grasshopper on my door

2011-07-29T18:17:00.000-07:00

Found this single butterfly wing on the ground.
I choose to believe that the butterfly shed this wing
and grew another in its place
so it could become
a more unique
and beautiful creature.

Home

2011-07-24T18:29:00.000-07:00

It was all worth it.

Blakeslee PA

2011-07-23T20:32:00.000-07:00

too tired to write
love the mountain air in the Poconos
day ended with this

Ohio doesn't want me to leave

2011-07-22T14:27:00.000-07:00

Hit the wall today. Barely able to drive 2 hours. Doggies feeling it too. Stopped in Youngstown. Dogs napping in hotel while I watch a thunderstorm build outside.

I think I have a Feng Shui gremlin in my head. This room is all wrong. Beds should be on the other side. Even Monk felt it. He paced for 20 minutes before he settled down.

Nap time now.

Napoleon Ohio

2011-07-21T21:32:00.000-07:00

Napoleon was supposed to be Cleveland, but I realized last night at almost midnight that trying to drive nine hours in one day is craaaaaazy. Was able to change my reservations to make it a seven hour drive instead.

Lots of states today. Started in Iowa, through Illinois, through Indiana, unplanned pit stop in Michigan (didn't even know I was in Michigan) and finally Ohio. Illinois wins the worst traffic award. Drove for 3 hours straight and then was stuck for an hour in traffic that was either at a complete standstill, or going 5 MPH. It was because of major construction. It's a good thing that I have a bladder the size of a baby whale.

Illinois also produced my first brush with the law. I got pulled over for doing 60 in a 55 MPH construction zone. Now I swear I was going with the flow of traffic and others were going even faster. My theory is that these young officers saw the California plates and wanted to see if the female driver was a cutie. Those poor guys. I'm sure I wasn't what they were hoping for.

Lily wasn't taking any crap from them. She barked her head off at both of them, guns be damned. I apologized and they were very nice about it. They let me off with a warning and told me to drive safe.

I wish I had a second head, an extra pair of hands and an invisible camera. The head and hands are so I could take pictures while I am driving. There are so many things that catch my eye, but there is no way I'm fumbling with a camera at high speeds. Like the billboard that said, "DON'T DIE WITH YOUR TEETH IN A GLASS!" It was an ad for dental implants.

And I want the invisible camera so I can take pictures of people without them knowing. Like the guy at the local restaurant in Michigan with the most excellent mullet. Or the cowboys at the truck stops in Wyoming. Or the young cop who pulled me over today. I would never have the nerve to ask people if I could take their picture. Plus that would ruin the spontaneity. So when our Overlords at Apple or Google invent the eye-implant camera, I'll be first in line.

No pictures today. I can't say the scenery in any of those states really move me. It's all downhill after Wyoming.

Coralville Iowa

2011-07-20T21:01:00.000-07:00

My last memories of Nebraska - walking out the door in the morning and inhaling deeply the warm, cow-scented air. Also Karl Rove on Fox News at the restaurant with my morning eggs. Joy.

Monk waiting to get the hell out of Nebraska.

Today's drive was one of the shorter ones. I'm getting the hang of wrangling the beasts at every stop. Needed a little Barry Manilow therapy for the last hour when I started to feel tired. It's hard to be sleepy when you are belting out Barry tunes at the top of your lungs. He writes the songs that makes the whole world sing.

But today also felt a little melancholy. I've passed the halfway point. I am really leaving California. I have lived there for 18 years. Eight years in San Francisco and ten years in San Diego.

I LOVED my time in San Francisco. I did a lot of growing up there and made lifelong friends. I was 24 when I decided to go and jumped in a car with a couple of suitcases and drove myself out there. No job, no money saved - just a friend's couch to crash on. But I knew it would all work out. And it did.

One of my favorite San Francisco memories - did the CA Aids Ride in 1997 - SF to LA in 6 days. These kids were holding up signs by the side of the road so I stopped to get a picture.

Moved to San Diego for a new job and I definitely didn't dig San Diego as much. I can't believe I stayed there for ten years. It is a beautiful place and I will never complain about year-round flip-flop wearing and all that blooms in the winter months. But I was never really happy there.

So I am sad to be leaving my California dream. Something about it always felt like home to me, especially San Francisco. It sounds so corny and cliched, but I really did "find myself" there. I am leaving behind a lot of things I love. Probably forever.

I keep leaving pieces of myself along the way on this trip. Left my soap in Wyoming. Tonight I realized I left a t-shirt that I like in Nebraska (karma for all my bad mouthing of that state.) Parts of me aren't ready to go. It is hard to say goodbye to a life you've known for so long.

But I do have a lot to look forward to. A great family and a BFF who I haven't lived near in ages. I get to live with them instead of just visiting their lives a couple of times a year. Tomorrow I will enter their same time zone. And I will stay.

Feels good.
Feels right.
But still sad for what's left behind.

Kearney Nebraska

2011-07-19T21:47:00.000-07:00

Oh, Nebraska! You poor, mind-numbingly boring slice of middle America. You just can't compare to my recent fling with Wyoming. Nothing but slightly rolling grasslands and farmland. Browns and greens, browns and greens. Even the cows looked bored. Sure, the aroma that perfumed the air when I passed that cattle yard was interesting. But it's not the kind of interesting that steals a girl's heart.

Even your sunset was half-hearted. The flat gray clouds turned an anemic pink, with the slightly yellow undertone of an older gent with liver failure. You had so much potential with all that sky. But it's like Nebraska is the kid who never got to use crayons.

There's still time to wow me. You've got about two hundred more miles tomorrow to try to show me something.

On another note - yesterday Monk proved the theory that he is quite capable and more than willing to jump out of an open car window if given the chance. Fortunately, we were parked and I was outside of the car. I am very Pro-Dog-Face-Out-Window when driving. But I always had my suspicions about Monk and never rolled his down all the way. He went over to Lily's side and took the plunge. He doesn't seem to have hurt himself. But I've got my eye on him now. No more flying leaps for him.

Rawlins Wyoming

2011-07-18T23:20:00.000-07:00

A little bit of Utah

Truck stop in Wyoming

I like Wyoming.

Ended the daylight hours with a pink sunset that lingered forever across the seemingly endless sky. And on the other side of the road was a rainbow rising up from the reddish-brown mesas into a towering stack of clouds. Sorry, didn't stop for pictures. Use your imagination, kids.

Later, competing lightning storms continually flashed in the distant skies, startling the darkness. It was a great ride.

Lily & Monk on their comfy dog beds in the back seat. I am their bitch. I live only to serve them.

Mesquite, NV

2011-07-18T08:18:00.000-07:00

Someone at the Best Western has little legs.
Someone at the Best Western has discovered that those little legs can run.
Back
and forth.
Back
and forth.
In the room right above me.
At 6:30 AM.
Lucky me.

And miles to go before I sleep

2011-07-17T07:41:00.000-07:00

View Road Trip 2011 in a larger map

Lily the Wonder Dog

2011-07-14T00:35:00.000-07:00

The girl just won't go down. (Not that I want her to.)

Woke up this morning to find Lily next to her bed panting and unable to get up. She was also laying in her own shit. It thought it was the end. She's 12 years old and a large breed dog. Of course, as stressed out as she was, she still wagged her tail when she saw me. There's an inspirational poster in there somewhere - Even when laying in a pile of your own shit, don't forget to wag your tail! (Someone give me the lying/laying lesson. I never get that right.)

Tried to help her up and she just couldn't do it. Moved her over and cleaned up the poop. Tried to think about how I was going to get this 90-pound dog into my car by myself. Got her on top of a flattened cardboard box which helped me drag her to the door. She kept trying to get up and I used one of these bursts to get her out the door to the front porch.

The next obstacle was the eight cement steps down to the sidewalk. I took a breather and sat with her on the front porch in the quiet, cool morning. I cried. She sniffed the air and watched the birds. I really thought I was taking her to her death.

I had to stop the crying or I'd never get her into the car. I summoned my Wonder Woman strength and picked up her wiggly ass and carried her down the steps and into the car. If Fat, Wiggly Animal Carry ever makes it as an Olympic event, I'm in.

Drove to the emergency vet. Lily still couldn't stand up but she managed to drag herself up enough to lean on the door and stick her head out the window. More crying. (Me, not her.)

I get there and and the 12-year-old Veterinarian, Dr. Holly Hobbie, tells me it could be this: Idiopathic Vestibular Disease. The system that controls balance and coordination goes all wonky for no reason. Happens in older dogs. (Yes, they have the youngest looking vets at that place. I swear to you she didn't look a day over thirteen.) Dr. Holly Hobbie suggests that we should rule out every other disease in the world before we can be sure. She wants to do blood tests, urinalysis, chest x-ray and abdomen ultrasound. Whoa there, youngster. I know you have a Colorforms addiction to feed, but let's be reasonable.

I ask her to call my own veterinarian (who wasn't open when this whole ordeal began) to fill her in on what's going on with Lily. And then I talk to my wizened and sage 40-something-year-old vet to get her advice. No X-ray, no ultrasound. Just do some labs and let them keep her overnight and give her fluids. See how she is in the morning. Sounds good to me.

So even though this Idiopathic Vestibular nonsense typically goes on for days or weeks, they call later in the afternoon and say that Lily is walking around. She ate like a voracious beast. She's fine.

Such a relief. She's home. Happy as ever. She could have a recurrence, but at least I now know what it is. In four days I leave with the beasts for our 3,000 mile joy ride. Wish me luck.

Would you like some crackers with that cheese?

2011-06-18T17:07:00.000-07:00

Walking into the mini-mart to pay cash for my gas.

Smiling gas station attendant: Hi! How are you?

Me smiling back: I'm good. How are you?

Slightly leering gas station attendant: I'm good now! [looking me up and down]

And let's be clear - I'm wearing baggy, comfortable Saturday pants, a tired old t-shirt, flip flops and my unwashed hair is thrown up in messy bun. I'm 42 and I ain't no spring chicken.

Amused Me: Thirty dollars on pump number one.

Still smiling gas station attendant: Number one - like you?

I just laughed and walked away. I bet Cheese-Master Flash is a hit with all the ladies.

When I rise

2011-05-28T18:04:00.000-07:00

When I rise up

let me rise up joyful

like a bird.

When I fall

let me fall

without regret

like a leaf.

Wendell Berry

from Earth Prayers

Coming in June...

2011-04-16T12:01:00.000-07:00

Two dogs, just looking to have a good time...

One 10-year-old Prius

3,053 miles - from the Pacific to the Atlantic

View Cross country Route 80 in a larger map

What could possibly go wrong?

Fugitive Captured

2011-03-09T22:01:00.000-08:00

Doesn't it look like a mug shot? She seems awfully guilty to me.

Had a successful Kitty Hunt on Saturday night and then dropped her with a vet who would have Animal Control pick her up. She was dirty, full of fleas, had cuts on her face and something wrong with her tail. The Animal Control in my city works very closely with the Humane Society, so I am very hopeful that she'll be adopted out. She was a friendly girl.

Casanova Kitty misses his girlfriend, though.

Felis catus haiku

2011-03-04T23:39:00.000-08:00

Orange cat in heat
flirting with my sackless male
won't get what she wants

Orange cat in heat
seems it did not work for you
abstinence only

Orange cat in heat
late evening til early morn
sounds like Justin Bieb(er)

Orange cat in heat
tomorrow I will catch you
then what will we do?

Mike is a girl

2011-01-25T23:49:00.000-08:00

Mike is a girl. I'm still going to call her Mike. We don't need no stinking gender restricting stereotypes around here.

My favorite nerds at www.bugguide.net identified Mike in record time. She is a type of Orb Weaver. And we know that she is a she because she was sitting up high in a web that she built. The males of the species do not build webs. They spend their lives wandering around looking for chick-spiders to hook up with. After they mate, they die. That must be quite the one-night stand. (I'll bet he doesn't even cuddle when it is over.)

You might be familiar with a very famous Orb Weaver:

Ain't Entomology fun?

happy cartoon math eating pictures

2011-01-25T23:40:00.000-08:00

A person in Manila got to my blog
by doing a search of this exact phrase:

happy cartoon math eating pictures

That is all.

Mike the Giant Spider

2011-01-15T16:43:00.000-08:00

I'm calling him Mike the Giant Spider. Don't ask me why.

He is huge! That main body is about 1 inch long

He's just creepily hanging around the back yard
and didn't move much when I poked him.

I hope he's still there tomorrow
so I can try to get better pictures.

Michael Chiarello can kiss my ass

2010-12-05T19:16:00.000-08:00

Photo from Food Network website

Looking up recipes for Butternut Squash Soup the other day. And I come across one from the obviously deranged Michael Chiarello of The Food Network. It starts out innocently enough. It is called Roasted Butternut Squash Soup. But once you delve into his brand of madness and read the recipe, you realize that it is broken down into THREE sections and includes no less than TWENTY SEVEN different ingredients. Are you kidding me, Signore Chiarello?! This is soup we are talking about, right?

Gray Salt? Really?! We have different colors for our salts now, do we?

According to the recipe it takes just twenty minutes of prep time and twenty five minutes of cook time. It would take me twenty minutes just to round up all the different ingredients that this lunatic has dreamed up.

They claim that the Level of this recipe is Easy. Sure. This sounds as easy as pogo-sticking through a mine field with Clown Snipers trying to take you down with their confetti rifles.

