Monday, May 18, 2009
It's been a year - nearly
Unbelieveable. I haven't posted in almost a year. Where has the time gone?
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
What a Trip Part I -- The Departure!
We went to visit my husband’s aunt in Texas over Memorial Day weekend. It was a great trip, except getting there and getting home.
We left home at 6 p.m. on Thursday with every intention of making the 10 hour drive straight through. Mind you, we made those plans when we meant to leave at 4 p.m. on Thursday. We had some delays due to last minute shopping and packing, as usual. Anyway, at 6 p.m. we were “On the Road Again” with a car full of luggage and three girls. One sullen (age 18), one whining about leaving her boyfriend behind for 4 days (age 15), and one super duper hyper excited about finding lizards and going on a trip (age 11). After a couple of hours spent fighting with said teens about the music selections (“No, I don’t want to listen to Avenged Sevenfold all the way to Texas.”) we had a fun time singing along with various things until those in the back and my husband all fell asleep.
By the time we reached Edmond, Oklahoma at around 11 p.m., Hubby had been driving for awhile and we were both getting tired. I, the designated and only navigator, was busy studying the road atlas I had prudently purchased prior to our departure. (If you know anything about our honeymoon last December, you know why.) It was then that I determined that if we kept to our planned course we would be driving through Ft. Worth at around 1:00 a.m., and would likely reach his aunt’s house at about 2:30 a.m. She had to work the next day and she had told us that due to the difficulties in finding her place at night, she would drive 15 miles to the nearest town and meet us to guide us there.
I decided at that point that a hotel room for the night would be a better plan. So I got out said trusty road atlas and started calling. Mind you, we were on a VERY tight budget and this was an unplanned expense, so I was looking for a cheap hotel. I called the nationwide 800# for Choice Hotels and told the guy where we were and that we wanted something close to I-35 for under sixty bucks a night. He found an Econo-Lodge that he said was in OK city near I-35 and quoted me $41.00 a night for a non-smoking room with 2 queen beds. He told me that because of the third adult they would require us to have a rollaway bed and pay six dollars extra. I said that was fine. He told me to take exit 142 and the hotel would be within sight of the highway. Within a couple of miles we got to Exit 142, which I thought was odd because I thought we were still in Edmond. But you know how these things go, I just assumed that it was in the Oklahoma City AREA and it was the right exit. So we took it. There was no Econo-Lodge, in fact there was nothing much.
I called the direct phone number to the hotel and got the nice young desk clerk, who spoke with a THICK east Indian accent. It was then that I discovered that the hotel I was reserved at – with no opportunity to cancel at this late hour – was off of I-44 in Oklahoma City. The desk clerk gave me some barely comprehensible directions and we kept on driving south on I-35. We got to the I-44 exit and changed highways heading west. I had been told by the reservations guy that this hotel was CLOSE to I-35. I guess close is a relative term, because it was about 10 miles from I-35. I also found that in Oklahoma the exit numbers get smaller as you go west. Or at least on I-44 they do. We had a LOVELY tour around the OKC convention and visitor’s bureau road construction site. Apparently they have a tourist district there called Bricktown which looked really interesting, except it was nearly midnight, .and there was nothing there but orange barrels and a couple of homeless guys looking for a place to sleep. Creepy. Also the hubby was driving and he does not do navigation, nor does he take directions well unless they are very clear. So there were a couple more wrong turns and some, shall we say, loud discussion. After several more blunders and two more calls to the desk clerk – who sounded eerily like Apu from The Simpsons – we arrived. The score for the first leg: 5 hour trip took us 6 ½ hours.
The hotel was – shall we say – interesting. The clerk was a 20-something sleepy-headed barefoot guy. I am normally quite good with accents but he was hard to understand. It might be the after affects of 5 hours in the car after a hectic day at work.
Got the key and went to our room, where I found 2 DOUBLE beds (not queen), a bathroom so tiny that you could barely sit on the toilet without banging your knees on the tub, and completely useless as a changing room. My middle daughter somehow wedged herself sideways into the tiny closet AREA (no door) to change and we just had all the kids close their eyes while my hubby changed into his PJ’s. It was that or send them out into the creepy muggy hallway.
I finally got into bed, and it was then that the LOVELY articles I had read about bedbugs in hotel rooms while planning our honeymoon in December came back to my memory. Also the time that I was watching Jon and Kate Plus 8 on the Learning Channel and making fun of the mom because she wouldn’t let her kids off the hotel beds unless they had their shoes on. I thought she was stupid. Now I thought she might have a point! Actually, the room wasn’t dirty, it was just very worn, very small, and very hot and muggy. But it felt dirty!
