Tuesday, September 30, 2008

I'm Too Sexy For My Website

Last Saturday, after working on my business website for two months I made the final edit, held my breath, and hit "publish". Even so, I'm not quite ready to start advertising to the public yet. Before taking that step, I wanted some of my close friends and relatives to have the chance to look the website over and give me honest feedback on it. Once it's adequately honed, I will send out "warm letters" and emails, hang out the proverbial shingle, and officially start accepting clients.

Soon after my request went out, the feedback started pouring in. Up until this morning I'd heard from all but four of the people I asked for input.

I know that two of my friends don't have regular access to the internet, or at least not a lot of time to sit down and do any lengthy critiques. The third almost never gets online, and the fourth was my youngest daughter, Emily, who has her hands particularly full at the present time.

Emily called this morning, so I casually mentioned the website and asked if she'd had a chance to look it over. She said, "Yes" as a matter of fact she had, and she only found one thing she thought I might need to change.

I listened, wondering if it was going to be that the header can be difficult to read if one's laptop screen isn't angled just right. That had been the most common suggestion I'd received thus far. If not that, then maybe I needed to add my fee schedule to one of the pages, or put in a little more personal information ...

It was none of the above. Instead, Emily pointed out the possibility that the picture I've chosen for my "bio" page makes me look too "hot". She suggested I pick a photo that (in her words) " wouldn't be so likely to make potential clients feel intimidated".

Oh, really?

Wow.

(Need I mention that Emily happens to be my "favorite" offspring right now?)

The truth is, I planned to change my picture on that particular page anyway, not because I think I look so stinkin' sizzling in it, but because it has more of a snapshot appearance than I'd like. I'm not making an appointment with a professional photographer or anything like that. I just thought I'd try to get a different picture taken in front of a blank wall vs the decorated walls of our cruise ship cabin that grace the background of the current shot.

In the meantime, I must admit, Emily has given a whole new meaning to the phrase "constructive criticism". Not that all the other suggestions I received weren't important or helpful. To the contrary, they helped make my website look darn near perfect.

Or at least it will be, once I get that pesky "hot mama" picture off of there.

Thanks again, Emily! My ego grew three sizes today, all because of you.

Monday, September 29, 2008

Takin' It In One More Notch

My husband and I have come to the difficult decision to close down our electrical contracting office in Alpharetta and move it back into our own home.

We were starry eyed when we first embarked on our quest to establish an "real" office out of which to run the business. We thought it would be a wonderful way to help Walt separate his work from his home life. We also believed it would bring more visibility to the business, which in turn would be a catalyst for growth.

Maybe we were expecting too much. At any rate, the office has ended up sitting empty most of the time. We thought we'd have a full time secretary by now, and that hasn't happened. We also thought by now Walt would be sitting back and watching the company run with little input from him. That didn't happen either.

The backward slide of the economy put us over the edge. We have two house payments, and a pretty hefty lease on a seldom used office. We really have no choice but to let something go. The office is the only feasible option right now.

Moving the business headquarters back into our home will certainly present some challenges. One being that we will have not one, but two home based businesses under the same roof. Mine and his.

At present, the room we're using for our home office is very small and will not possibly accommodate both of us. I presented Walt with the idea of setting up our rather nice office furniture in a room of our unfinished terrace level basement. It's framed up for separate rooms, but there are no walls or other such luxuries down there at present. Never-the-less, it looks like that will have to do, at least for now.

We're going to start moving this week. As huge an undertaking as it promises to be, it's still only one small step towards saving our financial hides.

Even so, we are better off than a lot of people we know of. We are blessed, but neither of us are strangers to the tightening of the belt either. All we can do is make the best decisions we know to make, and trust God to take care of the rest.

And we know He will.

Friday, September 26, 2008

God Help Me, I've Become "One of Them"

We've been experiencing panic at the gas pumps here in the Atlanta area ever since Hurricane Ike hit the Texas coast two weeks ago. Almost every station around is out of gas. If by chance there is gas to be found, one will inevitably also find a line of cars a mile (literally) long waiting for their turn at the pump. That turn can actually take two hours, because the pumps are also moving incredibly slowly.