Toast the fennel seeds, coriander seeds, and peppercorns in a small, heavy pan over medium heat. When the fennel turns light brown, work quickly. Turn on the exhaust fan, add the red pepper flakes, and toss, toss, toss, always under the fan. Immediately turn the spice mixture out onto a plate to cool.

Seems to me you might need the fire department on stand-by when you attempt this step. Work quickly!!! Toss, toss, toss!!! I definitely want my cooking instructions to be imbued with the same sense of urgency required to defuse a ticking bomb.

How about this for an ingredient list?
Olive Oil
Salt
Pepper
Butternut Squash
Onions
Celery
Carrots
Fresh Ginger
Vegetable Stock
Nutmeg or Cinnamon

That's ten ingredients, Chiarello. Ten. And guess what color my salt is?

Honestly, Michael Chiarello would out cook me any day. We could put him in a straitjacket, blindfold him, hand him a can a Spam, two potatoes and a Boy Scout's camping stove and he'd whip us up a delicious feast. Hey, I think I just thought up the next Food Network hit show. I would pay big money to see Guy Fieri in a straitjacket.

Never trust a Clown

stand ajar

2010-11-13T13:16:00.000-08:00

The

soul

should

always 

stand ajar, 

ready to welcome 

the ecstatic experience.

Emily Dickinson* 

***********************
*Nitpicky Full Disclosure:
There's a poem by Emily Dickinson that begins:
The Soul should always stand ajar
That if the Heaven inquire
He will not be obliged to wait
Or shy of troubling Her...
But the quote at the top of this post is also attributed to her - or at least it is all over the interwebs. Not sure I believe the quote is hers. Sounds more like a New Age-y addition to the line in her poem. (But I still like it.)

The top photo was also found on the internet. Looks like a stock photo, but I couldn't find the origin. I like to attribute photos correctly when I can. The rest of the photos are my modified versions of the first.

So does anyone care about these details? Don't know.
Just felt like being effusively exact today.
***********************

Ruff

2010-11-06T13:22:00.000-07:00

New Yorker cartoon by Alex Gregory

Love it.

Robot Love

2010-10-31T12:58:00.000-07:00

The whole idea of compassion is based on
a keen awareness of the
interdependence of all these living beings...
~Thomas Merton

I try to have compassion for people around me. I try to see the angry person or the rude person or the person acting selfishly as someone who is having a bad day (and sometimes a bad life.) They don't need their anger to be answered with defensiveness or their rudeness to be returned to them. They need kindness.

I am certainly not claiming to be a saint - see this entry for proof of that. I don't always succeed in being the kind person that I want to be. Some days I am that rude person acting selfishly. Compassion is something I have to remember and relearn again and again.

I really dig what is says in the Charter for Compassion. It calls us "to dethrone ourselves from the centre of our world and put another there, and to honour the inviolable sanctity of every single human being..." And if you haven't heard of the Charter for Compassion, go to that link. It's good stuff. With all of the rotten politics and filthy corporate greed that seem to dominate our world - this is what is going to save us.

I think that I was a rather sensitive kid and was really tuned in to the emotions and moods that were flowing around me. But somehow I learned to be very good at keeping my own emotions in check. In fact, I was so good at it that it often seemed that I didn't have any emotions. On most days I operated like a robot - completely removed from any feelings. Mr. Spock on Star Trek made perfect sense to me. Of course logic should win out over those messy human emotions. When Captain Kirk and the others would laugh at him, I would think, "It's okay Spock. I understand you."

My Robot Self stuck around for many years of my life. I was an EMT (Emergency Medical Technician) in my early twenties. There are great advantages to being a robot in that type of job. Nothing could fluster me. No messy emotions got in my way - mine or anyone else's. But there is also a real downside to that. There are a number of experiences that I look back on now and can see what a loss it was that I could not have had a little more humanity. Times when I could have given much needed comfort to others.

I worked for a private ambulance company, which meant that we were a glorified taxi and took Grandma to her dialysis appointment or transferred patients to rehab hospitals. In my short career, I never actually faced a real emergency situation where lives hung in the balance. (Once though, I did have to call for an ambulance from my ambulance. We got slammed right on the driver's side by a city bus that was speeding through an intersection. My partner was driving and he was injured. So I had to get on the radio and tell dispatch to send an ambulance. Oh, the irony.)

Once we were transporting an old woman from one nursing home to another. She seemed to be babbling incoherently and I'm sure the nurses let us know that it was her normal mental state when they discharged her to us. But there was a note of distress in her voice. Her words were not making sense, but her tone was that of a person frightened and a little bit frantic. My partner was driving, so I was in back with the woman to take her vitals and do the required paperwork. My Robot Self sat in the back of that ambulance with this woman for 25 minutes and did a perfect job of completely ignoring her and her frantic, nonsensical pleading. I took her vitals, filled out my paperwork and stared out the window.

Camille Monet sur son lit de mort by Claude Monet

When I look back now, I feel so bad that I didn't try to do something to comfort her. Hold her hand and tell her it was okay and she was safe. Call her by her first name and stroke her hair. It is quite possible that it wouldn't have really reached her. Maybe she had disappeared too far down the rabbit hole and would have continued with her incoherent pleading. But I have to imagine that a small part of her might have felt comforted or calmed, even if it didn't show on the outside. Some human touch and soft words would have been a simple thing to offer. But Robot Girl was not capable of that.

~ ~ ~

A call on another day had us transporting a terminally ill woman in her late thirties from her home to the emergency room. Her visiting nurse had called us because she was unable to get a blood pressure reading. The woman was a skeleton with a bloated belly, weakly coughing up phlegm. Her worried husband rode in the front of the ambulance with my partner.

We drove her to the hospital and handed her off to the ER staff. As we walked out into the lobby of the ER, I saw her husband. He was sitting in a chair, alone, looking lost and in shock. I wheeled that empty stretcher right past him as if he didn't exist.

From Funérailles d'Atala by Anne-Louis Girodet de Roussy-Trioson

If I could do it again, I would have stopped to ask him if there was someone we could call for him. I would have asked him if he wanted us to sit with him for a while. I would have been able to be with him in his grief and helplessness. That's all I could have given him, but it might have been enough for that moment.

The next day I read in the paper that his wife had died.

~ ~ ~

Another one of our jobs was to transport premature infants in their portable NICU cribs. Most of the time we were taking newborns from a smaller hospital to a larger one which was better equipped to handle their medical needs. This particular newborn was having a hard time maintaining a pulse for any length of time when they took his breathing tube out in preparation for transport. My partner and I stood in the room while the doctors and nurses performed the infant version of CPR over and over again as this baby coded every few minutes. They were just trying to get the infant stable enough to make the twenty minute journey.

So there I was in a room - witness to this little soul fighting for life and breath. A tiny, fragile, newly-born human struggling to stay in this world and on the perilous edge of life every few minutes. As I was watching all of this, I felt nothing. Not a twinge of sadness or sympathy. No compassion for the parents, who thankfully were not in the room, but who must have been consumed with worry over their dear child's condition. I was just patiently waiting and watching with my detached robot eyes. I was probably wondering about how heavy the portable incubator crib might have been. Those things could weigh a lot and we had to lift them into the back of the ambulance.

From Maria mit dem schlafenden Kind by Andrea Mantegna

There is not very much I could have done differently if I could go back to that situation today. I did have a job to do, so I couldn't have become overwhelmed with any strong emotions about the child. But I could have at least recognized the precious gift of life that was hanging in the balance and cheered on that little fighter in his struggle. They eventually did stabilize him and we were able to drive him to the other hospital. And that is the end of this story. We never found out what happened to the infants after we dropped them off.

~ ~ ~

The absolute worst example of my robot coldness was something I said to someone I love when I was in my early twenties. My best friend in the world was the only one who was ever able to get past my robot defenses and who always knew me, no matter how much I tried to hide. At the time, she was struggling with a loss in her life. An extremely traumatic loss of an important relationship. A life altering grief.

La Douleur by Edgar Bertram Mackennal

My words of comfort to her when she confided in me about how much she was struggling? The exact quote is, "Grow up and get over it." And I can picture myself as I said it - feeling all mature and wiser than her and a little bit exasperated by her whining. My Robot Self truly thought it was the right thing to say at the time. Thought that I'd be helping her by roughly shoving her towards moving on with her life.

I cringe and my heart aches when I think about it now. I have no idea why she stayed friends with me after that. But, lucky for me, she did. And even though we drifted and were distant for many years, we have found each other again recently. In the last few years, each of us has saved the other so many times.

I do think she forgives me. I think she understands why I was like that. She was always able to look beyond the robot coldness and see the soft heart inside. What an amazing gift to have such a friend.

These days I can forgive myself for those times when I was less than compassionate to those around me. I still look back and wish I could have done some things differently. Don't we all? I haven't destroyed my Robot Self. She's still a part of me and sometimes she can be useful. (If you ever happen to spontaneously combust or if you are being chased by brain-eating zombies, you want Robot Girl around. She'll know what to do.)

It is not a perfect transformation, but for the most part, I no longer feel I have to face the world with such cold, detached eyes. Now I can go forward and with each new day try to keep the seeds of a compassionate heart close to the surface. That is all any of us can really do. It can be a sad, angry, cold, relentless world out there. We just have to do our best to remember:

A little Consideration, a little Thought for Others,
makes all the difference.
~Winnie the Pooh

Time Travel

2010-10-01T23:52:00.000-07:00

Adopted Monk in February. He was a stray that was picked up by animal control and then saved from death row by a local rescue. The rescue said that he was about 7 years old.

He came with a limp. An old injury that seems to not have healed correctly and his left front paw is turned inward in a funny way. Took him to the vet today because it seems like his leg bothers him more lately. (Took him to this same vet back in February when he first arrived.)

Today, after hearing about what was going on and checking Monk out, she says, "You know, I think he's probably a little older than seven."

I tell her that I had wondered about that too. Ask her how old she thinks he is.

She looks at Monk, takes a moment and says, "I would say he is probably around 11."

Wow. In dog years, he just aged from 49 to 77 years old.

So instead of driving around in his convertible, trying to relive his glory days...

Well, hel-looo Ladies!

Monk's hanging around his front porch, shaking his cane at the world...

I told you kids to GET OF MY LAWN!

I don't blame the rescue for estimating low. I'm sure they had a hell of a time trying to find a home for an old, lame dog who is possibly mixed with Pit Bull.

At the end of the vet appointment I tried to talk her down, like I was at a flea market, haggling over the price of an old piece of furniture. "So, ah....what do you think....should we just go ahead and call him 10?" She looked right at me and shook her head. "Hmmmm. No. I really think 11 is more like it."

Doesn't make a difference in how I feel about Monk. It just means that he won't be around for as long as I had thought. I was hoping for 5 years or so, but now it will probably be just a couple.

Adopted Lily at 11 years old, so it would not have mattered what his age was. Hey...now we can start to refer to them as "The Twins."

The best job I ever had

2010-07-24T16:17:00.000-07:00

My Mom emailed me a picture and it reminded me of the job I had every summer between the ages of 16 and 20. It was undeniably the best job I have ever had.

I was a lifeguard at a little park in Woonsocket, RI. This picture was in the paper. I was not doing anything noteworthy, believe me. It was one of those random, slice-of-life pictures that they run to fill space. The caption said something about me blowing my whistle to stop some horseplay. That is pretty much an accurate description of what I did most of the day.

I loved that job for so many reasons. The first one was the dress code. I could roll out of bed in the morning, put on a bathing suit, shorts, t-shirt and the official, bright orange baseball hat and be ready to go. I was quite the low maintenance gal and that was perfect for me.

Another reason I loved it was that I could be outdoors. The park was a mere 14 acres of man-made landscapes plunked down in the middle of a depressed, industrial area of town. There were no majestic views to meditate upon or opportunities to commune with wildlife creatures (depending on your definition of wildlife.) Instead, there was an abundance of cement, rolling lawns and gravel-filled paths. The centerpiece was a single man-made pond that I could swim across in about two minutes. The joy came from simply being outdoors all day. In the sun. Barefoot. Dirt on my toes. Sweat on my skin. I felt so unfettered.

I was in charge! People had to respect my authority! Well..not really. But it was fun to blow the whistle and holler at kids. Get off the ropes! There aren't too many places in your life where you get paid to holler. I was a quiet kid, so it was good for me to be able to do a little hollering.

If anyone gave us too much trouble we could always call on the Park Police to come deal with it. Another perk of the job - handsome, clean cut, strapping young men in uniforms hanging around all day. Well, to me they were older young men - around 18 to 22. Some innocent flirting can really make the work day much more interesting.

Some days I would ride my bike the 10 miles to work, jump in the water to cool off, take a quick shower to get the funky pond water off me and start my day. I would spend the time in my perch on the lifeguard chair in that peculiar mixed state of alertness and boredom. It was extremely rare for anyone to actually need any lifesaving. I think in my four summers there, I saved two kids who had both gotten tired and panicky while swimming in water over their heads.

We got to know the neighborhood children and that was the first time I was exposed to lives that were not as cozy and comfortable as mine. Erica was 8 years old. She'd come to the park with her 4-year-old sister with no parent in sight. Erica was in charge of taking care of her sister all day. There were a lot of kids like that. The park was like their extended back yard. We always watched out for them but I think I was too naive to really grasp some of the things that were going on in their lives. We were their unofficial babysitters for the summer and played games with them on our breaks.

