I lahahuve games! Board/card games that is. Board more than card really.
I have many: Apples to Apples, Mad Gab, Scattegories, Bananagrams, Cranium, Smarta$$, Party Playoff, "Office Trivia", Boggle, etc.
Today, I played Settlers of Catan for the first time. I highly recommend letting someone that has played before explain the directions/rules to you. The instructions are a treatise of confusion! I started sweating reading them.
We played the game thrice. The first time was practice: I won. The second time was for realsies: I lost. The third time was for realsies realsies: I won!!!
Do you like games? Which ones and why come? I'm always in the market for more...
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
I saw the movie "Brothers" a few nights ago with Tie and his siblings, Tate and Tory. From the preview, it definitely looked like it was going to be an intense flick. Indeed it was. Perhaps a little too intense if you ask Tie. His exact words after we walked out of the theater were "It makes me want to shoot myself in the head."
However, intense, twisted, heavy, depressing movies are some of my favorite. My top 5 include Braveheart (the redeeming qualities outweigh the intensity), Million Dollar Baby (yes, I know I'm the only person on the planet who likes this movie) and Goonies (oh wait...it doesn't fall into this category).
Anyway, the basic plot of "Brothers" centers around a man who is a captain in the Marines (played by Tobey Macguire). He deploys to Afghanistan and bad things happen. Meanwhile, his wife (Natalie Portman) finds comfort in her growing relationship with his ner' do well brother (Jake Gyllenhal). When Brother Marine gets back from war, he has extreme psychological damage which essentially results in the destruction (figuratively) of his family.
One of the main reasons I like intense movies is because they generally make me think about something more so than I usually would. I am embarrassed to admit that it took this movie to actually make me think more deeply about the soldiers that fight for the United States, on my behalf. Tie and I both discussed how we really don't want anyone's family to be ruined in our name...while they fight for us. Is anything worth someone else's life? Certainly my faith is worth my own life. But aren't I the one who has to make that sacrifice? If someone else is making it on my behalf, then obviously I'm not losing anything. In our 20 minute ride home from the movie theater, our conversation only scratched the surface of the issue, which I guess is if and when war and fighting is appropriate and right.
I repeat, it is embarrassing to confess that I think about this subject far less than I should. But, I'm ok to admit that. My admission makes me accountable. It's on my radar. I'm actively thinking about it. I want to resolve my feelings/beliefs about it.
See the movie. It's worth the momentary and superficial discomfort caused by engineered intensity if it causes you to consider the reality of the lives our soldiers lead and the responsibility that we, as citizens of the country they fight for, bear for their circumstances.
However, intense, twisted, heavy, depressing movies are some of my favorite. My top 5 include Braveheart (the redeeming qualities outweigh the intensity), Million Dollar Baby (yes, I know I'm the only person on the planet who likes this movie) and Goonies (oh wait...it doesn't fall into this category).
Anyway, the basic plot of "Brothers" centers around a man who is a captain in the Marines (played by Tobey Macguire). He deploys to Afghanistan and bad things happen. Meanwhile, his wife (Natalie Portman) finds comfort in her growing relationship with his ner' do well brother (Jake Gyllenhal). When Brother Marine gets back from war, he has extreme psychological damage which essentially results in the destruction (figuratively) of his family.
One of the main reasons I like intense movies is because they generally make me think about something more so than I usually would. I am embarrassed to admit that it took this movie to actually make me think more deeply about the soldiers that fight for the United States, on my behalf. Tie and I both discussed how we really don't want anyone's family to be ruined in our name...while they fight for us. Is anything worth someone else's life? Certainly my faith is worth my own life. But aren't I the one who has to make that sacrifice? If someone else is making it on my behalf, then obviously I'm not losing anything. In our 20 minute ride home from the movie theater, our conversation only scratched the surface of the issue, which I guess is if and when war and fighting is appropriate and right.
I repeat, it is embarrassing to confess that I think about this subject far less than I should. But, I'm ok to admit that. My admission makes me accountable. It's on my radar. I'm actively thinking about it. I want to resolve my feelings/beliefs about it.
See the movie. It's worth the momentary and superficial discomfort caused by engineered intensity if it causes you to consider the reality of the lives our soldiers lead and the responsibility that we, as citizens of the country they fight for, bear for their circumstances.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
(ha...so long that I forgot my username/password combo. lame.)
I'm back in the game. As much as I'd like to pass off my delinquent blogging as a result of busyness, the honest to goodness reason is that I feel all kinds of pressure to say something witty or compelling or even provocative (in the PG way). Yep, that's why. Why waste everyone's time with something boring? That's my brilliant logic.
So, I'm going to lower the expectations. We'll see how that goes.
"New" blog #1: I've decided to trick myself into feeling less complain-y. The past month of school (which I most thankfully have a break from now) has been pretty...well, terrible. No, not that bad in the grand scheme of things but far less than pleasant. I'm a person who needs to find fulfillment in my profession. It ain't happenin' these days. And, no matter how many different ways I've tried to deal with my feelings about it, my solution of the moment doesn't last through the next "episode".
However, my latest and hopefully final solution to feeling under-appreciated/under-paid/overwhelmed/over-worked, blah, blah, blah is to try to appreciate someone more, value someone more, lighten someone else's workload, etc. You know, try to assuage/alleviate someone else's feelings of dissatisfaction. I'm thinking this will a) help someone else feel better and b) make me feel like a chump for whatever I'm feeling sorry for myself about. Thus far, I've employed said technique approximately one time. With smashing success I might add. I'm going to try to make Scout feel less-tired by playing with him. Yes, this is an excellent plan!
I'm back in the game. As much as I'd like to pass off my delinquent blogging as a result of busyness, the honest to goodness reason is that I feel all kinds of pressure to say something witty or compelling or even provocative (in the PG way). Yep, that's why. Why waste everyone's time with something boring? That's my brilliant logic.
So, I'm going to lower the expectations. We'll see how that goes.
"New" blog #1: I've decided to trick myself into feeling less complain-y. The past month of school (which I most thankfully have a break from now) has been pretty...well, terrible. No, not that bad in the grand scheme of things but far less than pleasant. I'm a person who needs to find fulfillment in my profession. It ain't happenin' these days. And, no matter how many different ways I've tried to deal with my feelings about it, my solution of the moment doesn't last through the next "episode".
However, my latest and hopefully final solution to feeling under-appreciated/under-paid/overwhelmed/over-worked, blah, blah, blah is to try to appreciate someone more, value someone more, lighten someone else's workload, etc. You know, try to assuage/alleviate someone else's feelings of dissatisfaction. I'm thinking this will a) help someone else feel better and b) make me feel like a chump for whatever I'm feeling sorry for myself about. Thus far, I've employed said technique approximately one time. With smashing success I might add. I'm going to try to make Scout feel less-tired by playing with him. Yes, this is an excellent plan!
Friday, August 21, 2009
Gallery Fridays...
While there are numerous, obvious reasons why Friday is quite possibly the best day of the week...until Sunday...I invite you to add another reason to the list. The Guardian (the British paper that I read) has an awesome "Week in Wildlife" picture gallery that they update every Friday. The quality of the pictures is excellent. They frequently show endangered species of animals and plants. They also frequently have pictures that are flat out hysterical. Here is a sampling of why I LIVE for this gallery on Fridays
from this week's gallery
"Macaque monkeys in Lopburi, north of Bangkok. Thailand started a birth control programme to sterilise male monkeys in the famous monkey town"
"'Footprints'. The entry for the Veolia Environment Wildlife Photographer of the Year 2009 for the One Earth Award category. This and nearly 100 other winning images will go on display at the Natural History Museum in London on 23 October"
last week's gallery
"Two-week-old Ruffles, the red ruffed lemur, investigates a pear at Lemur Land in Blair Drummond safari park in Scotland. It is the first of the endangered species to be born at the park"
"A female hamadryas baboon (Papio hamadryas) and her baby in the ape house of the Hellabrunn zoo, Munich, Germany. The natural habitat for the species can be found in Africa, Saudi Arabia and Yemen"
from this week's gallery
"Macaque monkeys in Lopburi, north of Bangkok. Thailand started a birth control programme to sterilise male monkeys in the famous monkey town"
"'Footprints'. The entry for the Veolia Environment Wildlife Photographer of the Year 2009 for the One Earth Award category. This and nearly 100 other winning images will go on display at the Natural History Museum in London on 23 October"
last week's gallery
"Two-week-old Ruffles, the red ruffed lemur, investigates a pear at Lemur Land in Blair Drummond safari park in Scotland. It is the first of the endangered species to be born at the park"
"A female hamadryas baboon (Papio hamadryas) and her baby in the ape house of the Hellabrunn zoo, Munich, Germany. The natural habitat for the species can be found in Africa, Saudi Arabia and Yemen"
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Speaking of...
You know how most people hate public speaking? I used to think that was me. However, considering the fact that I stand in front of people (granted, they're teenagers so not entirely people) all day long and yap away, I had to reexamine the exact nature of my hatred.
Indeed, I do not hate public speaking. I hate planned public speaking. You know, a written speech, a recited reading, a question during a question and answer session. Seriously, all of these things make me either a) cry b) have a heart rate of 1013 beats per minute or c) have a strange and false feeling of overconfidence resulting in a shockingly embarrassing moment.
Before I reveal these shameful and ridiculous moments, I must, in my own defense, say that I'm pretty good at public speaking of the off the cuff variety. I mean, I do amuse the teenagers with my spitting...I mean speaking. I do disarm anxious parents worried about their child's potential success in my AP class by telling them about the 10 eyeliners I just tried out on my hand (and showing them too, of course). Yep, happened in Target today. Meet parent, tell them how great their kid is and how they're sure to do well in the class, right? No, because that would have been pre-planned and I would have probably wet my pants with nervousness. So, every lady likes eyeliner, right?
As you can see, this post wasn't pre-planned. But, I'm righting the ship. Example #1 of the catastrophe that is my and pre-planned speaking: Some dumb American Legion essay contest I was hookwinked into participating in in high school. I had about 2 days to write the speech. I had to stand up in from of 20 or 30 wonderfully old and patriotic veterans and give the speech. I was supposed to memorize the speech, which I didn't know until I got there. Right... 10 minutes to memorize. Ha. I decide to spend that time crying instead. That was probably the first time I had cried in several months. And it showed. I couldn't even speak when I got in front of the staring eyes. I choked and gasped for air and all the old people gave me sympathetic looks which made it 10,000 times worse. I think I almost died.
Example #2: In church one time (about 15 years ago), I had to go up to the pulpit, stand on the stool, step up to the microphone and say the scripture reading. It was the parable of the vineyard (that's right, I don't know the actual scripture reference, shame on me). I thought I was going to throw up which obviously clouded my judgment and caused me to say, in true phonetic fashion, "VINE-yard" rather than vin-yard. And I did it about 100 times. It was lovely. People at church still remind me of this gaffe. They laugh. I throw up a little in my mouth. Memories...
Example #3: Whilst attending a teaching conference in San Antonio a few weeks ago, I was in a session with about 125 other AP teachers. I had a question for the presenter. Simple enough. I raised my hand. About 5 minutes elapsed between when I raided my hand and when the speaker called on me. Anxiety ensued. I'm pretty sure I could literally see my heart bounding through my shirt/chest/ribs, etc. I promptly worked up a horrific sweat in a room that was 55 degrees. Presenter calls on me. I'm lightheaded at this point and my voice is shaking as I ask the basic question. Yay, it's pretty ridiculous.
It's so bizarre. I've talked to about a million strangers before, unprompted and unscripted. Easy cheesy. But thinking about asking the dentist at my next appointment about the difference between "floss" and "dental tape" shakes me to the core.
Indeed, I do not hate public speaking. I hate planned public speaking. You know, a written speech, a recited reading, a question during a question and answer session. Seriously, all of these things make me either a) cry b) have a heart rate of 1013 beats per minute or c) have a strange and false feeling of overconfidence resulting in a shockingly embarrassing moment.
Before I reveal these shameful and ridiculous moments, I must, in my own defense, say that I'm pretty good at public speaking of the off the cuff variety. I mean, I do amuse the teenagers with my spitting...I mean speaking. I do disarm anxious parents worried about their child's potential success in my AP class by telling them about the 10 eyeliners I just tried out on my hand (and showing them too, of course). Yep, happened in Target today. Meet parent, tell them how great their kid is and how they're sure to do well in the class, right? No, because that would have been pre-planned and I would have probably wet my pants with nervousness. So, every lady likes eyeliner, right?
As you can see, this post wasn't pre-planned. But, I'm righting the ship. Example #1 of the catastrophe that is my and pre-planned speaking: Some dumb American Legion essay contest I was hookwinked into participating in in high school. I had about 2 days to write the speech. I had to stand up in from of 20 or 30 wonderfully old and patriotic veterans and give the speech. I was supposed to memorize the speech, which I didn't know until I got there. Right... 10 minutes to memorize. Ha. I decide to spend that time crying instead. That was probably the first time I had cried in several months. And it showed. I couldn't even speak when I got in front of the staring eyes. I choked and gasped for air and all the old people gave me sympathetic looks which made it 10,000 times worse. I think I almost died.
Example #2: In church one time (about 15 years ago), I had to go up to the pulpit, stand on the stool, step up to the microphone and say the scripture reading. It was the parable of the vineyard (that's right, I don't know the actual scripture reference, shame on me). I thought I was going to throw up which obviously clouded my judgment and caused me to say, in true phonetic fashion, "VINE-yard" rather than vin-yard. And I did it about 100 times. It was lovely. People at church still remind me of this gaffe. They laugh. I throw up a little in my mouth. Memories...