People are losing their tempers and I don't really blame them.

This is crazy! According to the news, only three areas in the USA are being adversely affected by the supposed gas shortage, Atlanta-Georgia, Nashville-Tennessee, and Tallahassee-Florida. Other regions of our nation actually report an abundance of gas and lower prices than they've had in several weeks.

It's my personal opinion that this whole mess was created by the very people who feared it most! One word about a potential shortage caused them to panic and run out to top off their tanks, leaving none for the poor souls who actually NEED gas. The result has been an fifteen fold increase in people being stranded on the side of the road. Most of them report they were trying to get to a gas station when they ran out.

I've been fortunate so far. I filled my car, MzKitty up two weeks ago today, just before the prices went through the roof in anticipation of Ike's landfall. That lasted me until this past Monday. By then I was down to about an eighth of a tank. On my way to work my shift in the prayer room Monday night, I decided to take a short detour just in case the gas station a few blocks to the east still had some in supply.

Pay dirt, (or I suppose in this case, pay fuel!) Not only did that station have gas, there was no line! I breathed a prayer of thanks to the Man above as MzKitty gulped the liquid gold flowing from the hose.

Since then, I've been driving as little as possible. It was announced that the Governor of our state was giving permission to have gas that is a little "less clean" brought into Georgia in order to alleviate the crisis. I figured MzKitty's gas tank was full enough to last me until then.

Before I could say, "Whew!" all that changed. Now it appears we will have to wait another week to ten days before the the "dirty" gas becomes available.

We tightened our belts yet another notch. I informed my son that he would be riding the school bus both to and from school every day until further notice. I had three quarters of a tank full of gas in my car and intended to make it last as long as possible. Likewise, my husband will be riding his Harley to his appointments as often as he can.

Around 9:00 this morning while I was sipping coffee at the computer, still wearing my pajamas and robe as I fine tuned some documents for my business, the phone rang. It was my husband calling to inform me that the Chevron station down at the intersection had gas! He said there was a line, but it wasn't all that long and suggested I drive MzKitty down there to fill her up.

As much as I hated to, I rushed downstairs and slipped into the same jeans and t-shirt I wore yesterday. I pulled my hair back in a pony tail, then glanced in the mirror and decided to skip make-up. A few seconds delay could mean my trip down to the Chevron station would be all in vain! Stepping into my canvas sneakers,I grabbed my keys, hopped into my car and sped off on my mission.

Before I made it to the Chevron station, I discovered a station closer by that had also received a new shipment of gas this morning. There was a long line, but I pulled in anyway. I'd been sitting for several minutes waiting for my turn at the pump when the attendant came out and put the dreaded red plastic bag over the handle indicating that the pump was officially empty. I surveyed the lines at every other pump at that particular station and decided to go on down the highway to my original destination.

As soon as the Chevron station came into view, I spotted a tanker truck on the lot delivering a fresh supply of the coveted substance. Miracle of miracles, the lines at the pumps there were only one or two vehicles deep. I whipped my car into an open spot and waited.

A sign on the pump read, "$40.00 limit. No problem! I still had three quarters of a tank. A couple minutes and $15.00 later, victory was achieved. MsKitty's gas tank was topped off. I should be set for another week!

On the way home, it dawned on me that I have joined the ranks of the very people I've been complaining about for the last two weeks.

I suddenly felt greedy, and sad for all the people who will really need gas this evening but won't be able to find it. All because of people like me who decided to top off their tanks, just because they could!

I'm not proud of myself, not one bit!

Not proud, but thankful none-the-less, that MzKitty won't be thirsty for several days to come.

Wednesday, September 24, 2008

My Happy Place Needs Renovating

When I was a little girl my father always told me, "Be nice to people, Beck. You never know what another person might be going through".

Not that I ever was a mean spirited person, but even now I consciously try to be mindful of others feelings. I suppose I've also been naive enough to think they should be considerate enough to return the favor. After forty eight years of living on this earth, I'm still in the process of wrapping my mind around the possibility that it's probably not the case. The truth is, some people just plain don't care what anyone else is feeling.

