Next Year

Mrs. T. and I were but two of the twelve people at work today. Most everyone took the day off, if not the entire week. It was even quieter than normal – so peaceful that on my breaks, I began to ponder life goals for 2007.

I asked Mrs. T. if she had come up with any resolutions and, without even a pause, she said "joy, acceptance, witness". She reported that this came to her recently while she was in a deep, deep state of meditation (as she sat on the deck of her friend's beach house smoking cigarettes and playing spite and malice).

My resolutions will likely be less creative and more to the point. Rather than a broad term, like "joy", I’m more likely to be specific (for my own sake) and try to hone in on exactly what it is that gives me joy. And right now, being lighter and leaner is giving me joy. So you can be sure that more and varied exercise will be on my list. In fact, a trainer at my gym showed up at a party that Doc B. and I attended recently. Like a good salesperson, she convinced me that I needed to add weight-lifting back into my repertoire. Yes, the yoga and cardio are great, but the weights will build muscle and help me burn more calories. Before I knew it, I was enrolled in four training sessions starting in January.

And rather than a wide-ranging word like "acceptance", I’ll narrow that down to precise examples. One idea is to keep writing this blog as a way of putting myself out there with the hope that others will still accept me despite what I write. And it’s also a way of being more accepting of myself – even if others don’t care for my opinions or thoughts. Not having to worry about what others think would be a load off my mind and heart.

And as far as being a "witness" - so far, the only goal I can think of related to that one is perhaps making sure I don't get myself into any situations that would result in the need for a witness protection program. I'll have to get Mrs. T. to better explain that one to me.

Good luck to each of you in finding joy and acceptance in 2007 – and thanks Mrs. T. for the ideas.

NOTE: See the new "View my FAQ" (frequently asked questions) and "CAST YOUR VOTE" buttons over to the right. Here, you can ask your own question(s) and/or see the responses to other people's questions as well as vote on stupid topics I make up. Have an idea for a voting topic? E-mail me and let me know!

My Sentiments

I took this photo yesterday morning. I'd been hoping to get there before the church changed the sign for Sunday Services and I lucked out. The image has has been stuck in my mind since I first did a drive by earlier this week. It's not just what the sign says, it's the barbed wire that's surrounding the sign and church grounds.

This place of worship is just around the corner from us, between our house and the East Lake Golf Club where Tiger Woods, among others (but who cares about the others), has graced the greens. So in between our house and the famed links, is this humble little church that is reminding us that we have a choice.

Right after I first saw this sign, I attended a dinner party at a friend's apartment. I let her cute, sweet (see prior post) boyfriend get off on politics and Rush Limbaugh and before I knew it he was talking about those people who are "pro-abortion". I laughed out loud thinking this was one of his jokes, but he was dead serious - as if this were the opposite of "pro life". It finally hit me. Do the "pro-lifers" think that anyone who is not in their camp is "pro-abortion"? Is this where all the confusion lies? Is it really that simple?

I've said it before in my blog and I'll say it again - I am VERY "pro-choice" but that DOES NOT mean that I am in any way "pro-abortion". I don't even know anyone who is, do you? My friend's boyfriend says that "pro abortionists" exist in the doctors who perform them. I seriously doubt these doctors get off on abortions. Yes, there are probably some, as there always are, but I bet the majority could just as easily be doing some other sort of practice in the field of medicine.

Today is both my grandpa's 90th birthday and my oldest nephew's birthday. I'm thrilled they were both born and that different choices weren't made. And I'm also delighted that this small corner church gets it. We have a choice. And while we'd all probably prefer to choose life if we came to that crossroads (as this church is suggesting),we can choose what's best for our own individual lives.

Here's hoping you are choosing what's best for you and your life and that you can appreciate (and/or forgive yourself for) the choices you've made in the past...

