My husband and I have been working on a kitchen remodelling project for nearly two months and we are still in the demolition stage. Against my wishes, we have been doing all the work ourselves and it has taken an emotional toll on me. Dealing with clutter, debris, dust, and inconvenience has made me miserable. The frustration of living out of boxes and camping out in my own house has worn thin.
Intellectually, I know that when this is done, we will be so glad that we remodelled and that it will add value to our home. But it seems like it is taking so long to even get started, that I wonder if I will ever see it completed. The stress of this project has been weighing very heavy on me and has made me short tempered and negative.
An very insightful friend recently told me something about myself that hit close to home. My friend's observation upset me very much because it was so close to the truth. It also made me think about how sometimes what appears to be a very good thing can have a very negative effect on people, like this project has to me and I don't like feeling that way.
Often during times like now, a song will run through my head for no apparent reason. Later when I look back on it, that song is very significant to what I am feeling at the time. The song that has been running through my head a lot lately is "The Weight" by The Band, which was on one of my favorite albums of all time, Music From Big Pink.
Monday, May 23, 2005
Thursday, May 12, 2005
Yesterday
Yesterday marked thirteen years since my father in law died from a heart attack. He had suffered a heart attack twenty years earlier and had undergone quadruple by pass surgery two years before. We all knew he was living on borrowed time, but it did not make the shock of losing him any less.
My father in law was one of the most outgoing, upbeat, people oriented, and fun loving people I have ever met. He sure could tell stories, many of which we heard over and over. He did not have an enemy in the world. I miss him very much still.
My father in law was one of the most outgoing, upbeat, people oriented, and fun loving people I have ever met. He sure could tell stories, many of which we heard over and over. He did not have an enemy in the world. I miss him very much still.
Friday, May 06, 2005
Why Is It?
Yesterday it rained heavily here. Our house is on a dirt road that turns to muck every time it rains. I had to make a trip to the post office which meant driving down the muddy road. As I was carefully negotiating around the mushier parts of the road and the puddles, it suddenly occurred to me that how odd my driving was. My car is eleven and a half years old with its left rear quarter panel damaged from an accident and it was definitely not clean to begin with. So why was I taking such great care to avoid the muck and puddles?
We all have certain conditioned behaviors that are not necessarily bad, but really do not make much sense. Avoiding mud and puddles in an already dirty car is apparently one of mine. I laugh when I think about it. I also laugh at a certain other behaviors that fall into that same "why is it" category.
One of the oddest and one that I cannot explain to myself involves the Suwannee River which is a major river here in Florida. The Suwannee River is a very picturesque river that inspired Stephen Foster to write a song about it, even though it is said that he never saw it. Every year, there is a major music festival held in White Springs at the Stephen Foster Folk Center on the Suwannee River.
The Suwannee runs north and south from the Georgia line to the Gulf of Mexico, just north of Cedar Key on Florida's west coast, thus bisecting Florida. I live in the northern part of the state and west of the river, so every time I travel south, I must cross the Suwannee River. There is no getting around it regardless of the route I choose.
While I love the Suwannee River, for some unexplained reason, I am always feel compelled to lift my feet off the floor whenever I cross it. I have been doing this as long as I can remember and I haven't a clue as to why. Like trying to keep the mud off an already dirty car, this is one of those "why is it" things. Harmless, yet curious.
We all have certain conditioned behaviors that are not necessarily bad, but really do not make much sense. Avoiding mud and puddles in an already dirty car is apparently one of mine. I laugh when I think about it. I also laugh at a certain other behaviors that fall into that same "why is it" category.
One of the oddest and one that I cannot explain to myself involves the Suwannee River which is a major river here in Florida. The Suwannee River is a very picturesque river that inspired Stephen Foster to write a song about it, even though it is said that he never saw it. Every year, there is a major music festival held in White Springs at the Stephen Foster Folk Center on the Suwannee River.
The Suwannee runs north and south from the Georgia line to the Gulf of Mexico, just north of Cedar Key on Florida's west coast, thus bisecting Florida. I live in the northern part of the state and west of the river, so every time I travel south, I must cross the Suwannee River. There is no getting around it regardless of the route I choose.
While I love the Suwannee River, for some unexplained reason, I am always feel compelled to lift my feet off the floor whenever I cross it. I have been doing this as long as I can remember and I haven't a clue as to why. Like trying to keep the mud off an already dirty car, this is one of those "why is it" things. Harmless, yet curious.
Thursday, May 05, 2005
Growing Old and Growing Up, Again
It has been over a month since I last posted an entry here. Time flies even when you are not having fun.
Since my last entry, I celebrated another birthday in late April. Every year as my birthday approaches, I struggle with my emotions over this event. Logic tells me that I should be happy that I am alive and healthy. However, the event reminds me how much society stereotypes us even by a number.
A person's age automatically defines who they are to others. My number is up there and yet I do not look, act, or feel as old as my age is seen by our society. My tastes are much more those of someone in their 20's or 30's. My driver's license photo looks like a person 20 years younger than my age. Thank goodness for small favors in life. My outlook is that of today, not of the past.
But I have spent most of my life marching to a slightly out of step and different drummer. Because my path has been different from the expectations that society imposes on us, I often feel as if I don't fit in anywhere. So it is with my age. I am still a twenty something year old stuck in a middle age body. It seems as though society expects us to conform to the preconcieved notions of what a person of my age should be. I'm not buying it. If that is the case, I never want to grow up.
Since my last entry, I celebrated another birthday in late April. Every year as my birthday approaches, I struggle with my emotions over this event. Logic tells me that I should be happy that I am alive and healthy. However, the event reminds me how much society stereotypes us even by a number.
A person's age automatically defines who they are to others. My number is up there and yet I do not look, act, or feel as old as my age is seen by our society. My tastes are much more those of someone in their 20's or 30's. My driver's license photo looks like a person 20 years younger than my age. Thank goodness for small favors in life. My outlook is that of today, not of the past.
But I have spent most of my life marching to a slightly out of step and different drummer. Because my path has been different from the expectations that society imposes on us, I often feel as if I don't fit in anywhere. So it is with my age. I am still a twenty something year old stuck in a middle age body. It seems as though society expects us to conform to the preconcieved notions of what a person of my age should be. I'm not buying it. If that is the case, I never want to grow up.
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
I Did Not Write This
I did not write the following, but the person who did could have written it about herself. What she did was write this because she knew that I was feeling unappreciated. Sometimes a few kind words can really make a person's day. The following did just that for me. Thank you, Jena, for understanding and empathizing. You are the one who taught me about being a friend. You are truly the one who ROKs!
"Earlier this morning, while chatting with one of my internet friends, I was once again reminded of how wonderful it is to have her friendship.
NEVER ONCE during our brief friendship, has she ever failed to lend an ear if I needed someone to talk too.
Her friendship is something that I will always treasure! I just hope that I give her the same sort of strength that she gives to me.
I know this is one of those mushy posts, but it's something that I wanted to share.
If at some point today, you talk to one of your internet friends. Take the time to tell them how much you value their friendship.
Don't just need a friend, be a friend...........your life will be blessed because of it!