I have my own way of handling things when times get rough. For instance, I distract myself as much as possible. I'm not talking about denial, just distraction. I do what I can about any given stress inducing situation, and then I put it on a shelf and move on to whatever else might be necessary to occupy my mind with happier things.

Most of the time I go in search of humor. With rare exception, a good laugh is undoubtedly waiting just around the corner. Rest assured, if it's there I WILL find it! I consider that aspect of my personality a "gift" from God. It's gotten me through a lot of turbulent times in my life ... and it's helped me maintain sanity on days when I felt the intense need to hurt somebody!

Lately, it's been getting more and more difficult to fill my mind with enough happy thoughts to drown out all the stuff that's going on around me. I can't even write about most of it because I don't want to say anything that might possibly do harm to another person. Neither do I desire to expose anyone's "dirty laundry". That's not my job. After all, just like me, almost every one I know is going through something stressful, even emotionally devastating, right now.

There are days, like today for example, when I have a particularly hard time choking back tears and being strong. As my youngest daughter, Emily once said, "Sometimes I wish I could just be a normal person."

Like Emily, today I want to have a good old fashioned melt down ... give a few people a piece of my mind ... kick some ... well you get the picture.

Then, I hear my father say again, "Be nice to people, Beck. You never know what another person might be going through" and end up feeling guilty for considering any other option than "sucking it up" and forging ahead. Inevitably, I will manage to find room on these big broad shoulders of mine to squeeze in just a little bit more resilience .

So now, I will retreat once again to my "happy place", hang out the "do not disturb" sign, and stay there until I feel it is safe to come back out.

And one of these days, I will find the humor, even in the many situations I am currently dealing with. You can count on it!

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

It Takes A Village (or at least one observant neighbor)

Gosh, I love having neighbors!

Adam got in the car after school today and announced, "the bus never came this morning". I asked him how he got to school, and he said he walked. (Seven miles ... yeah, right!)

He laughed and admitted, "Not really". Our neighbor, Trisha ended up taking him. Adam was waiting at the bus stop at the bottom of the hill along with Trisha's daughter and another neighborhood girl when Trisha happened by on her way to take her younger son to the middle school and saw them standing there.

The bus normally arrives at 7:40 and it was 8:20 by that time. Forty minutes after the fact and all three kids were still down there waiting for the bus to arrive.

Apparently, there was suppose to be a substitute driver and they didn't show up to work. Hence, no bus service to our neck of the woods.

That's odd enough but the great mystery lies herein. Why would the kids just wait down there, almost within shouting distance of their houses no less, a full forty minutes (and counting) after the normal scheduled arrival time?

Adam said they were discussing just hanging out all day and not going to school at all.

Now THAT, I believe!

But all's well that ends well. Trisha blew their little scheme and transported them all to the high school in her SUV. On the way, Adam mentioned that the school would count them "tardy" anyway, to which Trisha announced, "Hail, no they won't!" She escorted the three of them into the front office and informed the person behind the desk that the bus had not shown up. She went on to explain that not only were our neighborhood kids left standing by the street, the road that runs between ours and the highway was also lined with youngsters who were waiting on the same elusive bus.

I saw Trisha out in her yard this evening and thanked her for taking charge of the situation. She and I were both shaking our heads, wondering exactly how long our little angels actually would have stayed down there had she not driven by and intervened.

In Adam's case, he would have had to fess up eventually, since I pick him up after school, but Trisha's daughter and the other girl ride the bus to and from school every day. Their plan might have actually worked for them.

I'd been contemplating having Adam ride the bus home from school two or three afternoons a week. Needless to say, I'm reconsidering that option. I'd hate to get all the way to the end of the school year only to discover that my son hadn't been to school since early in the first semester.

Hey! It could happen if it weren't for my awesome neighbors.

Sunday, September 21, 2008

Crossing Over (to Dreamland)

I sometimes brag that I can watch just about anything on T.V. just before bedtime and fall asleep immediately, suffering no repercussions whatsoever. No matter what kind of morbidity I allow my mind to access via the television set, my ability to sleep and the dreams that follow, remain unaffected.

Most of the time, anyway.

In recent nights, I've had a particularly difficult time falling asleep and have ended up flipping through T.V. channels trying to find some suitable form of entertainment with which to bide my time. Last night, like many other nights, there was very little to choose from. I ended up watching one of those shows where a medium delivers messages from the dead to their living relatives.

