More on New York

As I sit here enjoying the 70 degree weather I think back and am grateful that it was not 70 degrees for our time in New York City.

Then it was in the 30s, huge snow flakes one day, sleety icy rain the next...but beautiful and unpredictable. Just like it should be in winter.

Good days to trudge through the slush from one side of Broadway to the other. Good times to look up, up through the towering buildings and watch as snow falls covering the ground, the hat, the coat, the gloves and the new purple boots purchased when the slush completely soaked shoes and two pairs of socks. And, truth be told, to catch a snowflake on one's tongue. Good days to stroll arm in arm through Central Park.

What a shame to be in New York at Christmas and walk around on dry sidewalks, in shirtsleeves and sandals.

I love the New York weather. And I really love New York.

Another Black Friday

When one must tell a clerk, "Let's calm down!" you know the day after Christmas has not been a good one for her.

Or for me.

I just wanted to curl up with a book, good one or sleazy, just something printed, with Kat Karson, a cup of tea, new Barry Manilow CD playing in the background.

I found myself in traffic, in line returning things that did not fit...my husband. No way he was going to get into that consumer nightmare.

But now I am home. It is quiet. The book, cat and tea await, and oh, Barry singing in the background. The day will turn out all right after all.

And that's what I'm thinking about.

I Love New York

Like Mary Tyler Moore twirling around in the middle of Minneapolis and throwing her hat in the air with excitement, I was twirling around in the middle of Times Square last weekend taking in the towering buildings with colorful, digital billboards, large flakes of snow slowly weaving down from the sky, but keeping my hat on because of the temperature.

But let me back up and tell you why I was there. And while I think this through logically, you might be best served to get a cup of tea and settle in. This story may take a while.

My friend, who shall be called Lisa, was a finalist in a contest sponsored by a tooth whitening product (I would tell you which one, but hey, let them pay for their own advertising). Three finalists were flown to New York to compete in the events, which took place at Penn Station. Lisa could take a friend with her...her mother could not go, her good friend in Lexington had a commitment and Lisa's husband was preaching, so....I minded not one bit to be fourth choice (See previous blog on flying).

Three contestants had two minutes each to do the following, one at a time, using the same supplies: decorate a mantel, make a centerpiece, set a holiday table, dress up in a holiday outfit, do their hair for the holidays and finally put on the strips of teeth whitening product blind-folded. Three celebrity judges rated each event. The idea was that a crowd would gather to watch and during the audience trivia questions between events, would have the opportunity to win packets of these products, which retail for over $20 apiece.

Temperatures outside were in the 20s; temperatures inside were in the 60s. Therefore many homeless folks had come into Penn Station and were happy to stop and watch this unusual diversion. These particular homeless also knew a whole lot of trivia: what happens when a bell rings? where does Santa live? what department store is featured in Miracle on 34th Street and other similar questions. They also had loud clear voices. They were winning the white strip products right and left.

I was standing between two homeless men. The one was holding two boxes of the white strips. He saw I did not have any myself and asked me if I would take one of his. I took it for my friend. Every time he won, he came over and handed me the prize. I ended up with five boxes of white strips...which do not work on capped teeth. Lisa was going to make a killing.

Do you see the irony? A homeless person had given me gifts worth over a hundred dollars. I dug some bills out of my purse and looked around to compensate him in some small way because although he probably did not have the means to sell them on eBay and probably could not sell them on the street, and did not appear to have the natural resources needed to use them himself, he had been very unselfish in giving them to me.

He was gone, on his way to the next warm place.

Our hotel was in the theatre district, within walking distance of Rockefeller Center, Grand Central Station, Sacks Fifth Avenue, the city library, Lord and Taylor. The Mansfield is billed as a boutique hotel (read: small). Thanks to a mix-up at the front desk we were given a suite, quaint and European.

Christmas in New York is magical. The tree in Rockefeller Center towers over the skating rink. Our lunch table at Sack's overlooked the site. St. Patrick's Cathedral was open and a quick walk-through encouraged us to put an early Sunday mass on our agenda (neither of us are catholic, but hey, it is New York and it is St. Patrick's). We hurried to pick up tickets at Radio City Musical Hall to see the Christmas Spectacular. The precision of the troupe and intricacies of the routines delight. During our performance one of the Rockettes slipped and fell on her hands and knees. She got up quickly but had caught her heel on her costume, ripping a long piece of trim which 'tailed' her the rest of that act. One does not see that very often.

The show ended with a beautiful depiction of the Nativity, with sheep and camels and a donkey, kings and shepherds and reading of the story of the birth of Jesus. The profoundly Christian aspect of this closing was a delightful surprise.

My friend, whom I will call Marty, met us at the hotel. The best way to see New York is with a New Yorker. By subway, bus and taxi the three of us walked, shopped, looked (read: gawked) at New Yorkers and ate. First a lovely restaurant on the Mezzanine at Grand Central Station, then Sardi's in the theatre district, where casts and backers go after the opening night of a show to await the first reviews in the papers.

Up in Harlem we ate pastries across from St. John the Divine Cathedral and met a lovely woman about my age, with a New York story: taught college near Washington, D.C., divorced, kids all scattered and on their own, quit to live in this city and write her book. She's lived in New York for eight years....not one word down on paper yet.

In addition to the Rockettes, we saw Boeing, Boeing a revival of a play which bombed the first time it was produced yet was made into a successful movie starring Jerry Lewis and Tony Curtis in 1966. In the current stage version Christine Baranski steals the show. Paige what's her name from TV's Trading Spaces also has a lead role.

The three of us were delighted to see Gypsy before it closes in January. Gypsy Rose Lee was by far the most famous of any burlesque dancer (read: stripper). Her mother, Rose, probably became the negative stereotype of the stage mother of all child actors.

The World Trade Center site was a must-see for Lisa and since Marty had worked two blocks from the site his perspective and knowledge of the event was poignant.

A wintry stroll through Central Park, looking at the decorations and store windows was a never-ending treat. Marty gave up his weekend to show us the city.

Lisa did not win the contest yet not bad for the runners up to receive four days in the city and a make over from a salon that charges $750 for a hair cut. Not bad for the contestants' friends either.

There is an old saying "Make new friends but keep the old, one is silver and the other gold."

My friends are priceless. Thanks for reading. That's what I'm thinking about today.

Anticipation

One thing I have noticed living here in southern Indiana is that folks are very, very interested in the weather. There are media weather people who feed the local interest. From the first hint that the wind might pick up to become a tornado to the last wisp of breeze as it leaves the viewing area all TV viewing is suspended for continual updates. The weather maps have gotten extremely complex and colorful as one station attempts to outdo the others. Touch screens zoom in and out, up and down giving depth of clouds and density. Tracking fields colorfully flash across the screen in bright moving triangles indicating precise times a storm will arrive at any given location.


At the present time we are awaiting a winter storm. Ice-rain should begin falling any time, since it was predicted two hours ago (something about its being stalled over southern Illinois).

That is the thing about weather predictions.

Too often they are incorrect. Thus we bundle up and sweat at 70 degrees or cancel plans for a picnic and sit inside looking outside at the lovely sunny day or take off for an afternoon in the park leaving our Wellingtons and Slickers at home only to get drenched in the 'partly sunny.'

Excuse me, need to cut this short, the weather trackers, local residents who live throughout the area, are calling in to the station with what is happening in their area. More later.

And that's what I'm thinking about.

Update: Somehow that predicted winter storm vanished overnight. School superintendents who had closed schools in anticipation of bad weather now have some 'splaining to do to their boards.
Roads are clear, snow non-existent, wind at zero miles per hour.

So who can one trust if not the weatherman?

Great Fun

Met two friends in Columbus, Ohio last week for the Winterfair Art Expo. Seven hundred artisans of diverse media, from fabric to steel, from clay to diamonds. The city was bedecked in Christmas finery and every store in the malls having sales. This was a shopper's paradise.

The highlight of each of these get-togethers, which happen a couple of times a year, is catching up on each others' lives and celebrating birthdays together, eating and laughing and yes, shopping.

On the second night a blizzard blew in. Probably not a fierce blizzard or even a blizzard by my two northern friends' standards but I have been away from this type of weather for a few years and the blowing biting snow crystals and the icy roads and a dozen cars off in ditches made southern Indiana seem like a desert oasis in comparison.