They brought the rollaway bed with sheets and a pillow but no blanket. The beds were as hard as bricks and the whole hotel was musty, hot and sticky. Apparently the owner was trying to save on utility bills by not air conditioning the lobby or other public areas. Our room A/C had not been turned on so it was like an oven. To make a long story short, I slept badly and my hubby didn’t do much better. It took me about 2 hours to quit thinking about crawly things and go to sleep. The bed was hard and too small for us. Our eldest had the best mattress on the rollaway bed, but had to use the blankets we brought because I was too tired to try to make the desk clerk understand what I wanted. The “continental breakfast” amounted to cold cereal, donuts and toast. It also turned out I had to pay 6 bucks for the extra adult PLUS six bucks for the rollaway bed, so I could have stayed at a better hotel for the same amount of money. On the plus side, we were motivated to get up and GO! We were on the road by 9.
The only further adventure on the trip down occurred when we got into Fort Worth. There was an accident on the freeway and traffic was backed up for MILES. As we sat there sweltering on I-35, breathing exhaust fumes and (me at least) trying not to think about the fact that a bathroom break was LONG overdue, I was reminded again why I will NEVER live in a city. Finally in desperation I took the closest exit that had a gas station. I think it was in one of the scary parts of town my father-in-law told us we didn’t want to drive through late at night. I didn’t want to drive through it in the daytime either, but I really had to go. So I pulled up to the station (bars on all the windows) and dashed in to use the loo. The toilet was clean but the walls looked like a mechanic regularly washed up in there. Since I don’t believe in using the bathroom without buying something, I picked up a bottle of Vitamin Water, paid for it and skedaddled. After another 40 minutes or so in the freeway parking lot, we got out of Ft. Worth. We made it to Auntie’s house at 4 p.m. The score for leg 2: 5 ½ hour trip took us 7 hours. But on the plus side, we had lunch and ice cream at a Braum’s, which I hadn’t visited since my senior year of high school on the Oklahoma border. YUM.
We left home at 6 p.m. on Thursday with every intention of making the 10 hour drive straight through. Mind you, we made those plans when we meant to leave at 4 p.m. on Thursday. We had some delays due to last minute shopping and packing, as usual. Anyway, at 6 p.m. we were “On the Road Again” with a car full of luggage and three girls. One sullen (age 18), one whining about leaving her boyfriend behind for 4 days (age 15), and one super duper hyper excited about finding lizards and going on a trip (age 11). After a couple of hours spent fighting with said teens about the music selections (“No, I don’t want to listen to Avenged Sevenfold all the way to Texas.”) we had a fun time singing along with various things until those in the back and my husband all fell asleep.
By the time we reached Edmond, Oklahoma at around 11 p.m., Hubby had been driving for awhile and we were both getting tired. I, the designated and only navigator, was busy studying the road atlas I had prudently purchased prior to our departure. (If you know anything about our honeymoon last December, you know why.) It was then that I determined that if we kept to our planned course we would be driving through Ft. Worth at around 1:00 a.m., and would likely reach his aunt’s house at about 2:30 a.m. She had to work the next day and she had told us that due to the difficulties in finding her place at night, she would drive 15 miles to the nearest town and meet us to guide us there.
I decided at that point that a hotel room for the night would be a better plan. So I got out said trusty road atlas and started calling. Mind you, we were on a VERY tight budget and this was an unplanned expense, so I was looking for a cheap hotel. I called the nationwide 800# for Choice Hotels and told the guy where we were and that we wanted something close to I-35 for under sixty bucks a night. He found an Econo-Lodge that he said was in OK city near I-35 and quoted me $41.00 a night for a non-smoking room with 2 queen beds. He told me that because of the third adult they would require us to have a rollaway bed and pay six dollars extra. I said that was fine. He told me to take exit 142 and the hotel would be within sight of the highway. Within a couple of miles we got to Exit 142, which I thought was odd because I thought we were still in Edmond. But you know how these things go, I just assumed that it was in the Oklahoma City AREA and it was the right exit. So we took it. There was no Econo-Lodge, in fact there was nothing much.
I called the direct phone number to the hotel and got the nice young desk clerk, who spoke with a THICK east Indian accent. It was then that I discovered that the hotel I was reserved at – with no opportunity to cancel at this late hour – was off of I-44 in Oklahoma City. The desk clerk gave me some barely comprehensible directions and we kept on driving south on I-35. We got to the I-44 exit and changed highways heading west. I had been told by the reservations guy that this hotel was CLOSE to I-35. I guess close is a relative term, because it was about 10 miles from I-35. I also found that in Oklahoma the exit numbers get smaller as you go west. Or at least on I-44 they do. We had a LOVELY tour around the OKC convention and visitor’s bureau road construction site. Apparently they have a tourist district there called Bricktown which looked really interesting, except it was nearly midnight, .and there was nothing there but orange barrels and a couple of homeless guys looking for a place to sleep. Creepy. Also the hubby was driving and he does not do navigation, nor does he take directions well unless they are very clear. So there were a couple more wrong turns and some, shall we say, loud discussion. After several more blunders and two more calls to the desk clerk – who sounded eerily like Apu from The Simpsons – we arrived. The score for the first leg: 5 hour trip took us 6 ½ hours.