This post is dedicated to one of the nicest ladies that I've NEVER had the pleasure to meet!
BINGO, you ROK!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You've lifted my spirits more often than you realize!"
"Earlier this morning, while chatting with one of my internet friends, I was once again reminded of how wonderful it is to have her friendship.
NEVER ONCE during our brief friendship, has she ever failed to lend an ear if I needed someone to talk too.
Her friendship is something that I will always treasure! I just hope that I give her the same sort of strength that she gives to me.
I know this is one of those mushy posts, but it's something that I wanted to share.
If at some point today, you talk to one of your internet friends. Take the time to tell them how much you value their friendship.
Don't just need a friend, be a friend...........your life will be blessed because of it!
This post is dedicated to one of the nicest ladies that I've NEVER had the pleasure to meet!
BINGO, you ROK!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You've lifted my spirits more often than you realize!"
Friday, March 18, 2005
Is That My Color?
Yesterday was St. Patrick's Day and we attended a covered dish dinner held by a civic organization to which we belong. This organization was created as a vehicle through which a nearby small community could raise funds for its local volunteer fire department and emergency first responders. Since it is a rural community, the dress for its events is usually very casual. For this event, the flyer suggested that everyone wear something green in keeping with the spirit of the day.
I have always said that green is my favorite color. However, when I searched through my newly reorganized closets and very extensive wardrobe, I suddenly realized how few green things I owned. A quick glance at my closet shows mostly black with red and blue pieces mixed in. Over the years, I thought I had remembered wearing a lot of green. Perhaps it was that I remembered wearing green because those happened to be my favorite things at the time. I am not sure, but looking around my house, I realized that there was not that much green in the decor either, although I did recover the seats of some bar stools in a dark green several years ago.
So what makes a color one's favorite color? Is it the color that we enjoy wearing the most or living with, or is our favorite color because of what it symbolizes to each of us? I know that I always liked green because it is tranquil and reminds me of nature, and yet I see very little green in my clothing or home right now.
Recently, my mother told me that she was thinking of repainting the walls in their house a pale yellow because yellow is her favorite color. I knew that my mother wore a lot of bright yellow as well as other bright colors, but was surprised to learn that yellow was her favorite color. Similarly, one of my sisters in law once told me that yellow was also her favorite color. That was a complete surprise because I have never seen her in yellow nor it is used in her home either. Often when I think of people, I do think of them in terms of certain colors. For example, while the concept of yellow being my mother's favorite color is not foreign, I think of her as a bright lime green. My sister in law is definitely a rose or pink person. Those colors look great on her, and she has used a lot of mauve in her home.
Last Christmas my mother in law gave my two sisters in law and me each a decorative bracelet watch. Each watch was distinctly different and obviously chosen with our individual tastes and personalities in mind. My watch was a bold black and white enamel that was very funky and contemporary, while the ones chosen for my sisters in law were both more traditional and subtle. I loved the one that my mother in law had chosen for me and would have chosen that one for myself. When I think of the clothing that my mother in law has given me in the past, nearly everything has been black or red or a combination of those two colors. And I have always loved the things that my mother in law chooses for me.
So whatever happened to my favorite color? Or was it really my favorite color? Or is my favortie color simply the victim of the color professionals who declare the "in" color palette each year? Or is it simply a color whose symbolic qualities I admire but do not really use in my personal choices of clothing and home decor? I am not sure. However, I am beginning to think that my mother in law is right about my colors, and my colors are actually black and red.
I have always said that green is my favorite color. However, when I searched through my newly reorganized closets and very extensive wardrobe, I suddenly realized how few green things I owned. A quick glance at my closet shows mostly black with red and blue pieces mixed in. Over the years, I thought I had remembered wearing a lot of green. Perhaps it was that I remembered wearing green because those happened to be my favorite things at the time. I am not sure, but looking around my house, I realized that there was not that much green in the decor either, although I did recover the seats of some bar stools in a dark green several years ago.
So what makes a color one's favorite color? Is it the color that we enjoy wearing the most or living with, or is our favorite color because of what it symbolizes to each of us? I know that I always liked green because it is tranquil and reminds me of nature, and yet I see very little green in my clothing or home right now.
Recently, my mother told me that she was thinking of repainting the walls in their house a pale yellow because yellow is her favorite color. I knew that my mother wore a lot of bright yellow as well as other bright colors, but was surprised to learn that yellow was her favorite color. Similarly, one of my sisters in law once told me that yellow was also her favorite color. That was a complete surprise because I have never seen her in yellow nor it is used in her home either. Often when I think of people, I do think of them in terms of certain colors. For example, while the concept of yellow being my mother's favorite color is not foreign, I think of her as a bright lime green. My sister in law is definitely a rose or pink person. Those colors look great on her, and she has used a lot of mauve in her home.
Last Christmas my mother in law gave my two sisters in law and me each a decorative bracelet watch. Each watch was distinctly different and obviously chosen with our individual tastes and personalities in mind. My watch was a bold black and white enamel that was very funky and contemporary, while the ones chosen for my sisters in law were both more traditional and subtle. I loved the one that my mother in law had chosen for me and would have chosen that one for myself. When I think of the clothing that my mother in law has given me in the past, nearly everything has been black or red or a combination of those two colors. And I have always loved the things that my mother in law chooses for me.
So whatever happened to my favorite color? Or was it really my favorite color? Or is my favortie color simply the victim of the color professionals who declare the "in" color palette each year? Or is it simply a color whose symbolic qualities I admire but do not really use in my personal choices of clothing and home decor? I am not sure. However, I am beginning to think that my mother in law is right about my colors, and my colors are actually black and red.
Thursday, March 17, 2005
Clearing the Clutter
Yesterday I spent most of my day cleaning out closets. They really need it and I have been remiss in doing it for some time. It seems the longer you let things go, the more difficult it is to keep them up. A lot of things in my life has been neglected, particularly around my house.
As we prepare to begin remodelling our kitchen and bathroom, the sheer enormity of clearing out the clutter has begun to overwhelm me. Each time I start on one area and make progress, something seems to happen that sets me back. And so it goes in a ever increasingly cluttered circle.
When more than one person is involved in the creation of the clutter, it takes all parties to remove it. For some of us, it is difficult to physically and emotionally part with things that may have once been dear or valuable, but no longer have purpose. So it was when I started in the kitchen cabinets last week. Who needs three fondue pots that have not been used in 20 years? Or a broken vegetable steamer? While I debated with myself over the merit of owning three fondue pots, I promptly tossed the broken steamer in the garbage, only to see my husband fish it out later in the day. De-cluttering is a frustrating battle in our household.
So I moved on to my closet and clothing. There, I have control and I am making great progress in my effort to simplify and clean out. First I removed everything that was on hangers and sorted it into piles on the bed. I placed all the pants in one pile, jeans in another, sweaters in a third, skirts in a fourth, and finally a small pile of dresses which I draped over a chair. I began with the pants and jeans and tried everything on. The reality of the extra five pounds put on a Christmas struck me harshly, as several pairs of pants were uncomfortably snug. So I made a mental note of seriously watching what I eat and forcing myself to get more exercise. Five pounds on a relatively small person like myself is significant.