All the jobs that I have had since then have been quite different. I drive my air-conditioned car to work and spend my days in climate-controlled indoor offices. A shower before work and appropriate footwear is expected. No hats. I never get to spend any time in the natural world. I stare at a computer all day. I rarely get to holler at anyone.

I miss the simple freedom of those summer days. I could really use some of that joy in my life right now. More bare feet. More sun on my skin. More sweat and dirt in my daily life.

[ I feel like this isn't quite finished, but here it is anyway. I've had no blogging energy. Can't write. Hardly read or comment on anyone else's blog these days. Hopefully I'll snap out if it soon.]

Sony laptop screen problem - fixed

2010-06-27T13:52:00.000-07:00

Dear Sony,

Thank you for fixing my laptop screen. And thank you for giving me the opportunity to expand the knowledge of your customer service person.

Sony: What is the issue you are having today?
Me: My laptop screen went crazy. It is showing only bands of color that are constantly changing.
Sony: Did you drop it?
Me: No. [This is absolutely true.]
Sony: What is your model number?
Me: VGN-FZ260E
Sony: What colors is it showing?
Me: Hmmm.... [thinking to myself - why would this matter?] Red, blue, yellow, black. I basically can't see anything on the screen.
Sony: Well, since you are out of the warranty period, if you would like to continue to troubleshoot this problem with me, we will have to charge you.
Me: No. This is a known defect of the Nvidia video card in these models of laptops. You are supposed to fix it for me for free. It says this on your website.
Sony: What website are you on?
Me: sony.com
Sony: Let me put you on hold for a moment while I check into this.

It was clever of you, Sony, to withhold some basic information from your first line of customer service people. You know there is a defect with the video card in certain models of your laptops. You put this information on your own website. So it should have been a very simple conversation. A caller tells you XX model of laptop is having display problems. Those two phrases get entered into your product knowledge database and your customer service person immediately sees that it is a known defect and offers to fix it. Simple, right? Computers are amazing tools. Wouldn't you agree?

But you would have happily charged me for the out-of-warranty tech support to troubleshoot and then told me that it was a hardware issue that you would fix if I wanted to pay you. Nice try, Sony.

However, I will compliment you on your quick resolution once we established who would be paying for it. Your contracted tech guy showed up at my work two days later in his nifty, red Mini Cooper and had it all fixed in about 10 minutes.

Thank you, Sony.

***************************

Here is the link to the page on Sony's website in case someone with a similar problem stumbles upon this blog:

http://esupport.sony.com/US/perl/news-item.pl?mdl=VGNFZ260E&news_id=349

I've also got a screen shot of the page in case Sony ever takes it down. And I have links to the claim form to fill out if you did pay to fix this problem yourself. Email me if you need them.

Take that, Sony.

I've got no blogging mojo

2010-06-22T10:19:00.000-07:00

Here's Lily's fitness regimen. She's fanatical about it.

And here's a moment of Monk:

The doggies are fine. Old Lady Lily is healed and has regained her unstoppable enthusiasm for every moment of life. I've got more things to blog, but just can't seem to finish any of them. Maybe the long days of summer will energize me.

Well...this can't be good

2010-06-08T22:07:00.000-07:00

My laptop screen.

So how am I posting this, you ask?

Superpowers.

A great way to start the day

2010-05-20T09:54:00.000-07:00

Borrowed from Jason Mraz's blog:

Peace

2010-05-15T18:59:00.000-07:00

May you be at peace;
May you know the beauty of your own true nature;
May your heart remain open;
May you be healed.

(I had this written down somewhere as a Buddhist blessing, but I have no idea where it comes from or where I found it.)

24 hours in the animal madhouse

2010-05-08T14:15:00.000-07:00

My Friday went something like this:

Day off work. Lily gagged a few times and threw up a tiny little bit of water during the day. So I am a little concerned.

1700 hours

Bring Franken-Kitty to the regular vet to get the drains taken out of his face. Ask the vet about Lily. Vet recommends trying her on some extra-bland food to see if that helps.

1900 hours

Feed Lily half a can of new food.

1930 hours

Lily starts retching and throws up her food in the back yard. I follow her around, trying to see what is going on. Is she pale? Is she breathing okay? Is she unsteady on her feet?

1935 hours

Turn around and see Monk finishing off his little after-dinner snack - the "Lily Smoothie." He must have been jealous because she had different food than he did. Either that or he was just trying to be helpful by cleaning it up for me.

2230 hours

Lily seemed fine after throwing up - good color, belly seems soft, no panting. So just kept an eye on her while she snoozes in the living room. She's licking her lips a lot and I hear gurgling stomach noises. Go over to pet her and she starts panting. She gets on her feet and starts to retch. She looks unsteady.

2235 hours

Get the shoes on and get her into the car. Drive to emergency vet.

2250 hours

Arrive at vet and Lily is panting and won't get out of the car. Get big, burly vet tech with a stretcher. I push her from behind and he scoops her up to put her on stretcher.

Okay, I'm getting bored with this whole time-line thing. The short version of the rest of the story was that I was up until 0400 hours. That's 4:00 AM people. They took X-rays and blood. Her blood work is fine. She is not bloating again (which can happen) but she is full of gas. They sent her home with two more medications.

I now feel like it was a little bit of an overreaction on my part (my bank account feels the same way.) But I'd rather be safe. Stomach surgery + vomiting = I'm going to worry.

Lily now has five different meds. It has become like one of those math logic problems:

If Lily has to take Pill A, 3 times a day, with no food or water 1 hour before or 1 hour after

AND

Pill B, 2 times a day, 10 minutes before any food

AND

Pills, C, D and E with food 2 times a day

AND

she's eating 1/2 can of special food, 6 times a day

AND

Franken-Kitty is wailing at the door every 5 minutes

AND

he needs liquid antibiotics 2 times a day which he hates...

At what hour of the day will Kathy break out the Mike's Hard Lemonade?

(Show your work.)

Friday afternoon

2010-05-07T15:46:00.000-07:00

A little Alfred Hitchcock moment in the backyard today:

Franken-kitty really wants to go outside.

This is actually quite a nice picture of him. Trust me. You do not want to see the gory close-ups.

Lily relaxing. She's a happy, eating, tail-wagging wonder.

So far Monk is staying out of trouble.

The local vets LOVE us (for our most generous contributions to their children's college funds.)

2010-05-04T23:36:00.000-07:00

Lily is home and doing great but this morning the cat's face exploded.

Lily came home last night. A nice slow, gentle ride home in the back seat of the car. Then, while trying to park in front of the house near the path that leads to the backyard, I bashed into the curb and sent her flying. Her front legs down on the floor and her back end still on the seat. A nice downward dog move for a girl who is not supposed to stretch her abdomen after it was ripped open in surgery.

From Louise Peterson, Sculptor (These are beautiful!)

She really, really did not want to try to get out of the car after that. Hurt my wrist when we wrestled her out. It is not an easy task to pick up a 90-lb dog when you can't grab her around the middle. But she was happy once her feet were on the ground and she trotted into the backyard.

Then we had a little comedic interlude when she kept spitting out the pills I tried to feed her. She usually takes them with food and it is no problem. But she had no interest in food. So I tried the brute force method and five or six times when I thought she had swallowed, I let go of her mouth and she spit them out. She got some good distance on a few of them too. Did finally manage to get the pills down.

This morning she was her happy self - about a 7 out of 10 on her usual enthusiasm scale. Woke up and wagged her tail madly because she's simply thrilled to start another day - even when she's not feeling all that well.

Oh...the cat. He woke up this morning with one side of his face twice as big as the other. Called the vet immediately and luckily they could fit us in today. Right before we left, his face exploded. It was an abscess that burst. A seemingly endless stream of reddish body fluid flowed out of that little cat's head, which he then proceeded to lick off the floor. Lovely. A little something like this:

This is a dramatization. No cats were implanted with alien spawn in the making of this photo.

He's a long-haired, wild ruffian of a cat and we can't always see if he has cuts. He doesn't tolerate too much poking and prodding. So when he gets an injury that becomes infected, we don't know it until something like this happens. He's spending the night at Chez Vet with a drain in his face. More vet bills! Yeee-haaaa!

Tomorrow we're going to be hosting the Animal House of Horrors. Lily with her saggy, Frankenstein belly and schizophrenically shaved patches all over her body. And Kitty with a seeping plastic tube coming out of her face and a cone around her neck.

Let's just hope Monk can stay out of trouble.

Lily update

2010-05-02T13:09:00.000-07:00

Lily is doing great. They opened her up and everything looked fine. Her stomach had actually untwisted itself by the time they got in there. Spleen is fine and overall she has fabulous looking guts for an 11-year-old. They pinned her stomach to the inside wall of her body so this won't happen again.

We asked them if they could do a little liposuction and tummy tuck while they were in there. Beach season is coming up after all. They declined.

Lily Girl

2010-05-01T13:01:00.000-07:00

Lily almost died last night. Sudden onset of bloat - also known as Gastric dilatation-volvulus (GDV). It is a life threatening condition that can kill a dog within hours.

She was fed at 5:30 PM and friends came over for dinner later. She was fine the whole night. Then, right after the friends left at around 8:30 PM, she starting retching without throwing up. I watched this happening and was thinking that she'll eventually throw up whatever is bothering her and feel better. I thought that maybe she had gotten something dropped from the dinner table and Thai food didn't agree with her. Within 20 minutes she had stopped retching and was lethargic and panting with pale, cold gums. I had never seen this happen before, but it was clear that something was very wrong.

She was able to walk herself out the front door and down the steps to get into the car. Drove 20 minutes to the emergency vet and by the time we got there she couldn't even sit herself up in the back seat. They brought a cart around to the car and a big vet tech picked up her 90-pound body and put her on the cart.

They stabilized her and got some of the air out of her stomach and she actually had a very good night. They will operate today to untwist her stomach and pin it to the inside wall of her body so this doesn't happen again.

Went to see her this morning and she is just like her old self. Full of energy and happy as can be. They brought her into the exam room and she was like - "Oh, you? Well it's cool that you are here and all, but there are some seriously interesting smells in this room that I must investigate immediately. So I am going to run around and sniff every corner and almost pull out my IV. Then maybe I'll get around to letting you pet me. You understand, don't you?"

She's the type of dog who seems to be happy and full of pure joy for life, no matter where she is or what is going on. After the visit, when they were taking her out of the exam room, she was just as enthusiastic about that - "Oh, COOL! Now we're going over here? That is AWESOME!"

Holy Huge Vet Bill, Batman! She's 11 years old. So we might only have a few more years with her after this. But it will be worth it. How could we give up on a creature so filled with life? (And they have an interest free payment plan that really helps.)

Surgery happens today and the surgeon will call later when Lily is in recovery.

I have been trying to capture the jubilant dancing that she does when you pick up a leash to take her for a walk. It's hard to get on video but here are a couple of tries.

Lavender blooming and Ice Plant

2010-04-21T08:46:00.000-07:00

MacGyver Me

2010-04-16T00:06:00.000-07:00

My electrician brother is going to love this one.

My laptop gets quite hot after I've been using it for a while. So I have a laptop cooling pad. Looks just like this:

The laptop sits on the pad and you plug it into a USB port on the laptop. The USB connection powers the small fan inside the pad that cools the laptop. It works well and without it my laptop gets extremely overheated

Today I was trying to carry the laptop pad, a sweater, my aluminum water bottle, my computer bag, my purse and a banana - all at the same time while I opened a heavy door. Water bottle and laptop pad didn't make it. Both dropped to the ground. Water bottle was fine. But the cord to the laptop pad must have been caught in between all the other things I was carrying and when it fell the USB cord snapped right in half.

But I am not one to let a minor product mishap defeat me. I need that laptop cooling pad. I took some wire strippers and stripped the plastic covering off both broken ends of the wire. Found red and black mini wires inside. Stripped those down to stalks of thin copper wire. Twisted the red from one side to the red from the other side and then did the same with the black. (Pretended I was defusing a bomb. OMG! Whatever you do, don't cut the black wire! No wait! It's the red! Don't cut the red.....NOOOOOOO!)

It works! Some electrical tape around it and I'm good, right? What could possibly go wrong?

I'm convinced it is perfectly safe. There can't be much electricity flowing through those tiny wires to power that mini fan. In fact, I touched the exposed wires while it was plugged into the computer and felt nothing. My other completely reasonable justification for thinking this is safe is that it will only be plugged in and "on" when the laptop is sitting on my lap. It can't start a fire in my lap, right?

Brother Bob? Thoughts?

And isn't it just a good idea to try to fix things rather than adding one more piece of plastic junk to a landfill?

I'm sure MacGyver would agree. He's been patching up that denim jacket since 1987.

other people's words

2010-04-03T14:02:00.000-07:00

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

ee cummings

This is all I have these days - other people's words. Finding my way back to my own. Hopefully soon. It is hard work to awaken the ears of my ears and open the eyes of my eyes.

I've been "frassed"

2010-03-02T22:39:00.000-08:00

The bug nerds have spoken.
This lovely lady is Peucetia viridans.

And even better is that someone left more detailed information for me: "This is likely a female after it has created an egg sac because its abdomen is so small."

The bad news is that same knowledgeable person decided my pictures "aren't needed for the guide" so she 'frassed' them.

According to BugGuide.net:

Frass is insect debris. Poor quality images, images from outside the U.S. and Canada, and those that otherwise do not add value to the guide are moved here. Images will remain here for 30 days after the most recent activity so that comments may be viewed. After that they are automatically removed by the system.

Ouch.