The hotel was – shall we say – interesting. The clerk was a 20-something sleepy-headed barefoot guy. I am normally quite good with accents but he was hard to understand. It might be the after affects of 5 hours in the car after a hectic day at work.
Got the key and went to our room, where I found 2 DOUBLE beds (not queen), a bathroom so tiny that you could barely sit on the toilet without banging your knees on the tub, and completely useless as a changing room. My middle daughter somehow wedged herself sideways into the tiny closet AREA (no door) to change and we just had all the kids close their eyes while my hubby changed into his PJ’s. It was that or send them out into the creepy muggy hallway.
I finally got into bed, and it was then that the LOVELY articles I had read about bedbugs in hotel rooms while planning our honeymoon in December came back to my memory. Also the time that I was watching Jon and Kate Plus 8 on the Learning Channel and making fun of the mom because she wouldn’t let her kids off the hotel beds unless they had their shoes on. I thought she was stupid. Now I thought she might have a point! Actually, the room wasn’t dirty, it was just very worn, very small, and very hot and muggy. But it felt dirty!
They brought the rollaway bed with sheets and a pillow but no blanket. The beds were as hard as bricks and the whole hotel was musty, hot and sticky. Apparently the owner was trying to save on utility bills by not air conditioning the lobby or other public areas. Our room A/C had not been turned on so it was like an oven. To make a long story short, I slept badly and my hubby didn’t do much better. It took me about 2 hours to quit thinking about crawly things and go to sleep. The bed was hard and too small for us. Our eldest had the best mattress on the rollaway bed, but had to use the blankets we brought because I was too tired to try to make the desk clerk understand what I wanted. The “continental breakfast” amounted to cold cereal, donuts and toast. It also turned out I had to pay 6 bucks for the extra adult PLUS six bucks for the rollaway bed, so I could have stayed at a better hotel for the same amount of money. On the plus side, we were motivated to get up and GO! We were on the road by 9.
The only further adventure on the trip down occurred when we got into Fort Worth. There was an accident on the freeway and traffic was backed up for MILES. As we sat there sweltering on I-35, breathing exhaust fumes and (me at least) trying not to think about the fact that a bathroom break was LONG overdue, I was reminded again why I will NEVER live in a city. Finally in desperation I took the closest exit that had a gas station. I think it was in one of the scary parts of town my father-in-law told us we didn’t want to drive through late at night. I didn’t want to drive through it in the daytime either, but I really had to go. So I pulled up to the station (bars on all the windows) and dashed in to use the loo. The toilet was clean but the walls looked like a mechanic regularly washed up in there. Since I don’t believe in using the bathroom without buying something, I picked up a bottle of Vitamin Water, paid for it and skedaddled. After another 40 minutes or so in the freeway parking lot, we got out of Ft. Worth. We made it to Auntie’s house at 4 p.m. The score for leg 2: 5 ½ hour trip took us 7 hours. But on the plus side, we had lunch and ice cream at a Braum’s, which I hadn’t visited since my senior year of high school on the Oklahoma border. YUM.
Friday, February 15, 2008
A Tribute to Old Dan, who died too young
This week my little black dog, officially named Old Dan (after a canine book character) got hit by a car and killed. He was just over two years old and had recently become a house dog (before Christmas) after he and his sister Little Ann managed to burn down their big doghouse by knocking down the heat lamp I forgot to unplug after a cold night. I had let him out for his usual evening run through the timber across the street from our house. For some reason I still don't know, he didn't take his usual right turn when he left the driveway. Instead he turned left and went up the road to the city park. I think he might have been following a neighbor's dog. Anyway, Ann came home in the usual 15-20 minutes but Dan wasn't with her. After 40 mins. I went looking and found him in the grass at the park. I think whoever hit him must have laid him there. There wasn't a mark on him.
We were devastated, I was guilt ridden and angry with myself. I knew that letting him have a run off the leash entailed some risk. But he had done very well about staying close, in the timber, not chasing cars or anything of the sort. He came home when I called him. We live on a quiet back street on the edge of a tiny little town, with little traffic and timber on two sides. I believed (and I still do) that spending a lifetime on a leash is no sort of life for a dog. If he wasn't an A#1 fence climbing Houdini I could have fenced the yard, but it wouldn't have mattered. When they were penned outside in their big enclosure (with a top on it) he still found ways to get out. He wanted to chase rabbits, dammit! The price I paid for giving him his freedom is losing him. The price Little Ann will pay may end up being a lifetime on the leash.
After the doghouse fire, the dogs had become accustomed to their new indoor-dog routine and Dan was learning tricks pretty fast. I'd taught him about six or so in a few weeks, and he had just learned a new one the night before - to catch treats as I tossed them to him. He was really smart and could pick up a trick in a few minutes. If you didn't give him his treat fast enough he'd do all of them in rapid succession, just to make sure he got the one you wanted. My husband and I spent our first Valentine's Day as a married couple digging a grave for our furry friend.