As I made my way through the stacks, I began to think about a book I had bought a while back after a friend had recommended it to me. It is called "Clear Your Clutter With Feng Shui." My friend bought it after she and her boyfriend of over eight years had broken up. It made such an impact on her, that she took a week off from work and completely cleaned out her house of the physical clutter. She also began cleaning her mind of the emotional and mental clutter. When she finished, she cut her very long hair and decided to search for a more satisfying job in her hometown. Within months, she found a wonderful job in her hometown, sold her house in less than a week, bought a home five minutes from her new job, and never looked back. She is so much happier now than she has been in years.
Cleaning out the clutter is not just a physical act There is an enormous amount of emotional clutter we all carry around. Lately, I have been thinking about some of the clutter in my life. Non-rewarding relationships, unresolved personal issues, and my hair, my hair, my hair have all been dragging me down. One of the most frustrating things for me lately is the amount of emotional investment I have put into people and things without getting any return. Maybe it is time for me to read the book again. Then I need to get a plan, clean out the physical clutter in my house, and try to change how I deal with the negative people and emotions that have been cluttering my life and hindering me from moving forward.
As we prepare to begin remodelling our kitchen and bathroom, the sheer enormity of clearing out the clutter has begun to overwhelm me. Each time I start on one area and make progress, something seems to happen that sets me back. And so it goes in a ever increasingly cluttered circle.
When more than one person is involved in the creation of the clutter, it takes all parties to remove it. For some of us, it is difficult to physically and emotionally part with things that may have once been dear or valuable, but no longer have purpose. So it was when I started in the kitchen cabinets last week. Who needs three fondue pots that have not been used in 20 years? Or a broken vegetable steamer? While I debated with myself over the merit of owning three fondue pots, I promptly tossed the broken steamer in the garbage, only to see my husband fish it out later in the day. De-cluttering is a frustrating battle in our household.
So I moved on to my closet and clothing. There, I have control and I am making great progress in my effort to simplify and clean out. First I removed everything that was on hangers and sorted it into piles on the bed. I placed all the pants in one pile, jeans in another, sweaters in a third, skirts in a fourth, and finally a small pile of dresses which I draped over a chair. I began with the pants and jeans and tried everything on. The reality of the extra five pounds put on a Christmas struck me harshly, as several pairs of pants were uncomfortably snug. So I made a mental note of seriously watching what I eat and forcing myself to get more exercise. Five pounds on a relatively small person like myself is significant.
As I made my way through the stacks, I began to think about a book I had bought a while back after a friend had recommended it to me. It is called "Clear Your Clutter With Feng Shui." My friend bought it after she and her boyfriend of over eight years had broken up. It made such an impact on her, that she took a week off from work and completely cleaned out her house of the physical clutter. She also began cleaning her mind of the emotional and mental clutter. When she finished, she cut her very long hair and decided to search for a more satisfying job in her hometown. Within months, she found a wonderful job in her hometown, sold her house in less than a week, bought a home five minutes from her new job, and never looked back. She is so much happier now than she has been in years.
Cleaning out the clutter is not just a physical act There is an enormous amount of emotional clutter we all carry around. Lately, I have been thinking about some of the clutter in my life. Non-rewarding relationships, unresolved personal issues, and my hair, my hair, my hair have all been dragging me down. One of the most frustrating things for me lately is the amount of emotional investment I have put into people and things without getting any return. Maybe it is time for me to read the book again. Then I need to get a plan, clean out the physical clutter in my house, and try to change how I deal with the negative people and emotions that have been cluttering my life and hindering me from moving forward.
Saturday, March 12, 2005
A Live Human Being
My husband and I are getting ready to do a major kitchen renovation. Our home is thirty years old and we have lived in it for 22 years. From the beginning, I never liked my kitchen counters and cabinets. The original counters were orange which was a very popular color back in the mid 70's when our house was built. About two years after we bought our house, I tiled over them with an off white tile. The cabinets are a country style, as was much of the rest of the house. Over the years, I have tried to do everything possible to de-countrify our house, including removal of shutters on the outside which gave it a more contemporary look. However, the cabinets with their vertical grooves remained.
My sister in law who is a residential realtor told us that we really needed to update our home if we ever decided to move. Finally, I convinced my husband that we really needed to remodel our kitchen and hall bath. He told me to come up with a budget and plans and then we might do it. I have spent nearly a year doing research and formulating what I wanted. Since we were going to have to replace everything in our kitchen, I figured that I might just go for the layout I really wanted. After several drafts, I came up with a floor plan that opened the kitchen up to our family room and had a counter bar for seating. My husband liked the plan, and when I budgeted it out, it was doable.
My husband's taste reflects that of his mother which is dark wood traditional and somewhat formal. I prefer a cleaner and more casual contemporary look. The clash of different tastes has been a problem for us for years, but I usually have given in. Most of our furniture looks like his mother's house. So the idea of us agreeing on cabinets and decor was a little scary. He told me to pick out a couple of cabinet styles that I liked and then he would look at them. I had one cabinet that I really liked and surprisingly, so did he. It was almost too easy for two people who have such different tastes.
We ordered our cabinets through a home improvement center who placed the order with a national cabinet manufacturer. The cabinets are manufactured only after the order is received. A little over twenty four hours later, a representative of the cabinet company called to set up a delivery date of less than one month. In addition, the representative gave me her name and telephone extension number in case a problem cropped up. I could not believe it. In this day and age of impersonal customer service, I talked to a real human being who gave me her name and phone number. Every so often, just as I become jaded about big business, my faith in customer service gets renewed. It did that day.
My sister in law who is a residential realtor told us that we really needed to update our home if we ever decided to move. Finally, I convinced my husband that we really needed to remodel our kitchen and hall bath. He told me to come up with a budget and plans and then we might do it. I have spent nearly a year doing research and formulating what I wanted. Since we were going to have to replace everything in our kitchen, I figured that I might just go for the layout I really wanted. After several drafts, I came up with a floor plan that opened the kitchen up to our family room and had a counter bar for seating. My husband liked the plan, and when I budgeted it out, it was doable.
My husband's taste reflects that of his mother which is dark wood traditional and somewhat formal. I prefer a cleaner and more casual contemporary look. The clash of different tastes has been a problem for us for years, but I usually have given in. Most of our furniture looks like his mother's house. So the idea of us agreeing on cabinets and decor was a little scary. He told me to pick out a couple of cabinet styles that I liked and then he would look at them. I had one cabinet that I really liked and surprisingly, so did he. It was almost too easy for two people who have such different tastes.
We ordered our cabinets through a home improvement center who placed the order with a national cabinet manufacturer. The cabinets are manufactured only after the order is received. A little over twenty four hours later, a representative of the cabinet company called to set up a delivery date of less than one month. In addition, the representative gave me her name and telephone extension number in case a problem cropped up. I could not believe it. In this day and age of impersonal customer service, I talked to a real human being who gave me her name and phone number. Every so often, just as I become jaded about big business, my faith in customer service gets renewed. It did that day.