Example #3: Whilst attending a teaching conference in San Antonio a few weeks ago, I was in a session with about 125 other AP teachers. I had a question for the presenter. Simple enough. I raised my hand. About 5 minutes elapsed between when I raided my hand and when the speaker called on me. Anxiety ensued. I'm pretty sure I could literally see my heart bounding through my shirt/chest/ribs, etc. I promptly worked up a horrific sweat in a room that was 55 degrees. Presenter calls on me. I'm lightheaded at this point and my voice is shaking as I ask the basic question. Yay, it's pretty ridiculous.
It's so bizarre. I've talked to about a million strangers before, unprompted and unscripted. Easy cheesy. But thinking about asking the dentist at my next appointment about the difference between "floss" and "dental tape" shakes me to the core.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Passive Agressive...
So, I wanted to write about nosy people inquiring about when I'll have a baby. But, I decided I didn't really want to open that can of worms. Instead...I decided to share another hilarious blog that I like: Passive Aggressive Notes. So I type myself on over to the blog and what do you think I find? Click here to check it out.
I know this is just coincidental but it's pretty funny...I suppose.
I know this is just coincidental but it's pretty funny...I suppose.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
(Wo)Man vs. Salad
Today I chose to torture myself and go another round with one of my most bitter enemies...the salad bar. No, not the kind with a sneeze guard, you know, ala Ryan's or some other disgusting place like that where they serve more fried things with mayonnaise than actual vegetables. Oh wait...this one did have a sneeze guard. But, it was at Whole Foods, so it wasn't a regular sneeze guard: it was organic, vegan, PBA-free and completely biodegradable.
One thing the sneeze guard wasn't though was helpful. Really, I'm going to have to start taking my own food scale with me to the salad bar. Who knew that you could spend so much $ on salad?! The salad is $8.99/lb. and I tried soooooo hard to stay around the $9.50 mark but blast if the darn thing wasn't $12.20. Really Mr. Electronic Scale? R-e-a-l-l-y? This isn't my first time at the rodeo. I don't get lots of tomatoes. They're pretty but heavy little buggers. Lycopene needs liposuction! I don't get broccoli or lots of beans or anything like that that not only hikes up the weight but also inevitably gets stuck in my teeth. I don't rest my purse in the salad bowl and then weigh it...urg! How can hearts of romaine, minor amounts of red onions, green onions, green peas, edamame, chicken, croûtons (my favorite of course), a sprinkling of cheese and dressing cost so much?
It's bad enough that I have to stand in the check out line at Whole Foods without the reusable grocery bag (I ALWAYS leave it at home; Tie's resorted to using them as a lunch box, a bat-bag and a clothing duffel), without some disgusting vegetable juicer thing and without the overbearing smell of petchuli. But to also suffer the mortification of attempting to be healthy and Whole Foods-y with a salad that cost $12.20? Riiiiiiight. Those four little numbers further announce to the hipsters that I just can't cut it in the world of homeopathic remedies, cold-pressed extra virgin olive oil from protected tree-farms and vegan chocolate java cookies.
I guess I'm going to have to start counting peas and croûtons. I'd much rather pretend to be considering terriayki or curry tofu whilst actually counting each pea than continue to suffer the "Stick to Kroger" eye rolls or "That's what she gets for not buying the limited edition organic feed sack reusable bag" sneers I get when checking out. Or maybe someone would like to be my personal salad-shopper? Any takers?
One thing the sneeze guard wasn't though was helpful. Really, I'm going to have to start taking my own food scale with me to the salad bar. Who knew that you could spend so much $ on salad?! The salad is $8.99/lb. and I tried soooooo hard to stay around the $9.50 mark but blast if the darn thing wasn't $12.20. Really Mr. Electronic Scale? R-e-a-l-l-y? This isn't my first time at the rodeo. I don't get lots of tomatoes. They're pretty but heavy little buggers. Lycopene needs liposuction! I don't get broccoli or lots of beans or anything like that that not only hikes up the weight but also inevitably gets stuck in my teeth. I don't rest my purse in the salad bowl and then weigh it...urg! How can hearts of romaine, minor amounts of red onions, green onions, green peas, edamame, chicken, croûtons (my favorite of course), a sprinkling of cheese and dressing cost so much?
It's bad enough that I have to stand in the check out line at Whole Foods without the reusable grocery bag (I ALWAYS leave it at home; Tie's resorted to using them as a lunch box, a bat-bag and a clothing duffel), without some disgusting vegetable juicer thing and without the overbearing smell of petchuli. But to also suffer the mortification of attempting to be healthy and Whole Foods-y with a salad that cost $12.20? Riiiiiiight. Those four little numbers further announce to the hipsters that I just can't cut it in the world of homeopathic remedies, cold-pressed extra virgin olive oil from protected tree-farms and vegan chocolate java cookies.
I guess I'm going to have to start counting peas and croûtons. I'd much rather pretend to be considering terriayki or curry tofu whilst actually counting each pea than continue to suffer the "Stick to Kroger" eye rolls or "That's what she gets for not buying the limited edition organic feed sack reusable bag" sneers I get when checking out. Or maybe someone would like to be my personal salad-shopper? Any takers?
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Past in Present...
The title of this post refers to one of my favorite songs, by Feist. The first time I heard it, I understood every word. By understood, I mean BOTH that I could hear all the words clearly AND that I knew what they meant. Mind you, this is no small feat for me. Rewind back to Mariah Carey, circa 1994. "Dreamlover" was tearing up the air waves (yes, I just said that). As I sang along, I heard, "Because I wanna ship a river with you baby!!!!" Of course, this was nowhere near the actual lyrics, "Because I wanna share forever with you baby!" No...I don't know what it means to ship a river. I figured Mariah did and she's the multi-platinum artist, no? When my 9 year old sister accurately sang the lyrics and scoffed at my 13 year old interpretation, you can only imagine my mortification...
Sooooo....here we are with "Past in Present" lyrics. I mean, without hearing anymore of the song, you could probably crack the nut just from the title. But, the vivid symbolism in the short diddy fleshes out the meaning. Why I find it so meaningful is because it pretty much sums up my life's motto. Well, some of it...the rest is still in development.
I teach history. I love it. I mean, freakishly so. Not because I know it very well, not because I think FDR was the best man ever (BARF) or because I stunk at math and science (mostly true...). I love it because it's truly amazing to me how pretty much every decision that we make as people, leaders and nations has been done before. However, each of us is wonderfully and uniquely made. Even though the scenarios throughout time are the same, the problems are the same, the triumphs are the same: we are all different. Thus my fascination at how it all works out.
Which brings me to how it epitomizes the non-work part of my life (which will hopefully balance out proportionally as I teach a little more...) There's so much of my family in me. So much of my friends in me. Our shared experiences. Their experiences that determined how they interacted with me (and vice versa). Some of these experiences I'm aware of, many of them I'm not. All of them, the Past, inform and shape, the Present.
Sigh, how perfect. Well, maybe not for you. Now that I'm reading it and typing it, I realize it seems kinda nerdy or maybe oversimplified. However, I'm sure, at the very least, you can relate to that one song that just does it for you. You get it. It relates to your life. It makes perfect sense for you life. Those are the best ones!
(the lyrics, in case your interested: http://www.sing365.com/music/lyric.nsf/Past-in-Present-lyrics-Feist/9287312CE11F0D72482572AF00054516)
Sooooo....here we are with "Past in Present" lyrics. I mean, without hearing anymore of the song, you could probably crack the nut just from the title. But, the vivid symbolism in the short diddy fleshes out the meaning. Why I find it so meaningful is because it pretty much sums up my life's motto. Well, some of it...the rest is still in development.
I teach history. I love it. I mean, freakishly so. Not because I know it very well, not because I think FDR was the best man ever (BARF) or because I stunk at math and science (mostly true...). I love it because it's truly amazing to me how pretty much every decision that we make as people, leaders and nations has been done before. However, each of us is wonderfully and uniquely made. Even though the scenarios throughout time are the same, the problems are the same, the triumphs are the same: we are all different. Thus my fascination at how it all works out.
Which brings me to how it epitomizes the non-work part of my life (which will hopefully balance out proportionally as I teach a little more...) There's so much of my family in me. So much of my friends in me. Our shared experiences. Their experiences that determined how they interacted with me (and vice versa). Some of these experiences I'm aware of, many of them I'm not. All of them, the Past, inform and shape, the Present.
Sigh, how perfect. Well, maybe not for you. Now that I'm reading it and typing it, I realize it seems kinda nerdy or maybe oversimplified. However, I'm sure, at the very least, you can relate to that one song that just does it for you. You get it. It relates to your life. It makes perfect sense for you life. Those are the best ones!
(the lyrics, in case your interested: http://www.sing365.com/music/lyric.nsf/Past-in-Present-lyrics-Feist/9287312CE11F0D72482572AF00054516)
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Closure?
Something has been nagging me lately. I'm pretty good at not holding grudges, letting things go, etc. I mean, just like everyone else, a lot of things happen in the course of my relationships that I don't like. Sometimes I do react, especially if the hurt/anger is instant. More often than not, I internalize, mull over it for awhile and then either let it go or hold onto it for a little longer, rinse & repeat, etc. Generally, I try to consider the value of saying something. Will it change the situation? Usually not. Will it make things worse? A lot of the time. Will I feel better? Maybe for a minute.
Said process hasn't worked on what's currently nagging me. I can't let the issue go and I haven't said anything to the person and what's worse, I can't decide if I want to say something or not. The relationship has ended. It will never resume. So there's nothing to salvage. I don't care what the person thinks of me and while I wouldn't intentionally hurt their feelings, if that happens, I won't lose any sleep over it. The only reason to say anything at this point is so I can move on and be done with it. I guess that's called closure, right? I know a lot of people are all about closure, moving on, yada yada. It's never done much for me. But, I'm feeling it in this situation...
Are there negative side effects to closure?
Said process hasn't worked on what's currently nagging me. I can't let the issue go and I haven't said anything to the person and what's worse, I can't decide if I want to say something or not. The relationship has ended. It will never resume. So there's nothing to salvage. I don't care what the person thinks of me and while I wouldn't intentionally hurt their feelings, if that happens, I won't lose any sleep over it. The only reason to say anything at this point is so I can move on and be done with it. I guess that's called closure, right? I know a lot of people are all about closure, moving on, yada yada. It's never done much for me. But, I'm feeling it in this situation...
Are there negative side effects to closure?
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Beachy Keen...
So...I'm going through a dry spell..obviously. Mostly because I haven't had anything interesting to say lately. But, I've got to break the funk, so I'll resort to updating.
Tie and I went to the beach with our friends Andy & Jenny two weeks ago.
Not just any beach. Seagrove Beach. Sigh...I love that place. If you can be in love with a place, I'm a smitten kitten! We went to the same exact spot last year and had a great trip. I was slightly worried that this year wouldn't be as great as last year but, alas, it was!
Now, the beach and I have had a troubled relationship. When I was 8 or 9, I got stung by a wicked jelly fish! It left a scar on my foot. And, don't let anyone tell you that's not possible. I have proof!
My family went to Panama City Beach when I was 12. I had recently broken my ankle and had to wear a stikin' garbage bag over my cast. Unfortunately, they don't make nude colored bags so, me and my giagunzo black garbage bag were relegated to making sand castles: I'm pretty sure getting sand in crevices isn't anyone's favorite part of the beach. My parents did let me float in a large raft at one point. I nearly floated to Cuba before anyone came out to get me. I was roasted and peeved and my ankle had sweat and as a result itched terribly. Strike number 2 for the beach.
The third strike came during my freshman year in college. I tore pretty much every ligament/tendon in my right shoulder during the first Spring practice for softball. I had shoulder repair surgery right before Spring Break. My family went to Destin the following week with my little brother's school baseball team. Tie and his family went with us too. I was still loaded up on pain meds and my scar was oozy and nasty, etc. I had to wear a ton of gauze on it and the dumb sling. So...no swimming for me. No sun for me. And, to make matters worse, my Mom decided that I needed to be weaned off the meds...she called the trip my beach detox. I was miserable and my medication was being reduced. Oh bother is right!
So...me + beach = flop for awhile. The streak was broken in 2005. My college girlfriends and I went to a place on the outskirts of Destin. It was low key and the place we stayed was super nice. At the time I thought the beach couldn't get any better but...then Tie and I went together last year.
So, this year and last year were pretty much the same, save a few differences. Last year we went it early August. This time, mid-June. It was hot this time but not nearly as hot as last year. We rode the rented beach comber bikes a lot more this year. No one got sunburned this time. But, we still went to Seaside several evenings to ride around the neighborhoods and discuss the houses, etc. We still ate at Bud & Ally's. We still played a ton of games in the evening. Still drank margaritas, wine, beer...no Virginia Gentleman this time though!
Seagrove is great because it's so low-key and non-commercial. It's between Destin and Panama City on a stretch of 2-lane highway, 30-A. It's right next to Seaside, which is extremely picturesque and beautiful. But, it's super expensive and there are some snooty rich people there. With my wine-spilling and infrequent bike rage (seriously, you have to go single file when there's traffic coming at you from the other direction...), I'm not sure I'd fit in!
Anyway, the beach and I have reconciled and we have a great relationship now. I like to go fairly early, stay as long as I can stand it (until I have to potty) and go back for more after that. I like to swim out really far in the water (until Tie says to come in) and I like to drink out of glass bottles (until the beach patrol rides up on the sand.
See, I told you I was a smitten!