His littermate Ann is sweet and loveable and seems lost without her brother. I let him sniff his body so she might know he was gone. This morning when I walked her she sniffed all the way up the block, along the path he must have taken, right to the place where I found him. They have never been apart, so she has never been alone.
While she was kennelled in the big bathroom yesterday - their usual place while we were at work so they wouldn't eat the kitty cats - she tore off a chunk of the door trim and tore it to bits! She did ok last night sleeping in there, but I'm dreading going home to see what havoc she has wrought. We are, it seems rather cold-bloodedly, already talking about getting another dog - for Ann. I had my prior two dogs for more than ten years until one died of old age and the other had to be put down at 14 due to a tumor. One of them was Dan and Ann's grandfather, a German Shorthair named Buddy. I still miss him, and Moose, my German Shepherd, who lived to be 11 or so. Pretty long for a shep.
There were moments just after I found him, while I was crying hysterically and questioning everything about the whole situation, I considered giving Ann to a friend and just having no dogs, because I didn't feel I deserved to have one. But I don't think that's an option for us. I've learned a valuable lesson, a hard lesson. But whenever I think of Dan, I'll remember him nose down, tail up, eyes shining, off on the trail of a rabbit. I can't help thinking that his life was better for including the free running times he adored.
Danny Boy, I'll miss your sweet little face and your happy brown eyes, and the way you used to "talk" to me when I got home at nights. I'll see you at the bridge, buddy.
This is open for comment, so if you do comment, please be kind. If you feel like saying mean things to me, please don't bother. You can't possibly say anything worse than I've already said to myself.
We were devastated, I was guilt ridden and angry with myself. I knew that letting him have a run off the leash entailed some risk. But he had done very well about staying close, in the timber, not chasing cars or anything of the sort. He came home when I called him. We live on a quiet back street on the edge of a tiny little town, with little traffic and timber on two sides. I believed (and I still do) that spending a lifetime on a leash is no sort of life for a dog. If he wasn't an A#1 fence climbing Houdini I could have fenced the yard, but it wouldn't have mattered. When they were penned outside in their big enclosure (with a top on it) he still found ways to get out. He wanted to chase rabbits, dammit! The price I paid for giving him his freedom is losing him. The price Little Ann will pay may end up being a lifetime on the leash.
After the doghouse fire, the dogs had become accustomed to their new indoor-dog routine and Dan was learning tricks pretty fast. I'd taught him about six or so in a few weeks, and he had just learned a new one the night before - to catch treats as I tossed them to him. He was really smart and could pick up a trick in a few minutes. If you didn't give him his treat fast enough he'd do all of them in rapid succession, just to make sure he got the one you wanted. My husband and I spent our first Valentine's Day as a married couple digging a grave for our furry friend.
His littermate Ann is sweet and loveable and seems lost without her brother. I let him sniff his body so she might know he was gone. This morning when I walked her she sniffed all the way up the block, along the path he must have taken, right to the place where I found him. They have never been apart, so she has never been alone.
While she was kennelled in the big bathroom yesterday - their usual place while we were at work so they wouldn't eat the kitty cats - she tore off a chunk of the door trim and tore it to bits! She did ok last night sleeping in there, but I'm dreading going home to see what havoc she has wrought. We are, it seems rather cold-bloodedly, already talking about getting another dog - for Ann. I had my prior two dogs for more than ten years until one died of old age and the other had to be put down at 14 due to a tumor. One of them was Dan and Ann's grandfather, a German Shorthair named Buddy. I still miss him, and Moose, my German Shepherd, who lived to be 11 or so. Pretty long for a shep.
There were moments just after I found him, while I was crying hysterically and questioning everything about the whole situation, I considered giving Ann to a friend and just having no dogs, because I didn't feel I deserved to have one. But I don't think that's an option for us. I've learned a valuable lesson, a hard lesson. But whenever I think of Dan, I'll remember him nose down, tail up, eyes shining, off on the trail of a rabbit. I can't help thinking that his life was better for including the free running times he adored.
Danny Boy, I'll miss your sweet little face and your happy brown eyes, and the way you used to "talk" to me when I got home at nights. I'll see you at the bridge, buddy.
This is open for comment, so if you do comment, please be kind. If you feel like saying mean things to me, please don't bother. You can't possibly say anything worse than I've already said to myself.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Off to Iraq
I have been exchanging e-mails for the past couple of days with the mom of a guy I went to Jr. High and High School with. OK let's be honest here. He was the guy I had a crush on all through Jr. High and High School. We had some unofficial romantic involvement, but were never publicly together. I know now that was probably because my dad was a teacher in our high school. We remained friends until I moved away our last year of high school, and as people often do, we lost touch for a long time.