Being a naturally intuitive person myself, I am intrigued by that sort of thing...intrigued, yet skeptical all the same.

I caught myself laughing out loud more than once at things the medium was saying. It was all so vague. I even thought, "Shoot! I could do that." To me, so much of it appeared to be a mere matter of saying something that might relate to just about anyone, then narrowing it down with more specific questions until there were only one or two people left standing to which the subject applied.

Intermittently, the medium would stop and give common sense advice or counseling to the living family members concerning unresolved issues that were unfortunately buried with their loved ones. Although not altogether a bad thing to do, I saw that as more of a time filler than anything. Like the messages the medium was delivering from the great beyond, the counsel he gave also leaned too far to the "generic" side to convince me.

More than once, the medium came up with some off the wall thought that no one in the group could identify as significant to their family. In that case, no further mention of the subject would be made, except the medium informed them to remember that tidbit, as "the meaning would come to them later on."

To each his own! I'm not discrediting this guy at all. I definitely believe in powers that enable some people to "see beyond". I'm just not all that comfortable with the source of some of those powers.

As I turned off the television and began my quest for sleep, I wondered how people could be so gullible as not to know the difference between the real thing and when they are simply being "played."

Later in the night, after tossing and turning, throwing the covers off because I was too hot only to pull them back on because I was too cold until well after midnight, I finally fell into a decent state of slumber.

And then guess what happened!

My grandmother, who passed away when I was twelve years old, came to visit. My mother, who passed away four years ago accompanied her, as well as several other members of my family who have gone on to the "other side".

It was my grandmother who seemed to be the spokesperson for the group. In my dream, I didn't seem to remember that the others, including my mother, had passed away in real life. As soon as I saw my grandmother sitting there on the bed, gray hair dancing around her head on the pillow she was propped against, I said, "Wow! That's my grandma! She died when I was twelve!!"

There were several living members of my family in the dream as well. I enthusiastically introduced two of my grandchildren to their great-great Grandmother, who in turn smiled. She appeared happy to see them, but seemed none-the-less unsurprised by their existence. It occurred to me that she already knew who they were.

There was no "deep" message or word of advice relayed to me by my Grandma or my Mother ... or any of the other dozen or so family members who visited me in my sleep. It was more of a "Hey! We were in the neighborhood and thought we'd stop in." kind of visit.

I found it rather pleasant, in fact.

Eventually the alarm clock rang, requiring that we all say our good-byes.

I woke up thinking, "Well, that was cool, albeit in a very weird way." And then I laughed, remembering the type of show I'd watched just before dozing off last night.

Do I think my deceased relatives actually paid me a visit in my sleep last night? NO! But the next time I am flipping through channels in the middle of the night, I believe I'll look for entertainment of a lighter fare.

No offense, Grandma! It was great to see you, but if it's all the same to you, our next visit can wait until I myself, cross over to the great beyond.

Friday, September 19, 2008

The Most Beautiful Place On Earth

My father taught me a lot about the appreciation of beauty. He always was, and still is an unusually sentimental soul with a huge heart for all of God's creation.

One of my fondest childhood memories is of going "hunting" in the woods with him on Sunday afternoons. Our adventures couldn't really be considered "hunting" in the sense that we actually ever shot a gun at any living thing. In reality, those days were spent quietly creeping through the forest, listening and watching for wildlife, stopping to investigate downed trees and looking at little wildflowers that had pushed their way up through the rich black Ohio soil.

Eventually, we would find a stump or boulder where we'd sit to catch our breath. There, I'd listen intently as Dad told me stories about the Shawnee Indians who use to roam the very area where we sat. On several occasions, we went back to the spot where the house my father was born in once stood. Nothing was left of it but the cornerstones by then but that didn't stop me from opening an imaginary door and stepping inside to envision what it must have looked during my father's earliest years.

On our way home, we would stop halfway across Higby bridge with it's one lane that spanned the mighty Scioto River. We would get out of the car and stand gazing down at the muddy water surging it's way southward to the Ohio River.