Tie and I went to the beach with our friends Andy & Jenny two weeks ago.
Not just any beach. Seagrove Beach. Sigh...I love that place. If you can be in love with a place, I'm a smitten kitten! We went to the same exact spot last year and had a great trip. I was slightly worried that this year wouldn't be as great as last year but, alas, it was!
Now, the beach and I have had a troubled relationship. When I was 8 or 9, I got stung by a wicked jelly fish! It left a scar on my foot. And, don't let anyone tell you that's not possible. I have proof!
My family went to Panama City Beach when I was 12. I had recently broken my ankle and had to wear a stikin' garbage bag over my cast. Unfortunately, they don't make nude colored bags so, me and my giagunzo black garbage bag were relegated to making sand castles: I'm pretty sure getting sand in crevices isn't anyone's favorite part of the beach. My parents did let me float in a large raft at one point. I nearly floated to Cuba before anyone came out to get me. I was roasted and peeved and my ankle had sweat and as a result itched terribly. Strike number 2 for the beach.
The third strike came during my freshman year in college. I tore pretty much every ligament/tendon in my right shoulder during the first Spring practice for softball. I had shoulder repair surgery right before Spring Break. My family went to Destin the following week with my little brother's school baseball team. Tie and his family went with us too. I was still loaded up on pain meds and my scar was oozy and nasty, etc. I had to wear a ton of gauze on it and the dumb sling. So...no swimming for me. No sun for me. And, to make matters worse, my Mom decided that I needed to be weaned off the meds...she called the trip my beach detox. I was miserable and my medication was being reduced. Oh bother is right!
So...me + beach = flop for awhile. The streak was broken in 2005. My college girlfriends and I went to a place on the outskirts of Destin. It was low key and the place we stayed was super nice. At the time I thought the beach couldn't get any better but...then Tie and I went together last year.
So, this year and last year were pretty much the same, save a few differences. Last year we went it early August. This time, mid-June. It was hot this time but not nearly as hot as last year. We rode the rented beach comber bikes a lot more this year. No one got sunburned this time. But, we still went to Seaside several evenings to ride around the neighborhoods and discuss the houses, etc. We still ate at Bud & Ally's. We still played a ton of games in the evening. Still drank margaritas, wine, beer...no Virginia Gentleman this time though!
Seagrove is great because it's so low-key and non-commercial. It's between Destin and Panama City on a stretch of 2-lane highway, 30-A. It's right next to Seaside, which is extremely picturesque and beautiful. But, it's super expensive and there are some snooty rich people there. With my wine-spilling and infrequent bike rage (seriously, you have to go single file when there's traffic coming at you from the other direction...), I'm not sure I'd fit in!
Anyway, the beach and I have reconciled and we have a great relationship now. I like to go fairly early, stay as long as I can stand it (until I have to potty) and go back for more after that. I like to swim out really far in the water (until Tie says to come in) and I like to drink out of glass bottles (until the beach patrol rides up on the sand.
See, I told you I was a smitten!
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Teach Your Children Well...
Since I've started this blog there have been several times that I wanted to write about something that people would likely disagree with, you know, stir up a little controversy (my FAVOURITE word to hear spoken in a British accent...Con-tra-vasee)
Maybe wanting to write about controversial things isn't what I mean. In fact, I guess I haven't wanted to write about them. I've thought and felt things that would likely cause disagreement/controversy were I to blog about them and I've quickly dismissed them as blog fodder.
Strangely enough, I wouldn't say that I shy away from difficult conversations in which people disagree. I don't seek them out either, but I don't pretend to be Polly Peacemaker. I'm pretty sure the reason I shy away from such content is because I fear misunderstanding on the part of a reader and then subsequent judgment based on that misunderstanding. In this forum, there isn't much opportunity to clarify or emphasize with tone or expression, etc.
I say all of that to say this, I finally feel moved enough to say something that people probably won't like. Look at this picture below. It was posted today on by the Guardian, a British newspaper.
-Ramallah, West Bank: Palestinian boys play with toy guns in the Al-Amari refugee camp
The instant I saw this picture, I felt nauseous. My brain registered something so base and vile that I had a physical reaction. Then I felt immensely sad. These children are playing, imitating murder, death, violence. The shadow of the child in the lower left corner seems to show an upturned cheek, as if he is smiling. Enjoying the macabre game. He probably is. He's a kid. It's fun to run around and chase people and "get" them. It's harmless. It's natural.
I'm sad because these children don't have much chance to realize that their
harmless, kid-game and the adult reality of their environment don't have to be the same. They play a game this way because this is what they know as an acceptable and realistic way of life. Who tells them that it's never ok to kill anyone regardless of anything they say or feel or do? How can they be expected to know such things if they don't consistently see this modeled for them in their lives? They can't, certainly. There's little to no hope for children in this circumstance.
Maybe wanting to write about controversial things isn't what I mean. In fact, I guess I haven't wanted to write about them. I've thought and felt things that would likely cause disagreement/controversy were I to blog about them and I've quickly dismissed them as blog fodder.
Strangely enough, I wouldn't say that I shy away from difficult conversations in which people disagree. I don't seek them out either, but I don't pretend to be Polly Peacemaker. I'm pretty sure the reason I shy away from such content is because I fear misunderstanding on the part of a reader and then subsequent judgment based on that misunderstanding. In this forum, there isn't much opportunity to clarify or emphasize with tone or expression, etc.
I say all of that to say this, I finally feel moved enough to say something that people probably won't like. Look at this picture below. It was posted today on by the Guardian, a British newspaper.
-Ramallah, West Bank: Palestinian boys play with toy guns in the Al-Amari refugee camp
The instant I saw this picture, I felt nauseous. My brain registered something so base and vile that I had a physical reaction. Then I felt immensely sad. These children are playing, imitating murder, death, violence. The shadow of the child in the lower left corner seems to show an upturned cheek, as if he is smiling. Enjoying the macabre game. He probably is. He's a kid. It's fun to run around and chase people and "get" them. It's harmless. It's natural.
I'm sad because these children don't have much chance to realize that their
harmless, kid-game and the adult reality of their environment don't have to be the same. They play a game this way because this is what they know as an acceptable and realistic way of life. Who tells them that it's never ok to kill anyone regardless of anything they say or feel or do? How can they be expected to know such things if they don't consistently see this modeled for them in their lives? They can't, certainly. There's little to no hope for children in this circumstance.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Eeeeewww
Vegemite...really? I've never had it so I know I'm committing the cardinal sin of commenting without knowledge. BUT, disgusting! I just watched Bizarre Foods with Andrew Zimmern on the Travel channel. The Vegemite showcase occurred in Australia, where this episode was set.
I love this show. Of course there's crazy weird food, but it always has a connection to the locale and the culture, which is what I really love about the show. Don't worry, I would never offer to stand in for Andrew and actually eat any of the food, I just think it's cool that someone does (someone that's not me). Anyway, prior to the Vegemite segment, Andrew was eating roasted moths, kangaroo tails and emu breasts. Yum.
But, back to the Mite. Apparently, it's made from some yeast residue or something similar that a beer brewmaster thought might be a tasty treat years and years ago. Zimmern described it as tasting like raw beef bullion paste. Ha...run out and buy some NOW, right? He interviewed many native Australians regarding the Mite. It's most commonly eaten for breakfast on "toesat" with "buttah". 9 out of 10 Australian household's have it on hand. Gag gag gag.
DO NOT confuse Vegemite with Nutella. Even though they come in a similarly shaped little jar and even those the consistency is somewhat similar and even though Vegemite is only slightly darker than Nutella and even though they both are enjoyed on continents other than our own, they ARE NOT the same. Vegemite is disgusting. That is all...
I love this show. Of course there's crazy weird food, but it always has a connection to the locale and the culture, which is what I really love about the show. Don't worry, I would never offer to stand in for Andrew and actually eat any of the food, I just think it's cool that someone does (someone that's not me). Anyway, prior to the Vegemite segment, Andrew was eating roasted moths, kangaroo tails and emu breasts. Yum.
But, back to the Mite. Apparently, it's made from some yeast residue or something similar that a beer brewmaster thought might be a tasty treat years and years ago. Zimmern described it as tasting like raw beef bullion paste. Ha...run out and buy some NOW, right? He interviewed many native Australians regarding the Mite. It's most commonly eaten for breakfast on "toesat" with "buttah". 9 out of 10 Australian household's have it on hand. Gag gag gag.
DO NOT confuse Vegemite with Nutella. Even though they come in a similarly shaped little jar and even those the consistency is somewhat similar and even though Vegemite is only slightly darker than Nutella and even though they both are enjoyed on continents other than our own, they ARE NOT the same. Vegemite is disgusting. That is all...
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Very Proud...
Of my sophomores..Their final exam grade consisted of a project to create a WWII game. They had creative license but many fashioned their game after existing games (as I would have done as well). Anyway, I've included pictures of 4 of the more outstanding games that were turned in. Since they turned in their project during their exam time, I didn't get to see most of them to tell them how proud I am of their effort. So, here's my little shout out to them for their stellar efforts!
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
To Dream the Impossible Dream...
In an effort to leave less of a "clumsiness" footprint on this delicate earth, I've decided to keep track of my moments of awkward catastrophe. My thinking is that if I'm aware of the more common incidences, I might be able to avoid or possibly even prevent them...
In order to make this a fair fight, you know, give myself hope to continue getting out of bed in the morning, I'll have to allow clumsy moments to be offset by moments of grace and poise. Ultimately, the goal at the end of the day will be a
neutral score. If I fell down the stairs, that's a negative point. If I tripped up the stairs while carrying a McCafe and didn't spill a drop, that's a positive point (only if I already have negative points though...) Hum...perhaps I should go ahead and set point values for some of my more common mishaps...
spilling anything other than water: 1 pt
spilling anything other than water on furniture that doesn't belong to me: 2 pts
running into walls, door frames, coffee tables: 1 pt
causing others to run into walls, door frames, coffee tables: 2 pts
breaking dishes, glasses, cheap plastic jewelry: 1 pt
breaking antique furniture (regardless of ownership): 3 pts
breaking bones (my own): 4 pts
breaking bones (others; unwarranted & accidental): 6 pts
causing damage to a vehicle (minor; via runaway shopping cart, etc.): 3 pts
causing damage to MY new vehicle (ANY & ALL): 4 pts
ripping, puncturing, shredding, irreparably staining clothing (minor): 1 pt
ripping, puncturing, shredding, staining clothing (in an embarrassing region): 2 pts
Unfortunately, this isn't an exhaustive list, just all that I can bring myself to openly confess to the world. Perhaps more unfortunately, I can't really think of one thing I do on a daily basis that could be the first entry on the list of moments of grace & poise (worth positive points, of course).
I shan't be counting points from this holiday weekend. Were I to do so, the tally would be somewhere just north of -7...I'd like to start at 0. And since it's only 10:40 in the AM, I'm probably as close as I'll ever be...let the games begin!
In order to make this a fair fight, you know, give myself hope to continue getting out of bed in the morning, I'll have to allow clumsy moments to be offset by moments of grace and poise. Ultimately, the goal at the end of the day will be a
neutral score. If I fell down the stairs, that's a negative point. If I tripped up the stairs while carrying a McCafe and didn't spill a drop, that's a positive point (only if I already have negative points though...) Hum...perhaps I should go ahead and set point values for some of my more common mishaps...
spilling anything other than water: 1 pt
spilling anything other than water on furniture that doesn't belong to me: 2 pts
running into walls, door frames, coffee tables: 1 pt
causing others to run into walls, door frames, coffee tables: 2 pts
breaking dishes, glasses, cheap plastic jewelry: 1 pt
breaking antique furniture (regardless of ownership): 3 pts
breaking bones (my own): 4 pts
breaking bones (others; unwarranted & accidental): 6 pts
causing damage to a vehicle (minor; via runaway shopping cart, etc.): 3 pts
causing damage to MY new vehicle (ANY & ALL): 4 pts
ripping, puncturing, shredding, irreparably staining clothing (minor): 1 pt
ripping, puncturing, shredding, staining clothing (in an embarrassing region): 2 pts
Unfortunately, this isn't an exhaustive list, just all that I can bring myself to openly confess to the world. Perhaps more unfortunately, I can't really think of one thing I do on a daily basis that could be the first entry on the list of moments of grace & poise (worth positive points, of course).
I shan't be counting points from this holiday weekend. Were I to do so, the tally would be somewhere just north of -7...I'd like to start at 0. And since it's only 10:40 in the AM, I'm probably as close as I'll ever be...let the games begin!
Friday, May 22, 2009
Stink Eye...
One of my students (junior) told me the other day that her little sister (eighth grader) was afraid of me. If this had been the first time I'd heard such a statement perhaps I would have been...appalled/disturbed/hurt, etc. Alas, it is not. But, it was the first time I had heard such a statement in quite some time (multiple months) so I questioned why her sister felt that way. Little sister reported to big sister that I had given her the "stink eye"...What? What the heck is that, I asked? She replied it was a mean look. Ohhhh...I had never heard this lingo for mean looks. However, I was immediately taken with the description. How appropriate. Stink eye = yuck.
I certainly give yuck looks. Often, giving yuck looks is the only available recourse in my line o'work. When my kids are taking a test and one of them decides the atmosphere of silence and quite concentration is the best time to wrestle with a unopenable bag of Doritos, I don't want to further the commotion with a swift thump on their head so I resort to the death look...er, Stink Eye. Just today, I had to resort to said look. It's the last day of school and as much as I'd like to say my resistance is still strong (resistance to standard teacher weaknesses like giving up as the school year winds down) it isn't!!!! So, we played Scattergories. For Types of Dance that start with an "L", one lovely darling (boy, of course) said "Lap"...I gave a mean Stink Eye as the laughter started to erupt in order to nip that nonsense in the bud...