These two friends were c0-workers of mine back when. In fact, I was their boss, although I only knew I supervised the one (strange personnel practices) and only found out about the second when raises were being discussed. Both of them made me look very good to my own bosses and to the community. When I left, the department flourished under leadership of the one. Now all three of us have moved on but remember our fun run developing our little corner of the world.

And so part of our time together is spent reminiscing about the good old days. And part of our time together is spent with current projects (two of us are furthering our education, two continue to travel the world with the third envious). And part of our time is spent dreaming about the future and what we want to accomplish before we well, you know....

And that's what I'm thinking about today.

A Few of My Favorite Words

In the 70s everyone who was 'with' it said 'Cool!' Cool returned a few years ago when the younger set began saying it as if it were some creation of their own. But they used the back of their throats to get a guttural sound out of the first letter (and I know that those reading this are attempting to do that right now. Keep practicing, you'll get it right).

One of my favorite words has always been precipitous. Another is perspicacious. One daughter favors diurnal. Words are like sweet candy as they roll around in your mouth waiting for just the right moment to become sound.

At the present I have settled on the simple word lame. A word that has its roots in Middle English meaning disabled so that movement is difficult or impossible it has come to mean in Modern English, unconvincing or weak. Yet clothes can be lame, as in "You are not leaving this house in that lame shirt" as can a story that is dragging on to seemingly no end and having no point, "that is so lame."

The football games on Thanksgiving Day were lame, as in, who really cared about the teams that were playing.

Lame can mean boring. Lame can mean never-ending, as in 'winter is lame.'

We were told that 'fudge,' 'gosh,' as in 'O my gosh,' and 'shoot,' were really just cleaned up versions of words and phrases good little girls and boys did not say so we should not say them either lest someone think we really meant the bad stuff.

A desultory thought from Sam Rayburn who said, "No one has a finer command of the language than the person who keeps his mouth shut."

Words are telling. They identify the educated, the angry and the lame to name a few.

That's what I think about it.

Ears

Did you ever stop to think about how much more carefully you wash your ears and neck on the days you have a hair cut scheduled?

That's what I'm thinking about.

Thanksgiving

I have been reading the blogs, emails and face book notes how friends and acquaintances celebrated the holiday. My account follows.

On the Tuesday before I set the table. Starting with tablecloths made with loving care by my aunt from Finland. On top I laid several crocheted table toppers, hand-crafted by my mother-in-law and her sister in the 20s. The glassware came right out of the 30s, amber-colored depression water glasses and fruit dishes, also from my mother-in-law. The serving bowls were the common Autumn Wheat pattern, common that is in the 20s. They came down through the generations from my grandmother.

Yes, there was food, pretty much the same as everyone else in the country ate. This year I did not burn the marshmallows on the sweet potatoes (Last year, the prayer was long and I had put the sweet potatoes under the broiler to brown up the marshmallows and I forgot until halfway through the prayer, obviously not paying attention to the gratitudes and praise and wondering how long one should really keep something so fluffy under the broiler. I rushed over when I began to smell smoke and when I opened the oven door flames shot right up into the middle of the kitchen. Luckily marshmallows kind of stick together when they are charring so I just put a fork in one side and the whole sweet top came off. I carried it aflame to the sink and ran water over it. No need to call the fire department. They were served sans marshmallows. Since only my husband and son-in-law like sweet potatoes, they were the only two affected).

This year after dinner we sat around and talked, watched some lame football games and ate again. It was a lovely kind of day. And that's what I'm thinking about.

Duologue for oboe and piano

I am listening to the CD of a friend who is on the music faculty at a local university. Elizabeth is also the principal oboist for the local philharmonic (or symphony - I do not know the difference).

Her faculty recital was this Fall and unable to attend I asked to hear the CD.

The music is modern. By that I mean the chords do not always resolve and sometimes the piano and the oboe seem to be playing from different sheets of music....but of course it has all been memorized so there are no sheets of music.

I played clarinet in the high school band and orchestra. A Sousa march or a Lerner and Lowe number from a Broadway musical was challenging music in those days.

I classify her music as 'high' culture. The ear must be okay with dissonance. I believe the manuscripts are written in order for every single note which can be played on the instrument is indeed played during each piece. Elizabeth's playing is passionate, the clear tones of the oboe haunting.

And so, there is oboe and piano; oboe and tenor; oboe and horn.

I am enthralled.

I feel a little more cultured this afternoon than I did this morning. When I am around Elizabeth a little of that culture can't help but rub off. And that's what I think about it.

The ants go marching one by one

It is cold in southern Indiana.

And the local ants, which I have believed all my life to be cold-blooded, have come inside to get warm and hunt for snacks.

Last fall they came inside and were summarily dispatched by my hunter husband. They have returned. Apparently last year a few did not eat the deadly poison he put out for them to carry back to their nest even though every friend ant was raving about how good it tasted. A few survived to live another season...and procreate...and become cold in the fall.

So again the deadly traps have been put out this time inconspicuously on the counter in order for Kat Karson not to get into them.

It is very difficult to watch ants swarm over your counter tops and stand back and allow them to do just that, knowing that if you dispatch them yourself they will not be carrying the poison back to the nest. Yet it does give some satisfaction to smash several dozen of them to their death with a wet paper towel.

That's what I think about it....and I think that no one reading this will come to dinner for a long time.

Oh to be 20 again

Just returned from a birthday party for my 20-year-old grand daughter. A unique array of gifts were given: cat food, litter, feather toys, cat carrier, dishes for food and water and, yes, a kitten.

Did I mention that all the gifts were pink? Even the litter box was a rosy shade.

The cat, now named Wilma, is a 'rescued' animal through PAWS.

Rescued to live with a college student and share a room in a house which already boasts one cat. She is sure they will all get along famously.

The birthday cake, a pink and white confection was decorated with the 'Hello Kitty' theme.

If technology can be trusted, and learned, you will soon see a picture of the celebrant and her gift.

And as they say, a good time was had by all.

That's what I'm thinking about.

No Wonder Then

The headlines for the little news snippet in this morning's paper read "Monks brawl, two arrested at Christian holy site in Jerusalem."

And we wonder why world leaders, many of whom do not even pretend to be spiritual beings, can't get along?

If it were not so sad, it would be funny. Come to think of it, it is sad but it is also funny.

And that's what I think about it. And yes, I did chuckle.

My Cabinet Posts if Elected

Secretary of Defense...and Offense, assuring that every Ohio State football game is aired on television.

Secretary of Interior...Design.

Secretary of Labor...formerly known as Mother's Day

Secretary of State...of the Arts

Secretary of Diversity...in charge of separating colors of M & Ms and flavors of Jelly Beans.

Secretary of Birthdays...everyone will get a card on their birthday.

Secretary of Commerce...sales everyday.

Secretary of Homeland Security...blanket.

Vice-President? Neil Diamond.....don't ask.

That's what I think about it.

Last week I celebrated my birthday.

It is the latest in a long string of birthdays, each celebrated one way or another.

Last week it was breakfast at IHOP with a group of ten women I meet with regularly. Gifts were given and I marveled at how well they have come to know me in the few short years since we moved to southern Indiana.

The first birthday I can remember was age three. A photo of a proud little girl carrying a two-layered, home-made chocolate cake with three candle on it confirms my memory.

Can you believe I can still hear my parents, one saying to be careful, the other asking the first if my carrying the cake such a distance to the porch was a good idea. Apparently there were no mishaps since surely I would have remembered dropping the main course of the celebration.

Cards and face book messages were received from relatives and friends, with kind notes about having a good year or thanks for being part of their lives. Sadly, and embarrassingly, I am not a card sender, just a card receiver. I am not sure I know when my sisters' birthdays are; okay, one I know because it's right after Christmas which never quite seemed fair to me.

Former bosses and co-workers, casual acquaintances, Ecards from folks I'd helped with their adoptions...how do these people keep track of birthdays?

Like years past, this year I vow to start celebrating other lives in the same way they celebrate mine. I will get cards, stamps and a little calendar with dates on it. I will remember to send cards early...or really cute belated cards late.

I will let you know how I do. If you want a card from me, email me your birth date. I think this just may be the year I get it done. And that's what I think about it.

One Person

Just read an update from a friend who is traveling in Rwanda preaching in prisons. He is with a team taking supplies and toys to those jailed. Children as young as two, many born while their mothers were incarcerated, live in dirt-floored cells.