Current Resident

Normally I don't even bother opening mail that comes addressed to "current resident". Do you? We're in the habit of quickly recycling all junk that graces our black mailbox. Especially this time of year when it's duplicate catalogs from stores I've never heard of, sale coupons for shops I have no intention of shopping in, and requests for donations of money we don't have. Besides, whenever I make one donation, I receive six more solicitations from that same group. I gave to the Democratic National Committee before the November elections when someone came knocking on our front door. I only answered it as I thought it was one of our neighbors - since no one else knocks on our door except Saturday mornning Jehovah's Witnesses. But then, after the elections, the DNC asked for more money both in person and via the USPS. I love the DNC and hope they keep doing their thing, but we're tapped out. I'm sure Doc. B., the "keeper of the budget", would have argued that we were tapped out prior to my original donation. But it was the sweetest, cutest guys that came knocking to ask for cash. Good plan by the Dems considering there are those who have questioned my assessment of what defines "cute and sweet" when it comes to men (yes, I'm talking to you Mrs. T.). Okay, so I have bad taste in men...but I'm sure the DNC could care less; they got my money.

Why I opened an envelope yesterday that was addressed to "current resident", I have no idea. Contained within was the attached flyer stating that "TitleMax" had been told that I, specifically, had been extra nice according to Santa's list. Or was it Doc. B. that was the nice one? I can't be certain since I am but one of the two current (human) residents at this address. Anyhow, this TitleMax place was willing to give me up to $5000 in holiday cash! All I had to do was bring in my car title and meet the criteria within the small print. What a deal!

Having been below the bible belt for over a decade now, I've learned that there is a friendly competition between the states of Georgia and Alabama. I'm not sure how it started, perhaps since they are both typically fighting to stay out of the bottom of the 50 states when it comes to literacy and graduation rates? Again, I can't be certain. Some of the jokes that have come out of this rivalry do make me chuckle though. I just heard this one over Thanksgiving: "Why do the Alabama Police have such a difficult time solving crimes? Because all the DNA is the same and there are no dental records". Another time I was playing BINGO at a fundraiser for Pets are Loving Support and Bubba D. Licious was calling out the numbers. When she called out "I-20", the whole audience replied in unison "the best thing to come out of Alabama" (for those readers outside of Atlanta, I-20 is the highway that cuts across Alabama and comes into Georgia). So with all of these Alabama jokes running through my head, I found the "small print" on this flyer amusing. I don't know if you can read it - try clicking on the image to enlarge it (?), but it says "Must be 18 years or older (except Alabama residents must be 19 years of age)". Does this mean that TitleMax won't trust anyone living in Alabama until they turn 19? Do they think that Alabama residents are not able to manage $5000 until they pass age 18? See, I always thought that the real joke about Alabama was that you could basically do anything when you turned 14: drink, drive, give birth, or marry your second cousin - not necessarily in that order, but may also occur all at once. See how easy it is to get sucked into banter between the states?

Hey, if any of you readers need up to $5000 for holiday cash, the offer expires on 12/23/06 and I'll split the $50.00 referral fee with you...

Choosing Green Over Blue

Photos courtesy of the Detroit Freepress

People down here in Atlanta tend to confuse Michigan State University (MSU) with the University of Michigan (U of M). I’m sure that would offend many in my hometown state, but it’s an honest mistake. I just remind people that it’s similar to Georgia Tech (where Doc. B. got a Ph.D.) being confused with the University of Georgia. They're both very good schools, for different reasons, but you certainly wouldn’t want to confuse the two.

I spent all but three years of my childhood in Michigan and most of that time was spent in towns half way between East Lansing, home of MSU and Ann Arbor, home to the U of M. But there was a four year period of time, from 5th grade through 8th grade, that I actually lived in Ann Arbor, just two miles from the U of M campus. I attended stone school elementary for two years where my only claim to fame was my football ability. Recess meant that I would skip jumping rope and playing jacks with the girls in favor of being the touch football quarterback. Why not, I was taller than all of those little 5th grade boys and none of them could block my passes. Then I moved on to Tappan Junior High for two years. This a famous school in Ann Arbor because it’s where Bob Seger went to Junior High. I was also a member of the Methodist Youth Fellowship (MYF) in downtown Ann Arbor. The church was just blocks from "The Diag", home of the annual April fools day "Hash Bash". The event takes place at "high" noon and I feel certain that a fly on the joint would likely hear the crowd chanting "Pot is an herb, Bush is a dope". Don’t worry mom, I never really skipped school and went to the hash bash, but I'm pretty confident that I lied to my friends and said I did. I will admit that I skipped MYF a time or two to waste a few quarters at Pinball Pete’s. But that’s all I’ll admit to today.