Apparently, I add no value. I'm okay with it though. I'm not hurt, BugGuide.net. I wasn't expecting a long-term, meaningful relationship or anything. You should know that I was only using you for your bug knowledge.

It seems so sudden. Just what the heck did you want from me?! I gave and I gave and I guess it wasn't good enough.

You were my first, you know. I had never found a Bug Guide quite like you. I thought this would be something special. It's okay...sniff...there will be others who will appreciate my value....sniff.

Sure, we can still be friends. Maybe I'll stop by some time and bring you more pictures and we can....no? Fine. We'll always have Libellula croceipennis.

Let's have the boys from New Edition (the original boy band) sing us out...

For the cold and snowbound

2010-02-28T11:17:00.000-08:00

Pictures from a visit to the Farmer's Market (over a year ago.)

Spring is coming. Really!

Email to my insurace company

2010-02-24T22:18:00.000-08:00

Car insurance. Home insurance. The company has a website. I can view my policy online, pay my bill and email them questions. They just made me change my password AGAIN and refused to let me change it to one of the passwords I had used six to nine months ago. So I emailed them:

Oh, for goodness sake, stop listening to your ultra-conservative web security geeks and knock off making us change our password every three months. How does this make my account any more secure? Are you telling me that some computer hacker is working away in his lair for months and months to steal my password and he is FOILED because at the end of month three - HA HA!!! Your policy has forced me to change my password!! Take THAT evil, computer hacker guy! All your work for 2 months and 29 days has been wasted!!! WASTED!!! And now you have to start all over!! Mwa ha ha!!! The good guys win again!!!

And really, I have my insurance coverage with you. If a hacker mangaged to steal my password and get into my account - what's he going to do? INCREASE my insurance coverage?! Pay my bill for me? Heavens, no! Not that!

Your web security folks are supposed to tell you that we should change our password every three months. It is their job to think about the worst case scenarios and come up with ways to combat them. But it is your job, oh reasonable and practical-minded customer service executives, to see the whole picture and realize that you can go overboard with your security policy by making it too strict and hugely inconvenient to your customers. You know that you just force us to start writing down our passwords, don't you? How safe is that?

Please consider changing your password policy. Thank you for your time.

I couldn't find any good pictures to go with this story,

so here is a frog:

(And YES, I did use all of those exclamation points in my email. You got something to say about it?!?!)

Rosemary blooming

2010-02-10T09:07:00.000-08:00

Notes on a Colonoscopy

2010-02-06T00:25:00.000-08:00

You'll be happy to know I have a very clean colon. Not even a polyp. Scientific proof that I am not full of sh*t.

I think I am immune to Demerol* because I was awake and coherent the whole time. I was watching on the screen and it was awesome! Like a twisted Disneyland ride floating through undulating, pink-walled tunnels. You never knew what was around the next corner!

(*I might be impervious to narcotics in general. I took Vicodin once for pain and it did absolutely nothing for me.)

One of my nurses was named Jeff and looked exactly like Chong from the Cheech & Chong films - except Jeff's beard was longer and more scraggly.

At one point in the middle of ... um... the journey, Jeff left the room and another guy came in. I looked at him and said, "Who invited you?" He laughed and the doctor said, "You're funny."

The procedure was not painful at all and there was only a teeny-tiny amount of discomfort near the end.

The worst part of the whole thing was that while I was waiting in the recovery area, I suddenly became very nauseous and broke into a cold sweat. Then I threw up the only thing I had consumed that day - a few sips of water. They said it was probably the Demerol (not so immune, I guess.) After that I felt much better.

So the lesson, kids, is that if you are supposed to get a colonoscopy, just go ahead and do it. It's really not a big deal. And you can always ask them to load you up on the meds if you are nervous and not interested in watching the ride through Mucosa Wonderland.

Meet Monk

2010-02-04T17:05:00.000-08:00

He is such a peaceful soul.

Does not bark.

Did not know any commands but learned "Sit" in less than a day.

At times, does not seem to hear very well.

Beginning to wonder if he has a hearing problem.

Will ask the vet next week.

Easily defeated the gate that was supposed

to keep him in the kitchen in spite of

his lame front leg.

(Might have superpowers.)

Also known as Pimp Dawg because

he has charmed Lily

into licking his wee-wee for him at least twice a day.

She seeks it out like a hungry calf going for its mothers milk.

Or perhaps it is not because of Monk's seductive ways.

Maybe Lily is just a slut.

She is, after all, 11 years old.

The old girl probably has more than a few stories from her past
that we'll never know.

Lily girl

2010-01-29T20:51:00.000-08:00

Good things come

2010-01-24T22:01:00.000-08:00

Doesn't he have a great head?

7 years old

51 lbs

The rescue thinks he's a

Shepherd / American Staffordshire Terrier mix.

But he could be part Boxer or even Great Dane.

The rescue will drop him off next Sunday.

Any suggestions on names?

Doggie #2 will show up on Wednesday.

She's an 11-year-old black Lab.

Family she has known her whole life has

fallen apart and she is collateral damage.

We will foster her for a rescue organization for now.

But probably keep her if it works out.

(No pictures yet.)

I was right to wait. This feels good.

Kittimus Maximus is about to have his world rocked.

Poor Kitty. He doesn't even know it.

(Don't worry. Kitty has been a participant in some doggie slumber parties

when we dog-sit for a friend. He's adjusted more and more each time.

Once he gets the fact that he's not in danger, he relaxes.

There will be an adjustment period, but he'll be fine

and we won't let the dogs bully him.)

Science Saturday

2010-01-23T17:23:00.000-08:00

www.bugguide.net

This website is the best!

I don't know why it makes me so happy to find out

the names of the bugs in my yard, but it does.

Valley Carpenter Bee

Xylocopa varipuncta

And she's a female!

I love that there is someone in the world who knows that.

I bet you thought this was a Flame Skimmer.

You're wrong.

It is a Neon Skimmer - Libellula croceipennis.

Duh!

(Do the kids still say that these days?)

Green Lynx Spider

Peucetia viridans

Peucetia longipalpis

It is still being hotly debated.

I'm hoping for longipalpis because that is much more fun to say.

Silver Garden Spider

Argiope argentata

(I still see a monkey giving us the finger.)

Scudder's Bush Katydid

Scudderia furcata

(sounds like an Italian curse word)

Scudderia mexicana

He's a male.

Okay kids. Class dismissed.

The question is not what you look at, but what you see.

Henry David Thoreau

I Wait

2010-01-19T23:33:00.000-08:00

The photo is called "I wait" by the photographer Julia Margaret Cameron (1815-1879).

And that is what I am doing. I wait. I can't make a decision right now. I don't know why and I don't have to know why. I just wait.

I do believe in my own intuitive sense. There have been times when something feels right and I have followed that leaning and it brought me to the place I was supposed to be. I can wait for that again.

Dog Love

2010-01-18T14:22:00.000-08:00

Duke and Satchmo. Boxer mixes. Brothers. Adopted them when they were 10 years old. Duke made it to 12. Satchmo to 13. Both died of cancer. One of the vets told us that Boxers tend to be "tumor factories." They had severe separation anxiety. Duke was extremely dog aggressive (not with Satchmo.) They were a huge pain in the ass. But I loved those dogs. They gave me so much joy. I still get teary-eyed when I think about sitting with Satchmo when the vet put him down.

Haven't had a dog since. It's been almost 7 years. Didn't deliberately decide not to get another dog. Just moved and couldn't have them and then acquired a cat. Decided recently to get another dog. Thought to myself, "I know they make me happy. What am I waiting for?"

They do make me happy. Always have. I was the kid who would bring the stray dogs home and beg to keep them even though I knew we never could. It is a simple, buoyant heart-happiness. Gives me joy like nothing else in the world.

Met a bonded pair of dogs at the Human Society. A Golden Retriever and a Chihuahua. They tried to separate them because it is always easier to adopt single dogs. But the Golden can't live without her little friend. They didn't make my heart sing, but their story touched me. Lived in the cement backyard of a family for all four years of their life. Both have health problems that were left untreated, including callouses that form after years and years of a dog never having a soft place to sit or lie down. Both will have treatable, but not curable, health conditions for the rest of their lives.

The woman at the shelter seemed to say that if we decide to get them, we have to take them right away. Even though it would be better if we could take them home on a Friday and spend a couple of days bonding with them before we have to leave them alone during the work day. If we had to take them, we could work that out, but it wouldn't be ideal. But there's nothing ideal about them sitting around the shelter, right? Even though it is the Humane Society and they have their own doggie condo, with furniture, dog beds and TV. But the woman was pushy. It somehow bent me the wrong way. I left there feeling sad and doubting if this was the right thing to do at all.

And now I've spun into all sorts of doubts and uncertainties. Am I really ready for this commitment? Should I only get one dog instead, even though the landlord said it was okay to get two and wouldn't it be great to rescue two dogs? Should I wait for that love that shoots you through the heart? And I just feel bad and guilty about the whole thing. Maybe I really don't want to have a dog that needs eye drops 4-10 times a day. And I've just wasted everyone's time. I feel bad for these dogs, but do I really want to take them into my home because I feel bad?

It is a sad, dreary day. Clouds covering everything. I hate when something small pushes you in a bad direction and all of the gloomy things you think about yourself come creeping out. I have been through this enough to recognize what it is. Just on the downswing in the mood playground and the up will come again. So I know it is not simply about the dogs. I just won't make any decisions while I'm feeling this way. And I'll do what I can to get that swing headed back up again.

Photo by Angie from Sawara, Chiba-ken, Japan

This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 License.

Yea, I know. The logic of this is messed up. Dogs make me happy. But I'm feeling bad so I won't get the dogs. It's not logical. It just is.

Black Bee

2010-01-16T13:39:00.000-08:00

It has been a while since I've taken any pictures of bugs. This is from May of 2009. I never got around to posting it. If you click on the pictures, you can really see the details.

Two things I found out while searching for the identity of this creature:

1. There's a website where you can post pictures of bugs and people will try to identify them for you. I am so excited by this!!!! www.bugguide.net

2. Black Bee is a position in the Karma Sutra. I'll leave it to you to find out more about that if you are interested.

winter fires

2010-01-10T14:57:00.000-08:00

Sat in my backyard this morning and watched the hummingbirds and bees have a little pollen rave on this flowering bush. I don't know what this is called but it blooms like crazy this time of year.

Just spent 20 minutes trying to find out what it is. It might be a Hummingbird Trumpet.

I feel very fortunate that I can still see blooming flowers and hear the birds sing while the rest of the country is either buried in snow or just plain freezing. I really have to remember to appreciate it and take more walks.

I know that there is a natural rhythm to the seasons. Winter is a time of going inside, letting the earth rest, slowing down and being quiet. But I remember that winters for me were just dark. Dark for a very long time.

Nocturne:Grey and Gold - Snow in Chelsea (1876) by James McNeill Whistler

I think that I might be able to handle it better now. (Easy to say, here in my sunny, 72 degree day.) I know that I would have to face winter differently. Instead of burying myself deeper, trying to hide from the darkness, I would have to embrace winter's brighter moments. Take walks on brisk, sunny days. Find ways to play in the snow like we did as kids. Spend those dark nights in a circle of warmth and laughter with family and friends.

Light fires. That's it. I would have to keep remembering to light fires in my life. It is easy for me to stop. To hide. To let darkness surround me. If I keep lighting fires, I might be able to confine the darkness to a smaller corner of my world. I couldn't banish it entirely. It will always be there, I know. It is because I have known the dark that I am now more able to greet the light with such joy and gratitude.

For those of you who are in the midst of your dark and cold winter - keep trying to light fires. Spring always comes. Really. It does.

Photo by Ryan Mahle from Sherman Oaks, CA, USA

This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 License.

Don't just do something, sit there!

2010-01-09T00:57:00.000-08:00

Believe it or not, I have another airport shuttle ride story. Yes, the same shuttle ride home from the airport with Mr. Who's on First. It was a long, strange trip, my friends.

We were taking an exit to get from one main freeway to another. The exit is one lane that curves around to the right. Suddenly up ahead there was a pickup truck with its front end smashed in, halfway into our lane and facing the wrong way. I noticed it first, so I pointed it out to the driver from the backseat to make sure he could avoid hitting it. It was a dark color and that exit speed is very fast. He swerved around and kept driving. Which was absolutely the right thing for him to do. I would never in a million years have trusted him to stop safely on that curved road with one lane and high speed traffic. It would have been dangerous for anyone to try that.

Three other passengers in the van said, "Hmmm. Weird." They all craned their necks to stare at the smashed truck as we passed it. Then they settled back in their seats and did nothing. I was the only one frantically searching in my bag for my cell phone so I could call 911.

What is that about?! Did it not occur to them that the smashed truck might have a person in it? Or that it was almost inevitable that some other car would fly around that curve too fast and hit it since the truck was jutting out halfway into the only lane? Did they really think they didn't have to do anything?

Is there something about being a passenger, being driven and not in control of the vehicle that makes people more passive? Or maybe they were all just tired after a long day of traveling. We were actually all on the same plane that arrived late because of an aborted landing.

I don't know. I almost didn't write about this because I feel like I am being very judgmental. I just found it unsettling that not one of the four seemingly capable adults in that van seemed to think anything should be done. After we passed the smashed truck, they were all quiet and acted as if nothing had happened. I was in the last row of seats in the back, so only the man sitting next to me could see what I was doing. When I finally found my phone (it took me a minute) and dialed 911, he casually asked, "Are you calling 911?"