Standing with both hands in his pockets Dad would inevitably proclaim. "Beck! I've been all over this world but I've never seen anyplace prettier than this."

I use to laugh every time he said it. Though spoken with great conviction, my father hadn't really been all over the world. He did, however, spend some time in Alaska during WWII. I couldn't help but wonder how the hills of southern Ohio could possibly compare to the great sights and wonders of the Alaskan landscape.

So be it. My father said it and I believed it. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, after all.

Since those childhood days over forty years ago I too have been "all over the world" and in the process, have seen some magnificent sights. The Black Forest area of Germany at Christmas time is beyond description! The Rocky Mountains are breathtaking in the fall! My all time favorite place to visit anytime of the year, has to be the Caribbean with it's transparent blue water and white sandy beaches. Yellowstone National Park, the Pacific coast, the rain forest of Mexico ... I could go on and on.

But none of those places elicit the emotion I feel every time I journey back home. My heart literally skips a beat, and excitement begins to grow the instant I spot the Cincinnati skyline. By the time the rolling hills of southern Ohio appear on the distant horizon I am downright giddy.

The feeling is indescribable.

Objectively speaking, I must admit it's unlikely that Southern Ohio will ever be listed as one of the "natural wonders" of the world. To an outsider, the "mighty Scioto" probably looks like just another tired old muddy river. There are likewise hundreds of other areas in this world with nearly identical rolling hills, endless cornfields, and forests filled with oak, pine, elm and maple trees.

But objectivity in regard to my home place is an impossibility for that is where I keep my fondest memories. It's there that the skinny little girl with knobby knees and stringy hair still roams through the woods with her father, searching for critters that live in burrows and stopping to pick blackberries along the railroad tracks, then always ... always, pausing for one last look over the bridge railings at the river flowing through it's banks below.

The chances I'll ever live there again are slim to none, but there's also a part of me that has never left.

It took many years for me to realize and admit, it but my Dad was right. Surely there really isn't anyplace else quite so beautiful on earth.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

So Proud!!!

I am so proud of my son.

After school this afternoon, fourteen year old Adam hopped into the car beaming from one ear to the other. It turns out his computer teacher (and the school system's county office) had paid him the "ultimate" compliment today.

He was told he has to STOP hacking into their computer system.

Yep.

Oh! But it's "ok". They've actually been monitoring him for a while and "allowing" him to continue because they were "using" him to help uncover weak spots in their system. Now that they think they've gotten everything secured, they've asked him to refrain from any further similar endeavors.

Why! According to the boy, it's almost like he's been working for them all along.

He went on to explain that he's in no "trouble" whatsoever because he only hacked in to prove that he could. He didn't do any damage. I mean, he could have changed his grades and other really cool stuff like that, but he didn't.

(What a good boy I've raised!)

Then he asked me if I WANTED him to go back in and change his grades. I jokingly told him that would depend of course, on what kind of grades he was getting withOUT hacking in and changing them.

No, No, No! I clarified that under NO circumstances did I want him to go in and change his grades. Furthermore, I wouldn't think that a kid smart enough to hack into the county system should be getting grades low enough to merit needing such a change.

I will surely remember this as one of my finer "motherhood" moments. On my list, it ranks somewhat above the time my oldest daughter, Angel came home and proudly announced that her first grade teacher, Mrs. Burris had moved her desk all the way up to the front of the room. What an honor!

Sort of along the same theme, only Adam's experience was potentially way more serious.

What can I say? My son is a genius!

I'll bet all the mothers whose sons did NOT hack into the county school system's office computers are darn jealous of me right now.

Yep. I'm pretty sure of it.

Monday, September 15, 2008

Brain Thuds

Around 11:30 Monday morning I was sitting at Walt's desk printing out some information for the nurse who works at my son's school, when I got a strange sensation in my head. Although it wasn't painful, it felt very much like I'd been hit hard between my skull and the upper right quadrant of my brain. I could have sworn my entire cerebrum moved forward suddenly, slamming against the inside of it's protective bony cage with a THUD! The room subsequently went black, convincing me that I was surely passing out.

...or maybe even dying!