A couple of years ago we started e-mailing each other every now and then. I was surprised to learn that he had become kind of a big deal in an insurance company. Not surprised that he was doing well - because he had that kind of drive - but that he picked that industry. We talked about my divorce and his upcoming remarriage, etc. Like these things do, we kind of drifted away again and I haven't had an e-mail from him in a few months. He mentioned that was going to have to report soon and eventually be deployed to Iraq. Since I hadn't heard from him I assumed he was already over there. Another friend and I got curious about where he was and sent a message to his mom.
He's my age (39 or 40) and has been in the National Guard since he got out of high school. I know that the Guard is something he's taken great pride in, and I'm sure that he's very good at what he does. His mom just e-mailed to tell me that he just left last night for Iraq. To tell the truth I don't know how to feel about that. Part of me is very proud that he chose to serve our country and has continued serving all this time. Part of me is angry that he didn't leave this stuff to the younger guys. (He has a bad leg from an old football injury when we were in H.S.)
I have prayed for his safety, and for his new wife and baby son (a son! He who told me he did not want kids. Funny what a new wife can do) and I know that whatever happens to him now is in God's hands.
It's kind of a strange circle, really. My oldest daughter (nearly 18) has a guy friend (so NOT a boyfriend, mom.! That would be weird!) who just returned from a tour in Iraq of more than a year. He's 19 years old, a good responsible, levelheaded nice kid, with just enough orneriness in him to make him good company. My girl spent the entire time he was gone wearing a set of dogtags her dad had made for her years ago. She wouldn't take them off to shower or sleep until he got home. Many a night I went to tell her good night and she was sitting in bed looking worried. I told her to pray for her friend and leave the rest to God. She said she did, but she still looked worried. When we heard bad news from over there we talked about it. Thank the Lord for e-mail! She was able to know within a day or two if he was o.k. or not. I can't imagine what it must have been like back when you had to wait days or weeks for a letter from overseas.
Anyway, I think now I know how she felt, at least a little. My friend and I are no longer as close as she and her friend are, but at one time we were. I try not to think of what could happen to him over there, but I know that he is going into danger. I will follow my own advice and pray and trust, but it is a hard thing. If it's so hard for me at 40, what must it have been like for my girl? All I know is that she has relaxed a lot since her friend made it home o.k.
I've studied wars and the people in them for most of my life. I have always had great respect for those who fought and those who stayed behind, and I still do. Regardless of how we feel about this conflict, the men and women on the front lines deserve our respect and support, as well as our fervent prayers. I've been blessed in that I've never had to watch any of my family board a bus or a plane to fly off to peril. But I've seen what Vietnam did to my uncle, and I've heard from my grandpa how it tore him apart to know that his son could die at any moment. I've listened to Grandpa's stories of frustration about being declared 4F during World War II, due to a heart murmur which was barely detectable and has never given him any trouble. He's 85 now, and still bitter that he missed the defining events of his generation. I'm sure that like George Bailey he fought the battle of the home front. But to him it feels like he didn't do enough. I guess he figures if he was healthy enough for bronc busting on a Montana Ranch, he was healthy enough to fight Hitler. 60+ years later and he's still mad!
Anyway, I guess I'll just keep praying. Rod, I know you won't see this but may God hold you in his hands while you are away. Come home safe, and we'll talk again.
A couple of years ago we started e-mailing each other every now and then. I was surprised to learn that he had become kind of a big deal in an insurance company. Not surprised that he was doing well - because he had that kind of drive - but that he picked that industry. We talked about my divorce and his upcoming remarriage, etc. Like these things do, we kind of drifted away again and I haven't had an e-mail from him in a few months. He mentioned that was going to have to report soon and eventually be deployed to Iraq. Since I hadn't heard from him I assumed he was already over there. Another friend and I got curious about where he was and sent a message to his mom.
He's my age (39 or 40) and has been in the National Guard since he got out of high school. I know that the Guard is something he's taken great pride in, and I'm sure that he's very good at what he does. His mom just e-mailed to tell me that he just left last night for Iraq. To tell the truth I don't know how to feel about that. Part of me is very proud that he chose to serve our country and has continued serving all this time. Part of me is angry that he didn't leave this stuff to the younger guys. (He has a bad leg from an old football injury when we were in H.S.)
I have prayed for his safety, and for his new wife and baby son (a son! He who told me he did not want kids. Funny what a new wife can do) and I know that whatever happens to him now is in God's hands.
It's kind of a strange circle, really. My oldest daughter (nearly 18) has a guy friend (so NOT a boyfriend, mom.! That would be weird!) who just returned from a tour in Iraq of more than a year. He's 19 years old, a good responsible, levelheaded nice kid, with just enough orneriness in him to make him good company. My girl spent the entire time he was gone wearing a set of dogtags her dad had made for her years ago. She wouldn't take them off to shower or sleep until he got home. Many a night I went to tell her good night and she was sitting in bed looking worried. I told her to pray for her friend and leave the rest to God. She said she did, but she still looked worried. When we heard bad news from over there we talked about it. Thank the Lord for e-mail! She was able to know within a day or two if he was o.k. or not. I can't imagine what it must have been like back when you had to wait days or weeks for a letter from overseas.