When I'm in mid-sentence about Vietnam and someone raises their hand to ask me if I like sushi: Stink Eye. When a student asks me if they can have extra credit for not asking if they can borrow a pencil (after having asked for 29 days in a row): Stink Eye. When a student asks me if I graduated during the year of my actual birth: STINKIEST EYE!
So the stink eye is often appropriate and effective. However, I can't imagine for the life of me why I would have given a innocent little eighth grader the stink eye, in passing nonetheless. I'm sure it was inadvertent. Check out these examples of the stink eye below. I'm pretty sure they weren't inadvertent at all!
I certainly give yuck looks. Often, giving yuck looks is the only available recourse in my line o'work. When my kids are taking a test and one of them decides the atmosphere of silence and quite concentration is the best time to wrestle with a unopenable bag of Doritos, I don't want to further the commotion with a swift thump on their head so I resort to the death look...er, Stink Eye. Just today, I had to resort to said look. It's the last day of school and as much as I'd like to say my resistance is still strong (resistance to standard teacher weaknesses like giving up as the school year winds down) it isn't!!!! So, we played Scattergories. For Types of Dance that start with an "L", one lovely darling (boy, of course) said "Lap"...I gave a mean Stink Eye as the laughter started to erupt in order to nip that nonsense in the bud...
When I'm in mid-sentence about Vietnam and someone raises their hand to ask me if I like sushi: Stink Eye. When a student asks me if they can have extra credit for not asking if they can borrow a pencil (after having asked for 29 days in a row): Stink Eye. When a student asks me if I graduated during the year of my actual birth: STINKIEST EYE!
So the stink eye is often appropriate and effective. However, I can't imagine for the life of me why I would have given a innocent little eighth grader the stink eye, in passing nonetheless. I'm sure it was inadvertent. Check out these examples of the stink eye below. I'm pretty sure they weren't inadvertent at all!
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Saturday, May 16, 2009
My Island....
Never give all the Heart...
Never give all the heart, for love
Will hardly seem worth thinking of
To passionate women if it seem
Certain, and they never dream
That it fades out from kiss to kiss;
For everything that's lovely is
But a brief, dreamy, kind delight.
O never give the heart outright,
For they, for all smooth lips can say,
Have given their hearts up to the play.
And who could play it well enough
If deaf and dumb and blind with love?
He that made this knows the cost,
For he gave all his heart and lost.
I've had an obsession with Ireland since...I don't know when. Maybe middle school? Whenever it started, I'm sure it was before it was "cool" to be Irish...
I'm Irish and I feel I embody all of the wonderful qualities of the natives and none of their less appealing characteristics. In reality though, it's probably the reverse. Anyway, the above poem is by W.B. Yeats, my favorite poet, who also happens to be Irish (totally coincidental). There's a movie coming out soon about his tragic love story. It's called Bright Star. Can't wait to see it. That's all. Happy day.
Never give all the heart, for love
Will hardly seem worth thinking of
To passionate women if it seem
Certain, and they never dream
That it fades out from kiss to kiss;
For everything that's lovely is
But a brief, dreamy, kind delight.
O never give the heart outright,
For they, for all smooth lips can say,
Have given their hearts up to the play.
And who could play it well enough
If deaf and dumb and blind with love?
He that made this knows the cost,
For he gave all his heart and lost.
I've had an obsession with Ireland since...I don't know when. Maybe middle school? Whenever it started, I'm sure it was before it was "cool" to be Irish...
I'm Irish and I feel I embody all of the wonderful qualities of the natives and none of their less appealing characteristics. In reality though, it's probably the reverse. Anyway, the above poem is by W.B. Yeats, my favorite poet, who also happens to be Irish (totally coincidental). There's a movie coming out soon about his tragic love story. It's called Bright Star. Can't wait to see it. That's all. Happy day.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Love the One You're With...
Whatever, stupid cheesy 70s song I think. Actually, that's probably the wrong decade. Who knows. Anyway, I'm suddenly a little verklempt about losing my students as the school year peters out (slowly and tediously).
Maybe it's because I can't imagine having to build up my tolerance for a whole other group of hormonal teenagers. I kid, I kid. No, it must be because I'm not sure there's room in my heart to love a whole other group of hormonal teenagers. I kid, I kid.
I honestly think it's a little of both. Maybe a little dread at having to go through the awkward stage. Me: Are they really this immature/goofy/smart/happy/annoying/rude? (choose one). Them: Is she really this sarcastic/excited about history/mean/nice? (choose all). Once you're on the other side of this stage (and it varies with each student but in my experience, the dominoes all tend to fall at about the same time), it's glorious. Gone are the moments of sheer terror when I think a student might report me for telling them to sit their skinny butt down. We now bask in the glorious glow of comfort and familiarity.
Several little things have to happen on the road to conviviality but certainly my habit of spitting wantonly expedited the process. For some reason, I really think that my spitting when I talk endeared me to the students. I think they saw it as making me more like them: "Ewww...she does gross things. On accident. I do too! I can dig it...Can you dig it?" Or some variation of that...When I was in middle school, I (falsely) told my friends that made fun of me for spitting that I had extra saliva glands. They bought it. I lived with this lie for a long time. But, lies don't make teachers...especially good ones. :)
Then there's the whole problem of loving more of them. Will they accept my spitting? Will they tolerate my sarcasm and give it back to me in spades? Will they trust that I have their best interests in mind when I assign...homework? Probably not for awhile. I'll have to love them in spite of it. And I will. They'll be a 2009-2010 version of the kid that always smirks at just the right time. They'll be another version of the one that always says "Bless You" when I sneeze, one that always says "Yes!!!!" when I say, "You know, like that time on Family Guy..." and the one that always says "No, we were only in 2nd grade!" when I ask them to recollect details about 9/11.
In the meantime, I gotta love the ones I'm with. Shouldn't be too difficult, now that I finally have it down pat. Took me long enough. There are 7 days of school left...
Maybe it's because I can't imagine having to build up my tolerance for a whole other group of hormonal teenagers. I kid, I kid. No, it must be because I'm not sure there's room in my heart to love a whole other group of hormonal teenagers. I kid, I kid.
I honestly think it's a little of both. Maybe a little dread at having to go through the awkward stage. Me: Are they really this immature/goofy/smart/happy/annoying/rude? (choose one). Them: Is she really this sarcastic/excited about history/mean/nice? (choose all). Once you're on the other side of this stage (and it varies with each student but in my experience, the dominoes all tend to fall at about the same time), it's glorious. Gone are the moments of sheer terror when I think a student might report me for telling them to sit their skinny butt down. We now bask in the glorious glow of comfort and familiarity.
Several little things have to happen on the road to conviviality but certainly my habit of spitting wantonly expedited the process. For some reason, I really think that my spitting when I talk endeared me to the students. I think they saw it as making me more like them: "Ewww...she does gross things. On accident. I do too! I can dig it...Can you dig it?" Or some variation of that...When I was in middle school, I (falsely) told my friends that made fun of me for spitting that I had extra saliva glands. They bought it. I lived with this lie for a long time. But, lies don't make teachers...especially good ones. :)
Then there's the whole problem of loving more of them. Will they accept my spitting? Will they tolerate my sarcasm and give it back to me in spades? Will they trust that I have their best interests in mind when I assign...homework? Probably not for awhile. I'll have to love them in spite of it. And I will. They'll be a 2009-2010 version of the kid that always smirks at just the right time. They'll be another version of the one that always says "Bless You" when I sneeze, one that always says "Yes!!!!" when I say, "You know, like that time on Family Guy..." and the one that always says "No, we were only in 2nd grade!" when I ask them to recollect details about 9/11.
In the meantime, I gotta love the ones I'm with. Shouldn't be too difficult, now that I finally have it down pat. Took me long enough. There are 7 days of school left...
Friday, May 8, 2009
Dumpster Diving
I recently came home to a disgusting mess. Scout had poked his cute little nose into the trash can to retrieve, amongst other things, the styrofoam bottom of a package of chicken, a used coffee filter and used splenda packets. There were other things I can't remember at this point. Probably the winning Publisher's Clearinghouse envelope. Sigh.
This is not his first visit to the trash. For such a well-loved and cared for thing, he acts like he was raised with the Tramp (of the Lady & Tramp variety). He doesn't dig through the trash because he's hungry. He does it because he likes the taste of raw chicken, styrofoam, coffee grounds, etc. There for awhile, Tie and I would buy a cooked rotisserie chicken from the store about once a week. We'd eat the meat and then throw the rest away. Several times, we came home and Scout had eaten every last bit of the carcass, bones and all. Then there was the easter candy. A couple of years ago, I left a Target bag with an UNOPENED bag of Reese's Peanut-Butter chocolate eggs on the ground. He ate the entire bag of candy. Foil candy wrappers to boot. I thought he might die. Tie wasn't home so I was googling every possible scenario. He lived on. He had more important trash to conquer.
Such as ham sandwiches. About 6 months ago I had make 14 sack lunches for something for our church. The ham sandwiches are in plastic sandwich bags that are in brown paper sacks that are in reusable grocery bags on the floor by the back door. I ran up the street to the post office (gone 20 minutes total). I come home and Scout had eaten 7 of the sandwiches. Even more exciting than his consumption of the sandwiches was his disposal of them once he'd enjoyed the yummy flavors. He threw them all up! It was like he chewed them a minimal amount, swallowed them and said, "That was nice, need to make room for more: YAKKKK!". So, cleaned all those up. Accounted for 6. Had given up on the 7th, assuming he managed to keep it down. I sat down on the couch and found the 7th wonder of Scout the Dumpster Diving wonder. He had somehow managed to throw up one of the sandwiches between the couch cushions. At that point, I actually laughed. It was pretty stinkin' ridiculous.
So, when I walk in the other day and see the trail of debris leading from the kitchen into the living room, I'm ready to send Scout to the dark bathroom (he hates it). But, before I can say anything to him, he's totally hunched over and cowering under the coffee table. He knew he had done something wrong. So, why in the world did he do it in the first place? Which brings me to the actual point of this post...
For some reason, about 10 minutes after this latest fiasco, I thought about how many times I consciously do stupid or wrong (or both) things, knowing they're stupid and wrong. Calling someone a name while I'm driving. Being overly sarcastic to a student (some sarcasm is acceptable and often necessary). Being intolerant of those I love and care about. Pretending to have consulted God about a decision when I haven't. Etc. God could soooo blog about all the stupid things I've done and been sorry for and continue to do. It wouldn't be funny either.
So, whether it will last or not, several times this week, I've thought about that disgusting styrofoam just when I was about to do something I know I shouldn't do. Maybe next week I'll think about the regurgitated ham sandwiches. I guess Scout's dumpster diving is good for something...
This is not his first visit to the trash. For such a well-loved and cared for thing, he acts like he was raised with the Tramp (of the Lady & Tramp variety). He doesn't dig through the trash because he's hungry. He does it because he likes the taste of raw chicken, styrofoam, coffee grounds, etc. There for awhile, Tie and I would buy a cooked rotisserie chicken from the store about once a week. We'd eat the meat and then throw the rest away. Several times, we came home and Scout had eaten every last bit of the carcass, bones and all. Then there was the easter candy. A couple of years ago, I left a Target bag with an UNOPENED bag of Reese's Peanut-Butter chocolate eggs on the ground. He ate the entire bag of candy. Foil candy wrappers to boot. I thought he might die. Tie wasn't home so I was googling every possible scenario. He lived on. He had more important trash to conquer.
Such as ham sandwiches. About 6 months ago I had make 14 sack lunches for something for our church. The ham sandwiches are in plastic sandwich bags that are in brown paper sacks that are in reusable grocery bags on the floor by the back door. I ran up the street to the post office (gone 20 minutes total). I come home and Scout had eaten 7 of the sandwiches. Even more exciting than his consumption of the sandwiches was his disposal of them once he'd enjoyed the yummy flavors. He threw them all up! It was like he chewed them a minimal amount, swallowed them and said, "That was nice, need to make room for more: YAKKKK!". So, cleaned all those up. Accounted for 6. Had given up on the 7th, assuming he managed to keep it down. I sat down on the couch and found the 7th wonder of Scout the Dumpster Diving wonder. He had somehow managed to throw up one of the sandwiches between the couch cushions. At that point, I actually laughed. It was pretty stinkin' ridiculous.
So, when I walk in the other day and see the trail of debris leading from the kitchen into the living room, I'm ready to send Scout to the dark bathroom (he hates it). But, before I can say anything to him, he's totally hunched over and cowering under the coffee table. He knew he had done something wrong. So, why in the world did he do it in the first place? Which brings me to the actual point of this post...
For some reason, about 10 minutes after this latest fiasco, I thought about how many times I consciously do stupid or wrong (or both) things, knowing they're stupid and wrong. Calling someone a name while I'm driving. Being overly sarcastic to a student (some sarcasm is acceptable and often necessary). Being intolerant of those I love and care about. Pretending to have consulted God about a decision when I haven't. Etc. God could soooo blog about all the stupid things I've done and been sorry for and continue to do. It wouldn't be funny either.
So, whether it will last or not, several times this week, I've thought about that disgusting styrofoam just when I was about to do something I know I shouldn't do. Maybe next week I'll think about the regurgitated ham sandwiches. I guess Scout's dumpster diving is good for something...