I nodded yes. I thought of shouting loudly, "I AM A WOMAN OF ACTION!" But I didn't have my cape or bracelets with me, so I just would have sounded crazy. (Airport security is suspicious of such things, so I try not to carry them when traveling. Have you ever tried to get a magic Lasso of Truth past an X-ray machine...not easy, my friends.)

There is no real resolution to this story. I called 911 and told them about the smashed truck and where it was located. We drove on and all made it home safely (eventually.) The next day I looked in the news to see if there were any stories about an accident, but did not find any. It was just one of the things that made the shuttle ride one of the strangest I have ever taken.

Super Shuttle Muddle

2010-01-06T00:41:00.000-08:00

I was going to try to write a long, funny description of my shuttle ride home from the airport. But I think I've lost interest in trying to convey the weirdness of it. I do, however, have a question.

Part of what made the trip interesting was that the shuttle driver was astoundingly inept. Really, it was almost a comedy routine - you'd say left, he'd go right. You tell him Jones Street, he says, "Okay, Smith Street!" He brought the first passengers to the wrong hotel. They said Holiday Inn. He drove to the Hyatt. I had the feeling that we could make up our own "Who's on First" routine with him:

Left, right?
Right.
[He turns right.]
No, left!
You said right!
Right is correct, not right. Just take a left up here.
Right!
No, left!
No lefts? There's no sign for that.
There's no sign at all.
Right.
No, left!

The whole time he seemed to be cheerfully unaware of his own incompetence. He didn't acknowledge or try to apologize when he made a mistake. He didn't have any kind of attitude about it. He simply would take our repeated corrections and change course.

So my question is this:

Would you complain about him to the shuttle company? He wasn't necessarily unsafe and definitely not unpleasant. He was just ridiculously inept. It wasn't a language issue and it didn't seem to be about intelligence. He pointed out a local high school that he recognized because he had kids who played there in the past. So I think he was a local.

The guy is 65 years old (I looked at his ID badge.) He should be bouncing grandchildren on his lap, not driving an airport shuttle at 11 PM on a Wednesday night. So he must need this job, right? It is obviously NOT a job that plays to his strengths, but who am I to screw with his life? And I was actually laughing most of the time and marveling at his fascinating level of ineptitude. So I didn't have much of a reason to complain. But do I owe it to future passengers and/or the shuttle company to give them honest feedback when there is a problem?

I know what my answer is. I am wondering what others think.

I was the last one to be dropped off at home and I asked him, "Does that GPS work?" (There was a little GPS unit mounted to the dash.) He answered with a chuckle, "It does when I turn it on!"

All Hail Kale

2010-01-03T18:45:00.000-08:00

Last night's dinner: Frozen Grocery Store Pizza

Tonight's dinner: Roasted vegetables (beets, parsnips, turnips, carrots, onions, garlic, brussel sprouts - roasted with parsley, rosemary and thyme from my back yard) and store-bought sesame baked tofu.

Which dinner should I have more often? Hmmmmm?

The star of my night, though, was the Roasted Kale. I have never eaten Kale before. Got the recipe from Persephone's awesome blog. It was SO INCREDIBLY GOOD it deserves those capital letters. I can't tell you how EXCITED I am about how DELICIOUS it was. Mmmmmmm...kale. I am going to cook it every week. It is a beautiful dark green color so you know it has to be good for you.

I did not get a picture of it cooked because I ate it all up immediately. But there it is raw, sitting next to what I think is a turnip.

I also got the roasted vegetable idea from Persephone's blog. Cooked it for my sister's family while I was home for the holidays and they all loved it. I wouldn't look twice at turnips, brussel sprouts or beets (yuck!) before, but everything tastes great when you roast it with olive oil, salt and pepper, and fresh herbs. Really. I promise. (Even the beets.)

Thank you Persephone!

Happy New Year

2010-01-01T11:49:00.000-08:00

If the day and night are such that you greet them with joy and life emits a fragrance like flowers and sweet scented herbs - that is your success.

Henry David Thoreau

Wishing everyone abundant joy and "success" in the New Year.

Be thankful and stop complaining

2009-12-31T02:08:00.000-08:00

This evening my flight home was a bit delayed.

We were heading in for a landing and flying through a thick blanket of clouds. Suddenly, the plane pulls up and climbs again. That is an odd feeling when you have been descending for so long and you are expecting a landing any minute. Ten minutes later the Captain tells us we are going to a nearby airport instead. He says that they couldn't see the runway and so could not complete the landing.

People are such whiners. Many of the passengers were bent out of shape about the situation.

Were any of you just listening?! When the Captain can't see the runway, I think I'm going to side with him on the Not Landing decision.

One young man, not more than twenty and a new recruit in the military, was traveling with some of his buddies (they were not in uniform.) We'll call him PFC Grouchy Pants. He was complaining that the Captain must be an idiot. He couldn't believe we did not land. He couldn't believe how stupid that guy must be. He didn't have an aggressive edge to his complaining. He just seemed like one of those people who likes to complain and wants others to join in. He started to say how he had not had a cigarette since the morning. I smiled at him and said, "Is that why you are so bitchy?" I really did say this. It didn't phase him. He enthusiastically agreed. "Yea! That is why I am so bitchy!"

I can understand having some negative feelings about the inconvenience of it all. We were going to be two hours later than expected and many people had rides waiting for them. PFC Grouchy Pants had to check back in from leave by midnight or he would be AWOL. But c'mon people! There is a really good reason for this to be happening and you should THANKING that pilot for not acting like some reckless, Top Gun maniac.

At the nearby airport, we are told that they will refuel and head back to our airport to give it another try. There is a stink of discontentment in the air. People are still grumbling even though we will eventually get to where we are going. The stressed out flight crew is doing the best they can to manage the crowd.

We finish refueling. We land safely. I tell PFC Grouchy Pants to smile because we made it. He says he'll smile as soon as he has a cigarette in his mouth. Pissy passengers unload.

So when I got off the plane, I wrote the crew a note. My note said:

Dear Captain, First Officer and Crew,
Thank you for making our safety a priority over our convenience. We all get to go home to our loved ones tonight and that is what really matters. Don't listen to the complainers. They don't appreciate what is really important in life. Thank you and Happy New Year!

As I was writing it, one of the crew came to the counter at the gate to use the computer there. He saw me writing my note. When I finished writing, I asked him how I can get the note to the Captain. He said that he was the co-pilot and could give it to him, but he didn't look very excited about the prospect. He probably thought I was writing a nasty letter of complaint. I handed it to him and told him that I just wanted to say thank you for keeping us safe. He looked at the note and then smiled.

(Later I will write about the completely bizarre shuttle ride that I took from the airport. But it is late and now I should sleep.)

Cell phone update

2009-12-21T11:44:00.000-08:00

Update on this post.

The Zombies did not eat my brains. The T-Mobile store in my neighborhood is still standing. The Boots of Thunder were not used. (Too bad.) The boring update is that I ended up staying with Verizon with a lower cost plan that is month to month. And I DID keep my old phone! That's a victory, right?

The fun part of this update is that I found the first cell phone that I ever used. It isn't quite Gordon Gekko size, but it is pretty darn big. The pictures show my current two year old cell phone on the left and the one from 2001 on the right.

I love how huge it is. But the best part is below:

I bet you WISH your phone had its own pull-out antenna. Admit it. You are jealous.

And somehow this makes me think of Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog. If you haven't seen it, you should watch it. The first part is below:

It looks like it is no longer available to view through Hulu or on the Dr. Horrible website - the Zombies want you to buy the DVD now. But you can find all parts of it on this YouTube channel. Watch it. Neil Patrick Harris is hilarious.

Schmawkward is mine

2009-12-18T08:25:00.000-08:00

I bought him.

I couldn't resist.

Part of the description from the seller explained that it is old and some paint is flaking off.

It said "...expect imperfections."

I should put that on my name tag.

Schmawkward

2009-12-15T22:49:00.000-08:00

Update on Operation Enthusiastic Cupcake.

The operation is still in effect. However, the execution of the plan has been lacking. I had a stretch in September when I managed not to volunteer at all. I was having trouble getting motivated to do much of anything. But I have since started up again.

I now know just a handful of the staff names and they recognize me when I come. I know Miss J, Miss L, Miss J and tonight I met Miss P. I would bet they don't know my name. (If only a certain someone would send me my fabulous name tag - hint, hint!)

It's funny that I seem to have the ability to learn and remember the names of the children very quickly. By the end of each night I usually know 5-10 new names. I do try to pay attention whenever I hear one of the staff use a child's name. It is extremely helpful in getting the attention of a 2 to 6-year-old when you know their name. "Hey, kid!" doesn't work so well. Tonight there was L, L, A, I, P, and A. I didn't get the names of three others. But I'm not Rainman. It is all short term memory. I might remember one or two names if they still happen to be there the following week. But more often than not, I need to be reminded.

I admit I have to work a little harder to remember the staff names. And clearly, I need to ask more often. I had a nice conversation a week ago with one of the women about how much I regret not taking Spanish in high school. (Stupid, useless French classes. Monsieur Lawrence, je regrette tout!) One of the young boys didn't understand anything I said, but this woman was bilingual and could communicate with him. She encouraged me to learn. Said it's not too late. She's right. We had a good chat. But I didn't ask her name!

Besides the four staff names that I do know, there are two women and one man who have been there frequently. I should know their names by now, but I don't. We are at that odd point where we have seen each other many times and we recognize each other, so it now seems awkward to ask them what their names are. But awkward schmawkward - I just need to do it. That will be my next mission. Learn the names of any staff member who is working while I am there and introduce myself to them.

I also need to work on my friendly chatting skills. I am just not very talkative normally and it is not my natural inclination to start conversations with people. I can do it and I am genuinely a pleasant person. But it doesn't come naturally to me. So each time I go I have to remind myself to be more gregarious than my comfort level usually allows. I sometimes try to pump myself up by smiling maniacally while driving there from work. You should try it sometime. Force your face into an exaggerated grin showing as many teeth as possible and hold it there for a while. I probably look crazy but it helps me to feel goofy and loosens me up a little.

Schmawkward. I just liked that word after I wrote it, so I used it as the title of this post. It sounds like it should be the name of a German chicken in a children's book. Schmawkward von Cluckenstuffer. He gets into all sorts of mischief because he has a touch of Asperger's and has trouble relating to the other barnyard animals.

Poor Schmawkward.

This is actually a "Vintage 70s RIDICULOUS EGG HEAD Plastic Necklace Pack of 3" on sale at Etsy.

It could be Schmawkward, though.

Blessing

2009-12-12T22:45:00.000-08:00

Beannacht

On the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.

And when your eyes
freeze behind
the gray window
and the ghost of loss
gets in to you,
may a flock of colours,
indigo, red, green,
and azure blue
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.

When the canvas frays
in the currach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.

May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.

And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.

from Anam Cara by John O'Donohue

Moonrise by Stanisław Masłowski, 1884

Today's important life lesson - Knowing the lyrics is always optional

2009-12-11T20:11:00.000-08:00

Itchy nose

Ukulele skillz

natural and complete unselfconsciousness of a child

makes me smile

We should all be this free and joyful.

He's singing "I'm Yours" by Jason Mraz. See Jason's take on it at his blog =
Itchy faced kid does amazing rendition of I'm Yours

And if you are ever in need a 19-letter word,
go ahead and use the one in this post.

Old is the New New (huh?)

2009-12-07T00:17:00.000-08:00

I have never understood the attraction of shopping the day after Thanksgiving (Black Friday) or the day after Christmas (does this one have a name?) I just can't imagine a single appealing aspect to all of that frantic energy and the teeming crowds fueled by lack of sleep and an unsettling sense of entitlement. People must be infected with some kind of deranged and overgrown case of the Gimmes for another human being to be trampled to death at a Walmart. No "deal" that you can get could possibly be worth it. As I have stated before - I would rather disembowel myself with a rusty spork and then set my intestines on fire than participate in that brand of madness.

But I'm not immune to the consumer culture that we live in. My two-year cell phone plan expires in about eight days. My phone is probably two years old. I typically use less than 200 minutes per month. I'm not a talker. (I prefer to communicate through interpretive dance.)

But when it's time to renew my cell phone plan, my first thought is "Oooh...I can get a new phone!" They always offer free phones when you sign up for another two-year contract. It's fun to get something new. It will be all shiny. I'll get to play around with it like a new toy to figure out all of its buttons and gadgets. I consider that fun. I'm kind of a geek like that.

But then it will sit in my bag. Sit on the table at home. Sit on my desk at work and I will hardly use it. And my old phone will become just more electronic waste in this world.

Gordon Gekko should have kept this phone. It could also be used as a barbell.

It is so seductive and insidious. I don't consider myself a materialistic person, but in this case I was almost blindly sucked into the genius marketing that is all around us, telling us:

"New is better!"

"Just throw it away and get another one!"

"You deserve it!"

Now that I have given it more thought, there is no good reason to stop using my current cell phone. I plan to walk into a T-Mobile store, show them my old phone and ask them if it can be used with their calling plan. (They have a cheaper plan than Verizon and no contract.)

I am fully expecting the salesperson to automatically switch into all out Zombie Sales Mode (they try to eat your brains) and offer me some fabulous way to get a shiny! new and improved! fully gadget-ized! phone for free. Free!!! He will flash his fancy electronics in front of me and hope that the blinking digital screens and melodious ring tones will lull my brain into a somnolent stupor (mmmmm.....shiny) so he can sign me up for a phone that will make my life finally worth living and turn me into a new and improved, better version of myself. Come on! Don't I deserve it?