Anyway, I think now I know how she felt, at least a little. My friend and I are no longer as close as she and her friend are, but at one time we were. I try not to think of what could happen to him over there, but I know that he is going into danger. I will follow my own advice and pray and trust, but it is a hard thing. If it's so hard for me at 40, what must it have been like for my girl? All I know is that she has relaxed a lot since her friend made it home o.k.
I've studied wars and the people in them for most of my life. I have always had great respect for those who fought and those who stayed behind, and I still do. Regardless of how we feel about this conflict, the men and women on the front lines deserve our respect and support, as well as our fervent prayers. I've been blessed in that I've never had to watch any of my family board a bus or a plane to fly off to peril. But I've seen what Vietnam did to my uncle, and I've heard from my grandpa how it tore him apart to know that his son could die at any moment. I've listened to Grandpa's stories of frustration about being declared 4F during World War II, due to a heart murmur which was barely detectable and has never given him any trouble. He's 85 now, and still bitter that he missed the defining events of his generation. I'm sure that like George Bailey he fought the battle of the home front. But to him it feels like he didn't do enough. I guess he figures if he was healthy enough for bronc busting on a Montana Ranch, he was healthy enough to fight Hitler. 60+ years later and he's still mad!
Anyway, I guess I'll just keep praying. Rod, I know you won't see this but may God hold you in his hands while you are away. Come home safe, and we'll talk again.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Sick kids
Life in our household has been very interesting the past two weeks. My eldest got mono (again!) and my youngest some other virus that kept her out of school for most of two weeks. Thank God for grandparents! I'm still new enough at my job to be considered probationary and I can't take time off for all those trips to the doctor, etc. Fortunately they are on the road to recovery but it has been exhausting. More so because they seem to catch everything that comes down the pike, and have for several years. I have changed their diet, sent hand sanitizer to school and tried to make sure they get plenty of rest and vitamins. Since I have two little insomniacs the sleep part is often difficult.
But our primary doc gave me a surprise last week. He said that we had come to the limits of conventional medicine and perhaps we should see Dr. * who is a naturopath. Doc said he trusts him, and that he is comfortable going with alternative or even chiropractic medicine in cases like ours. I dont' go for chiropractic - I've met too many quacks in that field. But the alternative medicine option is getting more appealing all the time.
I've started some more small changes. Bought organic breakfast cereal instead of the regular kind. Though I've always bought the healthy stuff - no Sugar Smacks for my kids. Would love to go all organic but I simply can't afford to do it. We won't give up our meat, either. Like my steak too much, and the organic stuff is ridiculously priced. Even more so than the conventional. I heard that buying locally grown is good, so maybe I'll start shopping at our local meat locker instead of the grocery store.
Well, a new year and new things to try. We'll see how it comes along.
But our primary doc gave me a surprise last week. He said that we had come to the limits of conventional medicine and perhaps we should see Dr. * who is a naturopath. Doc said he trusts him, and that he is comfortable going with alternative or even chiropractic medicine in cases like ours. I dont' go for chiropractic - I've met too many quacks in that field. But the alternative medicine option is getting more appealing all the time.
I've started some more small changes. Bought organic breakfast cereal instead of the regular kind. Though I've always bought the healthy stuff - no Sugar Smacks for my kids. Would love to go all organic but I simply can't afford to do it. We won't give up our meat, either. Like my steak too much, and the organic stuff is ridiculously priced. Even more so than the conventional. I heard that buying locally grown is good, so maybe I'll start shopping at our local meat locker instead of the grocery store.
Well, a new year and new things to try. We'll see how it comes along.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
School lunch really does suck...
I had the day off on Monday for MLK Jr. day and decided I'd do myself a big favor and have lunch at school with my fifth grader. K was very happy to have mom and stepdad there, and we enjoyed seeing her classmates and such. She had fun showing me the many animals in their classroom again. No, I don't mean her fellow students. Let's see if I remember them all. There are two geckos, a tarantula, an African tortoise, a bearded dragon, and some hissing cockroaches. I think that's all. Since K is a HUGE science/animal nut, this is the perfect classroom for her.
But I digress. We went to the cafeteria for lunch. Mind you, my expectations were not high. I mean, when I went to school in our tiny town the "lunch ladies" at school were the same as the "church ladies" at church dinners. We ate very well, the food was prepared on site by women who knew how to make anything taste great. I think my childhood weight problem can partially be laid at their door, but they loved us all so much I don't think I'll do that. I knew going in that the food wouldn't be fantastic. I've heard my teens gripe about it often enough. "Mom, it's just GROSS." The food itself was not the worst I have ever eaten. That honor goes to hospital food.