Another update, this one from Haiti, advises me that their much needed generator is 'on the boat' and should arrive in a few days. In the Haitian heat my friends have had to use what little electricity they could rig up to keep food from spoiling. Through all this, they faithfully opened school everyday to teach over 300 students who do not take education for granted but have a hunger to learn.

Friends in Ethiopia finally were able to get a plumber to agree to come to their home this week. For a month or more they have been sharing an outside source of water with people in an adjoining building. They are working with a group to provide business development to increase exports from Ethiopia.

So, as I sit here, warm, dry - with running water, electricity - with the freedom to pick up and go anytime I wish, I realize anew that these are blessings that millions around the world do not ever hope to achieve. Sadly, I take them for granted, not always, like now, I'm pretty much aware of how I live in wealth, but mostly, day by day, I forget how it is for most of the world.

The question for most of us when we come to some deep realization like this is, 'so what am I going to do about it?' Or more likely, 'what can one person do, the need is so great?' And yet above are three examples of people just like me who have gone where the need is great to do what they could, one person at a time effecting one life at a time.

And that's what I'm thinking about.

Another Pet Peeve

A few blogs ago I wrote about that little sign on the back of trucks which reads, "This truck makes wide right turns." There is a second pet peeve of mine which also has to do with trucks.

On the back of many trucks, along with the above mentioned sign is the notice, "If you can't see my mirrors, then I can't see you."

And why is this my problem?

If you can't see my vehicle driving behind you in your mirrors, get bigger mirrors. If those stick out too much to be legal, then drive shorter trucks.

A truck company's engineering design flaws should not be my problem.

And that's what I think about it.

Face book

I am able, with some husband-help with the technology, to communicate with several thousand folks, by land line, cell phone, face book, blog, email and...egad, face to face.

I think I am losing my edge with the face to face stuff. No one talks back to me through the other media, unless I am ready and willing for them to do so.

Facial expressions do not have to be hidden, yawns stifled, whether they are yours or mine.

Today at lunch at a local restaurant my husband and I saw a couple enter whom we knew. I told Jim I'd go over after we ate and chat with them. The woman of the couple came over while I was in mid-fork...to chat. I said, as nicely as I could, and apparently too nicely for her to get the drift, "I was going to come over to say 'hi' after we'd eaten." She felt like she had saved me the trouble of coming over to her table by coming over to mine.

I was longing for my remote to mute her or minimize her or turn her off. There was no plug. I realized again why I love the computer. My agenda on my time. Or your agenda on your time.

I sound like a selfish recluse when I read this. Somehow I am okay with this.
That's what I think about it.

A Crummy Day...and yet

The Indianapolis Colts could not have looked worse...and on Sunday TV sports for all the world to see.

The high school girls' soccer team went down to defeat yesterday in the sectional semi-finals.

A grand daughter is sick.

My jeans are too tight...still.

And yet:

Ohio State won yesterday;

Michigan lost...and (hee hee) looked worse than the Colts look today.

Tomorrow the grand daughter will see the doctor.

Macy's and Sear's both have jeans in bigger sizes.

All in all, in perspective, life is pretty good.

That's what I think about it.

My Mother-in-Law

She was lost after her husband died. He was the center of her life, other than her Lord, protected her, found friends for them to hang out with, hung on himself until he could get them re-settled near family in Ohio from retirement years on the beach in South Carolina.

Then he was gone.

And most of the light left her life.

She stayed in the condo for a time, then needed smaller space to care for and more social interaction. We, the family, encouraged her to move into a Christian retirement home while she was still independent and could drive herself around. She went but told us over and over she just wanted to go be with her husband; she was ready to die.

A few months of adjustment and a few years of 'new normal,' she continued to bake cookies each week for the staff at the Christian Children's Home of Ohio. Indeed, her one comment about the small apartment she was moving to was that the oven was too small to accommodate her baking needs. When my husband, her son, would show up to work at the children's home on Friday the staff would be waiting. That was 'cookie day.' And if he wanted any cooperation from them that day, he had better have the cookies.

Anyway, the apartment got too much for her, she was falling, wandering, losing her way. Assisted living was next, her favorite furnishings moved to one room close to a nurses' station. A cane, a walker, a wheelchair, and a few months of a 'new normal' followed in too rapid succession.

Then nursing care. There was no normal here. Rapidly she declined. Slowly she 'left' us, sitting vacantly in front of the TV, unable to interact. Two days ago she had a major stroke. Today as I type this it is only a matter of days, perhaps hours until my husband calls to tell me that she has gotten her desire. I am happy for her on some level and for the family who have no regrets about their involvement and care for her.

Those who will see her at the funeral home will remember her holiday entertaining, cookies made weeks in advance and frozen, never sitting down for a dinner but up and around making sure plates and bowls were filled. In high school she had the lead in the senior class play. She played a pretty decent game of golf once, won many spelling bees at the christian home, knitted afghans for new moms in Ukraine to wrap their little ones in, planted flowers as a volunteer, stayed in the background and spent her life caring for people.

Soon she will be cared for in the arms of Jesus. It's been her goal for a long time.

Candlelight Dinner

Here I am at the second annual Candlelight Dinner where 79 hostesses take bare eight-foot tables and set and decorate them for eight guests each using any theme they wish.

Two creative hostesses had chocolate fountains as their centerpieces. Another used red roses to highlight silver candelabras. Two promoted support for the US troops overseas, another the US Navy.

Disney princesses were prevalent along with a table encouraging ladies to help find a cure for juvenile diabetes. From South Africa to Haiti to European countries tables were filled with travel memorabilia and photos. From honoring ancestors to celebrating a birthday to spending time on the beach, hostesses used every bit of creative genius to bring their ideas to life.

The speaker was hilarious yet had a message. The food was delicious and those special centerpieces (cakes, fruit, chocolate fountains) were enjoyed by everyone passing by the tables. The committee was exhausted after months of planning and two days of setting up.

And, as they say, a good time was had by all.

Not A Proud Moment

So, we were at Senior Night for the high school soccer team. Grand daughter Taylor's last hurrah on the home field. After the game parents walked their seniors across the field to the applause of the fans who had stayed around to celebrate. I stood, a little elevated, on the bleachers to get a good shot of Taylor walking across the field. I waited through the first players announced and positioned myself to get a good shot when her name was called .

When out of nowhere I hear, "Sit down."

I turned to see who might have spoken and a woman who was sitting a few rows above me said again so I would not miss that it was she who spoke, "Sit down!"

I motioned with my camera and said, "I'm just going to take this one picture." And I turned back around to face the field.

She, a little louder and more insistent, said, "I don't care, sit down, I can't see."

I slowly turned back to her and suggested in my quiet, syrupy-sweet, mother-to-child voice, "Then stand up."

Not my proudest moment, but I did get some great shots of Taylor with her friends congratulating her and hugs all around.

And that's what I'm thinking about today.

Enough Already

One month to go before the national election. I hope you are registered and I hope you vote.

I have seen 11 presidential elections. My candidates did not always win. Sometimes when they didn't the country was probably better off; other times I'm not so sure.

Yet I believe the big winners on election day are those of us who can again gain some control over the TV, radio and print media. We can go back to mindless programming of our choosing. The bombardment of negativity and who said and did what and to whom will be stilled for a time.

This election has dragged on longer than others I remember. And through those eleven national elections there has been a downward spiral away from real issues and into gossip, innuendo
and downright mistruths...(commonly called lies, but we must be politically correct and not hurt any one's reputation or self-esteem by calling people liars).

We have the checks and balances of three branches of government. No two people (president and vice-president) will wield the amount of power that their opponents warn us against. With more say-so than the Queen of England, they have much less than the Sultan of Brunei. With authority somewhere in between, they represent our country to the world.

For four years.

And then we can begin all over again.

Vote.

Autumn

Fall has, well, fallen upon southern Indiana. This is the last week of soccer. Nights are cool; days are warm but without the humidity. The mums are in full bloom, the two we planted...the other two dried behind the pool wall and never saw the dirt of earth.

Orange and brown dominate the store landscapes as Halloween and Thanksgiving decorations lure shoppers with the guilt that each house, yard, mantel, table and door front should have a hanging artifact that declares to the world that you, the homeowner, know that the seasons have changed and are embracing the change. And I know that some of you reading this are sporting pumpkin pins and sweatshirts....(note to self: add this to the list of old people behaviors...see previous blog).

