not have typed it in that deep, scary Satan voice - okay, I did type it in that voice. My fingers were literally bouncing off the keys as I typed. My sister, not recognizing the danger zone she was entering, tried making a joke to lighten the mood. Uh oh, another near-fatal misstep. I roared back at her in my Satan voice again, ranting away about the irresponsible media and God only knows what else. Bless Kathy's heart, she kept trying. Kathy: I'm sorry I hit a sore spot. I promise I won't ever ask about the hurricane again." Me: ROAST IN HELL, EVIL ONE! (Satan voice) Kathy: I'm making a birthday cake for Jenna (her granddaughter.) ME: WHO THE HELL CARES ABOUT BIRTHDAY CAKE? (Satan voice) Kathy: Well, other than the hurric..... uh, I mean, how is everything else? ME: DID YOU SAY HURRICANE? (Satan voice - screaming now) Kathy: *whimpering* *crying* ME: YOU'D BETTER NOT BE CRYING OVER THERE! (yes, Satan voice, AGAIN) Okay, maybe it wasn't quite like that, but close, very close. We chatted for a couple more minutes - but not about the hurricane, oh hell no - and then said goodnight. Not long after we signed off, my sanity returned, just as quickly and unpredictably as it had vanished. So, I called Kathy on the phone. I wasn't sure she would answer - I probably wouldn't have if the situation were reversed! But she's nicer than me, so she answered. I set about apologizing profusely and soon we were laughing together. She told me, "Man, you weren't kidding about those crazy mood swings, were you?" I feel like I should send her some flowers or a bag of money or something. Dang! This getting older stuff is not for sissies, is it? |
| I have made a rather shocking discovery about myself. You all know that I am physically incapable of keeping my mouth shut when I discover something (even if it is about myself) so I am forced to share it with you. I have always been blessed with that special characteristic that I like to call Texas Smart-Ass. Apparently, I was born with a healthy dose of it and have spent the last 50 years honing it to a fine fare-thee-well. A well-turned smart-ass remark has been my calling card for, lo, these many years. (Just bear with me, okay? I’m getting to the shocking discovery part – humor me.) Last night, as I bellied up to my laptop after reading Eric Wharton’s and Special Kay’s well-researched and smart-ass-remark inciting blogs, I was ready to hit one out of the ballpark, filled with wisecracks, double entendres and just good old-fashioned sarcasm. To steal a line from a Sarah Barielles song, I sat there with ”blank stares at blank pages, with absolutely nothing coming to mind. NOTH. ING. I was discouraged; in fact, I was practically bereft. No smart-ass remarks flowed from my fingers to the keyboard, no witty quips floated through my mind, not a wisecrack in sight. As for double entendres, ha! I couldn’t have produced one of those if someone held a gun to my head. After about 45 minutes of mental tossing and turning, I resorted to the lazy blogger’s fallback plan. I copied and pasted a funny email I had received earlier in the day. I blamed it on lack of sleep, but in truth, I feared I had lost my smart-ass edge. Now, that, my friends, would be a tragedy. (Okay, yes, I know my husband fervently wishes I would lose it, but that does not count in blogging. Tragedy, I’m telling you.) This morning I am happy to report that I could literally feel the smart-ass remarks bubbling at the back of my throat when I woke up. Thank God! A weight lifted from my shoulders as I sprang from my bed. (P.S. I did get a full night’s sleep last night. *can you hear that? It’s the Hallelujah Chorus being sung in the background*) Just to make sure that I wasn’t fooling myself, I tested my smart-assedness by answering some emails. Ha! There it was! Effortless, even! Why, even I had to laugh at my own wittiness. Now, with my most beloved characteristic firmly in place, I had to wonder why I had not been able to access it last night. I started thinking back past last night, back over the weeks, months, etc. NOTICE: SHOCKING DISCOVERY PART! (See, I told you I would get there soon enough. Patience is a virtue, you know. At least that’s what they tell me, I would never know that from personal experience, as I have none – patience, that is, not virtue.) The shocking discovery part is that my smart-ass ability seems to decline as the day wears on. As witnessed this morning, it is at its peak in the early morning hours and evidently declines throughout the day until it is almost non-existent by late evening. Now, I know there are those of you who are saying to yourselves, “So what? What’s the big deal?” Well, I will tell you what the big deal is. A true Southern Lady—and a Texan, to boot—prides herself on her ability to have an entire repertoire of smart-ass comebacks at her disposal no matter what the time of day or night. What if I find myself at a party late at night and have used up my allotment of snappy wisecracks earlier in the day? What’s a girl to do? Stand there like a mute? Perhaps this is a phenomenon that is naturally occurring in *ahem* aging Southern women. Lord, I hope not, because where is the fun in that? Maybe I’ve stunted my natural smart-ass tendencies by trying to be all nicey-nice on too many social occasions lately. On the other hand, it could be that damnable “socially correct” craze that has swept over our country like a plague for the last who-can-even-remember how many years. It’s damn near impossible to be socially correct and a smart-ass at the same time. You know, I think that may be it. It has to be; it’s the only thing that makes sense. That does it! I’m reserving socially correct behavior for only the rarest of occasions now. I must get my smart-ass back on. |
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I'm so far right the Tea Party looks like a bunch of hippies!