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Heart Burn...
Another keepsake for all the world to see. Except this one isn't as nauseating as the gushing notes Tie and I wrote each other.
My mom gave me this card on February 22, 1995. I was 13 and I really liked a boy.
In discussing it with her, I must have made some reference to her probably thinking it was stupid that I might like someone a lot, being that I was only 13. Her words in the card indicated that she in fact didn't think it was stupid and that she was excited for me. I marvel at how she brought herself to write such words. Excited for me? I hope I have empathy for my kids like Mom did for me. Especially when they're 13. Or a girl. Or a 13 year old girl. Daunting task.
The message inside the card says "Follow Your Heart." Cliche maybe. But it doesn't have to be cliche. If your heart is commanded by Christ, it's never wrong. If He dwells there, your should always trust what it tells you. The it that you hear from your heart is Him. Things may get lost in translation. There may be a lot of background noise. Perhaps the signal won't be strong and there will be static. But when a sponge is saturated, some water will always come out. Saturate your heart with the Word, with worship, with the Kingdom, with His purpose for you. When the sponge is squeezed, the water that comes out will be Christ coming out of you.
Thanks Mom for the card. As you can see by the pinholes (hung on numerous bulletin boards for a while now), your words were special to me. Pretty cool that they're special in an entirely new way so many years later.
My mom gave me this card on February 22, 1995. I was 13 and I really liked a boy.
In discussing it with her, I must have made some reference to her probably thinking it was stupid that I might like someone a lot, being that I was only 13. Her words in the card indicated that she in fact didn't think it was stupid and that she was excited for me. I marvel at how she brought herself to write such words. Excited for me? I hope I have empathy for my kids like Mom did for me. Especially when they're 13. Or a girl. Or a 13 year old girl. Daunting task.
The message inside the card says "Follow Your Heart." Cliche maybe. But it doesn't have to be cliche. If your heart is commanded by Christ, it's never wrong. If He dwells there, your should always trust what it tells you. The it that you hear from your heart is Him. Things may get lost in translation. There may be a lot of background noise. Perhaps the signal won't be strong and there will be static. But when a sponge is saturated, some water will always come out. Saturate your heart with the Word, with worship, with the Kingdom, with His purpose for you. When the sponge is squeezed, the water that comes out will be Christ coming out of you.
Thanks Mom for the card. As you can see by the pinholes (hung on numerous bulletin boards for a while now), your words were special to me. Pretty cool that they're special in an entirely new way so many years later.
Friday, April 10, 2009
These are a few of my...
I've been storing mental post-its about things that really irritate me. I had planned to blog about such. I just can't bring myself to do it. I don't want to post a laundry-list of complaints to the world that could potentially be used against me one day when I'm being nominated for Secretary of Education. I mean, just imagine how these things could be "spun": when people claim to have 20 best friends, when people "complain" (read: boast) about how many weddings they have to go to, people who say they don't have time to watch TV. Can't you just hear the White House Press Corps: "It appears that you support isolation and negative interpersonal skills in children. How could you be Education Secretary with this perspective?" Or, "You obviously feel that consistent, prolonged exposure to television is positive for children. How do you reconcile that with overwhelming research to the contrary?" I'd be up a creek without a paddle. I'd have to withdraw my name for nomination for sure. I'd have to cite "personal reasons" or something lame. So...no complaining for me. I love everyone.
In fact, on that note, I'll just blog about things that I really love/like. Why not? After all, if I'm gonna be grilled about something one day, at least I can go down fighting for things I believe in! So...
1) The e-Trade baby commercials. The one with the group of babies laughing. The kid in the middle of the back row is trying to cry I think but it looks like laughing. I just know he is. I crack up every time.
2) Scout Watkins. Our dog. He rolled his eyes at me yesterday because I was hugging hi too much. I don't care. I love him. I forget his birthday every year and I feed him too many treats and he throws up but I still love him. I clean out his eye boogers everyday and I let him lick my ice cream bowl. He's my favorite.
3) Unconditional love. Great thing really. People love you no matter what you do, ever. No matter how snappy you are or how critical or how stubborn or how indecisive. No conditions. No limits to the love. Nothing will ever be too much for your love. The best.
4) Harper Jane. Best kid ever. God thinks that He pulled a fast one on me. Bringing she and her family into my life just when I was ready to write off the whole kid thing. Ha. I sniffed Him out. She's totally convinced me. Not because my kid will be just like her (the one I'll have later on, not anytime soon). Not because she'll have as cool of a name as Harper. Only because I will regret it forever if I didn't have my own Harper.
5) My family. Ok...I'm getting cheesy. I know. Again, don't care. My family isn't perfect but honestly, we try. And I don't mean we try in a cliche way. I mean, we all love each other more than we love the points we're trying to make or the grudges we hold or the mean words we've exchanged. To me, that's closer to perfect that peaceful family meals or non-competitive family games or relaxing and worry-free family vacations.
6) William Christie. Girl's name and all. Even though he just cut off all of his hair and I can no longer pull out the few grays he has (not when they're short, too painful for him). Too much to type about why. I'll save that for another day when I feel like complaining! :)
In fact, on that note, I'll just blog about things that I really love/like. Why not? After all, if I'm gonna be grilled about something one day, at least I can go down fighting for things I believe in! So...
1) The e-Trade baby commercials. The one with the group of babies laughing. The kid in the middle of the back row is trying to cry I think but it looks like laughing. I just know he is. I crack up every time.
2) Scout Watkins. Our dog. He rolled his eyes at me yesterday because I was hugging hi too much. I don't care. I love him. I forget his birthday every year and I feed him too many treats and he throws up but I still love him. I clean out his eye boogers everyday and I let him lick my ice cream bowl. He's my favorite.
3) Unconditional love. Great thing really. People love you no matter what you do, ever. No matter how snappy you are or how critical or how stubborn or how indecisive. No conditions. No limits to the love. Nothing will ever be too much for your love. The best.
4) Harper Jane. Best kid ever. God thinks that He pulled a fast one on me. Bringing she and her family into my life just when I was ready to write off the whole kid thing. Ha. I sniffed Him out. She's totally convinced me. Not because my kid will be just like her (the one I'll have later on, not anytime soon). Not because she'll have as cool of a name as Harper. Only because I will regret it forever if I didn't have my own Harper.
5) My family. Ok...I'm getting cheesy. I know. Again, don't care. My family isn't perfect but honestly, we try. And I don't mean we try in a cliche way. I mean, we all love each other more than we love the points we're trying to make or the grudges we hold or the mean words we've exchanged. To me, that's closer to perfect that peaceful family meals or non-competitive family games or relaxing and worry-free family vacations.
6) William Christie. Girl's name and all. Even though he just cut off all of his hair and I can no longer pull out the few grays he has (not when they're short, too painful for him). Too much to type about why. I'll save that for another day when I feel like complaining! :)
Monday, April 6, 2009
Cliff Notes...
I finally had to break down and clean out the guest room closet today. I was having a hard time keeping the door to it closed and I was pretty sure I had lost/casually tossed aside a magazine I wanted to look at. It's also my Spring Break and I have no excuse for not being at least moderately productive.
Just after I stepped on a piece of glass (apparently I broke something before and left it...smart move), found a pack of completely unopened gum in an old purse (still chewable) and tried to lay down in the closet to measure how big it was (not big enough for me to lay down in, long ways or sideways), I found a cigar box that I recognized. See below, box on the right.
The contents of this box include numerous notes Tie and I exchanged during high school. We started dating October of 1999 (big sigh). It was my senior year and his junior year. Actually, all the notes in this box are ones that he wrote to me. I read a lot of them. I was laughing so hard that Scout actually pushed open the door to the closet to see what I thought was so funny. Man, I wish he could read!
Seriously, the notes are about the cheesiest thing you've ever seen in your life. Everyone of them. I love you blah blah blah. You're so great, blah blah blah. I'm your snuggle bug, blah blah blah. Tie was 17 when he wrote this stuff. How did he know I was great? He didn't, in fact (yet).
The box on the left above contains notes I wrote to him. After he got home, I asked him to get some stuff out of the hall closet for GoodWill. But first I had him read a couple of the notes I found. He was mortified. He said they were so douchey (I hesitate to type such crass language but, he was pretty insistent that this was the best way to describe his juvenile professions of love). Anyway, I was giving him grief and he disappeared upstairs for while and returned with the box above. These were notes that I wrote to him. There were 58. I counted. It's a wonder that I managed to graduate because most of the notes I wrote him were 2 pages long. My words were just as sappy and cheesy as his were to me, but I repeated them 2-3 times during one note. I should have tried to sell them to some country music wanna be hanging around downtown. Ick.
I don't know why Tie and I say ick/blah/douchey/sappy now when we revisit our notes. I think it's because we think about how little we knew, understood and even felt really then compared to now. We had no clue what we were doing or what we were talking about. We didn't love each other really. We were infatuated, sure. But not love. But, as I said to Tie, I wouldn't trade those notes (him to me or vice versa) for anything. Even though our feelings then were quite shallow compared to how they've grown, they were a start. We probably wouldn't love each other as deeply now if we hadn't gone through such a state of twitterpatedness (Bambi, remember?) Tie and I are much better at the making each other laugh, challenging each other, solving problems together, planning adventures together and just the living part of love. Good thing we got all that yucky stuff out of our systems!
Just after I stepped on a piece of glass (apparently I broke something before and left it...smart move), found a pack of completely unopened gum in an old purse (still chewable) and tried to lay down in the closet to measure how big it was (not big enough for me to lay down in, long ways or sideways), I found a cigar box that I recognized. See below, box on the right.
The contents of this box include numerous notes Tie and I exchanged during high school. We started dating October of 1999 (big sigh). It was my senior year and his junior year. Actually, all the notes in this box are ones that he wrote to me. I read a lot of them. I was laughing so hard that Scout actually pushed open the door to the closet to see what I thought was so funny. Man, I wish he could read!
Seriously, the notes are about the cheesiest thing you've ever seen in your life. Everyone of them. I love you blah blah blah. You're so great, blah blah blah. I'm your snuggle bug, blah blah blah. Tie was 17 when he wrote this stuff. How did he know I was great? He didn't, in fact (yet).
The box on the left above contains notes I wrote to him. After he got home, I asked him to get some stuff out of the hall closet for GoodWill. But first I had him read a couple of the notes I found. He was mortified. He said they were so douchey (I hesitate to type such crass language but, he was pretty insistent that this was the best way to describe his juvenile professions of love). Anyway, I was giving him grief and he disappeared upstairs for while and returned with the box above. These were notes that I wrote to him. There were 58. I counted. It's a wonder that I managed to graduate because most of the notes I wrote him were 2 pages long. My words were just as sappy and cheesy as his were to me, but I repeated them 2-3 times during one note. I should have tried to sell them to some country music wanna be hanging around downtown. Ick.
I don't know why Tie and I say ick/blah/douchey/sappy now when we revisit our notes. I think it's because we think about how little we knew, understood and even felt really then compared to now. We had no clue what we were doing or what we were talking about. We didn't love each other really. We were infatuated, sure. But not love. But, as I said to Tie, I wouldn't trade those notes (him to me or vice versa) for anything. Even though our feelings then were quite shallow compared to how they've grown, they were a start. We probably wouldn't love each other as deeply now if we hadn't gone through such a state of twitterpatedness (Bambi, remember?) Tie and I are much better at the making each other laugh, challenging each other, solving problems together, planning adventures together and just the living part of love. Good thing we got all that yucky stuff out of our systems!
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Book Worm...
I LOVE to read. Love it. It's literally one of my very very favorite things to do. When I was little, I really loved the Critter book series. I could identify with the well-meaning yet oft-destructive escapades of the little Critter. He was also the oldest of the Critters and as such suffered arduous burdens of simultaneous blame and expectation. I felt vindicated and validated reading how Critter was able to overcome his trials...inspiring, truly.
After Critter and I parted ways, I moved on to Laura Ingles. That girl rocked. She was brave and curious, also well-meaning and yet she often found herself entangled in some kind of mess too! She was pretty good at getting out of her messes though. And learning some great lesson in the process. I also loved imagining the rugged landscape and terrain that the Wilder's had to conquer. Somehow it was infinitely more interesting that our backyard and sandbox.
I will also admit that I went through the Babysitter's Club phase. I hate to confess that I was part of a fad, but, alas, it's true. Really though, who can blame a girl? The clubbers were motivated, independent, spunky, responsible and fun. I mean, a girl could do worse. I did break the mold though by reading the books in a random pattern. Meaning, I didn't just follow the Claudia series or the Stacey series or the Dawn series. I mixed it up. I was a trendsetter. :) I lived for the Super Series editions. They involved some type of adventure outside of Stonybrook. My favorite was when the clubbers went on a school trip to a skiing lodge. There was a talent show, a ghost, cute French boy skiiers, etc. At this point, rather that judging me for my less than intellectually stimulating choices, you should realize that any reading was helpful at this stage in my development...
A seminal moment in my reading history was in eighth grade. We were required to read a book called Cold Sassy Tree. It's set in Cold Sassy, Georgia at the turn of the 20th century. Will Tweedy, a twelve year old boy, is the main character. And, as you may have guessed, Will often finds himself in a self-induced pickle. What can I say, I'm a sucker for a kindred spirit. Anyway, I've read this book about 14 times. It's my security blanket. If I'm in a funk, I read Cold Sassy and it sets me straight.