I thought of grabbing a post it note from the desktop as my limp body sank to the floor, in hopes that I might scrawl a quick "good-bye" letter to my family, informing them of the events immediately preceding my untimely death.

Obviously, it was a false alarm. I didn't die, or even pass out for that matter, but being a little shaken by the experience, I decided to call my husband and tell him what had happened.

Walt was less than impressed. We discussed the fact that I had also awakened during the middle of the previous night to find the bedroom swirling around me. At that time, I elbowed my sleeping husband and asked "Is it just me or is the entire room listing violently to the right?" He rallied enough to indicate that his side of the room was holding steady in it's proper position, then patted me reassuringly on the leg and went back to sleep.

I'm sure there is a reasonable explanation for all this, the most likely being that my hemoglobin has dropped again. I have episodes of dizziness when that happens, as well as fatigue which I've also been experiencing in recent days.

I've learned to live with the dizziness and fatigue, and probably wouldn't have given it another thought had it not been for the whole brain thud experience on Monday. I'm pretty sure it was nothing, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't slightly concerned.

You know me. I watch lots of medical shows and find "Dr. G, Medical Examiner" particularly intriguing. Unfortunately, every day she examines the bodies of people who have succumbed to things a lot less weird than mere "brain thuds". During each episode I watch her work diligently as she searches for clues in her subject's bodies in attempt to uncover their various causes of death. Without any background information, poor Dr. G. has to start from the beginning with a "Y" incision to the chest and meticulously study every organ individually.

Anyway, it's a painstaking procedure leading up to the last body part that Dr. G checks for abnormalities, which is the brain of the deceased.

I figured if I were to die of a "brain thud", Walt could at least call Dr. G and tell her how I had been feeling just before I collapsed. That would save her a great deal of time and trouble in determining the reason for my demise. She could skip the whole "Y" incision deal and go straight to the skull.

(I can't help myself. Apparently I'll be a "thoughtful" person to the very end.)

Walt laughed at me and said he thought I was being affected by stress. Stress, after all, does strange things to a person especially when internalized which is exactly what I tend to do with it. His lack of concern did not provide much consolation. I could only imagine how remorseful he might feel if he were to come home and find me sprawled in the floor of his office with an unfinished "good-bye" note crumpled tightly in my fist.

Given the circumstances, perhaps the note should simply read "I told you so."

Or maybe not. Apparently "brain thuds" are not all that serious after all, and probably not even a true medical condition, seeing as how I am still among the living. My husband was probably right. I'm just stressed, and perhaps a little anemic.

No need to call Dr. G just yet. Brain thuds or no brain thuds, I plan to be around for several more years of "Dr. G, Medical Examiner" reruns.

But the first time I hear her say anything to the effect of "The official cause of death for this individual appears to have been a rare condition we refer to as "brain thud"." you can bet I'll be picking up the phone!

Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Paper? Plastic ? An oxygen tank to go with that, ma'am?

One of two things just happened.

Either:
a) I'm beginning to look like a grandma, or

b) The checkout guy at the grocery today was actually flirting with me a little.

Giving myself the benefit of the doubt, I'm going to choose "b".

This afternoon, I was waiting patiently for the young man behind the counter to total up my groceries when a conversation took place between him and the cashier in the next line over. There was an elderly gentleman in that line, and they were joking with him that surely he wasn't old enough to get the senior citizen discount yet.

The kid waiting on me shouted across the way at the other cashier, "Nah! He looks to me like he's got at least another five years to go!"

This was followed by lots of chuckles and friendly banter as the elderly man was handed his 5% off the total cost of the items he'd purchased.

"Ah! Wednesday is senior citizen discount day!" I thought to myself, " That explains why the parking lot was so crowded."

Then, as my groceries were being bagged and all my store discounts were being deducted, the clerk smiled and placed my receipt in my hand. Nodding, he added "This will be our little secret."

I had no idea what he was talking about, but I smiled back anyway and walked out to my car.

Putting the comment behind me, I pushed the heavy cart with it's one wobbly wheel across the parking lot. As I unloaded the bags into the trunk, it occurred to me that I might have picked up the wrong kind of donuts. Some of them were on sale and some weren't. Naturally I'd intended to buy the ones that were. I climbed into the front seat and pulled the receipt out of my purse to check.