I will thwart him with the Luddite Laser-Stare that I've been perfecting back at headquarters and I'll use my Power Bracelets to deflect the sparkly trance-rays right back at him. If that doesn't work, I'll turn to the trusty Lasso of Truth to get him to answer my simple question - "Can I use this 2-year-old phone or not?!" I may or may not use my Boots of Thunder to cause a seismic disturbance and bring the whole building down in order to spare the other poor saps from falling into their brain-eating clutches. It depends on my mood.

Zombie Sales Boy had better hope I'm having a pleasant day.

Oh Danny Boy

2009-12-06T00:39:00.000-08:00

Friday night when I volunteered, I played with a number of the children. But a 2-year-old named Danny* stuck out for me.

He was there last week and needed a staff person with him constantly. He had trouble with hurting other kids for no reason. Well...I'm sure he sometimes had his reasons. He would reach out and grab and pinch other children or hit them. He needed to be watched at every moment and redirected to do "nice touch." This week he was much better. He didn't need someone watching him like a hawk. He still wanted to resolve problems by hitting, but he wasn't indiscriminately trying to hurt others.

He found a small rubber ball (too big to choke on.) He began to throw it around the playroom and chase after it while it bounced crazily around. I tried to get him to play a game with me of rolling it along the floor back and forth to each other. He was hip to the game for about thirty seconds. Throwing and chasing was much more fun.

At first there were not many other children in the playroom, so his throwing was moderately safe. As more children came in, it became a bigger problem. There was a very good chance someone would be hit with it and a few of the other children wanted to chase the ball too. Danny got very upset if another kid went near his ball. He's not very verbal so he screeches loudly to show his displeasure and gets close to throwing a tantrum. We mediated a few spats and asked the older kids to let him play by himself. But it kept happening. And Danny was getting more and more ramped up.

I finally knelt down next to him and told him, "Danny, no more throwing the ball. You can hold on to your ball, but there are too many people in here. So no more throwing, okay?" He was wiggling and whining as I talked to him and I was aware that at his age, he was not able to fully understand what I told him. He did stop throwing the ball for about a minute. I was shocked it worked at all.

So, as is completely understandable for his age, he started throwing the ball again. I made an executive decision. I took the ball away from him and told him, "We are done with the ball. No more ball." Now that I write it down it sounds mean. But it wasn't! I said it as nicely as I could, but also firmly. I wasn't going to give him a long explanation or try to reason with him. It needed to stop and he needed it to stop. He was getting really worked up each time another child tried to get his ball. I took the ball out of the playroom and put it on a shelf in the kitchen area - in a different room, completely out of sight.

When I came back, he was throwing a small fit. I tried to get his attention with some new excitement - "Danny, want to go play with CARS?!" He kept screeching and throwing his fit. I walked across the room and sat in a chair to give him time to calm down. Then he surprised me. He got up and walked over to me. He sat himself in my lap and snuggled close to me while he cried. "Awwww, it's okay," I told him.

He was crying and snuggling, and he seemed to be agitated by the other kids being nearby and looking at him. So I took him to a seat in a corner further away from the general chaos. It hit me then what a shame it was that he had to be there. At that moment, he really needed to be brought to a quiet room by himself to calm down from all the stimulation. But it wasn't going to happen.

The center is just not set up that way or staffed for that. Everything is a group activity. Volunteers cannot be alone with the children.** I have to stay where the staff people are. From what I have seen, the staff rarely take children off to be by themselves. They are always together in a group (except when sleeping when there are only 2-4 in the same room.) Each staff person usually has one to three children who they are mainly responsible for. But they still do everything together. It doesn't seem like they have a mechanism in place for one to say to another, "This child needs some quiet time. Can you watch my other two for half an hour?" Unless a child is having a total meltdown and then he is taken to his room. It's too bad they can't do it before total meltdown happens.

I could be wrong since I am only there a few hours a week. But it seems that the overall thinking is geared towards the needs of the group and less towards the individual needs of the child. And maybe it is impossible for it to be any other way? (No. It could be different. So says know-it-all Kathy.)

So the best that Danny was going to get that night was a slightly calmer corner of a loud and boisterous room. Poor kid. He is safe there and will get so many of his basic needs met. But he is one of many and lots of things will be overlooked. He deserves to have someone who loves him looking after his individual needs. I hope that happens for him soon.

*I never use real names.

**We have been given long, thorough background checks before we are able to volunteer. My fingerprints were run by the state and the FBI. But I do understand the policy of not letting volunteers be alone with the children. With that age group, the staff has to constantly keep a count of children and can't have volunteers wandering off with them. Also, volunteers are given NO training. That's right - NONE. (I've got a draft post with a whole rant about the volunteer coordinator and what a crappy, half-assed job this person does - but we don't have to get into that.) So I understand keeping the volunteers supervised. Just because we can pass a background check, doesn't mean we know anything about children or how to treat them. And with zero training, the staff should be required to keep an eye on us. Just because you are not a criminal, doesn't mean you're not a jackass.

I don't follow

2009-12-04T01:18:00.000-08:00

I've been messing around with my blogger account today and figuring out how to follow blogs and add them to a reader. I've been geeking out like this for at least an hour (okay, maybe two hours.) I tend to investigate all possible settings and gadgets, just to see what they do.

So I have a question. I used to bookmark blogs that I read. But now that I follow them, what is the deal? Is it considered proper Blogger etiquette to follow someone if they are following your blog? Because I really DO NOT WANT people to follow me just because I follow them. It is just not necessary. Please, please and pretty please don't do it. I beg you. Only follow me if you are truly interested in what I have to say. It would feel disingenuous to me and why waste your own precious time?

And so, as I emerge from my two hour techno-trance, my right brain is tired of being ignored. Here is my No Follow plea in poetry form:

A limerick:

Please and please don't follow me

If I am not your cup of tea

Life is too brief

So don't be a thief

Stealing time from yourself, what folly!

The old classic:

Roses are red

Violets are blue

Don't follow me

just cuz I follow you.

Haiku:

How much time, really?

Do not waste one waking breath

on scattering words

(Okay, maybe my right brain was just tired.)

Original depiction of fictional anthropomorphic rabbit from

the first chapter of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, 1865

Later
And another thing-
Please don't feel obligated to leave a comment on my blog just because I have left a comment on yours. Again, it is just not necessary. Comment if you feel like commenting. That's it. And feel free to read along and never, ever comment. That is perfectly fine too.

So does this go against some sort of blogging community rules? Am I being an online social misfit? I guess I don't care if I am. It takes time and energy to write comments. I don't want anyone to do it out of a sense of obligation, especially if what they are saying has no real meaning to them and they are just doing it to be nice. Save your time and energy for things that really matter to you. Engage in a comment conversation when you really are moved to do it.

I have this whole sonnet in Middle English about commenting prepared....nah...I'll spare you.

The Derek-bot Strikes Back

2009-11-23T22:53:00.000-08:00

Follow up to this entry.

I didn't know he had it in him. But I should have suspected all along. Those $50 credit forms that he promised arrived rather quickly. I know now that it was just a ploy to distract my attention.

I have two Citibank credit cards. While I was calling to cancel one of them, I also had to make a payment over the phone for the other one. They had issued a new card and number because of some security breach on their end. This is the second time they have done this. Just another example of their twisted mind games, I'm sure. So my online account access was limited and I could not make my payment online as I usually do.

Derek was more than happy to take care of that payment for me. I could hear the smile in his voice. I gave him the required routing number and account number from my check. He read me the canned blurb from their payment script - "You authorize Citibank to make a payment in the amount of blah, blah, blah....." I gave him my verbal consent and then we were on to other matters.

I had spoken with the Derek-bot on a Sunday. My payment was due on a Monday. On Wednesday I checked my account. No payment was made and it now showed that I was late.

Well done, sir.

It was surprisingly easy to remedy. I was ready to go into full battle mode. I had my cape and bullet-proof bracelets, Derek-bot's ID number, and the date and time of call in hand. But it wasn't necessary. I called and talked to Citibank's Amanda-bot and she was able to make the payment for me and change my grace period so that the payment did not record as late.

Of course, they couldn't just let it go at that. My next statement arrived and it contains a line item that says "Late Payment - Fee Not Charged" with an amount of $0.00. The Citibank version of a severed horse head in my bed.

Oh, I get your message, Citibank. Don't you worry. Enjoy your brief victory. As I have said before...this is not over...

This is a PG version of the horse head in bed scene from The Godfather movie.
I promise, it isn't scary or gross.

Not so perfect me

2009-11-22T00:49:00.000-08:00

Immediately after I wrote my last entry, I thought to myself that it sounded a little arrogant. As if I were saying that I can do anything. That is not what I meant at all. I am in touch with the reality that there are lots of things I can’t do. My last post was more about my overall positive outlook on trying new things. And my sometimes naive idea that nothing bad will happen. So to even out the cosmic blog karma, here's a list of things I am not good at.

Aerobics

Do people even call it that anymore? I could never pull off that kind of exercise class where your arms and legs had to do something different at the same time. To be truthful, I couldn’t even manage getting my legs to do the right steps. Lift, step, kick, step back, lift. I couldn't follow and was probably as graceful as a cow in high heels.

I believe it has to do with thinking. I'm fine with coordinating my limbs to jump up and hit a volleyball (which I used to be very good at.) But that is mindless action. I'm not thinking about what to do with my left leg or how to position my right arm. I'm just doing. The aerobics classes required me to think too much about how I was moving and my body wanted nothing to do with that. My body is smart sometimes. I should listen to it more.

Sales

I am WAY to practical and detail-oriented to ever be successful at selling. If I were trying to sell a bottle of water to a guy who had just emerged from twenty days in the desert, I’d bore him to death with the mundane facts about the water bottle and make sure he knew all of the issues facing him should he choose to make the purchase. And if it didn’t seem like a good idea for them to buy it, I’d probably tell them that too. He'd wander back into the desert - still thirsty - just to escape my pathetic sales pitch.

Spelunking

Not that I have ever tried this but I am pretty sure I could never do it. I’m a little bit claustrophobic, so the idea of squeezing myself through small passages in cold, wet caves makes me very, very nervous. I used to read Outside magazine and there were stories of extreme cave explorers that fascinated and horrified me at the same time. They wouldn't just explore caves by walking and crawling around them like normal lunatics. They would go diving with specially-made rebreathing scuba gear into deep, unknown, water-filled caverns. They needed the rebreathing gear because it allowed them to stay underwater for much longer periods of time - because they had NO IDEA where any of the caves would lead, or how long they would have to be underwater. I shudder just thinking about it. Here's a link to a story about that from 1996 if you want to freak yourself out.

Being myself

This should be an easy one, right? Who else would I be? But I have always had a hard time sharing myself - my true and real self - with others. At some point when I was growing up, I seemed to get it in my head that my role in life was to be the good girl who never rocked the boat. I was incredibly adept at hiding what I was really thinking or feeling. I was an expert level pretender. We are talking first round draft pick material, people. If they had an Olympic event for it, I would have been looking like Micheal Phelps with stacks of medals hanging off my chest (or Mark Spitz, if that's your era.) It became so ingrained in my personality that I really and truly did not even KNOW what I was feeling most of the time. I took my cues from everyone around me and did my best to be what I thought everyone wanted me to be.

That is one of the reasons I struggled so much in college. Up until that point, my world had been a place where I knew my role and was pretty damn good at it. When I went off to college, suddenly no one was around to tell me who I was supposed to be. I was so used to defining myself by the expectations of others, I had no idea what I really felt or wanted. I was lost.

In the twenty years since then I've managed figure some things out and I am pretty confident about who I am. But I still struggle to show myself to people. I seem to have the most trouble with people I am closest to. On most days, I could not care less what strangers think of me. But I still find myself feeling like I have to meet some expectation with people closest to me. Always be okay. Always be fine. Always be good. Even when I feel like total shit. I know that it is something I do to myself and I am working on changing it.

This blog has helped. I am better at expressing myself in writing than I ever am in person. And I can write something revealing or difficult and then shut off the computer and go dive under the covers and hide. Time to take cover.

La douleur by Ernest Hulin (1882-1918)

Forklift Friday

2009-11-07T02:06:00.000-08:00

It was forklift Friday for me today. I am most definitely an office worker, but in a small company there are times that you do whatever needs to get done. On Fridays, I'm the only one here who knows how to drive the forklift. That is not a picture of our forklift. The one in the picture is way cooler looking than ours. Looks like you could go off road with that bad boy.

Today was an interesting challenge - find the one crate out of thirty-two on the pallet rack and take it down, all while maneuvering in a very tight space because the guys had left a whole bunch of stuff crowding the shelves in the warehouse. It would boring to explain it, but let's just say that it would have made a good YouTube video. The one where they play goofy circus music while you watch the dummy on the forklift - move forward, back up, move forward, back up, turn too far, pull the pallet halfway out, push it back in, move forward, back up, pull the lift up too fast and dent the shelf above, back up, move forward, turn too far, etc. There were also various scraping noises involved. I did successfully get the 400 pound crate on the ground and nobody was killed.

The next task was to try to put the crate in the back of a guy's SUV. Ha! He did not witness the previous forklift episode, but I showed him the dented shelf and told him that was my handiwork. But I was the only one here and if he wanted to try it, I was his only choice. He was a risk-taker. We tried it. It actually went well - no scraping or denting this time. It just wasn't possible to do it without crushing the back door of his SUV. We jointly decided against that.