Do you sometimes wish we could change our lives as easily and with the same lack of fuss that we change seasons? Prescribed colors, holiday themes and slogans make seasonal change a no-brainer. Sometimes I wonder if we embrace the seasonal change with such passion in order for us not to have to figure out the colors, themes and slogans of our own lives.

That's what I'm thinking about today.

Trying to Pull a Fast One

Anyway you title it, the savvy eater will know that at its core it is meatloaf. One does not need be a connoisseur to see the advertising trickery behind fiesta patty, porcupine balls, marvelous meat cake, beef roll and simply fabulous pork loaf. It is all meat loaf in one form or another.

My husband has bad memories of cafeteria food at Ohio State where to this day he is sure that the staff served the left-over meat from the day before, simply creating names and adding ingredients until the original base meat could not be identified.

Yet as I sit here writing, the aroma of fabulous mini-meat loaves wafts through the air from the oven where I have not six, not 12, but 20 loaves baking. Topped with a spoonful of salsa mixed with chili powder with a sprinkling of cheese on top, I think the family may find these mini-loaves tasty.

The alternative to meat loaf for dinner is reservations at a restaurant of their choice. I will let you know how it goes.

That's what I'm thinking about today.

Old People

Nearly ten years ago a co-worker and I who are the same age decided to write a book about Old People. Our idea was to compile a list of behaviors that identified someone as an old person, regardless of their chronological age.

We agreed that we, and four or five other co-workers would form a bond and hold each other accountable for not exhibiting any of these traits. We would be the OPP or, Old People Police, alerting anyone in the group about traits that might label them as someone getting older.

I recently came across an old email from my co-author, one we were mailing back and forth adding items for the book. I list a few of them here. Old People:

-have clip-on sun glasses
-have standing hair appointments on Friday
-carry Styrofoam containers out of restaurants
-have a kissing Dutch couple in their front flower bed
-wear big jeweled rings on every finger
-have a button box
-talk louder into the phone when it is a long-distance call
-have white, boxer-like cotton underwear
-read Reminisce
-use words like malarkey and bologna
-sip drinks through little pursed lips
-carry their purses over their forearm
-have boxes of tissues in their cars
-wear knee-hi nylons with skirts, rolled down to their ankles
-have a gas usage booklet stuck in the car visor
-line up their pills by their water glasses in restaurants
-take sweetener packets home from restaurants
-buy ribbon candy at Christmas and throw it out in April
-place fold-up aluminum chairs on either side of their shiny globe lawn ornament to make 'an arrangement'

And now that I'm thinking about it I say, "So?"

Our Big Adventure

On the search for the perfect winter formal dress four of us, Taylor, her sister Brittany, Lola (their aunt) and I headed for Louisville, two hours away. I really did think we could get there before the winds from Ike reached us. Au contrare!

Two accidents we saw in Louisville. One car had been hit by a falling tree head-on on an eight-lane highway. The windshield was pushed into the back seat. The driver was probably going sixty. The tree was probably going that also. Another tree fell on the middle of the roof of another car nearly cutting the vehicle in half, again right on the Xpressway. I just hurried along to the shopping mall.

And in a half hour we had found the perfect dress. Which I would post here but then Taylor's friends may be able to see the dress before the dance which would never do.

We were hungry and happy and headed for The Cheesecake Factory, our mouths watering and our imaginations running wild about what we would order there and what kind of cheesecake we would have at the end of our meal. We held on to each other in the wind as we made our way across the parking lot to the restaurant.

The restaurant was dark. And it was closed. The servers were still there but the power was out so they could not serve guests. Major disappointment from which we rebounded to try Logan's Steakhouse; same deal, no power. Then Wendy's, McDonald's, the Kroger store was closed and the gas stations...and we were really hungry.

What could we do? Louisville was without power, so we headed back to southern Indiana and thanks to the GPS found a fine restaurant open and with power an hour from the city.

But we found the perfect dress (which I dare not even describe to you).

It was dangerous to be out driving, debris flying around, wind gusts shoving cars out of their lanes but we had no incident befall us.

Oh yes, perhaps this one more thing. When Lola returned to her home, the neighbor's tree had fallen over the fence onto her garage and her house. The garage is a total loss, but the good thing is, if the garage had not been there and taken the brunt of the force, the house would be missing two rooms. This morning a 40-ton crane showed up to lift the tree from the garage and house.

That's what I'm thinking about.

Gas Hunt

Thanks to our local media, which reported that some gas station owners are afraid of running out of gasoline because of hurricane Ike, there has been a run on gas. Long lines of anxious drivers wind up and down the highways creeping forward to get their ten gallons of gas (the local maximum).

Gasoline, which has been sitting underground at the stations for a week, now costs a dollar more. People, It's the same gasoline they had, and didn't sell, yesterday!

And still I hear people remark that they 'have the number' of the media. They, the people, are not going to get sucked into believing everything they hear. They, the people, are going to be discerning and make up their own minds about what the truth is. They, the people, know that media bias infuses every word out of the talking heads. They, the people, will not believe all that they hear.

Apparently not.

That's what I think about it.

9.11

Please read my friend's blog about his experience on 9.11. You will find
Far from the Madding Crowd at http://martyandry.blogspot.com/

Drums

One of my first blogs was about my percussion teacher, then a high school senior. Now he is a freshman at a university in Nashville. Naturally his major is percussion.

The first week of school there were auditions in front of a panel to determine which student would be assigned to which faculty member.

Tension ran high because one of the auditors was a world-famous drummer. Of course I had never heard of him, him with the one word name...and that starting with Z.

But it went well for my friend. He felt good about how he had performed. Although Mr. Z is not going to be on the faculty at this school the instructor assigned to my friend is the drummer for Phil Collins and Genesis.

No, I am not real sure who they are either...OK, I have heard of Phil Collins and could probably pick him out of a line-up. Yet this does sound like a very good connection to have in the music world.

So I am happy for him and look forward to following his career. That's what I'm thinking about today.

Hawk

He was about the size of a bread box, if you can remember what those look like.

I was just minding my own business, sitting at the table in front of the glass doors to the porch opening up my computer to the news and weather, drinking my morning tea and suddenly "Whack!" Windows rattled in the door. I was startled but looked up in time to see a hawk hit the porch floor.

Intellectually I knew he could not get in through the door to attack me but emotionally I did not want to take any chances so I tip-toed over to the door and peered out and down. He looked out for the count, a long count. Who do I call, I pondered, since I believed that hawks were an endangered species. Could I in anyway be blamed for this poor creature's demise?

Then, from his upside down position, I thought I saw his little wingtip flutter, or was it my imagination? Then a definite flutter, and another and then both wings were weakly trying to flap. Even upside down, or a little askew, he looked formidable. He was struggling but he was on his own. I was not about to open the door and help the creature, after all I saw Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds. Slowly up righting himself to a severe list he took a step and fell. Up again, tentative step and over he went again.

However you have to hand it to the tenacity of living things to want to survive. My cat, KatKarson, hearing the ruckus had meandered (Maine Coons do not speed) over to the window. Whether it was the sight of a cat who outweighed him by a few pounds or the fact that he really was recovering, the hawk spread out his wings and with a little list to starboard soared back out into the woods.

My tea was lukewarm. That's what I'm thinking about.

Labor Day

This holiday should be combined with Mother's Day.

The first Monday in September should be named Workers' Day.

Anyone without employment, and over the age of, say, eight, would be required to take over all household duties for the day: laundry, cooking, cleaning, ironing (if anyone does that anymore), pet care, bed making, nursing, shuttling, lawn work, refereeing, gardening, bill paying, car washing (and filling with gas) . A day spent in this way would encourage those who are loafing about watching TV and texting their friends and face booking their BFFs that eight hours of work almost anywhere beats 24 hours of labor inside a home.

And that's what I think about it.

My Eclectic Book List

A few books I read this week:

We wish to inform you that tomorrow we will be killed with our families: stories from Rwanda by Philip Gourevitch

I'm Fine with God...It's Christians I Can't Stand: Getting Past the Religious Garbage in the Search for Spiritual Truth by Bruce Bickel and Stand Jantz

The Almond Picker by Simonetta Agnello Hornby (translated from the Italian)

Sea Glass by Anita Shreve

The Quiet River by P.M. Hubbard

Two Destinies One Fate by Mariah Williams, my 14-year old friend who has now completed perhaps two chapters of her fantasy novel and has set up the plot and characters very nicely. She names me on the dedication page as "the teacher I had for creative writing for so many years." It is a joy to see her talent blossom.