Yes, I'd gotten the right donuts.

I'd also gotten the senior discount.

*gulp*

Obviously, that was the "little secret" to which the clerk had referred.

"Hmph!" I was feeling extremely tired today, but didn't think I looked that bad. I contemplated going back into the store and demanding to see the manager.

This has only happened to me once before. On that occasion I was insulted because the cashier had the audacity to ask me out loud if I qualified for a senior discount. That was at least three years ago, and the girl was only about nineteen years old. I figured she thought I was probably old enough to be her mother, therefore it might be possible that I was a VERY young looking senior.

I decided not to spring across the counter and choke her to within an inch of death. Instead, I simply informed her that I was not old enough, thank you! Even so, my feelings were significantly wounded. I made a point to avoid the grocery on senior citizen discount day from that point on.

This time was different. The kid didn't even hesitate. He didn't ask! He just rang 5% off my total bill and sent me on my way.

Sitting there in the car, I mulled the situation over in my head. I pulled the visor down and studied my face in the mirror.

Nah! There's no way the woman looking back at me was a day over 40! The young man who rang up my groceries was just being nice.

He liked me, that was all. It was the only reasonable explanation. After convincing myself of that fact, I started the car and headed back home.

In order to ensure the safety of my ego, I also made a mental note to myself to go to the grocery on any day BUT Wednesday from now until I've passed my 55th birthday. Although I am sure the incident was only a big misunderstanding, it's just not a risk I'm willing to take.

Monday, September 8, 2008

Live Toads and Monday Mornings


The week got off to a rather bumpy start. Adam woke up with one of his ocular migraines so I sent him back to bed, where he remains even as I type. I was planning to let him sleep it off, then take him to school for a late check-in, but seeing as how it is 1:30 in the afternoon, I realize that's not going to happen.

Nursing a headache of my own, I eased into the day by going back to bed for a couple hours myself. As usually happens when I am "oversleeping", I soon started having weird dreams. Not long after I drifted off, my rather angry husband appeared by my bedside. It turned out I'd forgotten to pick him up at the airport. I could have sworn he wasn't due in until tomorrow. Before I could explain and apologize, he disappeared and was replaced by the school principal who was equally unhappy that I'd allowed Adam to stay home. Understanding, even in my state of slumber that my brain telling me I was sleeping too much, I roused myself and pushed into my normal Monday routine.

Monday is my designated day for housecleaning and preparation for the coming week. I like to get the work out of the way just in case something potentially enjoyable happens Tuesday through Friday, which of course would require that I be free of pesky obligations such as dusting furniture and cleaning toilets.

This concept goes along with the philosophy: "Eat a live toad for breakfast and you can rest assured that nothing worse is going to happen to you for the rest of the day."

I know, I know, it's gross but I read that somewhere years ago and have never forgotten it. I've lived most of my life following that mindset. Get the stuff you dread doing out of the way first so you don't have it hanging over your head all day (or in this case all week)

The truth is, I know if I don't do it first, I will find some excuse not to do it at all.

Now, it's early afternoon and my house is nice and fresh. Besides the piddly little daily tasks like making the bed and running the "Swiffer" broom over the wood floors to suck up the dog hair, I am DONE!

Maybe I'm just too easy to please, but it's pretty amazing how good it feels to have Monday morning out of the way. Now it's on to bigger, better, more exciting things. Bring on the week! I'm ready.

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Class Of '78!

I skipped my high school reunion last weekend. I admit that I thought about attending ... for about ten seconds after I opened the invitation, that is. The temptation passed quickly, thank God.

I don't really understand why people go to those things, especially in the case of my graduating class which was a whole 88 students strong. We all came from a town so small that everyone knew everyone else (and most probably still do). A large percentage of us never moved far away after graduation. It would seem unlikely that a reunion would be necessary at all.

The truth is, I chose not to attend because I just don't have many warm fuzzy feelings associated with my high school days.

That's putting it mildly. I hated it there! My memories of it consist mainly of being made fun of. I still hear the laughter that often followed me as I walked the hallways. All I wanted to do was make it from one class to another without falling victim to some sort of verbal assault. As a result, I didn't form many bonds with my fellow classmates.