All of these books are responsible for my present reading quirks. I ONLY read books (for pleasure) of the historical fiction genre. And by historical, I mean if it has so much as a telephone in it (switchboards count), I'm not picking it up. No Chic Lit for me. I read books to escape, not to remind myself of how ridiculously materialistic and fake my life is. Sigh. Anyway, I received several cool books for Christmas that I haven't had a chance to read yet. Now that my 2 week break from school has started, I promptly started reading the most interesting looking one Friday. It was 696 pages long. I finished last night at about 2am. The book was set in London in the 1850s. There was murder, betrayal, mystery, vendetta, etc. The last hundred pages were really intense. A couple of murders. Each involving a long butcher knife.
So...of course, Tie and I have to be at church early this morning to drive the bus to pick up some kiddos. I have to get up at 5:45 to get a shower. My hair badly needs washing. Not because it's dirty but because there are massive knots in it (I have curly hair; Mom refers to the knots as "rats' nests") I set 2 alarms. I wake up at 6:34. WHAT! We have to leave in 26 minutes. No time to shower. Hair is ridiculous. But...I know why I overslept. I was dreaming about playing a live version of the Clue game. In my dream, everyone that was playing had to actually act out a scenario they had randomly drawn: Miss Scarlett in the Kitchen with the Revolver. Yes, act it out, like shoot the other people playing the game. And, you played the game in the dark. So, at this point in the dream, I was protesting heavily. I was Colonel Mustard, in the Dining Room with the knife (but, it was a butcher knife like the one I had just been reading about). I really didn't think i could stab someone in the dark. I was overruled, the lights were turned out and the game began. I immediately ran into a chair around the dining room table and stabbed myself. And then I woke up. Great dream. Brought on of course by my reading obsession. Well worth it though!
After Critter and I parted ways, I moved on to Laura Ingles. That girl rocked. She was brave and curious, also well-meaning and yet she often found herself entangled in some kind of mess too! She was pretty good at getting out of her messes though. And learning some great lesson in the process. I also loved imagining the rugged landscape and terrain that the Wilder's had to conquer. Somehow it was infinitely more interesting that our backyard and sandbox.
I will also admit that I went through the Babysitter's Club phase. I hate to confess that I was part of a fad, but, alas, it's true. Really though, who can blame a girl? The clubbers were motivated, independent, spunky, responsible and fun. I mean, a girl could do worse. I did break the mold though by reading the books in a random pattern. Meaning, I didn't just follow the Claudia series or the Stacey series or the Dawn series. I mixed it up. I was a trendsetter. :) I lived for the Super Series editions. They involved some type of adventure outside of Stonybrook. My favorite was when the clubbers went on a school trip to a skiing lodge. There was a talent show, a ghost, cute French boy skiiers, etc. At this point, rather that judging me for my less than intellectually stimulating choices, you should realize that any reading was helpful at this stage in my development...
A seminal moment in my reading history was in eighth grade. We were required to read a book called Cold Sassy Tree. It's set in Cold Sassy, Georgia at the turn of the 20th century. Will Tweedy, a twelve year old boy, is the main character. And, as you may have guessed, Will often finds himself in a self-induced pickle. What can I say, I'm a sucker for a kindred spirit. Anyway, I've read this book about 14 times. It's my security blanket. If I'm in a funk, I read Cold Sassy and it sets me straight.
All of these books are responsible for my present reading quirks. I ONLY read books (for pleasure) of the historical fiction genre. And by historical, I mean if it has so much as a telephone in it (switchboards count), I'm not picking it up. No Chic Lit for me. I read books to escape, not to remind myself of how ridiculously materialistic and fake my life is. Sigh. Anyway, I received several cool books for Christmas that I haven't had a chance to read yet. Now that my 2 week break from school has started, I promptly started reading the most interesting looking one Friday. It was 696 pages long. I finished last night at about 2am. The book was set in London in the 1850s. There was murder, betrayal, mystery, vendetta, etc. The last hundred pages were really intense. A couple of murders. Each involving a long butcher knife.
So...of course, Tie and I have to be at church early this morning to drive the bus to pick up some kiddos. I have to get up at 5:45 to get a shower. My hair badly needs washing. Not because it's dirty but because there are massive knots in it (I have curly hair; Mom refers to the knots as "rats' nests") I set 2 alarms. I wake up at 6:34. WHAT! We have to leave in 26 minutes. No time to shower. Hair is ridiculous. But...I know why I overslept. I was dreaming about playing a live version of the Clue game. In my dream, everyone that was playing had to actually act out a scenario they had randomly drawn: Miss Scarlett in the Kitchen with the Revolver. Yes, act it out, like shoot the other people playing the game. And, you played the game in the dark. So, at this point in the dream, I was protesting heavily. I was Colonel Mustard, in the Dining Room with the knife (but, it was a butcher knife like the one I had just been reading about). I really didn't think i could stab someone in the dark. I was overruled, the lights were turned out and the game began. I immediately ran into a chair around the dining room table and stabbed myself. And then I woke up. Great dream. Brought on of course by my reading obsession. Well worth it though!
Friday, March 27, 2009
London Calling...
Yesterday afternoon, I took Scout on a walk through the park across from our house.
I had the iPod on and my favorite mellow mix lulling in my ears. We'd been walking for about 10 minutes and about that time, the views in the park, the smells of outside and the weather all conjured up strong memories of my favorite park in London...Hampstead Heath.
I did a semester abroad in London in the Spring of 2003. It was amazing. Even though my snot was black from all the pollution and my feet were swollen to abnormal proportions from all the walking and the exchange rate was terrible, I still loved it. Even though the kitchen in our flat wasn't big enough to sit down in Indian-style and be able to stand up quickly, I loved it. Even though Tube rides were constantly interrupted by ridiculous strikes and it was instantly dark and terrifying on a train with 300 strangers, I still loved it.
I loved it because of the readily available Cadbury Carmel bars (a true delicacy). I loved it because there was ALWAYS something to see/do/smell/touch. I loved it because I had to figure out everything on my own (a close second for favorite thing about the trip) but most of all, I loved it for the parks. There are parks everywhere. Big and small. Dirty and clean. Trendy and urbane. Right next to our flat, there was a tiny park with statues of Ghandi. It was called Peace Park. There was a dirt path around the perimeter of the park. If you walked the path 10 times, it was a mile (VERY SMALL park). But, between the path and the fence for the park, there were tons of wild lilac bushes. Every week I would walk down there with scissors and bring back fresh lilac for our flat. Every time I smell it, my sensory time travel machine teleports me back.
But, my favourite park of all was Hampstead Heath. I had to ride the double decker to get there. I think it was because the bus stop was at the end of the road the park was on and that was closer than the closest Tube stop. Anyway, the park is huge. Several large ponds. Several big hills, one of which looks over the actual city. The first time I went, it was leisurely. The second time and every time thereafter, I had school work to do. So, I packed my huge camping/hiking pack to the gills with blanket, pillow, snacks, music, water, snacks, school stuff, maps, hand sanitizer, journal, snacks and a pen. Literally. The pack probably weighed 50 pounds. Despite the multitude of snacks, I would stop on the way into the park at the Starbucks on the road. So then I had pack and Starbucks.
When I got to the park, I would unload everything and get it all sat out around me and then promptly being studying. RIIIIGHHT. I NEVER got one iota of work done when I went. I would always people watch for literally 4-5 hours. It was ridiculous. You think I would've stopped taking the ginormous bag with me but, it helped me justify the excursion. If I had work with me, then I might do it. Thus, 4-5 hours at a park was a legitimate use of my time.
I can't wait to get back to London. I know Tie and I will be there eventually. I don't know in what capacity. But, item #1 on the agenda (after we unpack and get a Cadbury Carmel bar) will be a trip to the Heath. You must go if you're there. My words don't do it justice.
I had the iPod on and my favorite mellow mix lulling in my ears. We'd been walking for about 10 minutes and about that time, the views in the park, the smells of outside and the weather all conjured up strong memories of my favorite park in London...Hampstead Heath.
I did a semester abroad in London in the Spring of 2003. It was amazing. Even though my snot was black from all the pollution and my feet were swollen to abnormal proportions from all the walking and the exchange rate was terrible, I still loved it. Even though the kitchen in our flat wasn't big enough to sit down in Indian-style and be able to stand up quickly, I loved it. Even though Tube rides were constantly interrupted by ridiculous strikes and it was instantly dark and terrifying on a train with 300 strangers, I still loved it.
I loved it because of the readily available Cadbury Carmel bars (a true delicacy). I loved it because there was ALWAYS something to see/do/smell/touch. I loved it because I had to figure out everything on my own (a close second for favorite thing about the trip) but most of all, I loved it for the parks. There are parks everywhere. Big and small. Dirty and clean. Trendy and urbane. Right next to our flat, there was a tiny park with statues of Ghandi. It was called Peace Park. There was a dirt path around the perimeter of the park. If you walked the path 10 times, it was a mile (VERY SMALL park). But, between the path and the fence for the park, there were tons of wild lilac bushes. Every week I would walk down there with scissors and bring back fresh lilac for our flat. Every time I smell it, my sensory time travel machine teleports me back.
But, my favourite park of all was Hampstead Heath. I had to ride the double decker to get there. I think it was because the bus stop was at the end of the road the park was on and that was closer than the closest Tube stop. Anyway, the park is huge. Several large ponds. Several big hills, one of which looks over the actual city. The first time I went, it was leisurely. The second time and every time thereafter, I had school work to do. So, I packed my huge camping/hiking pack to the gills with blanket, pillow, snacks, music, water, snacks, school stuff, maps, hand sanitizer, journal, snacks and a pen. Literally. The pack probably weighed 50 pounds. Despite the multitude of snacks, I would stop on the way into the park at the Starbucks on the road. So then I had pack and Starbucks.
When I got to the park, I would unload everything and get it all sat out around me and then promptly being studying. RIIIIGHHT. I NEVER got one iota of work done when I went. I would always people watch for literally 4-5 hours. It was ridiculous. You think I would've stopped taking the ginormous bag with me but, it helped me justify the excursion. If I had work with me, then I might do it. Thus, 4-5 hours at a park was a legitimate use of my time.
I can't wait to get back to London. I know Tie and I will be there eventually. I don't know in what capacity. But, item #1 on the agenda (after we unpack and get a Cadbury Carmel bar) will be a trip to the Heath. You must go if you're there. My words don't do it justice.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Ode to Shawn...
I just had a gut check. It wasn't pleasant but I definitely needed it.
I have had a long day, I feel terrible and I still have a lot of work to do tonight. Sigh. Feeling completely sorry for myself, I detoured on the way home to Kroger to get some soup for dinner. Of course, at 5:45, the parking lot is packed, as is the store.
I head in. I'm going through the produce aisle and I'm blocked in every direction either by some old person or someone with 16 kids running around their legs. I engage in an epic eye roll, an audible sigh and then proceed to act like I'm moving a boulder in trying to find a path around all of the obstacles.
I finally get the soup and I'm trying to make my way up to checkout when I spot Shawn. He's worked at our Kroger for a couple of years I think. He has some sort of mental disability and some visible physical abnormalities as well. He was trying to get the door to a freezer case to stay closed (somehow I found myself in the ice cream aisle...). Anyway, I watched him and he got it shut. He then turned around and flashed a big smile to no one in particular and went on his way.
My eyes instantly filled up with tears. I am looking up at the ceiling and now making a beeline for the checkout (hard to walk fast and look at the ceiling at the same time). I find the shortest line and take a deep breath so I can stop tunneling the tears to my side eyeballs (whatever the scientific name for that area is). The tears slow down and I can look straight ahead now. So...directly in front of me in line is a lady using food stamps to purchase her groceries. I watch her as she carefully checks what she's chosen against whatever the papers tell her she can buy. She tries to do this discretely but it's obviously somewhat difficult to do so.
Signal more tears. Looking up at the ceiling again. Pay for the groceries. Of course, Shawn in now bagging my stuff. Go figure. After I pay I practically run to my car and then as soon as the door is closed, I promptly lose it.
I was so mad at myself for feeling sorry for myself for not feeling good and having a long day. Look at Shawn. He lives in a world that isn't made for him to succeed. He gets made fun of (I've seen this happen at the store before). I wonder if someone loves him, if someone encourages him. I wonder if the woman with the food stamps has family that she can count on to help her or if she struggles alone. I have all of these things and so much more and I'm sad because I might have a fever. I'm sad because I have a couple of hours of work to do.
Hence the gut check. I have so many things to be thankful for. Really, every time I think of something that bugs me, I could probably think of 10 blessings to cancel that one irritation out. I hope each of you feel blessed. I really think everyone is blessed, at least to someone less fortunate than you are. Next time I feel like my life stinks for some stupid trivial reason, I hope I think of Shawn. Of how hard he works bagging my groceries. Of how much he probably needs encouragement and love on many hard days. Love and encouragement that I have in abundance. I'm so thankful for these things. I'll always have them, no matter how crummy I feel or how much work I have to do. :)
I have had a long day, I feel terrible and I still have a lot of work to do tonight. Sigh. Feeling completely sorry for myself, I detoured on the way home to Kroger to get some soup for dinner. Of course, at 5:45, the parking lot is packed, as is the store.
I head in. I'm going through the produce aisle and I'm blocked in every direction either by some old person or someone with 16 kids running around their legs. I engage in an epic eye roll, an audible sigh and then proceed to act like I'm moving a boulder in trying to find a path around all of the obstacles.
I finally get the soup and I'm trying to make my way up to checkout when I spot Shawn. He's worked at our Kroger for a couple of years I think. He has some sort of mental disability and some visible physical abnormalities as well. He was trying to get the door to a freezer case to stay closed (somehow I found myself in the ice cream aisle...). Anyway, I watched him and he got it shut. He then turned around and flashed a big smile to no one in particular and went on his way.