There was almost a third opportunity to drive the forklift today because we had a truck come to pick up two outgoing crate shipments. But I decided not to push my luck and let the truck driver do it. I'm actually not a bad forklift driver. The pallet rack incident was the first time I felt stupid.

So how do I know how to drive a forklift? Just had one of the guys show me - on-off, forward-backward, up-down. Not that hard.

I have always had a good amount of what you might call blind confidence. I just never think that there is any reason I couldn't do something. And if there are doubts, I have the ability to act like I know what I am doing, at least until I really figure it out. I can't say that this has led to an exciting life full of daring escapades or stupid risks. It just leads to things like trying to juggle eggs in Beth's kitchen when I was a kid. I was sure I could do it!

Or driving from Boston to LA by myself in a borrowed car in five days when I was 24. Stopped at the Civil Rights Museum in Memphis and the Grand Canyon. The rest of it was just highways and motels. How could anything possibly have gone wrong there? (And nothing did!)

In college, driving the church van by myself in New York City to pick up the local disadvantaged youth and bring them to Sunday school. Going in to seedy looking apartment buildings to get them if they weren't waiting outside (even though the priest told me not to.) I wasn't going to just leave them. How could anything bad have happened? (Nothing ever did.)

Going into a crack house and watching a woman who was overdosing have seizures while I was training to be an EMT in New York City. In this case, I wasn't actually required to do anything. I was just riding along as part of the training. How could I not pull that off?

Moving to California in my early twenties with no money, no job, using credit cards for everything and having only a friend's living room to sleep in. How could that NOT be a recipe for success? It all worked out exceptionally well. Found a great job that made me an imaginary millionaire for a brief time. Found a beautiful, rent-controlled apartment right in San Francisco and lived there for eight years.

Okay, maybe I have done some stupid things. Now that I really start to think about it, there were plenty of stupid, risky things I have done based on my blind confidence that nothing bad could happen. So I must be blessed or watched over by guardian angels. I am grateful for that. They haven't had to work too hard lately. My life has been relatively sedate these past years.

But you never know. If I find myself in Beth's kitchen again, I might have to try that egg juggling trick just one more time. I know I can do it!

Angel by Abbott Handerson Thayer, 1889

Arrrrrggggghhhhhhh!

2009-11-04T10:41:00.000-08:00

Because I am from New England, I was watching the results of the vote on gay marriage going on in Maine. From the title of this post you can probably tell how I feel about the results.

Last year, I wrote about my disappointment with the outcome of Prop 8 here in California.

Most of my links from that earlier post don't seem to work anymore, but here's a new one:

Ad says gay marriage will be taught in schools; Maine officials disagree

The man who ran the campaign in California also ran Maine's Yes on 1 campaign. I think it is a shame that they used the same tactic of misleading people about how the law would impact what was taught to our vulnerable, innocent children in schools. Lying stinks. Let's teach that to our children.

You know what I hope that they are teaching in our schools? Civility and basic human decency. You can't make fun of Johnny because he has two Moms. You can't pick on Jenny because she likes to play with trucks. Some people don't look just like you. Some people don't act or think just like you. They deserve your respect and you should treat them with kindness. If they are reading a book about how different families look, that is what they are teaching.

This book on Amazon.

A Dorothy Day

2009-10-27T10:24:00.000-07:00

It is
unusually
blustery and
windy
this morning.

I'm going to
grab my basket
and
go
see

what the wizard is up to.

We meet again, dear Citibank...

2009-10-24T16:38:00.000-07:00

Oh Citibank! When will you learn? You are going up against a superhero - don't you get that yet?! You can try to trip me up, but it won't work! I have powers that you cannot overcome.

We have battled before - oh yes, we have. Did you learn nothing from that encounter? Were you not sufficiently humbled and awestruck by my incredibleness?

My special offer for 1.5 airline miles for every dollar spent was good for one year. That year was almost up. You were getting ready to charge me a $50 annual fee - you know you were. That's why I was calling to cancel my card before the fee kicked in. The whole balance was paid off and the card was no longer being used.

Your weapon of choice this time was Derek. He was no Joe, but his amiable manner could have lulled mere mortals in to a peaceful stupor where they wouldn't have expected your duplicity. But my defenses would not be cracked with pleasant chit-chat about the unseasonably warm weather in Nebraska that day.

I told Derek straight up - I was going to cancel my card because I didn't want to pay an annual fee and in truth, I was only using you for the extra miles. He complimented me on my responsible use of the Citibank credit cards. He was sorry to hear that I wanted to cancel. Then he dispensed with the soothing platitudes and brought out the big guns. He would sign me up to get DOUBLE miles for the next three months if I stayed on. He would also take care of that $50 annual fee.

Derek, you sly devil. You were on to my weakness. I was jonesing for more miles like a crackhead for the pipe and you could smell it.

But you won't just GIVE me the $50. Of course not. You will mail me a form that I have to sign and mail back and THEN you will credit my account $50. Nicely played, Citibank. I expected such treachery. Your tangled web of paperwork will not defeat me.

I agree to your terms. I will await your form. I will gleefully rack up my double miles and pay the balance off every month. And don't think you can "forget" to send me the form. I have the badge number of your Derek-bot and I won't hesitate to use it.

It's been lovely to tangle with you again, dear Citibank. Really it has. But you and I both know - this is not over...

my Friday lesson

2009-10-18T22:43:00.000-07:00

My Friday night ended with me in the bedroom of three little boys singing Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.

Jonathan, age 4, has been there before. For at least a month the last time. All the staff know him. He was gone for a while, but now he's back. It probably does not mean good things are happening in his life if he's back there again. Poor kid.

Mikey, also 4, got attached to me. I never deliberately try to make this happen. I always let the children approach me and decide how long they want to hang with me. I don't follow them around the playroom or try to sit next to them on the couch. I am actually quite passive. Except when a child needs some redirection or a toddler dispute needs mediating.

Mikey needed coaxing to go take a shower. I helped him by telling him that I'd stay outside the bathroom door while he was in there and wait for him. The staff do the bathing and dressing. Then I did one of the worst things I could do. I didn't keep my promise. I completely forgot what I had said and wandered away from the door. He came out of the shower room, glared at me and said "You didn't stay at the door!" I apologized and told him how sorry I was that I forgot. He grabbed my hand to try to squeeze it and pinch me because he was so mad. I tried to get him to tell me how mad he was and I kept saying sorry. He still seemed angry, but he let me help him put his socks on.

He sat next to me during movie time (Toy Story 2.) It was a rowdy night in the toddler section. There were at least twenty children there. Lots of staff, but it was still a bit loud.

When it was bedtime Mikey got nervous and didn't want me to leave. I told him I'd read him a story and that's how I ended up in the room with the three boys. It is not easy to get three 4-year-olds to wind down when they have just come from being in a noisy room with twenty other toddlers. I read a book. We sang songs (softly.) I turned down the lights. I spoke softly to them and eventually got us all down to whispers. I was in there for an hour before they began to settle down.

When they had quieted down a bit, I tried to leave but Mikey wasn't having any of that. He sat up and told me that if I left then he was coming with me. He was determined and put his two feet on the floor and would not get back under his covers until I told him I would stay.

So I sat on the floor, aware of the minutes passing by and annoyed at the staff chatting in the hallway. (Um...ladies? Children trying to sleep in here!) I was thinking to myself, "Okay, what can I do to get them to sleep faster so I can get out of here?" And then I realized - why do I care how fast they fall asleep? Where do I have to go? I'll just go home, eat a late dinner and sit in front of the TV. Why am I in such a hurry to do that?

The meaninglessness of my work life has been bothering me lately. I like the people I work with. I enjoy the freedom that I have and the fact that in a typical day I get to use both my left and right brain. I am grateful that my efforts contribute to this company staying afloat and therefore seven other people get to keep their jobs. But really, what I am doing? Helping to sell stupid crap that nobody really needs.

This volunteer thing is the best thing I do for my soul all week.

Once I realized that, I sat there in the dark with the three boys with a much calmer mind and heart. I rubbed Mikey's back for a while. Then rubbed Jonathan's back. I was no longer focused on completing a task. I was just happy to be there with them and glad to know that my presence brought them comfort.

Study of a Sleeping Child by Václav Malý

Nobody puts Baby in a corner (or gets in the way of her morning coffee)

2009-09-29T21:28:00.000-07:00

So this morning, I had a little encounter with an 18 to 20-year-old “I am invincible and look how fast my car can go” young man. You know the ones I am talking about. They speed through parking lots in their crappy Hondas; race through our neighborhoods with their Nisson POS; and hold the mistaken notion that they have complete control over their cars and all the other objects in the world around them.

It was a battle over the Starbucks' drive-thru. The young man didn’t stand a chance.

The Starbucks was on a busy road with a small parking lot. I entered the Starbucks' parking lot from the road – what you might call the front entrance. He went around to enter from the back alley. There was a minivan pulling out of a parking space in front of me, so I patiently waited. The minivan then headed in the direction of the back alley to exit. The young man came flying around that corner, clearly intent on cutting me off and getting to that drive-thru first. According to my set of rules, if I am in the parking lot first, I get to go first. I sometimes enter from the back alley, but if there is a car already in the parking lot, heading for the drive-thru, I defer to them and let them go ahead.

So he comes whipping around the corner and he most definitely should have slowed down when he saw the minivan heading towards him. I'm sure the minivan had to slam on its brakes. But he didn’t slow down at all. I saw his intention and did not hesitate. I had a little jump on him so I refused to back down and kept going at a normal speed right into the drive-thru ahead of him. It was close. Very close. We didn’t make eye contact. I tried to act like it was oh-so casual.

What I did next is a little weird. I felt like I had the right to gloat a little about my victory. Maybe flip him off and say, "Ha, ha you little jerk. I win!"

But instead I paid for his coffee. Take that, punk!

Dame mit Kaffeetasse (Lady with Coffee Cup) by Emile Eisman-Semenowsky

I don't know what possessed me to do it. I might have felt slightly bad about our aggressive interaction. But only a little. I think it was more that I was delighting in my *****Winner***** status. I would be a benevolent dictator and buy coffee for all of the peasants. ("Shirley Temples all around!") Perhaps, I was trying to teach him that there are people in the world who can respond to his jerk behavior with only kindness and love. Make him think a little about how he acts and maybe, just maybe, feel a tiny bit ashamed of himself.

Later I realized that, if he is like a typical 18-year-old male, he might not have gotten my happy-hippie peace-and-love message. He might have thought I was trying to hit on him. Ewwww! That's just what the world needs - this young man's ego puffed up some more.

"Chicks buy me coffee! Must be the car."

Last photo is Portrait of a Young Man by Agnolo Bronzinon

An important question

2009-09-28T22:18:00.000-07:00

Is Dr. Oz a Vulcan?

Has anyone ever explored this question?

It is more noticeable when you see him on TV. The eyebrows. The ears. The giant brain.

It just makes sense, doesn't it?

Memory

2009-08-30T12:03:00.000-07:00

I downloaded this song from iTunes this week:

I am amazed that I still know all the words - what - 30 years later? I'm fascinated by the fact that there is a place in my brain where the lyrics to this song reside. There are neurons buried somewhere in that soft gray mass in my head, which have been so deeply imprinted by this song that even though I rarely access the memory, it is still there in full. A cascade of synapses fire, sleepy neural pathways awaken and these silly lyrics pour out of my mouth. I am in awe of that power.

But I am also mystified by how variable and unreliable memory can be. Beth just told me about the time that she came to visit me while I was at college in New York. I have absolutely NO memory of that. NONE. She says that she has pictures of me in my dorm room. I remember my dorm room, but don't remember Beth ever being there. She remembers that we went sightseeing together and saw the Empire State Building. If you asked me if I had ever been to the Empire State Building, I would have told you no. Even though Beth filled in some of the details of her visit, I can not conjure up a single thread of a memory about it.

So strange. So random. I suppose every memory is a miracle.

I hope when I am 96 and sitting in my nursing home chair, that I bust out this song and all the staff look at me funny. (And then probably increase my meds.)

Said a hip, hop, hippy to the hippy to hip hip a-hoppin' you don't stop rockin' to the bang bang boogie said up jump the boogie to the rhythm of the boogie-bee.

Party Pooper

2009-08-16T16:07:00.001-07:00

Gross discussion of bodily functions below. If you can't handle it, stop reading.

QUESTION:
Should a person be worried if her (kinda loose) poop this morning was a bright red color?

ANSWER:
Not if she drank a huge glass of beet juice last night.

This happened to me this morning. When I noticed it, I started to think, "What the...." and then I remembered the beet juice.

Actually it was orange/beet juice but the orange flavor was nowhere to be found. Beets just take over everything. Like some obnoxious guest at a party who hijacks every conversation and has to be the center of attention the whole time.

I'm roasting a bunch of vegetables in the oven right now, including beets.

The beets had better not ruin the party.

A good night

2009-08-11T13:56:00.000-07:00

It's not always crazy or difficult or heartbreaking when I volunteer. It seems that I tend to write about the times that frustrate me. Probably because it is a good way to vent those feelings.

This past Friday was a good night with an interesting group of kids. Ages ranged from 3 to 6. They all seemed rather well adjusted and relaxed. They played really well together - very few episodes of squabbling, grabbing of toys or acting out. It was nice.