Friday, March 11, 2005
A Killer Lives Here
As I have written in my profile, my husband and I have no children, but we do have four dogs. We are fond of saying that our dogs own us, not us them. Three of our dogs are older, between the ages of eight and ten. Willie Bear is our youngest dog at age two and a half. I call him Baby Dog because it seems as though he will never grow up.
Willie Bear is a pomeranian on steroids. At 20 pounds, he is four times the size of a show quality pom. We knew when we got him that he was going to be a larger dog because the parents were 10 and 14 pounds each. Pomeranians are the smallest of the northern spitz dogs. Before the breeders got ahold of them and bred them down to tinker toys, pomeranians were about 30 pound dogs that were used to pull small sleds in the northern countries. Willie Bear is a throw back to what the breed originally was. He has the original, beautiful wolf eyes instead of the bug eyes that the show dogs have. He is all muscle and no fat. Our vet has said that he is the athlete of our dogs.
Nothing about Willie Bear is subtle. Not his size, not the way he struts, not the way he goes out the door or comes back in. When we let him out in the yard, he leaps out the door and he dashes to come back in. Out in the yard, he literally flies about, chasing squirrels and birds and rabbits. He is like a quarter horse in speed compared to the thoroughbred greyhounds. I have never seen a faster dog in a short dash in my life.
On Tuesday afternoon, I let the springers (the Orcas) and Willie Bear out in the back yard. The Orcas don't like to be out there alone for long, so they came right back in. But Willie Bear stayed out like he often does, laying out in the yard for much longer periods, and enjoying the warm spring weather and watching the birds.
When I checked on him later, he was waiting on the back patio, grinning from ear to ear. He had proudly dragged home the remains of a full grown rabbit that he had caught and killed in our back yard. It was fresh and there was very little left of it. Our Baby Dog had caught and tasted what every dog dreams of.......rabbit! Willie Bear may be a rabbit killer, but he is still our Baby Dog.
Willie Bear is a pomeranian on steroids. At 20 pounds, he is four times the size of a show quality pom. We knew when we got him that he was going to be a larger dog because the parents were 10 and 14 pounds each. Pomeranians are the smallest of the northern spitz dogs. Before the breeders got ahold of them and bred them down to tinker toys, pomeranians were about 30 pound dogs that were used to pull small sleds in the northern countries. Willie Bear is a throw back to what the breed originally was. He has the original, beautiful wolf eyes instead of the bug eyes that the show dogs have. He is all muscle and no fat. Our vet has said that he is the athlete of our dogs.
Nothing about Willie Bear is subtle. Not his size, not the way he struts, not the way he goes out the door or comes back in. When we let him out in the yard, he leaps out the door and he dashes to come back in. Out in the yard, he literally flies about, chasing squirrels and birds and rabbits. He is like a quarter horse in speed compared to the thoroughbred greyhounds. I have never seen a faster dog in a short dash in my life.
On Tuesday afternoon, I let the springers (the Orcas) and Willie Bear out in the back yard. The Orcas don't like to be out there alone for long, so they came right back in. But Willie Bear stayed out like he often does, laying out in the yard for much longer periods, and enjoying the warm spring weather and watching the birds.
When I checked on him later, he was waiting on the back patio, grinning from ear to ear. He had proudly dragged home the remains of a full grown rabbit that he had caught and killed in our back yard. It was fresh and there was very little left of it. Our Baby Dog had caught and tasted what every dog dreams of.......rabbit! Willie Bear may be a rabbit killer, but he is still our Baby Dog.
Monday, February 28, 2005
Why Blog?
I haven't posted in a while and I am not entirely sure why. When I made the last two posts about my garden, I had a third in that series in mind. What happened after the second of those posts was completely baffling to me. After never receiving any comments about my blog, suddenly I got several, some made to me personally and others posted on this site. One of those comments, which was innocently made by a good friend, really took me back and made me wonder about why I choose to write the way I do.
What is the purpose of this blog? Originally, this blog was intended to be an introspective look at how every day occurances in my life affect me. It was initially something that I would write only for myself. However, I decided to share this blog with some of my friends and acquaintances. Perhaps that was a mistake because I was not prepared to accept criticism, constructive or otherwise.
Some times things we say or do are not always percieved in the same light that we intended them to be. Is it just miscommunication or it is because we are human, that we often delude ourselves into thinking that others see us the way we wish to see ourselves?
What is the purpose of this blog? Originally, this blog was intended to be an introspective look at how every day occurances in my life affect me. It was initially something that I would write only for myself. However, I decided to share this blog with some of my friends and acquaintances. Perhaps that was a mistake because I was not prepared to accept criticism, constructive or otherwise.
Some times things we say or do are not always percieved in the same light that we intended them to be. Is it just miscommunication or it is because we are human, that we often delude ourselves into thinking that others see us the way we wish to see ourselves?
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Weeding out the Debris
My husband and I are not the neatest people in the world. We have lived in the same house for over twenty years and it is filled with stuff we have collected over the years, but now do not use. Still, we continue to accumulate stuff. I always joked that I did not know whether first we would implode from all the junk in the attic or explode from all the stuff in our closets. Lately, all this extraneous debris has been dragging me down. I have begun to feel very burdened by my possessions.
Yesterday was another beautiful, false spring day, so I went back out to work in my flower beds. The previous day I had started by cleaning up the weeds that had sprung up in the beds because I had failed to maintain them. After having weeded the beds, I realized that they needed some neatening. The largest bed is separated from the rest of the yard by a row of border grass that my husband had planted years ago. I am not a big fan of border grass, but he loves the stuff because it makes it easier fo him to mow our rather large back yard.
With all the weeds gone and the dead tops of the plants cleared out, I noticed that the border grass had substantially invaded my flower beds. Areas that had held irises and daffodils were intertwined with runners and shoots of border grass. The only way to remedy the situation was to dig everything up and weed out the debris. I spent several hours digging up a large part of the border grass and discarding it. Then I had to dig up the other plants to rid the area of where the border grass had sent its runners and was choking out my irises and daffodils. It was a lot of work, but I was giddy with having rid my flower beds of useless debris.
Coming back into my house, the excess physical debris in my life suddenly appeared magnified. All the extraneous junk we have lying around seemed to be begging me to get rid of it. We all carry excess debris in our lives, both in the form of possessions we no longer need and emotional baggage we should have never allowed to burden us. Cleaning out the border grass from my flower beds will allow my plants to be healthier and produce more flowers for our enjoyment. Perhaps, I need to look at weeding the debris out of my life too.
Yesterday was another beautiful, false spring day, so I went back out to work in my flower beds. The previous day I had started by cleaning up the weeds that had sprung up in the beds because I had failed to maintain them. After having weeded the beds, I realized that they needed some neatening. The largest bed is separated from the rest of the yard by a row of border grass that my husband had planted years ago. I am not a big fan of border grass, but he loves the stuff because it makes it easier fo him to mow our rather large back yard.
With all the weeds gone and the dead tops of the plants cleared out, I noticed that the border grass had substantially invaded my flower beds. Areas that had held irises and daffodils were intertwined with runners and shoots of border grass. The only way to remedy the situation was to dig everything up and weed out the debris. I spent several hours digging up a large part of the border grass and discarding it. Then I had to dig up the other plants to rid the area of where the border grass had sent its runners and was choking out my irises and daffodils. It was a lot of work, but I was giddy with having rid my flower beds of useless debris.