I guess what surprised me was the lack of variety. In short, it was starch, starch, and more starch! First on the menu: Tacos. I know, you're picturing a lovely crunchy corn shell filled with meat, cheese, lettuce, fresh tomatoes and maybe some salsa. Well, we got 2 shells and 1 ice cream scoop of soyburger each with no perceptible seasoning in the meat. This was followed by corn (with little bits of pimiento in it so they could call it "mexican corn"). Another bin held some limp shredded lettuce combined with a flavorless, pale, shredded cheeselike substance. The highlight of the meal was a lovely Bosq pear half. I was appalled to hear the boys at the table arguing over whether it was an apple or a pear. Apparently they had never seen a Bosq before. Of course there was milk in those cute little cartons. There was also some taco sauce. Well, there had been taco sauce but by the time we got there it was pretty much empty.
Call me naive, but I was under the impression that the Federal Government, responding to public pressure, had improved the guidelines for school lunches since the days of my childhood. Remember the 80s, when Ronald Reagan tried to get ketchup counted as a vegetable? I went to the USDA web site to check it out, and disovered that they only regulate fat content and require that the meal provide 1/3 of the recommended allowance of iron, calcium, Vitamin A and C, and calories. Beyond that the food served is left to the discretion of the local schools. Which explains the starch parade. Our moms knew it and so does the school - starch is cheap and filling!
This is very bad. K has ADD and is on medications which zap her appetite. As a result I struggle to get her to eat enough every day. After sharing lunch with her I came to the conclusion that I need to add another task to my already overflowing days - packing her a healthy lunch. I must say she is very excited by this. For one thing it gave her a chance to trot out her lunchbox, which I covet! It is an old plastic one, bright yellow, with a sticker that shows Kool-Aid man zapping the thirsties. Her dad found it for her at a yard sale or something, and it is totally 80s awesome kid chic. The other one he got has Madballs "Gooey and Gross!" on the front and it is green. Anyone remember those toys? They were nasty looking, if the pics on the box do them any justice. Not sure why anyone would want to view them while trying to eat, but kids are funny that way. If I know K she will use it to try and gross out the boys.
The plus side of all this is that it will likely help me to pack my own healthier lunches too. Should help with that New Years Resolution to eat better. Though it's hard to ward off the all you can eat Mexican buffet that's right across the street from my office.
But I digress. We went to the cafeteria for lunch. Mind you, my expectations were not high. I mean, when I went to school in our tiny town the "lunch ladies" at school were the same as the "church ladies" at church dinners. We ate very well, the food was prepared on site by women who knew how to make anything taste great. I think my childhood weight problem can partially be laid at their door, but they loved us all so much I don't think I'll do that. I knew going in that the food wouldn't be fantastic. I've heard my teens gripe about it often enough. "Mom, it's just GROSS." The food itself was not the worst I have ever eaten. That honor goes to hospital food.
I guess what surprised me was the lack of variety. In short, it was starch, starch, and more starch! First on the menu: Tacos. I know, you're picturing a lovely crunchy corn shell filled with meat, cheese, lettuce, fresh tomatoes and maybe some salsa. Well, we got 2 shells and 1 ice cream scoop of soyburger each with no perceptible seasoning in the meat. This was followed by corn (with little bits of pimiento in it so they could call it "mexican corn"). Another bin held some limp shredded lettuce combined with a flavorless, pale, shredded cheeselike substance. The highlight of the meal was a lovely Bosq pear half. I was appalled to hear the boys at the table arguing over whether it was an apple or a pear. Apparently they had never seen a Bosq before. Of course there was milk in those cute little cartons. There was also some taco sauce. Well, there had been taco sauce but by the time we got there it was pretty much empty.
Call me naive, but I was under the impression that the Federal Government, responding to public pressure, had improved the guidelines for school lunches since the days of my childhood. Remember the 80s, when Ronald Reagan tried to get ketchup counted as a vegetable? I went to the USDA web site to check it out, and disovered that they only regulate fat content and require that the meal provide 1/3 of the recommended allowance of iron, calcium, Vitamin A and C, and calories. Beyond that the food served is left to the discretion of the local schools. Which explains the starch parade. Our moms knew it and so does the school - starch is cheap and filling!
This is very bad. K has ADD and is on medications which zap her appetite. As a result I struggle to get her to eat enough every day. After sharing lunch with her I came to the conclusion that I need to add another task to my already overflowing days - packing her a healthy lunch. I must say she is very excited by this. For one thing it gave her a chance to trot out her lunchbox, which I covet! It is an old plastic one, bright yellow, with a sticker that shows Kool-Aid man zapping the thirsties. Her dad found it for her at a yard sale or something, and it is totally 80s awesome kid chic. The other one he got has Madballs "Gooey and Gross!" on the front and it is green. Anyone remember those toys? They were nasty looking, if the pics on the box do them any justice. Not sure why anyone would want to view them while trying to eat, but kids are funny that way. If I know K she will use it to try and gross out the boys.