I played dolls with a 5-year-old who was a great Mommy. Tucked her dolls in with blankets and then grabbed a play purse and said, "I'm going out for a while. You watch them and I'll be back in a little bit." She walked around the playroom in a very determined way, like she was really intent on getting some errands done. When she got back, I gave her the report that all of the babies were good while she was out.

The fire alarm went off in the building while we were in the playroom. A piercing, high-pitched alarm that forces you to leave because it makes you feel like your brain is going to melt. Everyone was extremely calm and all the children walked quietly out of the building with staff shepherding them along. One of the staff counted the kids twice as we headed for the door. Not one kid got freaked out by the squealing alarm and flashing lights.

They have a big plastic stroller outside, with seats for six. Six kids got strapped in and two others just held hands with us. The stroller would be used to move the children quickly if there were a real emergency. We stood outside the building for a few minutes until someone determined that it had been a false alarm and we all went back inside. I was impressed by how calm all of the children remained throughout the whole thing. I think six of them were quite disappointed that they didn't actually get to take a ride in the big, plastic stroller.

Overall, it was a good night and I had fun.

Things NOT to do while driving

2009-08-09T11:51:00.000-07:00

1. Talk on your cell phone.

2. Text on your cell phone. (It is amazing to me that laws have to be created for this one.)

3. Stare at your digital odometer when it shows 99,999 miles because you want to see it change to 100,000 miles.

I have done #1 on rare occasions. Yes, that's right. I'll admit it. But I choose not to do it on a regular basis. No phone call is worth the distraction. If I were the preeminent emergency brain surgery expert who had to take calls from other doctors attempting to save lives - then MAYBE. Maybe I would take a call while driving.

If I ever attempted to do #2, you would be reading about the horrible crash that I would inevitably cause after making that colossally stupid decision.

I did #3. My beautiful 2001 Prius has hit 100,000. On my lunch break from work, I knew it was about to happen. I really did stare at the odometer a bit too much, drove slower than I usually do and was a potential menace on the roads. But I did see it change to 100,000!

I never understood people who get emotionally attached to cars. A car should just be basic transportation. It gets you from one place to another. That's it.

But I have to say that I love my Prius. I love its dark green color. I love its compactness. I love how quiet it is when it runs only on battery power. If anything happened to it, I would be sad. I'd have to grieve for a while. And I'd miss it. I hope it lasts another 100,000 miles.

The most popular girl in the room - unfortunately

2009-07-26T09:09:00.000-07:00

I volunteered this past Friday and Saturday nights.

I have decided to make up fake names for the kids when I talk about them. It's easier than saying the 5-year-old, the 3-year-old. To protect their privacy, the names that I make up won't even be close to the children's real names. Also, I will not describe them physically or say very much about why they are there.

Max Liebermann: Kleinkinderschule (Bewaarschool) in Amsterdam, 1880

On Friday I spent time with Linda, a very quiet 5-year-old girl. She gradually opened up and near the end of the night told me a little about her mother and her older brother. Then she asked when I would come back. I told her it wouldn't be for many days because next week I'll be out of town.

I usually don't go on Saturdays, but I decided to go because I was thinking about Linda and the fact that I wouldn't be able to go back for while. When I got to the playroom, Linda was in a another room getting a shower so I started to read books with a cheerful 3-year-old named Joy. Actually, it was more like Joy reading books to me. She would turn the pages and chatter happily about whatever was pictured in the book.

Then a 5-year-old named Jennifer comes into the playroom after her shower. Jennifer is looking lost and crying for her mother. She must have arrived today, because she was not there last night. I ask her if she wants to read books with us. She says yes and sits on my lap. She is still crying and I listen to her while she tells me that she wants her mommy. I hug her and try to comfort her as best I can.

Linda shows up after her shower and sits down next to me. I have Linda and Jennifer each pick out a book. We read. Jennifer cries and says she wants her mommy. I continue to hold her and try to comfort her. Linda gets a sad look on her face and whispers something about her mommy under her breath. I ask Linda, "Do you miss your mommy too?" She nods her head solemnly and a tear rolls down her face. With crying Jennifer in my lap, I reach over and put my arm around Linda and tell her, "I know you miss your mommy." Linda doesn't go into full blown crying and I can see that a little bit of attention from me makes her feel better. Joy is still happily reading to herself near us.

We leave the playroom to have a snack in the kitchen. After snack time, everyone sits on the floor in the living room for singing time. The singing starts but Jennifer, still crying, leaves the floor and crawls onto the end of the couch. I'm sitting in the middle of the couch. I am hoping one of the staff will go to her. I'm only here a couple of hours a week. Wouldn't it be better for the person who is going to be spending the whole night with Jennifer to go and comfort her? Give this frightened child a chance to bond with someone other than the lone volunteer who is going to leave in an hour?

All through singing time, Jennifer is on one end of the couch, alone and crying. I'm staying on my side of the couch - waiting, waiting, waiting. Hoping a staff will reach out to her. Singing ends and they start the movie. None of the staff go near Jennifer. Finally, I can't take it anymore. I move over to Jennifer, take her in my lap and hold her while she cries. When the movie starts, Joy comes near me and also starts to say she misses her mommy. Joy sits to my right and alternates between happily watching the movie and saying she wants her mommy. Linda comes over and sits to my left. I try to smile at her and talk to her during the movie so she doesn't feel left out. She smiles back.

At one point during the movie I have crying Jennifer on my lap, Joy snuggling on my right, Linda sitting quietly on my left and a 3-year-old comes over and leans against my legs while watching the movie. I am a kid magnet.

The night has a painful ending. Joy, Linda and Jennifer all want me to read them a book in their rooms. Luckily, Linda and Jennifer are in the same room. I go to their room and start to read. Joy is screaming because she wants me in her room. I finish the book and say goodnight to Linda and Jennifer. Linda smiles at me. Jennifer continues to cry.

I go into Joy's room and she stops screaming. I read a book to her and her sister. I hear Jennifer start to cry loudly in the other room. After I finish the book I try to say goodnight to Joy and her sister and leave. I really want to go see how Jennifer is doing. But Joy starts to scream again when I try to leave. So I stay in Joy's room and sit by her bed while she falls asleep.

While I am sitting with Joy, Jennifer has escalated to screaming in the next room. I feel horrible that I can't be in both rooms at once and that I have abandoned Jennifer, who was so fragile and vulnerable all night. I hear them take Jennifer out of that room and into another. Eventually, Joy falls asleep and Jennifer quiets down.

I leave.

A heartbreaking night.

Fra Angelico

Operation Enthusiastic Cupcake!

2009-07-19T00:08:00.000-07:00

The plan is in place.

Cupcakes have been baked and frosted.

Mr. Roger's Day at the Circus DVD has been ordered.
My smiling muscles have been assigned a rigorous training regimen.

Operation Enthusiastic Cupcake
has begun.

No, that is not me. She looks pretty enthusiastic though, doesn't she?

I have become tired of hearing myself complain about the movies that they show to the youngsters at the place where I volunteer. If I am not going to try to do anything about it, then I should shut my mouth.

So, what to do?

One of the reasons I haven't said anything to the staff about it is because I have never felt quite comfortable with them. Never felt like they even wanted me there. I have been going there once or twice a week since March and none of them have ever asked me my name. I usually come in, smile and say hello to the staff people who are there and then look around to see what the kids are doing. When I first started to volunteer I was completely surprised that none of them said anything to me about what I should do or how things work. I thought that if they saw a new face, someone would acknowledge my newness and try to fill me in. Nope. Nothing.

But of course I need to take responsibility for not being more assertive myself. I could have introduced myself to any of them and told them I was new and asked for direction. I felt intimidated and awkward. The vibe was so weird. Maybe I am too sensitive, but I really got the feeling that they could care less that I was there. Sometimes when I said hello they barely grunted at me. To this day, I still haven't figured out if there is one lead staff person on duty.

I am also aware that no one appreciates a person coming into their workplace and telling them how to run things. Especially if that person is only around a few hours a week.

So I go in and play with the kids. I have no problem sitting down on the floor with a bunch of two- to six-year-olds and interacting. Play just naturally happens with them. It is their sole purpose in life and it flows out and around and between and through them as easily as breathing. I'll try to engage with some of them and let them decide if they want to allow me into their play world. Sometimes they do and sometimes they don't. If not, I can sit back and wait for other chances to interact. Some nights I end up reading and playing with many kids at different times. Sometimes only one or two.

Kou-Kou by Georgios Iakovidis

I was talking with someone about my experiences there. She works for an organization that helps troubled teens so she knows a little about the child and foster care system in this area. She pointed out that there must be a lack of leadership there and that the staff are probably under-appreciated and don't feel like they have clear direction. In a challenging social services job like that, it is easy to become unmotivated and apathetic if you don't feel genuinely supported by your management.

It made me realize what I have to do.

Operation Enthusiastic Cupcake went into effect at 1800 hours on Wednesday, July 15, 2009.

Here is the plan:

1. I have to get over my shyness and feeling awkward and start to be more engaging and friendly with the staff. I have to initiate conversations and ask them questions and start calling them by name. I have to get past my anxiety about making small talk and just do it.

2. I will show them that I appreciate them. I baked cupcakes. I frosted them with chocolate frosting and colorful sprinkles. I brought them with me on Wednesday and gave them to one of the staff. She said thank you and I heard her tell some other staff that I had brought them in.

3. I will give them genuine compliments that acknowledge their strengths. I will ask them how the day has been going and sympathize with how hard it must be sometimes.

The goal of all this is to make them feel more comfortable with me and make me more comfortable with them. Then it will be easier to approach one of them with a suggestion or concern. Hopefully I can bring up my concerns about the scary movies in such a way that they will not feel attacked and will be open to listening.

I can also bring in the Mr Rogers Day at the Circus DVD and suggest we watch it some night. If that goes over well, I can bring in more.

If I can't get through to them and there continues to be ridiculously inappropriate movies shown to these fragile youngsters, I will be forced to change the battle plan.

We'll have to resort to

Operation Ballistic Chicken
....and nobody wants that to happen.

Google & Grasshoppers

2009-07-13T23:13:00.000-07:00

I've got a little thing at the bottom of the blog that shows traffic to the blog. It displays the location of people who view the blog and sometimes it shows that they found the blog by doing a Google search.

Every once in a while someone gets to the blog by doing a search involving grasshoppers.

Below is the funniest search I've seen so far. It might be hard to read, but if you click on the picture, you'll see it better.

And in case you can't read it, someone from the UK searched for

"how to keep a grasshopper a live when you sister has bit half of his leg of."

My previous post

2009-07-10T14:15:00.000-07:00

I have been feeling quite bad about my last post. It feels mean-spirited. I don't like to think of myself that way. I want to think that I am kind and compassionate.

I didn't mean to be mean. It's not that I dislike people. People scare me. Sometimes I don't have the energy or confidence or something that I need to interact with others.

I could use the magic of my computer to delete the entire post. Pretend it never existed and erase all evidence of my misanthropic tendencies.

But I have to face the truth about myself. Sometimes it's a struggle to be kind and open to the world around me. I try, but I need to accept that I can't always do it.

But I'll keep trying.

The Bodhisattva of Infinite Compassion and Mercy,
Avolokitesvara Bodhisattva, in Chinese called Guanyin.

grasshopper on my door

Home

Blakeslee PA

Ohio doesn't want me to leave

Napoleon Ohio

Coralville Iowa

Kearney Nebraska

Rawlins Wyoming

Mesquite, NV

Someone at the Best Western has little legs. Someone at the Best Western has discovered that those little legs can run. Backand forth. Backand forth. In the room right above me. At 6:30 AM. Lucky me.

And miles to go before I sleep

Lily the Wonder Dog

Would you like some crackers with that cheese?

When I rise

Coming in June...

Fugitive Captured

Felis catus haiku

Mike is a girl

happy cartoon math eating pictures

Mike the Giant Spider

Michael Chiarello can kiss my ass

stand ajar

Ruff

Robot Love

Time Travel

The best job I ever had

Sony laptop screen problem - fixed

I've got no blogging mojo

Well...this can't be good

A great way to start the day

Peace

24 hours in the animal madhouse

Friday afternoon

The local vets LOVE us (for our most generous contributions to their children's college funds.)

Lily update

Lily Girl

Lavender blooming and Ice Plant

MacGyver Me

other people's words

I've been "frassed"

For the cold and snowbound

Email to my insurace company

Rosemary blooming

Notes on a Colonoscopy

Meet Monk

Lily girl

Good things come

Science Saturday

I Wait

Dog Love

Black Bee

winter fires

Don't just do something, sit there!

Super Shuttle Muddle

All Hail Kale

Happy New Year

Be thankful and stop complaining

Cell phone update

Schmawkward is mine

Schmawkward

Blessing

Today's important life lesson - Knowing the lyrics is always optional

Old is the New New (huh?)

Oh Danny Boy

I don't follow

The Derek-bot Strikes Back

Not so perfect me

Forklift Friday

Arrrrrggggghhhhhhh!

A Dorothy Day

We meet again, dear Citibank...

my Friday lesson

Nobody puts Baby in a corner (or gets in the way of her morning coffee)

An important question

Memory

Party Pooper

A good night

Things NOT to do while driving

The most popular girl in the room - unfortunately

Operation Enthusiastic Cupcake!

Someone at the Best Western has little legs.
Someone at the Best Western has discovered that those little legs can run.
Back
and forth.
Back
and forth.
In the room right above me.
At 6:30 AM.
Lucky me.