Coming back into my house, the excess physical debris in my life suddenly appeared magnified. All the extraneous junk we have lying around seemed to be begging me to get rid of it. We all carry excess debris in our lives, both in the form of possessions we no longer need and emotional baggage we should have never allowed to burden us. Cleaning out the border grass from my flower beds will allow my plants to be healthier and produce more flowers for our enjoyment. Perhaps, I need to look at weeding the debris out of my life too.
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Gardens and Neglect
It was a beautiful springlike day outside today with temperatures in the 70's, so I decided to do a little gardening. I have three small flower beds located right outside the back door. They were poorly maintained during the growing season last year and were left to go completely wild over the winter. Even though we do get some cold weather here in north Florida, it only comes in very short spurts and rarely does much damage. This year, our winter has been very mild, so the weeds and grasses have completely invaded my flower beds.
When the gardening genes were handed out, I was not exactly at the head of the line, but that has not stopped me from trying. Instead of planting flowers that require a lot of maintenance such as roses, I stick to the easy perennials that grow well in our area. The majority of the beds are planted in irises, day lilies, coneflowers, and perennial salvia. I usually fill in with a few annuals like marigolds or pentas. Last year, I let the beds go and did not even bother to plant the annuals. Now I am faced with an enormous amount of work before I can even replenish what was lost to neglect.
As I worked to clean out the weeds and debris in the pleasant warmth of the day, I thought about how much effort in the past that I had put into maintaining my flower beds and how they had rewarded me with beautiful color right outside my back door. For some reason last year, I failed to spend the required time cultivating them. In one short season, the weeds had taken over the beds and were choking the few hardy plants that remained. Just to get my beds back to equilibrium was going to require much more work than if I had maintained them all along. In order to successfully grow, a garden needs a lot of attention and care.
So it is in life. Relationships must also be cultivated. As I cleaned the weeds from the garden, I was reminded how I cannot allow neglect to erode my personal relationships either.
When the gardening genes were handed out, I was not exactly at the head of the line, but that has not stopped me from trying. Instead of planting flowers that require a lot of maintenance such as roses, I stick to the easy perennials that grow well in our area. The majority of the beds are planted in irises, day lilies, coneflowers, and perennial salvia. I usually fill in with a few annuals like marigolds or pentas. Last year, I let the beds go and did not even bother to plant the annuals. Now I am faced with an enormous amount of work before I can even replenish what was lost to neglect.
As I worked to clean out the weeds and debris in the pleasant warmth of the day, I thought about how much effort in the past that I had put into maintaining my flower beds and how they had rewarded me with beautiful color right outside my back door. For some reason last year, I failed to spend the required time cultivating them. In one short season, the weeds had taken over the beds and were choking the few hardy plants that remained. Just to get my beds back to equilibrium was going to require much more work than if I had maintained them all along. In order to successfully grow, a garden needs a lot of attention and care.
So it is in life. Relationships must also be cultivated. As I cleaned the weeds from the garden, I was reminded how I cannot allow neglect to erode my personal relationships either.
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
The Faucet of Friendship
I belong to an internet message board for sports. Through that board, I have made a number of friends and have even met some of them for sporting events. Others I call friends even though we will never meet. The number of people who post on this board is rather large, and yet the board has a warm family atmosphere.
Among those whom I call friends from the board, there are probably about 8-10 that I consider "good friends." These 8-10 people are those whom I always try to be supportive of when they have a problem or need someone to talk to. Likewise, I had thought that I could count on the group as being there for me if I need someone too. My internet friends are another group of people that I care about just like my friends here at home. The only difference is that they are my long distance friends.
Friendship is not something I take very lightly. It is more than just an acquaintanceship and more than just turning the friendship faucet on and off. In the past, it has usually been me who was there for others, but recently, I needed some emotional support and sought it from my group of close friends.
Lately, there has been a lot of stress in my life culminating two weeks ago with the funerals of two people I knew occurring in the same week. What surprised me was that the very internet friends in whom I had invested the most energy and support in the past were not nearly as supportive as I expected them to be. I got plenty of support from other friends and acquaintances, but not from the three people I thought I was closest to. It was so disappointing and it hurt me deeply.
Since then, at least one of those friends has had some problems and I reached out again to them. I truly was worried about the situation and let them know how much I cared. They seemed to appreciate me when they needed someone to talk to. However, when I recently asked that friend as to how things were going, they first ignored me and then blew me off. I was completely dumbfounded. I do not understand how someone can turn friendship on and off like a faucet with no apparent rhyme or reason for the friend left standing in the cold.
I really care for people. It is a basic part of my generation. However, nowadays I am learning that most people really do not give a damn about others. The internet has created a safe haven that gives them a degree of anonimity. This anonimity allows them to be rude and callous, by turning the faucet of friendship on and off to suit their own needs while ignoring those of the person who thought they were a friend. They don't even seem to realize that they are hurting others in this way.
Friendship is a two way street. When it is only one way, the giver gets emotionally depleted and the relationship dies. Right now I feel very emotionally depleted. It hurts so deeply!
Among those whom I call friends from the board, there are probably about 8-10 that I consider "good friends." These 8-10 people are those whom I always try to be supportive of when they have a problem or need someone to talk to. Likewise, I had thought that I could count on the group as being there for me if I need someone too. My internet friends are another group of people that I care about just like my friends here at home. The only difference is that they are my long distance friends.
Friendship is not something I take very lightly. It is more than just an acquaintanceship and more than just turning the friendship faucet on and off. In the past, it has usually been me who was there for others, but recently, I needed some emotional support and sought it from my group of close friends.
Lately, there has been a lot of stress in my life culminating two weeks ago with the funerals of two people I knew occurring in the same week. What surprised me was that the very internet friends in whom I had invested the most energy and support in the past were not nearly as supportive as I expected them to be. I got plenty of support from other friends and acquaintances, but not from the three people I thought I was closest to. It was so disappointing and it hurt me deeply.
Since then, at least one of those friends has had some problems and I reached out again to them. I truly was worried about the situation and let them know how much I cared. They seemed to appreciate me when they needed someone to talk to. However, when I recently asked that friend as to how things were going, they first ignored me and then blew me off. I was completely dumbfounded. I do not understand how someone can turn friendship on and off like a faucet with no apparent rhyme or reason for the friend left standing in the cold.
I really care for people. It is a basic part of my generation. However, nowadays I am learning that most people really do not give a damn about others. The internet has created a safe haven that gives them a degree of anonimity. This anonimity allows them to be rude and callous, by turning the faucet of friendship on and off to suit their own needs while ignoring those of the person who thought they were a friend. They don't even seem to realize that they are hurting others in this way.
Friendship is a two way street. When it is only one way, the giver gets emotionally depleted and the relationship dies. Right now I feel very emotionally depleted. It hurts so deeply!
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
Growing Old and Growing Up - part 3
Today I met with five former co-workers for a lunch. We had a great time together. It was wonderful to see them, but it also reminded me that we are getting old. Five of us are retired and four of us no longer work at all.