My eyes instantly filled up with tears. I am looking up at the ceiling and now making a beeline for the checkout (hard to walk fast and look at the ceiling at the same time). I find the shortest line and take a deep breath so I can stop tunneling the tears to my side eyeballs (whatever the scientific name for that area is). The tears slow down and I can look straight ahead now. So...directly in front of me in line is a lady using food stamps to purchase her groceries. I watch her as she carefully checks what she's chosen against whatever the papers tell her she can buy. She tries to do this discretely but it's obviously somewhat difficult to do so.
Signal more tears. Looking up at the ceiling again. Pay for the groceries. Of course, Shawn in now bagging my stuff. Go figure. After I pay I practically run to my car and then as soon as the door is closed, I promptly lose it.
I was so mad at myself for feeling sorry for myself for not feeling good and having a long day. Look at Shawn. He lives in a world that isn't made for him to succeed. He gets made fun of (I've seen this happen at the store before). I wonder if someone loves him, if someone encourages him. I wonder if the woman with the food stamps has family that she can count on to help her or if she struggles alone. I have all of these things and so much more and I'm sad because I might have a fever. I'm sad because I have a couple of hours of work to do.
Hence the gut check. I have so many things to be thankful for. Really, every time I think of something that bugs me, I could probably think of 10 blessings to cancel that one irritation out. I hope each of you feel blessed. I really think everyone is blessed, at least to someone less fortunate than you are. Next time I feel like my life stinks for some stupid trivial reason, I hope I think of Shawn. Of how hard he works bagging my groceries. Of how much he probably needs encouragement and love on many hard days. Love and encouragement that I have in abundance. I'm so thankful for these things. I'll always have them, no matter how crummy I feel or how much work I have to do. :)
Sunday, March 1, 2009
What's in a Laugh?
For a long time, Tie and I were completely opposite in every way you can imagine.The more time that goes by, the more we kinda meet in the middle. I'm calmer, saner and more redneck now (thanks to his penchant for Alabama football). He's crazier, louder and cooler now. It works nicely for the both of us.
The one area where we still find little common ground is humor. He thinks I'm funny (of course, why wouldn't he) and I think he's funny (obligatory). But, as for what we think is funny from outside sources, well, that's where it gets dicey. Right this very minute, he's reading someone else's blog about dog poop. That's right, he's blog cheating on me. I hear his ridiculously unique laugh...imagine holding your breath and then quick, sudden bursts escaping either in freakishly girly sounding mini-hoots or low rumbling growls to offset the girly hoots. Yes, thus are the magically humorous side-effects of dog poop.
I think animals are funny. He thinks animals on fire are funny (not intentionally set ablaze, only accidentally). I think kids saying dumb things are funny. He thinks kids screaming expletives are funny (think Pearl...the landlord). I think British humor is funny. He thinks Sasha Baren Cohen is British humor. He thinks Jim Carey is funny (sooooo 90s). He thinks farts are funny. Especially if they result in poop (accidental or intentional). Sigh...
And since his ridiculous competitiveness has rubbed off on me, apparently we need to determine who likes the "right" funny stuff. So, here's a sampling of his and my humor. Which do you think is funnier?
Tie's humor:
My humor:
The one area where we still find little common ground is humor. He thinks I'm funny (of course, why wouldn't he) and I think he's funny (obligatory). But, as for what we think is funny from outside sources, well, that's where it gets dicey. Right this very minute, he's reading someone else's blog about dog poop. That's right, he's blog cheating on me. I hear his ridiculously unique laugh...imagine holding your breath and then quick, sudden bursts escaping either in freakishly girly sounding mini-hoots or low rumbling growls to offset the girly hoots. Yes, thus are the magically humorous side-effects of dog poop.
I think animals are funny. He thinks animals on fire are funny (not intentionally set ablaze, only accidentally). I think kids saying dumb things are funny. He thinks kids screaming expletives are funny (think Pearl...the landlord). I think British humor is funny. He thinks Sasha Baren Cohen is British humor. He thinks Jim Carey is funny (sooooo 90s). He thinks farts are funny. Especially if they result in poop (accidental or intentional). Sigh...
And since his ridiculous competitiveness has rubbed off on me, apparently we need to determine who likes the "right" funny stuff. So, here's a sampling of his and my humor. Which do you think is funnier?
Tie's humor:
My humor:
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Lunchmeat...
Yeah, it's been awhile, I know. Busy bee. New car, new sport season at school, just stuff.
Anyway, progress has been made with the snarky sophomores. Granted it is rather superficial and built mostly upon sugary carbohydrates, but alas, progress is better than having voodoo dolls created in my likeness. We are currently marching through the French Revolution. I love this particular revolution. It's just what every good revolution aspires to be...bloody, senseless, corrupt, hopeful, hopeless, inspiring and historically significant. Of course, the students love it only for one of the reason's above: heads roll.
They're getting into this unit. We're bonding over our mutually mangled pronunciation of Jacobin (ya-co-bin) and Robespierre (robe-is-pee-air). Their's is accidental, mine is intentional, to soften the edges of my cold-blooded exterior. I made them cupcakes frosted blue, white and red like the newly-adopted tri-color flag of the Revolution and Marquis de Lafayette.
And then, a watershed moment occurred. It actually came from one of the more pampas students I've been blessed with. And yes, I'm sure you think that's harsh, but, this kid signs his paper as "The" (first name, last name) or "President" (first name, last name) and even "The One and Only" (first name, last name)He's very very smart. At least once a week, he tries to trip me up with something I'm sure he looked up on Wikipedia about the most obsolete, insignificant detail of something in our textbook. He is serious and borderline smug 95% of the time.
A couple of days ago, as we were discussing the bourgeoisie, he raised his hand. I was bracing myself for whatever ridiculous thing he was going to ask me that I didn't know the answer to. Instead, he said, "Is this the same bourgeoisie that's referenced in the Hillshire Farms lunch meat commercial?" AHHHHHHHH!!!! I LOVE those commercials. All of them. I sing them in the house. I put extra emphasis on the last word: HUUUUHHHH!!!
Yes, it's the same one! I was so amused and honestly happy. Lame, I know you're thinking. But this is one of those moments that I live for. I love history for goofy reasons. Goofiness is a prevailing theme in my life. So, when "The One and Only" descended from his serious seat to mire in the muck of goofy history with me, it was just, well, plain old touching. I promptly pulled up said commercial on YouTube for our viewing pleasure and we all had a hearty laugh.
Next week I'm thinking about finger sandwiches of French baguettes, with brie and a little lunchmeat...I'm sure the bonding would really get out of hand...we'd be stuck together like glue!
Anyway, progress has been made with the snarky sophomores. Granted it is rather superficial and built mostly upon sugary carbohydrates, but alas, progress is better than having voodoo dolls created in my likeness. We are currently marching through the French Revolution. I love this particular revolution. It's just what every good revolution aspires to be...bloody, senseless, corrupt, hopeful, hopeless, inspiring and historically significant. Of course, the students love it only for one of the reason's above: heads roll.
They're getting into this unit. We're bonding over our mutually mangled pronunciation of Jacobin (ya-co-bin) and Robespierre (robe-is-pee-air). Their's is accidental, mine is intentional, to soften the edges of my cold-blooded exterior. I made them cupcakes frosted blue, white and red like the newly-adopted tri-color flag of the Revolution and Marquis de Lafayette.
And then, a watershed moment occurred. It actually came from one of the more pampas students I've been blessed with. And yes, I'm sure you think that's harsh, but, this kid signs his paper as "The" (first name, last name) or "President" (first name, last name) and even "The One and Only" (first name, last name)He's very very smart. At least once a week, he tries to trip me up with something I'm sure he looked up on Wikipedia about the most obsolete, insignificant detail of something in our textbook. He is serious and borderline smug 95% of the time.
A couple of days ago, as we were discussing the bourgeoisie, he raised his hand. I was bracing myself for whatever ridiculous thing he was going to ask me that I didn't know the answer to. Instead, he said, "Is this the same bourgeoisie that's referenced in the Hillshire Farms lunch meat commercial?" AHHHHHHHH!!!! I LOVE those commercials. All of them. I sing them in the house. I put extra emphasis on the last word: HUUUUHHHH!!!
Yes, it's the same one! I was so amused and honestly happy. Lame, I know you're thinking. But this is one of those moments that I live for. I love history for goofy reasons. Goofiness is a prevailing theme in my life. So, when "The One and Only" descended from his serious seat to mire in the muck of goofy history with me, it was just, well, plain old touching. I promptly pulled up said commercial on YouTube for our viewing pleasure and we all had a hearty laugh.
Next week I'm thinking about finger sandwiches of French baguettes, with brie and a little lunchmeat...I'm sure the bonding would really get out of hand...we'd be stuck together like glue!
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Scattegories...
So...in a recent, heated game of Scattegories, there were several contested answers given. As an impartial voter, would you have allowed the following answers?
1) For baby foods that start with S: split-pea soup
2) For sports that start with J: jumping jacks
3) For things you keep hidden with D: dirty dancing
4) For menu items that start with D: diced peaches
5) For beers that start with F: Flat Tire (the well-intending responder meant Fat Tire)
6) For songs that start with M: My Endless Love (the acurate response is "Endless Love"
Yes? What's that you say?
1) For baby foods that start with S: split-pea soup
2) For sports that start with J: jumping jacks
3) For things you keep hidden with D: dirty dancing
4) For menu items that start with D: diced peaches
5) For beers that start with F: Flat Tire (the well-intending responder meant Fat Tire)
6) For songs that start with M: My Endless Love (the acurate response is "Endless Love"
Yes? What's that you say?
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Yeah, I'm jumping on the bandwagon. Mostly because I'm totally uninspired to write anything original. So...25 Random things about meeeeeeeeee....
1. I love the 3 dot thing, I can't remember what it's called...
2. I have a very high tolerance for pain.
3. I have a very low tolerance for Duke.
4. I stepped on my own fingers once. It hurt.
5. I am ridiculously clumsy.
6. I fell through a glass table when I was little. I was jumping on it. See #5.
7. I am not stupid. See #6.
8. I lived in London for a semester in college. While there, I somehow managed to miss going to Westminster Abbey. I am ashamed.
9. I love smells. Good ones.
10. I think most people look like I other people I know (or celebrities). I tell them this a lot. It's probably annoying.
11. I am annoying. In an endearing way.
12. My eyes are green when I stare directly into the sunlight.
13. I have damaged retinas. See #12.
14. I have numerous scars. Everywhere. Mostly small ones. Mostly related to softball, falling of my bike, falling out of a tree, etc.
15. One time when I was about 12, I was riding my bike up our street, which was on a moderate incline. I put my head down and stood up to pedal. I ran smack into a car that was parked on the street. I sat on the curb for about 30 minutes because I was a) concussed and b) really embarrassed and certain that people were laughing at me out their windows.
16. My sensory perception is very acute. I am a teacher so this serves me well. Yes, I do have eyes in the back of my head.
17. I am a really good judge of character = I can smell a rat.
18. I love snow.
19. My husband and I had a beautiful outdoor wedding at the end of October (planned). We worked for months on the farmhouse/property where we were going to get married. It poured down rain. We got married inside.
20. When I was walking down the aisle on my wedding day, I almost fell. :)
21. I can bend my tongue in half. You can't.
22. I LOVE to mow grass (on a tractor).
23. I despise snobbery. With a passion.
24. I LOVE maps. Especially old, random maps.
25. I LOVE to travel, fly, pay in foreign currency, look up directions on street maps, ride subways, etc.
1. I love the 3 dot thing, I can't remember what it's called...
2. I have a very high tolerance for pain.
3. I have a very low tolerance for Duke.
4. I stepped on my own fingers once. It hurt.
5. I am ridiculously clumsy.
6. I fell through a glass table when I was little. I was jumping on it. See #5.
7. I am not stupid. See #6.
8. I lived in London for a semester in college. While there, I somehow managed to miss going to Westminster Abbey. I am ashamed.
9. I love smells. Good ones.
10. I think most people look like I other people I know (or celebrities). I tell them this a lot. It's probably annoying.
11. I am annoying. In an endearing way.
12. My eyes are green when I stare directly into the sunlight.
13. I have damaged retinas. See #12.
14. I have numerous scars. Everywhere. Mostly small ones. Mostly related to softball, falling of my bike, falling out of a tree, etc.
15. One time when I was about 12, I was riding my bike up our street, which was on a moderate incline. I put my head down and stood up to pedal. I ran smack into a car that was parked on the street. I sat on the curb for about 30 minutes because I was a) concussed and b) really embarrassed and certain that people were laughing at me out their windows.
16. My sensory perception is very acute. I am a teacher so this serves me well. Yes, I do have eyes in the back of my head.
17. I am a really good judge of character = I can smell a rat.
18. I love snow.
19. My husband and I had a beautiful outdoor wedding at the end of October (planned). We worked for months on the farmhouse/property where we were going to get married. It poured down rain. We got married inside.
20. When I was walking down the aisle on my wedding day, I almost fell. :)
21. I can bend my tongue in half. You can't.
22. I LOVE to mow grass (on a tractor).
23. I despise snobbery. With a passion.
24. I LOVE maps. Especially old, random maps.
25. I LOVE to travel, fly, pay in foreign currency, look up directions on street maps, ride subways, etc.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Beware the Beast
I faced down a beast this morning. The face-off was planned. I ran out of the Aveda hair product I use and had to get more. Actually, I've been out of it really for about a week but I squeezed every last iota of the goop out of the bottle just to avoid the beast at the Aveda store.