The plus side of all this is that it will likely help me to pack my own healthier lunches too. Should help with that New Years Resolution to eat better. Though it's hard to ward off the all you can eat Mexican buffet that's right across the street from my office.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Introduction
Hello,
I've been on the internet for more than a decade but this is my first foray into the blogosphere, at least as a writer. I have thought about it for a few years but was especially inspired today while doing some reading about one of my personal literary heroes - Douglas Adams. While perusing douglasadams.com I noticed a question. It said "How should prospective writers go about becoming an author?" Part of Adams' answer said "...You had better really, really, really want to do it. Next you have to write something. " That's when it hit me. I have to write if I'm ever going to be a writer.
Finding the time and discipline needed to work on this craft has been my bugabear for many years now. I have an unfinished novel on my PC. It's been there for about 7 years. Most of the plot is in my head. As Mozart said in Amadeus "The rest is just scribbling." Or in my case, typing. But there always seem to be a hundred other things I need to do. Like starting a blog.
Finishing the novel has become like a New Year's resolution to me. Something I always MEAN to do but never quite get around to actually doing. I'm hoping that starting this blog will help me develop some of that discipline, as well as reminding me several times a week why I love to write.
I was further inspired to write today by something that happened in a meeting at work today. We were discussing team development and team building, etc. I work in state government now, after spending about 12 years in small entrepreneurial technology companies. I love my work as a software tester/data quality analyst, but I often have too much time on my hands. I'm lucky to work in the IT department where I don't have to curb my enthusiasm for all things geeky.
But I digress. We were discussing "team building" and different experiences we had had with it in our varied former employment. I couldn't help wondering what my 85 year old grandfather would say about the whole concept. The man who proclaimed often that his work philosophy was "I figure these SOBs have got me until 4:00 and then my time is my own" but who also speaks with pride of his time as an inspector for the US Air Force and the Postal Service, where he worked hard to ensure that US taxpayers were getting as much for their money as the contracts indicated they should. Apparently this attitude didn't always go down well with the contractors.
"Team building. Huh." I can almost hear his voice. "What the hell is that? We didn't build no teams. We just came in, did our work and went home." My own boss - who I think is awesome - referred to it as "that touchy-feely" stuff. I must confess I feel the same. Sometimes I think we are becoming a nation of wimps. Yeah, work should be fun. You spend too much time there for it to be awful. We are professionals and if we get along well together, life at work can be great. But I can't help wondering, as a citizen and a taxpayer, how much government money is being spent on the flavor of the month management techniques, seminars, programs, etc. Can't we all just be grownups and do our work and treat each other decently? Is bungee jumping as a team really required? I hope not, because I don't do heights.
Well I've rambled on long enough for my first try. Thanks for reading.
I've been on the internet for more than a decade but this is my first foray into the blogosphere, at least as a writer. I have thought about it for a few years but was especially inspired today while doing some reading about one of my personal literary heroes - Douglas Adams. While perusing douglasadams.com I noticed a question. It said "How should prospective writers go about becoming an author?" Part of Adams' answer said "...You had better really, really, really want to do it. Next you have to write something. " That's when it hit me. I have to write if I'm ever going to be a writer.
Finding the time and discipline needed to work on this craft has been my bugabear for many years now. I have an unfinished novel on my PC. It's been there for about 7 years. Most of the plot is in my head. As Mozart said in Amadeus "The rest is just scribbling." Or in my case, typing. But there always seem to be a hundred other things I need to do. Like starting a blog.
Finishing the novel has become like a New Year's resolution to me. Something I always MEAN to do but never quite get around to actually doing. I'm hoping that starting this blog will help me develop some of that discipline, as well as reminding me several times a week why I love to write.
I was further inspired to write today by something that happened in a meeting at work today. We were discussing team development and team building, etc. I work in state government now, after spending about 12 years in small entrepreneurial technology companies. I love my work as a software tester/data quality analyst, but I often have too much time on my hands. I'm lucky to work in the IT department where I don't have to curb my enthusiasm for all things geeky.
But I digress. We were discussing "team building" and different experiences we had had with it in our varied former employment. I couldn't help wondering what my 85 year old grandfather would say about the whole concept. The man who proclaimed often that his work philosophy was "I figure these SOBs have got me until 4:00 and then my time is my own" but who also speaks with pride of his time as an inspector for the US Air Force and the Postal Service, where he worked hard to ensure that US taxpayers were getting as much for their money as the contracts indicated they should. Apparently this attitude didn't always go down well with the contractors.
"Team building. Huh." I can almost hear his voice. "What the hell is that? We didn't build no teams. We just came in, did our work and went home." My own boss - who I think is awesome - referred to it as "that touchy-feely" stuff. I must confess I feel the same. Sometimes I think we are becoming a nation of wimps. Yeah, work should be fun. You spend too much time there for it to be awful. We are professionals and if we get along well together, life at work can be great. But I can't help wondering, as a citizen and a taxpayer, how much government money is being spent on the flavor of the month management techniques, seminars, programs, etc. Can't we all just be grownups and do our work and treat each other decently? Is bungee jumping as a team really required? I hope not, because I don't do heights.
Well I've rambled on long enough for my first try. Thanks for reading.
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