Growing old and growing up are not one and the same. I am growing old, but still cannot accept growing up. When will it happen? Maybe never for me.
Growing old and growing up are not one and the same. I am growing old, but still cannot accept growing up. When will it happen? Maybe never for me.
Monday, January 31, 2005
Reality of Life
Saturday was a very tough and emotional day for me. I attended the memorial for a former co-worker and friend who had died suddenly in December. He was three years younger than me. This was my second service in a three day period for someone who had died. Now that I am in middle years, I have come to realize that events like this will be happening more and more often.
The memorial was held at a beautiful new home of a couple that my deceased friend knew. Many of our former co-workers were also in attendance, so in some way, it was also a reunion. One of my closest friends drove two and a hours from another city to come to the memorial. A former high school friend of deceased travelled all the way from Colorado.
The reality of my own mortality and that of friends and family is now all too real.
The memorial was held at a beautiful new home of a couple that my deceased friend knew. Many of our former co-workers were also in attendance, so in some way, it was also a reunion. One of my closest friends drove two and a hours from another city to come to the memorial. A former high school friend of deceased travelled all the way from Colorado.
The reality of my own mortality and that of friends and family is now all too real.
Friday, January 28, 2005
A Loony Old Lady
Yesterday was my friend's father's funeral. Because he was so old, I was surprised that over 200 people attended the service. The church bells tolled 89 times, one for each year of his life. Immediately following the service, we all gathered in one of the church halls so that my friend's family could greet all the people who had taken the time to attend the funeral. My friend's 85 year old mother stood for over an hour and a half greeting each attendee personally.
As we were talking to some of the people there, an elderly woman came up and started talking with my husband and my friend's younger brother and sister. This lady (Miss H) had been their kindergarten teacher. When my husband mentioned that he had gone to kindergarten at that school, the woman asked what was his name. After he told her, she remarked that she remembered him and made several specific comments about him. He looked completely surprised by what she said.
As we walking to the car, he turned to me and said, "That woman was a loony. She had to be blowing smoke. I don't remember her." I asked him if Miss H was his kindergarten teacher or not. He replied that he did not remember who was his teacher, but said that no one could remember their students from 50 years ago. I commented that the woman seemed very sharp.
My husband dropped me off at my friend's mother's house while he went to visit his own mother who was home sick with the flu. While there, he told her about Miss H and the comments she had made about him. His mother then said, Miss H was right and she WAS your kindergarten teacher!
As we were talking to some of the people there, an elderly woman came up and started talking with my husband and my friend's younger brother and sister. This lady (Miss H) had been their kindergarten teacher. When my husband mentioned that he had gone to kindergarten at that school, the woman asked what was his name. After he told her, she remarked that she remembered him and made several specific comments about him. He looked completely surprised by what she said.
As we walking to the car, he turned to me and said, "That woman was a loony. She had to be blowing smoke. I don't remember her." I asked him if Miss H was his kindergarten teacher or not. He replied that he did not remember who was his teacher, but said that no one could remember their students from 50 years ago. I commented that the woman seemed very sharp.
My husband dropped me off at my friend's mother's house while he went to visit his own mother who was home sick with the flu. While there, he told her about Miss H and the comments she had made about him. His mother then said, Miss H was right and she WAS your kindergarten teacher!
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Being Connected
Today I spent most of the afternoon with my friend of nearly 40 years and her family making arrangements for her father's funeral service tomorrow. This wonderful family has always treated me like their daughter or sister, and I desperately wanted to help them in any way that I could.
When I arrived at their home, my friend and her younger sister asked me to put together a photo collage to honor their father. He was a very accomplished man who had been honored in his profession at the highest levels for scientific innovation and achievement. That part, along with the obligatory family portraits, was the easy part of putting together the collage. However, most of us are not just defined by our achievements in our careers or our families. What really defines us and deferentiates us from one another is our personal lives.
Keeping that in mind, I took various photos and placed them in what I saw as a pleasing artistical arrangement, but one that emphasized this gentle giant of a man as a human being. I found old photos of him as a young military officer in India during World War II, playing tennis as a younger man, gardening in his middle ages, and bird watching and hand raising a fledgling mocking bird in his later years. When I was done, I had placed a picture of him as a four year old along side that of an elderly man holding a young mocking bird perched on his finger as the centerpieces of the photo collage.
While the collage had been arranged, none of the pieces had been secured until I got a sign off from my friend's mother. I waited until she returned home from having her hair done for the funeral. My friend's mother is a very vibrant and still very beautiful 85 year old lady with a mind as sharp as an ice pick. I asked her if she had any requests or changes to the photo collage before I attached the pictures to the backing. She looked at the collage and commented on every picture. Then she said that she was so thrilled that I had truly captured the man she had fallen in love with and married, not just his accomplishments.
For years I have always said that I am very connected to my friend in a way that is almost like a sister. Today, I realized that I am also very connected to this wonderful family as if they were truly my own flesh and blood.
When I arrived at their home, my friend and her younger sister asked me to put together a photo collage to honor their father. He was a very accomplished man who had been honored in his profession at the highest levels for scientific innovation and achievement. That part, along with the obligatory family portraits, was the easy part of putting together the collage. However, most of us are not just defined by our achievements in our careers or our families. What really defines us and deferentiates us from one another is our personal lives.
Keeping that in mind, I took various photos and placed them in what I saw as a pleasing artistical arrangement, but one that emphasized this gentle giant of a man as a human being. I found old photos of him as a young military officer in India during World War II, playing tennis as a younger man, gardening in his middle ages, and bird watching and hand raising a fledgling mocking bird in his later years. When I was done, I had placed a picture of him as a four year old along side that of an elderly man holding a young mocking bird perched on his finger as the centerpieces of the photo collage.
While the collage had been arranged, none of the pieces had been secured until I got a sign off from my friend's mother. I waited until she returned home from having her hair done for the funeral. My friend's mother is a very vibrant and still very beautiful 85 year old lady with a mind as sharp as an ice pick. I asked her if she had any requests or changes to the photo collage before I attached the pictures to the backing. She looked at the collage and commented on every picture. Then she said that she was so thrilled that I had truly captured the man she had fallen in love with and married, not just his accomplishments.
For years I have always said that I am very connected to my friend in a way that is almost like a sister. Today, I realized that I am also very connected to this wonderful family as if they were truly my own flesh and blood.
Two Friends.
Two of my three closest female friends have the same first name. These two women have never met each other. Recently, both of them have been dealing with heartache and hard times.
My first friend and I have been friends for nearly forty years. We met when we both first came to college. She was extremely intelligent and had skipped two grades in school, so she was barely 16 when she started college. Her family lived in town and they always treated me like their fourth daughter. Because my friend now lives in a distant part of the state, we do not see each other except when she comes to visit her family. This week she is in town because her father died and his service is tomorrow. He had been very ill for several years, so his death was a relief from his suffering. Nevertheless, his passing has left a tremendous void for all of us in my other family.