Jealousy

It is a little green monster and I have been touched with a plague of it this week.

First, an innocuous chatty email from a dear friend mentioned that she and her husband had signed up for a trip to Egypt. In the same email she said that another friend of ours was planning to leave for Croatia to visit. If that didn't beat all, another dear friend who had been reading this blog got in touch with me to catch up and said she was meeting her husband (who is in the Middle East) in Munich for two weeks.

A friend's blog reported on her day-to-day day adventures in Afghanistan.

Another blog has an acquaintance leaving for Tanzania in a week.

And a close friend left last week to return to Haiti where she calls home.

Another blog reader spends a couple weeks every summer in the south of France.

And me? I am stuck in southern Indiana feeling very sorry for myself and jealous. Hey, I'm thinking, my passport is up to date. On the one hand I want to be happy for these folks who will see more of the world and have grand stories to tell. On the other hand...well, you know the other hand. Give me some time. Perhaps each will send a postcard or bring me a souvenir.

And that's what I think about it.

GPS

It seemed like a nice birthday gift. I gave it to my husband early so he could play with his new Garman.

He selected the British English as the voice he would hear directing him to his destinations.

Unfortunately we were not going anywhere new and so my husband resorted to typing in the address of the church and on another day the address of our favorite breakfast place (see previous blog). Again unfortunately, we have several routes to both places and the Garman would often pipe up with 'recalculating' and direct us from whatever road we had turned on. One time, on a trip to the post office she kept repeating, "Make a U-turn as soon as legal." Jim shut her off.

The saddest thing about this gift was something I overheard my husband telling a friend, "I love this GPS. The voice is so polite. None of this, 'Why didn't you turn three miles back?' "
Ouch!

And yet all good things must come to an end and this morning when once again the Garman lady attempted to direct us a different way to a destination we knew like the back of our hand, Jim said, "There goes the British hag."

My daughter and I would like to propose that Garman create a 'wife' voice for their product. One where the wife can record, "You're way over the speed limit," "Whatever possessed you to take this route?," or "I would have told you if you'd have asked." But for now we'll stick to our polite, even-keeled British matron who is consistent and even-tempered, even in the face of cynicism and sarcasm and name-calling.

And that's what I think about it.

So many books, so little time

Last weekend the library hosted their annual book sale. Hardbacks a dollar; soft covers at .50! Books set out by the thousands on long tables up and down the middle of the mall. Overhead signs identified the type of book at those tables beneath: western, science fiction, biographies, mysteries, how-to books, religious books, every genre that the library offers on its shelves was on sale, including CDs, children's books, and movies.

We shopped both days of the sale. The first day was crowded with folks who did not fit my stereotype of the 'bookie.' Pushy and rude, they came pulling rolling carts and suitcases to put their choices in so they wouldn't have to carry books around from table to table. The fiction table was rung with a solid wall of shoppers. Breaking into the slowly moving circle was nearly impossible. Perhaps a place would open up when a cell phone rang, or a child ran up to hug a parent or when the person in line had looked at all sides of the table.

Yet even this was a problem because the volunteers continued to put out books. As soon as books were plucked off the table for sale volunteers stuffed new titles in their place so one could potentially go around and around to a never-ending supply of 'new' titles.

Perseverance paid off. I am typing this and looking at our dining room table. I am thinking Christmas morning. Stacked atop are 72 'new' books. That's a season's worth of reading and I am looking forward to the chillier Fall weather and the snows of winter.

That's what I'm thinking about.

Olympics

Every two years, alternating between winter and summer, I become more of a couch potato than usual. I can't get enough of the games.

Example, one morning I stayed up until 1 AM to watch the men's basketball game and set the phone alarm to wake me at 4 AM for women's soccer.

Jim printed out an 18-page TV guide to every channel every day showing every event.

Videos of travel sites in China take me back with fond memories of wandering around the Forbidden City, Tienanmen Square and scrambling along the Great Wall. OK, I didn't scramble exactly, perhaps sauntered around pretending I was watching for marauding hoards of Huns coming over the mountains. No one ever accused me of having a dull imagination.

But that was four years ago. China had been named host of the Olympics and they had already begun to move dozens of families out of areas where Olympic venues were to be built. China wanted to put their best foot forward and began cleaning up their space. They were determined to look good in the sight of the watching world.

The lengths they would go to do this was further revealed this afternoon when it was discovered that the darling little 9-year old singer during the opening ceremonies was really lip-syncing. The real voice was emanating from a very talented 9-year old with an unfortunate overbite. The Chinese did not want her to represent them and so picked a perfect little specimen of childhood with straight white teeth to put in the spotlight.

It hardly merits mention then since it is so obvious that countries and people are very similar in this aspect. People cover up flaws with make-up, clothes, false confidence, braggadocio (just love spell check) lip-syncing or bold lies, hoping that no one finds them out, finds out who or what they really are. Like countries we spend a lot of energy trying to hide who we are so people will think the best of us.

A lot of energy. A lot of wasted energy. And that's what I think about it.

Haiti

Some have asked about the photo at the top of this page. I took it a couple years ago standing on the Northwest shore of Haiti, outside Sonlight Academy. So serene and peaceful, it belies the anxiety and fear that pervades the lives of people in this poorest country in the western hemisphere.

But Haiti has a ray of hope.

Many of the Sonlight graduates come to the United States for college. Most desire to return to Haiti to bring a new measure of optimism to the people there in the form of teaching, medicine, politics.

Some embrace the higher promise of Sonlight Academy, the hope of eternal life. That is the parallel education that students receive as they learn English, literature, history and math. By the time a student graduates from Sonlight they are tri-lingual, knowing Creole, French and English.

As I stuggle along with my English they put me to shame.

That's what I'm thinking about today.

The Measure of Success

John Foster Dulles said, "The measure of success is not whether you have a tough problem to deal with, but whether it is the same problem you had last year."

Let's see. Last August I was going through the hassle of applying for graduate school. Not a problem this August.

Last August I was agonizing over taking an over-seas trip. Not a problem this August.

Last August I was trying to get in shape.....wait, wait, now I'm meddling.

The message is, if it's a problem it needs to be addressed. Make a decision. Find a good friend to run some options by. Say yes and jump in or say no with confidence. Although I have heard of some problems just simply going away on their own, many just stick around festering and taking up room in the back of our minds. Those are the ones that wake us up at 3 AM or create tight shoulders or headaches. They pop up unbidden at odd times.

Mostly these concerns take up valuable energy and let's face it, we have a finite amount of that and less as we age.

Anyway, that's what I think about it.

"Snakes! Snakes!"

"Snakes! Snakes!"

As I turned to look everyone began running toward the yelling. Toward!

My first thought, and it was one of pure terror, was to sprint quickly in the other direction.

Let me back up a bit. We found ourselves on an ecological tour to Borneo, my husband and I. Our little lodge was built up from the ground about four feet. Clever, I thought. What a good way to capture what little breeze there might be in this steamy sauna climate and have it circulate around the rooms. Elevated walkways ran from room to room to dining area. Nestled at the bottom of thick jungle walls, the staff fought a relentless battle to keep the jungle from encroaching upon this little piece of civilization.

At the first sound of "Snake! Snake!" Jim pivoted, heading toward the sound. Not wanting to be left behind I quickly followed.

Guests were lined up against the railing of the walkway pointing out into the grassy area over which the lodge had been constructed.

And what to my wondering eyes should appear?

Cobras!

Slithering back up into the jungle for the night. The lodge had been build over a daily migration path used by cobras! Twice daily cobras appeared out of the jungle and then in the evening disappeared back into the jungle.

I slept with my boots on from that night forward.

And that's what I'm thinking about.

Chain Letter & Recent Reads

How to Read Literature Like a Professor is described as a 'lively and entertaining' look at the world of literature. Required summer reading for a grand daughter I sometimes go through her 'must reads' along with her and then have a 'lively and entertaining' discussion about what we have read. The author is so excited about world literature and very well-read. We all know, for example, that the original tale for the modern musical West Side Story is stolen, excuse me 'borrowed', from Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. It seems that not much is new under the sun. Would I recommend it? Only if you are a high school senior, a lit major at university or a very supportive grand mother. I would tell you the author but I forget...and you are not going to read it anyway now, are you?