I can only think of a handful of members of the class of '78 that I'd give two cents to see again. Since it wouldn't take a lot of research to locate those few, I find no reason to travel 500 miles to an organized event which would also include the rest of the class ... the other 80 or so that I can absolutely imagine spending the rest of my life having never laid eyes on again.

The few fleeting seconds during which I allowed myself to entertain the possibility of going to the reunion can only be chalked up to impure motivations. A (very) small part of me wanted to appear at the event dressed to the nines with a recording of "How Do You Like Me Now?" blaring in the background as I entered the room.

No. It wouldn't be worth it. I am a better person than that.

Which is why I chose to stay away. I put the invitation in a file for later reference and didn't think about it again until the morning of the reunion. I mentioned to my husband that my former classmates would all be gathering later that evening, and he sweetly offered to find a way to get me there if I'd changed my mind about going. I thanked him and declined.

Now, back to the reason the invitation went into a file and not the trash can. I've decided it might be fun to look up that select handful of classmates I would care to see again, and attempt to get reacquainted. One of my former friends who was a class officer, left a handwritten note on the bottom corner of my invitation saying, "Hope to see you there!" I believe she was sincere. It would be nice to talk to her again.

As far as the others go, I consider it their loss. I was then, and still am a pleasant, attractive and downright interesting person.

Too bad they'll never know!

Pinto Beans, Forensic Science, T-shirts and Ponytails

I'm not saying I enjoy having my wonderful husband out of the country, but those who know me understand that I tend to make the best of almost every situation. Walt's absence is no exception to the rule. I have come up with a few ways to help keep my mind off the fact that I am here and he is not.

To begin, I've changed our usual menu selections here at home. This week, I will dine mostly on re fried pinto bean sandwiches, a little known delicacy I grew up enjoying back in southern Ohio.

My fourteen year old son, Adam, on the other hand has chosen chili as his primary source of nutrition. First thing yesterday morning, I put a pot of pinto beans on the stove for me and started pulling the ingredients together for Adam's chili. By dinner time yesterday evening, we were set!

Secondly, I plan to take full advantage of the fact that I can watch whatever I want, whenever I want on television. No more silly western re-runs until after Walt returns! Every night I will fall asleep with Discovery Health, Tru TV, or TLC blaring in the background. I may even tune into "Lifetime" if the mood strikes.

Thirdly, I will dress mainly in t-shirts and shorts .. heck maybe even the SAME t-shirt and shorts for a couple days at a time. For that matter, I might decide to sleep in my t-shirt and save myself the trouble of changing every morning.

Shoes are optional and will likely be worn only when going out in public. Oh! And ponytails will be all the rage in hairstyles until Sunday when I plan to clean up and go to my usual Sunday morning worship service. (Although I'm sure I'd be allowed into the sanctuary in my t-shirt, shorts and pony tail, I will draw the line there. I do have a reputation to maintain, after all)

Rest assured, as soon as I get home from church, the shoes will come off and the shorts and t-shirt will go back on.

This is the life!

OK, that may be a rather strong statement. My official stance is that it can't really be "the life" unless there is a beach and Caribbean blue water involved, but you get the picture! This is "the life" for the time being.

The only part of my plan I had any hesitation over were the t.v. shows I watch at bedtime. It crossed my mind that I might not want to doze off in the middle of an ongoing crime scene investigation on "Forensic Files". It could be that it would bother me with Walt being gone and all.

But "Forensic Files" is one of my favorite shows so I took the gamble, and am happy to report that I've slept like a baby despite the fact I've seen gruesome murders and such immediately before drifting off to lull-a-bye land.

Last night I actually watched a re-run of "Wife Swap", followed by an episode of "How to Look Good Naked", while sitting propped up on pillows in my bed, washing down a piping hot bean sandwich with an ice cold Diet Pepsi!

Oh yessss! It would be hard to improve on that scenario.

I'm sure that by the time the week is winding to a close, I'll be starting to feel differently. I will grow tired of bean sandwiches and Forensic File re-runs and start counting the hours until Walt gets home and our lives get back to "normal" again.

But until then, I will admit, this ain't bad ... not bad at all!