My second friend and I have been close for nearly twenty years. We first met through running and used to run together nearly every weekday morning at 5 am. We would talk and talk about nearly everything. During those runs, we have shared our heartaches and disappointments. She knows more about me than nearly anyone else and was always there for me when I needed someone. She and her husband were married on the same date as my husband and I, only ten years later. They had their three children late in life. Unfortunately, they are now in the process of being divorced and it has become nasty. My heart aches for her because she had tried everything to salvage the marriage for the sake of their children.
Recent events with these two friends reminds me that even though the road of life goes on, it can be very bumpy at times. Friendship is what helps even out those bumps.
My first friend and I have been friends for nearly forty years. We met when we both first came to college. She was extremely intelligent and had skipped two grades in school, so she was barely 16 when she started college. Her family lived in town and they always treated me like their fourth daughter. Because my friend now lives in a distant part of the state, we do not see each other except when she comes to visit her family. This week she is in town because her father died and his service is tomorrow. He had been very ill for several years, so his death was a relief from his suffering. Nevertheless, his passing has left a tremendous void for all of us in my other family.
My second friend and I have been close for nearly twenty years. We first met through running and used to run together nearly every weekday morning at 5 am. We would talk and talk about nearly everything. During those runs, we have shared our heartaches and disappointments. She knows more about me than nearly anyone else and was always there for me when I needed someone. She and her husband were married on the same date as my husband and I, only ten years later. They had their three children late in life. Unfortunately, they are now in the process of being divorced and it has become nasty. My heart aches for her because she had tried everything to salvage the marriage for the sake of their children.
Recent events with these two friends reminds me that even though the road of life goes on, it can be very bumpy at times. Friendship is what helps even out those bumps.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
Hurricanes and Resilience
My elderly parents live in central Florida. By central Florida, I mean smack dab in the center of the state, equidistant from both the east and west coasts. This past year (2004) was the worst year in memory for hurricanes in Florida with four major hurricanes hitting one part or another of the state. My parents' home is located near ground zero for centers for three of those four hurricanes.
The first hurricane to hit them was Charley, which came up through central Florida after entering the state on the southwest coast. It had winds that were estimated to be 100 mph winds when it came through my parents' area. Although my parents' home fared well and damage to the rest of their property was minimal, they were among the few fortunate people in their neighborhood.
Much of central Florida has a very high water table. When the heavy winds struck, many trees toppled easily due to their root systems being so shallow. Nearly every mature tree in parents' neighborhood was downed and about half of the homes had significant roof damage. In addition, the electrical systems were destroyed throughout the area. Since my parents lived in an unincorporated area, they were among the last of those to have power restored.
Consequently, my 82 year old parents camped out in their house for three days while waiting for an available hotel room. My mother, who was a former girl scout in her youth, cooked breakfast for two days on an open fire in the fireplace and made coffee over a candle. Even though it was the middle of summer and they had no air conditioning, they made the best of things by living in bathing suits and sitting outside in the shade as much as possible. They were bound and determined to stick it out. Finally after three days of misery, they were able to get a hotel room for the remaining five days that the power was off.
The next hurricane to hit them was Frances, which did not have too bad an impact on their area. But when the third hurricane, Jeannie, came and stalled with hours of heavy, heavy rain, their neighborhood took another devastating hit. Much of the area where their neighborhood is located is low and the water table was already high. With the huge amounts of rain that came with Jeannie, many of the homes in their neighborhood flooded. As recent as the beginning of 2005,three houses on my parents' street were still condemned due to the extensive flood damage that they had sustained.
Most people think of hurricanes as only impacting coastal areas. However, in 2004, we saw that even inland areas can be greatly affected by the tremendous power of these storms. My parents showed enormous resilience in the aftermath of these storms. Not bad for a pair of 82 years olds.
The first hurricane to hit them was Charley, which came up through central Florida after entering the state on the southwest coast. It had winds that were estimated to be 100 mph winds when it came through my parents' area. Although my parents' home fared well and damage to the rest of their property was minimal, they were among the few fortunate people in their neighborhood.
Much of central Florida has a very high water table. When the heavy winds struck, many trees toppled easily due to their root systems being so shallow. Nearly every mature tree in parents' neighborhood was downed and about half of the homes had significant roof damage. In addition, the electrical systems were destroyed throughout the area. Since my parents lived in an unincorporated area, they were among the last of those to have power restored.
Consequently, my 82 year old parents camped out in their house for three days while waiting for an available hotel room. My mother, who was a former girl scout in her youth, cooked breakfast for two days on an open fire in the fireplace and made coffee over a candle. Even though it was the middle of summer and they had no air conditioning, they made the best of things by living in bathing suits and sitting outside in the shade as much as possible. They were bound and determined to stick it out. Finally after three days of misery, they were able to get a hotel room for the remaining five days that the power was off.
The next hurricane to hit them was Frances, which did not have too bad an impact on their area. But when the third hurricane, Jeannie, came and stalled with hours of heavy, heavy rain, their neighborhood took another devastating hit. Much of the area where their neighborhood is located is low and the water table was already high. With the huge amounts of rain that came with Jeannie, many of the homes in their neighborhood flooded. As recent as the beginning of 2005,three houses on my parents' street were still condemned due to the extensive flood damage that they had sustained.
Most people think of hurricanes as only impacting coastal areas. However, in 2004, we saw that even inland areas can be greatly affected by the tremendous power of these storms. My parents showed enormous resilience in the aftermath of these storms. Not bad for a pair of 82 years olds.
Sunday, January 16, 2005
A Room with a View
We are spending the weekend at the coast. Yesterday I went to visit a friend who lives here full time. They have a beautiful home on a little spit of land jutting out into the Bay. Everywhere you look from their home, there is an incredible view. Only the laundry room does not have a view. Until recently, theirs was the only home on their street. Now a new house is being constructed next door. My friend suggested that I go next door and look at the house, then come back to visit with her. She said that she was particularly curious about what I thought of the house.
I went in the front door. There were no handles on the doors, but front door opened easily and I proceeded to check out the place. As I made my way through tiny room after tiny room, I wondered why anyone would build such a rat maze of rooms, none of which took advantage of the incredible views afforded by the location. My impression was one of claustrophobia as I explored the house. When I decided to leave, I found that I could not open any of the doors to get back outside. Running from room to room, it seemed as if this very unwelcome place had made me its prisoner. Finally, I found one window which I was able to open and reach an outside deck from it.
Grateful to escape the house, I went back to visit with my friend. Telling her of my panicky experience of being locked in the unwelcome house, I asked if she would have been able to hear me yell for help. She said that she doubted that, but was just getting ready to check on me because I had been gone for so long. Then she said that the very same thing happened to her the previous week and she was force to jump from a window onto the heating and cooling equipment on the ground below.
Just as we were standing in her kitchen talking about our similar miserable experiences, we noticed an eagle diving toward the shallow water in the Bay. He struggled with something in the water and was forced to settle in the water floating like a seagull. After several aborted attempts, he was finally able to fly away carrying a huge fish in his talons. Scenes like this are what my friend sees every day because she has rooms with a view. Everyone needs a room with a view in life, both literally and figuratively.