The beast wears many faces. All soft and lovely. All offering hot tea and a nice smile. And then it begins...
Beast: What can we help you with today?
Me (walking directly to product, retrieving product, getting out wallet and walking directly to counter to pay): Oh, you know, the usual, Be Curly.
Beast (scrambling to put down tea and get to the register to ring me up): Great! Have you tried the blah blah blah with that?
Me (money is out, I'm ready to pay): Actually yes, I have some at home. Thank you.
Beast (calmly ready to live up to her title as she scans my product): Are you earning points with us?
Me (stomach churning, beads of sweat starting to form at my temples): No, I'm not, thank you.
Beast (with sly grin and faux charm): Well, why don't we sign you up? It's only $25 for an entire year of membership. You earn points every time you make a purchase. You can earn a free tea pot or even a free massage!
Me (avoiding all eye contact and mustering all my strength): No thank you.
Beast (growing desperate, ready to go in the for the kill): Are you sure, if you earn enough points, you could even earn a trip to the moon!
Me (on the verge of wetting my pants): No thank you. Maybe next time.
Beast (now judging me for not joining the points program): Ok. Your total is ______.
At this point, the Beast doesn't speak to me anymore. She looks down her nose at me, obviously scorning me for not coughing up 25 measly dollars to join the Avenda fan club. And really, it's not the money. Although the amount to join the points club is more than the product I purchase. I buy one thing there a month (at best). I'm never going to accumulate enough points for even a free sample of a half ounce tube of lip balm, much less a trip to the moon. And, I don't drink the stinkin' hot tea so I'm not going to give you 25 of my dollars to help pay for it!
I hate this entire exchange. And, it doesn't just happen at Aveda. The whole credit card thing happens every time I shop most anywhere other than a grocery store. "Would you like to save 10% today by opening an Old Navy card?" NONONONONONONO! I've told you people this every time I've been to Old Navy for the past 10 years! Can't you keep a log book or something! The part I hate the most though is just trying to come up with a reason why I don't want the card or to be in the super cool points club. No never works. They always ask again. I feel bad saying no. That's the power of the beast. At least, they're power over me. I feel guilty for not joining the cool club. If the cool club was free, I'd join. But, I guess that's what makes it cool...it's exclusive. :)
The beast wears many faces. All soft and lovely. All offering hot tea and a nice smile. And then it begins...
Beast: What can we help you with today?
Me (walking directly to product, retrieving product, getting out wallet and walking directly to counter to pay): Oh, you know, the usual, Be Curly.
Beast (scrambling to put down tea and get to the register to ring me up): Great! Have you tried the blah blah blah with that?
Me (money is out, I'm ready to pay): Actually yes, I have some at home. Thank you.
Beast (calmly ready to live up to her title as she scans my product): Are you earning points with us?
Me (stomach churning, beads of sweat starting to form at my temples): No, I'm not, thank you.
Beast (with sly grin and faux charm): Well, why don't we sign you up? It's only $25 for an entire year of membership. You earn points every time you make a purchase. You can earn a free tea pot or even a free massage!
Me (avoiding all eye contact and mustering all my strength): No thank you.
Beast (growing desperate, ready to go in the for the kill): Are you sure, if you earn enough points, you could even earn a trip to the moon!
Me (on the verge of wetting my pants): No thank you. Maybe next time.
Beast (now judging me for not joining the points program): Ok. Your total is ______.
At this point, the Beast doesn't speak to me anymore. She looks down her nose at me, obviously scorning me for not coughing up 25 measly dollars to join the Avenda fan club. And really, it's not the money. Although the amount to join the points club is more than the product I purchase. I buy one thing there a month (at best). I'm never going to accumulate enough points for even a free sample of a half ounce tube of lip balm, much less a trip to the moon. And, I don't drink the stinkin' hot tea so I'm not going to give you 25 of my dollars to help pay for it!
I hate this entire exchange. And, it doesn't just happen at Aveda. The whole credit card thing happens every time I shop most anywhere other than a grocery store. "Would you like to save 10% today by opening an Old Navy card?" NONONONONONONO! I've told you people this every time I've been to Old Navy for the past 10 years! Can't you keep a log book or something! The part I hate the most though is just trying to come up with a reason why I don't want the card or to be in the super cool points club. No never works. They always ask again. I feel bad saying no. That's the power of the beast. At least, they're power over me. I feel guilty for not joining the cool club. If the cool club was free, I'd join. But, I guess that's what makes it cool...it's exclusive. :)
Friday, January 23, 2009
Why So Serious?
Teenagers are weird on many levels. I'm sure there's a blog out there dedicated to just that topic. Today at softball practice after school, one of the girls (sophomore) asked me to hold a ring of hers. Of course, the other girls say "oohhhh, pretty ring", etc. Turns out, the boyfriend (junior) gave the girl her ring for Christmas. It has precious stones in it, including what appeared to be diamonds. How cute (the throw up a little in your mouth kind).
I used to pretend that the skin-tinting rings from Chuckie Cheese were given to me by some hopeless romantic (third-grader, not high schooler) But, who didn't do that?! However, serious relationships in high school, early high school, ones that involve precious stones are just radarndiculous. To think that at 15, you've linked hearts with your forever soul mate is just mind boggling. You can't remember to do your homework but you're ready to play house with someone else that can't remember to do their homework? You can't go to the bathroom without raising your hand to ask but you want to share a bathroom with someone that can't legally buy you cold medicine? Really?
The kicker is when the parents of said lovebirds encourage such serious behavior. They know their kids are kids...they still take care of them! Over our lovely sushi dinner tonight, I explained to Tie that our children (whence they come) shan't be having uber-serious high school relationships. The first time I see even a semi-precious stone being given or gotten, the hammer is coming down and the jewelry is being pawned for bars to go on the windows (to prevent the Romeo/Juliet scenario).
Now, aforementioned husband and I starting dating in high school. His junior year, my senior year. We dated all through college (different schools, 3 hours apart). We never broke up. However, all of this is completely irrelevant because we were totally an exception. We were (and still are) very independent, had our own friends and in my opinion (which is what matters in my blog, :), were never overly serious until it became pretty obvious that we were locked in (yep, romance is overrated). And yeah, we were just different. We didn't stand in the hallway, our noses 3 inches apart, looking into each others eyes, searching for acceptance (girlfriend) or less noble things (boyfriend) every time the stinkin' bell rang. We didn't plaster the inside of our lockers with pictures of each other from infancy to last week and of course, no semiprecious stones were exchanged. Seemed to work for us...
I used to pretend that the skin-tinting rings from Chuckie Cheese were given to me by some hopeless romantic (third-grader, not high schooler) But, who didn't do that?! However, serious relationships in high school, early high school, ones that involve precious stones are just radarndiculous. To think that at 15, you've linked hearts with your forever soul mate is just mind boggling. You can't remember to do your homework but you're ready to play house with someone else that can't remember to do their homework? You can't go to the bathroom without raising your hand to ask but you want to share a bathroom with someone that can't legally buy you cold medicine? Really?
The kicker is when the parents of said lovebirds encourage such serious behavior. They know their kids are kids...they still take care of them! Over our lovely sushi dinner tonight, I explained to Tie that our children (whence they come) shan't be having uber-serious high school relationships. The first time I see even a semi-precious stone being given or gotten, the hammer is coming down and the jewelry is being pawned for bars to go on the windows (to prevent the Romeo/Juliet scenario).
Now, aforementioned husband and I starting dating in high school. His junior year, my senior year. We dated all through college (different schools, 3 hours apart). We never broke up. However, all of this is completely irrelevant because we were totally an exception. We were (and still are) very independent, had our own friends and in my opinion (which is what matters in my blog, :), were never overly serious until it became pretty obvious that we were locked in (yep, romance is overrated). And yeah, we were just different. We didn't stand in the hallway, our noses 3 inches apart, looking into each others eyes, searching for acceptance (girlfriend) or less noble things (boyfriend) every time the stinkin' bell rang. We didn't plaster the inside of our lockers with pictures of each other from infancy to last week and of course, no semiprecious stones were exchanged. Seemed to work for us...
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Welcome Mr. President
Having been inundated with inauguration coverage for what seems like forever, I've noticed how many people have so freely expressed their feelings about the historic event. I guess I'm finally ready to come clean...
Really, up until President Obama's Inaugural address, even through the swearing in and Mama Aretha and her hat, pretty much every positive feeling I had about the inauguration was counterbalanced by a not so positive feeling. I feel moved by the magnitude of the event. As a history teacher, I have read numerous primary source documents (first hand accounts) of African-Americans suffering through the Middle passage, slavery itself, black codes during Reconstruction, sharecropping, grandfather clauses and the list goes on. Often times when I read these accounts and study them with my students, I literally feel sick thinking about how many Christians and other "good" people simply tolerated if not perpetuated such widespread abuses of other, God-breathed, human beings. And then, I think about the fact that President Obama is biracial. He in fact, is only partially black. His father was not an American. He was African. His ancestors did not suffer through American slavery and the discrimination that has existed in our country against African-Americans. Why do so many people uphold him as an example of overcoming decades-old prejudice when his family experience was not a part of those decades?
I also feel really hopeful thinking about Americans becoming excited about government. Again, because I teach high school students, I know how hard it is to relate government to their everyday lives. However, this feeling fades pretty quickly too and turns into skepticism. Why are the people who voted for the first time in their life, because they supported Obama, just now becoming involved? Honestly, there is no valid excuse in my book. More affected lately by the economy? Someone is always on the short end of the stick. Why aren't we concerned with the less fortunate when we aren't them? Tired of the War in Iraq? Newsflash: politicians need supervision and endorsements regardless of the issue they support. How else do they know that they're out of line or on the right track? Didn't like previous candidates? WRITE IN YOUR CHOICE! Allowing yourself to be silenced after blood has been shed so you can exercise your voice is despicable.
I could go on and on. Really I'm just trying to illustrate that although I thought a lot of things about today were good, I also was discouraged about a good bit.
Then President Obama gave his Inaugural Address. I know he didn't write most of what he said. They never do. But, the words were written to reflect his ideals and values. He said them. He stood on the platform and accepted the challenge in front of him. I honestly felt that his words were genuine and deliberate. A lot of things he said resonated with me. Some things he said made me scratch my head. But I will never forget these words: "What is demanded then is a return to these truths. What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility — a recognition, on the part of every American, that we have duties to ourselves, our nation, and the world, duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task. This is the price and the promise of citizenship."
My duties are defined by my obligations as a child of God. How do you define your duties to your neighbor and your country? I hope we will all consciously think about what are duties are as American citizens. As the saying goes, many hands make light work. If we all accept our self-defined or divinely-inspired duties, how changed would our communities be? How changed would our country be? I'd love to see the answers to these questions.
Really, up until President Obama's Inaugural address, even through the swearing in and Mama Aretha and her hat, pretty much every positive feeling I had about the inauguration was counterbalanced by a not so positive feeling. I feel moved by the magnitude of the event. As a history teacher, I have read numerous primary source documents (first hand accounts) of African-Americans suffering through the Middle passage, slavery itself, black codes during Reconstruction, sharecropping, grandfather clauses and the list goes on. Often times when I read these accounts and study them with my students, I literally feel sick thinking about how many Christians and other "good" people simply tolerated if not perpetuated such widespread abuses of other, God-breathed, human beings. And then, I think about the fact that President Obama is biracial. He in fact, is only partially black. His father was not an American. He was African. His ancestors did not suffer through American slavery and the discrimination that has existed in our country against African-Americans. Why do so many people uphold him as an example of overcoming decades-old prejudice when his family experience was not a part of those decades?
I also feel really hopeful thinking about Americans becoming excited about government. Again, because I teach high school students, I know how hard it is to relate government to their everyday lives. However, this feeling fades pretty quickly too and turns into skepticism. Why are the people who voted for the first time in their life, because they supported Obama, just now becoming involved? Honestly, there is no valid excuse in my book. More affected lately by the economy? Someone is always on the short end of the stick. Why aren't we concerned with the less fortunate when we aren't them? Tired of the War in Iraq? Newsflash: politicians need supervision and endorsements regardless of the issue they support. How else do they know that they're out of line or on the right track? Didn't like previous candidates? WRITE IN YOUR CHOICE! Allowing yourself to be silenced after blood has been shed so you can exercise your voice is despicable.
I could go on and on. Really I'm just trying to illustrate that although I thought a lot of things about today were good, I also was discouraged about a good bit.
Then President Obama gave his Inaugural Address. I know he didn't write most of what he said. They never do. But, the words were written to reflect his ideals and values. He said them. He stood on the platform and accepted the challenge in front of him. I honestly felt that his words were genuine and deliberate. A lot of things he said resonated with me. Some things he said made me scratch my head. But I will never forget these words: "What is demanded then is a return to these truths. What is required of us now is a new era of responsibility — a recognition, on the part of every American, that we have duties to ourselves, our nation, and the world, duties that we do not grudgingly accept but rather seize gladly, firm in the knowledge that there is nothing so satisfying to the spirit, so defining of our character, than giving our all to a difficult task. This is the price and the promise of citizenship."
My duties are defined by my obligations as a child of God. How do you define your duties to your neighbor and your country? I hope we will all consciously think about what are duties are as American citizens. As the saying goes, many hands make light work. If we all accept our self-defined or divinely-inspired duties, how changed would our communities be? How changed would our country be? I'd love to see the answers to these questions.
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