The Color of Water: A Black Man's Tribute to His White Mother by James McBride is a lovely memoir encouraging us to listen to the story of our elders, even if we have to pry it out of them and even if it turns out to be dark and unpleasant.

Loving Frank by Nancy Horton centers on the life of Frank Lloyd Wright and his long-time affair with Mamah Cheney. The story is tragic on so many levels. It is well-written; Horton's first published novel.

Remember the chain mail letters of the 50s? I received an update on that idea when a friend sent one recently concerning a book exchange. There was a name and address on the back of the letter. The sender (not the one on the back of the letter) enclosed six of her own address labels for me to affix to six new copies of the letter. I was to send a pre-read paper-back book to the name on the back of my letter, copy the letter six times and affix one of the sender's address labels to the back of each and mail them off to six friends along with six of my own address labels (36 labels in all). My friends, all six of them, would then copy the letter, put one of my address labels on the back of each, enclose six of their own labels and send the letters off to six of their friends. Each of my six would also send one book to the person listed on the back of the letter I sent. Ideally one would receive 36 books in a matter of weeks.

Having difficulty following the above paragraph?

If you answered yes, then you are probably of the male gender. I tried to explain the process to my husband and he finally turned to me and said, "Honey, all I'm hearing is 'blah, blah, blah, blah, blah'."

And that's what I'm thinking about.

Why are people like that?

The county fair was last week. My grand daughter (T) parked cars at the fairgrounds several days as a fund-raiser for the high school soccer team.

If you want to see the real character of people revealed, park cars at a fair.

Drivers swerved around T as she put up her hand for them to stop as they raced to park in isles and double- and triple-parked with no regard for those they were hemming in.

A woman who was having an argument with her husband about where to park, decided that T was wrong about all the spots being taken and, rolling up her car window and shutting out any further instruction from the parking lot guide, ordered her husband to forge ahead, creating a bottle-neck when they were forced to back up to get out of the lot.

This bottle-neck produced at least one irate fair-goer who told T that she was doing a terrible job of parking cars.

But taking the cake for questionable behavior was the woman who drove up in her huge SUV and wanted to park in a very close lot. T told her that the lot to which she referred was designated handicapped parking only. The woman said she would park there. T mentioned that she didn't have a handicapped sticker showing on her car. She hotly replied, "I'm not handicapped, I'm tired, and I'm not going to walk any further." Whipping around T she pulled into the handicapped lot.

Once there was a show on TV, may still be, titled Men Behaving Badly.

Most of the folks mentioned here were women. Is this what equal rights has come down to?

That's what I'm thinking about.

Snapping turtles

Our local paper ran a little article this week about a man with the amazing ability to hypnotize snapping turtles.

He would lay the turtle on its back and slowly rub its tummy and after a while lick the turtle's eyelids over and over. The turtle would be mesmerized and fall into a deep trance. This had worked many times for him much to the delight of his friends who were always asking him to perform this trick at cook-outs and parties .

Predictably then, he got hold of the one snapping turtle who had not read the accounts of the man's talent or did not appreciate it or at least did not succumb. When that tongue headed toward his eyelids the turtle snapped out, took hold and hung on clamping down in a vice. The assembled crowd was both disgusted and enthralled. The man's brother pried the little jaws apart with a stick and then, blood spewing and gushing everywhere, drove his brother to the hospital. They were able to stitch up what was left of his tongue.

The turtle crawled away with a nice little snack.

The man talked funny for ever after.

Bella

One baby abandoned by a too young, too poor, too something mother....

The same baby scooped into the loving arms of a remarkable couple who have waited long enough to become parents.

So I went shopping yesterday, one of the few times I get into a baby section of a store anymore now that my youngest grandchildren are 15. How cute these little clothes are. Isabella only weighs five pounds so she will swim in the cute little lilac church dress I found.

This morning our Wednesday breakfast group had a shower for Isabella. The parents were not there but the grandmother was, and two aunts. Grandma opened the gifts and we oohed and aahed over the little socks and onesies and dresses. She will re-wrap the gifts so the mom and dad can re-open them later.

I helped with an adoption in Ohio once and thought to myself then when I saw a six-year-old who had been through too many foster homes find a couple who had been through too many adoption agencies find each other, "This child has hit the jackpot." I am thinking the same thing now.

Isabella has hit the jackpot.

She will have a ready made crowd of family and cousins, one born within weeks of her own birth. They will grow up in Haiti with loving uncles and aunts and grandparents who just do not come any finer. She'll have educational opportunities and a faith-based life.

God is so good.

Speedy Greek Week

I have wondered, not often but once in a great while, like twice in my life, once at the age of 20 and another time at about 32, what is the exact meaning of "Greek Week" or "Rush" at universities within the Greek system. I thought I had it figured out but I was wrong.

Now I know.

It denotes that period of time, drastically condensed, when on-line summer Greek students rush through their last few weeks of class in order to have a life before Fall.

How do I know this?

Last week I zipped through weeks 9 and 10 of my on-line summer Greek course. In front of me right now are weeks 11, 12 and 13. Neatly stacked and waiting for me to jump in are the lecture CDs, the PowerPoint presentations and various other class handouts for the weeks.

If the temperatures stay in the 90s and I am forced to stay indoors during the afternoons, instead of taking a little nap (which really I find hard to do although my husband can fall asleep anywhere at anytime and in 20 minutes wake up refreshed. One time he was caught napping during a very boring union negotiation meeting. But he claimed he heard every dull and angry word and only his eyes were not in use. Not me.....but I digress) I should be able to finish up the class by, say, Wednesday. I'll keep you posted.

Keeping you posted on this progress may be the only thing that might delay my finishing by the set goal. Thinking of you out there reading this stuff is much more fun and entertaining.

That's what I think about it.

Arts and Life

Not thinking about much today.

Arts Smarts Camp ends today. A week where kids pick out three (from 30) hands-on classes to take. Offered are such crafts as : carpentry, cooking, cake decorating, crocheting, knitting, duct tape art, mosaic, drums, keyboard, bass, signing, singing, writing, theater production, movie making or the class I am helping with....3-D Art Spree, a montage of messy art for the elementary grades.

The kids are very diverse. Some will take a lump of clay and work it and knead it and turn it over and over in their hands waiting for the inspiration of what this lump of clay can become. Others, most often boys, will start right in, tearing off little pieces, rolling out snakes, lumping it all back together to start rolling all over again...for 50 minutes. Their hands are black, also their tee shirts, the floor is dotted with little droppings of clay. They are having such a good time. Mostly they do not have a project to show mom and dad that might justify the camp fee, but they sure are having fun.

On another day when kids see the flour, sugar and water paste that they will need to get their hands into in order to create fabric macrame some, mostly girls this time, are likely to give you an "Ugh!" or "Ewww!" while the boys are happily playing pat-a-cake with paste-covered hands.

Adults are very diverse also. Some enjoy things, like their lives, neat and tidy. Others love the mess that comes from change and not knowing and guessing about what their day may bring. The former walk around with PDAs. The latter sit around waiting for someone to join them in an adventure. Sometimes I am one; other times the other. No, sadly I think my family would disagree. Regardless of what I like to believe, I so yearn to have a neat orderly life. But since it isn't always that way, I believe am learning to embrace the adventure of the mess.

That's what I'm thinking about.

Life in Rural Indiana

Ran into a friend this morning. "Guess where I went last night?" she queried. Knowing I would never come up with the correct answer she went on, "To the fair grounds to watch pig wrestling."

I looked at her, but well, there's just no proper response to that.

She had been begged by another friend to go watch the friend's grand daughter wrestle a pig. Apparently this is a big To-D0 at the 4-H center.

Four people, in this case, four adult women, all of whom work together in a down town office, were in a pen about ten feet across. In the middle of the dirt ring was some sort of pedestal with a bucket of water on it. The idea is for the four contestants to pick up the pig and place him, or her, on the pedestal anyway they can.

They have a minute and a half. Many minute and a half matches went on for two and a half hours before the grand daughter took to the ring.

And oh, for adults they don't use those cute little pink piglet-sized animals. The adults wrestle full size hogs, three hundred pounds or so.