I went in the front door. There were no handles on the doors, but front door opened easily and I proceeded to check out the place. As I made my way through tiny room after tiny room, I wondered why anyone would build such a rat maze of rooms, none of which took advantage of the incredible views afforded by the location. My impression was one of claustrophobia as I explored the house. When I decided to leave, I found that I could not open any of the doors to get back outside. Running from room to room, it seemed as if this very unwelcome place had made me its prisoner. Finally, I found one window which I was able to open and reach an outside deck from it.
Grateful to escape the house, I went back to visit with my friend. Telling her of my panicky experience of being locked in the unwelcome house, I asked if she would have been able to hear me yell for help. She said that she doubted that, but was just getting ready to check on me because I had been gone for so long. Then she said that the very same thing happened to her the previous week and she was force to jump from a window onto the heating and cooling equipment on the ground below.
Just as we were standing in her kitchen talking about our similar miserable experiences, we noticed an eagle diving toward the shallow water in the Bay. He struggled with something in the water and was forced to settle in the water floating like a seagull. After several aborted attempts, he was finally able to fly away carrying a huge fish in his talons. Scenes like this are what my friend sees every day because she has rooms with a view. Everyone needs a room with a view in life, both literally and figuratively.
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Tile Trauma
It has been over a week since I came down with the flu. Yesterday on the afternoon of the eighth day of my flu, I finally felt well enough to go out. I was desperate just to be out in the real world after having been cooped up in my house for the last week while I shivered, sneezed, coughed, sniffled, and sneezed some more. Giddy with my freedom from constantly sneezing, I decided to go to the tile store to look at replacement tile for our guest bathroom which sorely needs remodelling.
For someone who really knows what she likes in cars, clothing, furniture, or food, choosing a wallpaper or tile is nearly an impossible task for me. The choices are overwhelming and after a while, they all start to look alike. The added pressure of choosing tile is the extreme permanence of the material. As anyone who has ever tried it knows, removing old tile is a difficult and dusty job. Therefore, the selection of the right tile is something that must be done with great care since we are going to have to live with it for a long time.
My husband has refused to accompany me on these trips to the stores to look at potential choices for our remodelling projects. Instead, he tells me that he trusts my judgement and taste. Translation: "you do the leg work." The problem is that I don't know what my taste is in tile. I do know what is in style at the moment. Keeping that in mind, I attempt to select a few possibilities. However, when when I bring home the samples, they are invariably "not right." How can something so simple end up being so difficult?
Sometimes, I just wish that a fairy godmother of decorating would come in and waive her magic wand on my house to make it right.
For someone who really knows what she likes in cars, clothing, furniture, or food, choosing a wallpaper or tile is nearly an impossible task for me. The choices are overwhelming and after a while, they all start to look alike. The added pressure of choosing tile is the extreme permanence of the material. As anyone who has ever tried it knows, removing old tile is a difficult and dusty job. Therefore, the selection of the right tile is something that must be done with great care since we are going to have to live with it for a long time.
My husband has refused to accompany me on these trips to the stores to look at potential choices for our remodelling projects. Instead, he tells me that he trusts my judgement and taste. Translation: "you do the leg work." The problem is that I don't know what my taste is in tile. I do know what is in style at the moment. Keeping that in mind, I attempt to select a few possibilities. However, when when I bring home the samples, they are invariably "not right." How can something so simple end up being so difficult?
Sometimes, I just wish that a fairy godmother of decorating would come in and waive her magic wand on my house to make it right.
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
The Flu Sucks
It is now January 11 and I have been sick with the flu for a whole week. The flu shots were not available, so I missed mine this year. Now I am paying for that omission for the second time this flu season. Other than taking my dogs out in the yard, I have been housebound the entire week with all the classic symptoms of the flu.
It must be getting better because now I have contracted cabin fever. At least that is a much healthier disease to have.
It must be getting better because now I have contracted cabin fever. At least that is a much healthier disease to have.
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
The Ugliness of Divorce
A very good friend of mine is in the process of getting a divorce. What started last April when her husband blindsided her is still in process and is getting nastier by the day. It tears me up to see my friend so sad and demoralized by what is happening to her and her children in this process.
How can two people who once really loved each other enough to take vows "until death due us part" end up with so little civility in the divorce process? My friend and her husband have three young children who have become the battleground of this divorce. People get divorced every day. However, most people make the emotional welfare of their children their first priority. Not so in this case. It is so sad.
How can two people who once really loved each other enough to take vows "until death due us part" end up with so little civility in the divorce process? My friend and her husband have three young children who have become the battleground of this divorce. People get divorced every day. However, most people make the emotional welfare of their children their first priority. Not so in this case. It is so sad.
Monday, January 03, 2005
A Wise Man
I used to be a competitive runner and was fairly successful at it before becoming injured. Even though I did not start running until my late 30's, I had always wanted to give it a try. Finally I got up the courage to shuffle around on my own until I was good enough to run with other runners. Eventually, I started entering races and had some success. When I was 41, I had a year of running and racing that one can only dream of.
Our local track club conducts a Grand Prix each year consisting of ten events for which points are awarded based upon overall and age group finishes. The Masters age groups (age 40 and above) have always been among the most competitive for both men and women here in our town. When I was in the 40-44 age group, we had several good runners, but there was only one that I had never beaten. One year, I made it my mission to try to win the Grand Prix for my age group. My strategy was to finish 2nd to my main rival in the shorter races (5 and 10 Kilometers), but win all the longer distances since she had never even entered a race beyond 10K. I was not even sure she could run the longer distances. I told my plan to a running friend, a local judge who had been a great mentor to many runners including myself. He said that he had heard that my rival was planning on running all the races that year and opined that there was no way I could beat her. I looked him straight in the eye and said, "I show you!" With that he just grinned.
I trained really hard that year and ended up winning all the Grand Prix races and the Championship for my age group. By the end of that year, my rival was no longer entering races. When the awards were handed out, I turned to my friend and said, "I thought you said that there was no way I could beat her. I showed you, didn't I?" He smiled and said, "Why do you think I said that to you?"
My friend, the judge, was a very wise man.
Our local track club conducts a Grand Prix each year consisting of ten events for which points are awarded based upon overall and age group finishes. The Masters age groups (age 40 and above) have always been among the most competitive for both men and women here in our town. When I was in the 40-44 age group, we had several good runners, but there was only one that I had never beaten. One year, I made it my mission to try to win the Grand Prix for my age group. My strategy was to finish 2nd to my main rival in the shorter races (5 and 10 Kilometers), but win all the longer distances since she had never even entered a race beyond 10K. I was not even sure she could run the longer distances. I told my plan to a running friend, a local judge who had been a great mentor to many runners including myself. He said that he had heard that my rival was planning on running all the races that year and opined that there was no way I could beat her. I looked him straight in the eye and said, "I show you!" With that he just grinned.
I trained really hard that year and ended up winning all the Grand Prix races and the Championship for my age group. By the end of that year, my rival was no longer entering races. When the awards were handed out, I turned to my friend and said, "I thought you said that there was no way I could beat her. I showed you, didn't I?" He smiled and said, "Why do you think I said that to you?"
My friend, the judge, was a very wise man.
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