My childhood stint in Ann Arbor was way before Amber alerts, razor blades in apples, and crack. It was not uncommon for us kids to wander off about the city for hours. One year on a school snow day we even cross country skied to Briarwood mall. But the coolest thing was to get on our bikes on U of M game days and make our way to "The Big House", the U of M football stadium. If you waited until half time, you could get in for free. The place was amazingly big and awe-inspiring as a youngster - even adults are wowed by it. You had to remember where you locked your bike as it was a madhouse when the game ended. So we’d try to be on our way home before the end of the 4th quarter. This was back in the Bo Schembechler days and as I recall, I witnessed a few plays of a Woody Hayes-Bo Schembechler match up. We’ll miss you Bo, just like we missed the losing season jokes - which were few and far between. "Why didn't Bo eat cereal for breakfast? Because he’d only lose the bowl".

Despite my enjoyable times in Ann Arbor, I chose MSU over U of M. I remember visiting MSU for the first time. It had a true campus feel, and a beautiful one at that. The U of M campus was part of the city of Ann Arbor and there was no real line of demarcation. But MSU was gorgeously landscaped and appealing to the eye. And to someone who had no interest in anything but "the liberal arts" (beer drinking, pizza eating, social issues and the pursuit of happiness), the campus spoke to me. I guess I have one more admission to make. I could have gone to U of M, but I was accepted on an academic probation status only and I didn’t want that pressure. I only scored an 18 on the ACT’s (out of 36) so what did I expect! MSU welcomed me and my 2.99999 GPA with open arms. But more importantly, MSU was where my parents met and were married. How could I, as their first born, NOT attend their alma mater? Oh, and the MSU marching band is way better than the U of M’s.

But this past weekend, I cheered for the U of M Wolverines to beat the Ohio State Buckeyes. I should have seen it as an omen that OSU would win because on a recent hiking trip in north Georgia, I found my first ever buckeye nut. This is reportedly a sign of good luck. I think the buckeye nut got confused. It was suppose to grant me my wish for Michigan to win, but instead it let the OSU buckeyes win. I was so certain that U of M would prevail (given the passing of Bo and my finding of the lucky buckeye) that I even bet on the game with a coworker. The wager: a slice of Rosa's New York style pizza. Oh well...another slice of pizza beats the dust...at least I was well trained at MSU in that "art".

Hail to the Victors and Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

Top O' the Lap

Photo courtesy of ABC.com

I’ve never had a lap top computer before, but I’m typing this from one now. Doc. B. got me an early Thanksgiving, early Christmas, early MLK day, early President's day, early Valentines day, early St. Patrick's day present and I’m SO loving on it. I can now sit anywhere and type. That may not seem like such a big deal but what I used to do was write out my blog entries on paper, type them into Microsoft Word and then copy them into the blog once I could get myself onto the web. Not anymore.

Doc. B. has been pet and house sitting an hour north of town this week so I’ve had an abundance of secret alone time to play with all of the lap top bells and whistles as I let our home go to pot. I haven’t made the bed in three days, the dishes are stacking up, there’s dirty laundry everywhere and I’ve been watching way too much television - because I can sit in front of it with the new computer.

Last night I was lounging in the love pit (our TV viewing area), watching "The Biggest Loser" while The Dish Network cut in and out during a major windstorm. But I had a charged battery and I didn’t even have to worry about a power surge. All I have to worry about now is the scrutiny you’ll send my way based on the fact that I chose "The Biggest Loser" over the season finale of "Dancing with the Stars". Sorry folks, Mario the Matador just doesn’t do it for me, nor does "can’t touch this" football player, Emmitt Smith. But put a bunch of fat people on television trying to lose weight, and I’m there. It’s closer to home for me. I’ll never be dancing with a star but I certainly have spent time being fat and making all sorts of crazy attempts to lose the extra pounds. Even just typing that three letter word, f-a-t, is hard for me. I was inclined to change it to "overweight", "chunky", or something similar. But let’s face it, I was fat - no bones about it - unless those bones were covered with excess skin of course.