As my mind tried to get an image of how this activity might play itself out I could not help but wonder again at the cultural differences between where I am and where I was.

That's what I'm thinking about today.

Friends

Our current weekend sermon series on Friendship set me to remembering friends I've known over the years.

In elementary school Judy was my BFF (best friend forever). She and I walked home from school nearly every day. Since she lived closer to the school than I did we arrived at her house first. We would hang out and talk. She told me things about the workings of the human body that I knew could not possibly be true they were so far-fetched and bizarre. A few years later, I found out she knew what she was talking about.

In high school Mary Jane and I hung out. She was the only person I knew whose parents had gotten divorced. She lived with her mother and older sister, a college student. It seemed very strange to talk to her about her mother's boyfriends and hear her mother ask what she should wear out on a date.

In college my new friend Jane called me "Will" a shortened version of my maiden name. From Louisville, we would take off after classes on Friday, or before classes sometime, and drive to her home in a beat-up VW beetle. At some intersections when the engine would die, I would jump out and unstick the butterfly valve to get the thing going again. Her mother and dad were loving and welcoming. Jane eventually was asked to leave the college. I won't go into the reasons.

A current friend was telling me about friends she hangs out with that she has known since elementary school. They continue to meet and be involved with one anothers' lives. I can't imagine knowing anyone that long. I don't see my own sisters often enough to really say they are friends. The two of them have put up with me for decades. I appreciate it but we don't share little secrets like real friends. And they live states away.

Then there are Jill and Linda, and Amanda my navy commander friend. We have shared such great times. Trips to China, Australia, Greece, Ireland, Turkey and a wild rapid ride down the Niagara River (you can guess with which friend). But each of them lives states away.

We have lived here only five years so I am blessed to have some five-year friendships but they seem so new and untested in many ways. It takes years to get into someone else's life.

I do have a 30-year friendship but she lives in Tennessee. However, if I needed something or someone I'd call Debi. Like the Carole King song, "You just call on my name and you know where ever I am, I'll come running to see you again. Winter Spring Summer or Fall, all you have to do is call and I'll be there. You've got a friend."

That's what I'm thinking about today.

Sad News

I just received an email from my sister in California that my brother-in-law, whom I adore, has Alzheimer's. His doctor informed the Department of Motor Vehicles and they have asked my brother-in-law to come in for a driver's test.

When I was growing up Buck, my brother-in-law, was working for a defense company on some technical part of the Snark missile nose cone. I have always thought him to be one of the brightest people I've ever met. To hear that this brilliant mind is being reduced and eroded hurts.

Buck was born in a hovel along a creek bed in rural Oklahoma. He described it to me once as a dug out place along the river bank. Carter, Oklahoma. It does not make most maps. Jim and I drove around Carter, or what was left of it, one day a couple years ago. Found the elementary school; found the creek. Shook our heads at the poverty and decay that exists there even today and tried to imagine what growing up in this town without parents would be like.

It is to his credit and grit that he moved to California and finished college and became successful. An avid photographer, he built a dark room complete with rotating door in a my sister's dream home on top of a mountain in northern California.

Know what I am thinking about? I'm thinking about my few years of living in Los Angeles. I'm thinking about the erratic, maniacal drivers on the freeway and their hand gestures, speed, their darting in and out of traffic. And I am stunned to read that California has a Deparment of Motor Vehicles.

Recent Reads

Flies on the Butter by Denise Hildreth and The Shack by William P. Young are both good reads about forgiveness. If you consider yourself a conservative or fundamental Christian, forget about reading The Shack. Yesterday I read a 17-page debate about the book on the web. There was a lot of name calling.

Children of Jihad by Jared Cohen is about 'a young American's travels among the youth of the Middle East.' Jared is naive. Example, he tells a group of Hezbollah youth that he is an American Jew. Another time he falls asleep in a taxi and ends up in Mosul, Iraq. Yet his travels give us first-hand insight into the beliefs and behaviors of young people in Iran, Iraq, Lebanon and Syria.

Right now I'm reading Imperial Life in the Emerald City: Inside Iraq's Green Zone by Rajiv Chandrasekaran. Can't recommend it but I'm reading it. It may speak of more truth than I'm willing to accept.

Really Random Tuesday

1. Did you ever wonder how bath towels ever get dirty?

2. The rabbits out the front window are getting plump while the Hostas out in the back garden are looking sickly. Do you think there is a connection between the two?

3. Yes, some of you asked. The paper I was writing about last week, and putting off and putting off, was finally finished and submitted.

4. I friend of ours is right now at this moment in an oncologist's office learning the prognosis for her cancer. Her husband is with her and we are supporting them from afar.

5. Three grand children are this week down in Louisiana, helping with hurricane Katrina relief. Last year one learned dry-walling. I hope this year someone learns some plumbing.

6. I think about the thousands of abandoned babies in Ukraine and wonder why a lovely couple we know has to wade through mounds of red tape to adopt an orphan from Russia.

7. I think about a friend who was promoted to Commander in the navy this July 4 and know that the military is in good shape if they continue to recruit and promote such women.

8. I think about a CHINS (child in need of services) victim in this country and pray that she/he/they will be safe until I finish my CASA (Court Appointed Special Advocate) training and have them assigned to me.

9. My two daughters celebrated their birthdays recently. I am thinking how very blessed I am to live near them and to be a part of their lives (sometimes whether they want me to be or not - just kidding). Estrangements are so sad, even when necessary for survival. Family is the core that keeps life together while we walk this earth.

10. I think about my next week of Greek and know that I better put it on the top of my to-do list or I'll be whining about it to you in a blog or two.

Have a grand day. This is the stuff I'm thinking about today.

Wimp!

So we had just gotten to Cincinnati. Circled the hotel twice not sure about the one-way streets. Saw a big sign that said Hilton Valet. It was right outside a narrow down ramp. It was right outside a little glass door that said Hilton. It didn't look right to my husband. He pulled over to the curb. He said, "that does not look right." And so, with a cell phone in his pocket and the hotel phone number handy, and with men inside the little glass door, (I thought dressed like valets) my husband.....drum roll.....pulled away from the curb again out into the world of one-way streets in downtown Cincinnati.

I said, perhaps a little shrilly, "Where are you going?"

Yes, thinking back, very shrilly.

A couple of octaves above my normal voice range.

"It didn't look right," he offered.

But I couldn't quit! "The sign said "Valet." The glass doors said "Hilton." "You were parked by the curb." "Why didn't you call for directions from the curb outside the ramp that pointed down to Hilton valet?"

We drove around a couple more one-way streets...in silence. I grabbed my phone, called the number, took a deep breath, lowered my voice and asked the customer service representative who answered the phone, "Could you give me good directions to valet parking,...please?"

Well, of course, you know, it was right where we were.

It does remind me that men, being hunters from the very early cave man times, still have that hunt gene. It must seem like cheating in their minds to call and ask for directions. "Not fair. You asked," they will say to each other. "Wimp!" It is in the hunt for something, from valet parking, to a gas station, to their shoes or pizza in plain sight in the freezer. Asking takes away their manhood.

Aren't they cute?

That's what I'm thinking about today. Oh, and Happy Birthday America."

Sad

Just returned from our home-style restaurant (see previous blog) and observed something that made me sad.

At the table next to us sat a little boy about four, his dad, about 40 and the dad's dad, age around 75. During the meal the 40-year old's cell phone went off at least three times. Each time he answered and talked long and loud. One call was about scheduling his son's surgery for next week. No, I did not need that information but his voice was clearly carrying over to the surrounding tables. He addressed another caller as "Mr." and spoke with a tone of voice indicating to me that Mr. Somebody was indeed, somebody important. Again, I did not care.

What I cared about was the lack of interaction between the three of these guys. The young son ate in silence. The older man ate in silence. The middle guy talked. When he was not on the phone he talked about a trip he would be taking to Florida and then a trip he would take to New York over the July 4th weekend.

I admit it is hard sometimes to interact with those of another generation, be it older or younger. And yes, older folks can be hard of hearing. And younger kids can be ignored rather easily over grown-up conversation.

Of course, you are thinking, she doesn't know what the situation was. She is just guessing from this one observation that dad is a little 'into' himself, ignoring the two men who should mean the most to him in the world.

What am I really thinking about this.

I'm not happy that this guy could not extend the courtesy of turning his cell phone to vibrate in a public place. And before you jump to conclusions, yes, I always turn my phone to silent when we enter a public place. And yes, it does bug the heck out of me when I hear my husband's phone ringing out loud and clear with the Ohio State fight song. But that did not happen this morning.

That's what I think about it.

Futball

Sunday afternoon and I have my TV choice between golf, tennis, NASCAR, poker, baseball, animal Frisbee competition and futball. Yes, yes I could read a book or heaven forbid finish that pesky paper I wrote about yesterday but I opt for the European Championship Final in futball between Germany and Spain.

Ninety minutes of non-stop activity this game ended in a 1-0 victory for Spain. The Scottish announcer, first name Adrian, narrated. He came out with such verbal nuggets as, "I know you're lapping this up. I'm so glad you could join us," called one player the "Peroxide Bombshell," called the Turks the "Cardiac Kids from Turkey" which I thought had been trade marked by the Cleveland Browns, and the player who scored, "tucked it into the corner of the old onion bag."

Poor Germany was "again the bridesmaid."

If you've noticed, soccer is the global sport. If you've read "How Soccer Explains the World" by Franklin Foer you are aware of the importance of this game around the world. But not so much here in the USA. Not much action I've heard people say. Just teams running up the field and down the field, repeated until the final whistle. Although, think about it, there is something to be said for anyone who can run for 90 minutes especially while being chased by angry folks from another country shouting who knows why and calling you who knows what.

There was great security at this game today. Security personnel placed about four feet apart around the sides of the field and nearly three dozen additional in the goal areas, all facing the crowd. I don't know what ticket prices were but I do know that sometimes you volunteer to be an usher at a venue so you can get in free but here you couldn't watch the game. You had to keep your eyes on thousands of fans dressed in Halloween type get-ups. Surely their mothers did not see them leave the house. Oh wait, some of the most colorfully dressed were my age. If you read the above mentioned book you will note how the population of the world decreases after some soccer games and not in a 'natural cause' kind of way. Thus the watchful eye of security.

In Spain a major electronics manufacturer promised that if one bought a big screen TV to watch this match and Spain won, he would refund half of the purchase price. He's going to be out a pretty penny on this one.

I'm not thinking anything very profound about this except to ponder if our cultural arrogance has prevented us from joining with the rest of the world around this sport. Perhaps we like action and injury too much. Although with the death rates around the sport of futball we might feel right at home.

That's what I think about it.

Procrastination

I'm taking a summer class.

Greek!

And I have a paper due.

Next Tuesday!

And I've known about this paper being due next Tuesday since, let's see...April.

I am creative with my excuses and alibis for delaying getting it finished. Heck, I'm creative at finding excuses for not even getting it started.

The weather was really good last week and the porch and a few good recommended books took precedence. Another day, I wanted to spend some time with my daughters; it was a birthday after all. One day I determined to get up early and begin but got hungry and felt 'called' to our favorite restaurant for breakfast with Jim. When I returned home it was too late to get a good solid start on the paper. Too much caffeine another morning made me jittery with flight of ideas, nothing very scholarly unfortunately. Yesterday, just as I was preparing to put my name on page one, the cat got a hair ball. Today I am marveling at how lame these sound although they made perfect sense at the time. And right now, with the books spread out around me and the syllabus in front of me, it is much more enjoyable writing to my faceless blog friends (no offense implied to anyone).

Like a kid in a classroom I look at every car that passes the house, observe birds out in the lawn, rabbits chewing away on the same Hosta that came up in spite of their being desecrated last summer by the same bunnies. I can hear the news on TV coming from the next room in the house and wonder what my friends are doing. I look around this room for distractions and finding none, sit back and close my eyes and make up some glorious story about a student who was able to graduate with honors in spite of never having handed in a paper on time.

Back to reality. Tuesday is coming.

Just a Heloise Tip

If you are in a restaurant restroom and you notice food between your teeth, your earring post can be removed from your ear lobe and used as a make shift toothpick.

But be careful, earring posts can be sharp.

Don't ask me how I know this.

You're in the Army Now

You've probably seen pictures or read news stories about army buddies getting together year after year to recount their experiences in the military. My husband does not have a support group like that and as a result, I get to hear stories about his time in the National Guard.

It was in the 60s. Many people thought that the National Guard was state-side and thus not seeing any action. Au contrare. My husband was on duty during the worse flooding in Newark, Ohio; the trucker strike in Richfield, Ohio where armed citizens stood atop overpasses to shoot at big rigs as they careened down the highway, and he was in uniform at Kent State (now you might want to know that I also was at Kent State at this time, but not in uniform...but that is a story for another day).

I am in full 100% support of our troops. I have always felt that they are well-trained and led.

That said, my husband's military training leaves me puzzled.

One fine morning at Fort Knox, he and three others were ordered to get their driver's licenses for a 'deuce and a half' (see photo). These trucks are troop transports. The Sergeant who had been given the order to test these fine recruits bundled them into a jeep and went on a search for a truck in which to test their abilities None was to be found. Not wanting to fail at following orders, the Sergeant diligently looked all over the base for a truck, for an hour and a half. No luck. And so, he drove back to headquarters and signed all their licenses. They had all passed.

My ponderings? How much do these trucks cost to replace? What about pilots? Do they have 'real' licenses to fly? And tank drivers? And cooks?

My husband was in intelligence. It's scary really, but I still support our troops. One hundred percent.

That's what I'm thinking about today.

Respect

Last week one of my grand daughters and I began what will be a massive project. Ever her mother, she is starting on her senior project now (it is due next spring before graduation). This bio-book, as I call it, is sort of like a written scrap book where there is more writing than pictures but the pictures are scrap booked (see previous blog on my prowess in this area).

Half way through the morning we needed to put the project aside (we are in the picture sorting stage) to deliver food to the church for a funeral.

At the church we noticed four friends around a table. I knew all of these folks. I thought my grand daughter might remember most of them. Did I mention that three of the four were men? We walked up to the one woman and I said, “Norma, do you remember my grand daughter, Taylor?” Immediately two of the other men stood up for an introduction.

Stood!

Like you see in movies!

Like you are taught, or were taught, long ago in Manners Class!

Oh, how polite! How respectful!

And boy did we talk about that on our way home. About the respect men show women and how she, Taylor, should expect that level of respect from the men in her life.

The fact that these two men were from Haiti and the third from this culture may say more about the manners in Haiti than southern Indiana but that’s another story for another time.

And don’t think you won’t be walking through this Senior Project with us during the next year. I already wake up thinking about the work ahead of us.

That’s what I’m thinking about things today.

Everyone Knows Your Name

Just got back from breakfast at our very local restaurant.

Like the TV serial Cheers, at our place everyone knows your name. Also like Cheers most of the regulars know everyone else’s business. It’s a place that when they see you pull into the parking lot they put the coffee and ice water on the table. Our favorite server, Annette, waves from a distance but if busy, is not able to come over to the table to chat until our meals are ready. She already has them on order long before we walk in the door. There’s something to be said about predictability.

And drama.

Like the other TV sitcom, Mel’s Diner, there is a lot of drama at our local eatery. Drama on the job when one server steals tips from another’s table and drama in the personal lives: boyfriends, ex-husbands, kids running amok, serious illnesses, divorce. jail. And then there are the customers who order water or coffee and bring their own treats from the local bakery and play cards all morning with their friends, all in their eighties. When I’m eighty maybe I’ll have that kind of nerve.

Twice we’ve seen the police talking to cooks and bus boys at the back door of the place. My imagination runs wild but I’ll wait to report on that when I see it in the newspaper.

The food is good. And cheap.

No one is in a hurry for the table to be vacated and we sit and drink coffee and work the morning Sudoku, crossword puzzles and word scrambles.

And listen. We hear Bible studies in one corner, in another home builders on the phone with their work crews who are already at a job site, a pastor meeting with two of her parishioners, job seekers being interviewed for jobs, a regular who is now walking with a cane.

And a 101- year old who could not even be four feet tall driving into the lot in a huge battleship of a car. When she parks, and it takes awhile, one or two of the servers will go out to the car and help her in. She comes in early but always orders lunch.

And cell phones. Especially the hot-shot builders who have not located the vibrate button on the phone. And others who think, like my parents did when it was long distance, that one must talk really loudly to be heard on a cell. One 70 year old teaching another of equal age how to text message.

A little snippet of life in this city. That’s what I’m thinking about.