At least tonight I didn’t have to choose between Grey’s Anatomy and the Barbara Walters special; they come on back to back. I hope I can get this place cleaned up before Doc. B. comes home tomorrow.

Gloating

Tuesday, November 7, 2006 will long be remembered in history. We knew the day was coming, and many of us were waiting with greater expectations than Charles Dickens could have ever imagined. Millions were watching in every state from Montana to Virginia. The world was also observing. We could only guess it couldn’t last. We figured if we were patient, the day would come. We would live to see a cleaning of the house and a measuring of the drapes. It would be a sea change, a turning of the tide. Defense of Marriage Act supporters would shake in their boots. Proclamations of reconciliation would have to wait. Crow would be eaten. Stay the course would no longer work. After much anticipation, the day finally came. And just as all the polls, and the Mickey Mouse Club, predicted… Britney filed for divorce from Kevin...


p.s. I have no idea who those people are in that celebratory photo. Really, I don't.

Salt Lick

Last week, Mrs. T. and I got on the subject of "food regret". We were at work the day after Halloween and there was leftover candy on every cubicle filing cabinet, break room table, fax machine and copier. I think I even saw someone shove a quarter into the tampon dispenser and receive a pack of M&M’s with her purchase. It seems that every woman in the building was trying to hide, donate or dispose of her Halloween candied remains. Except me. Yeah, I ate a couple of Snickers mini bars and some of our left over tootsie rolls, but most of the time, candy and chocolate don’t really do it for me. Put a tub of movie theatre popcorn on my lap (and it has to be on my lap – I’ll share it, but I have to hold it!), and an hour later I can tell you all about food regret. And don’t give me any of that kettle corn crap (Tom), just pour on the salt. I really wouldn’t even need any butter except that it does make the salt stick better.

My love affair with popcorn goes way back to before my knowing what a love affair was. It was a Sunday night ritual for our family of six to gather around the television, be mesmerized by the Wonderful World of Disney, and share a grocery bag full of homemade popcorn. That’s right, we’re not talking about Jiffy Pop, air popped or even micro-waved (I don’t think we had microwave ovens back then, did we?), this was the real deal. Dad had, and still has, a special pan that has now been used only for popping corn for three generations. When we were little, we would each get our own recycled pot pie container to use as a popcorn bowl. Remember those small tin foil things? I’m certain that it was not uncommon for me to fill up that cute little metal container at least 16 times.

For most of my adult life, Sunday night popcorn has been a continued tradition. Last year for my birthday, Mr. and Mrs. T. even bought me my own popcorn pan and a jar of Orville Redenbocker. However in recent years of trying to maintain my weight, or more often lose weight, I make popcorn maybe once or twice a month. Before I start the corn a poppin’, I check in to see if Doc. B. will be eating any. It would be traumatic if I made only the amount I wanted and then found Doc. B.’s hand in the bowl. Can you believe that nine times out of ten, Doc. B. doesn’t want any? That’s just crazy. Who in her right mind turns down popcorn when it’s placed in front of her? Oh wait, that’s like me and chocolate.

Hmm…it’s Sunday night…popcorn anyone?

cool rats

Head Rush

Doc. B. has had a "headstand practice" (salamba sirsasana) for several months now. That’s what they call it in yoga when you add a headstand to the repertoire of postures/poses that you learn how to do and then do it regularly. I’m still having a difficult time mastering my "savasana practice" (that’s what you do at the end of a yoga class – it’s sometimes referred to as "corpse" pose or "final relaxation" because you just lay there on your back in a resting state). When Doc. B. was learning how to do a headstand, she would practice it at home almost daily. It wasn’t uncommon for me to hear a thunderous THUD followed by a chandelier-shaking vibration as she tipped over, over and over again. It scared me when I heard it for the first time, and it seemed to shake up the cats too. But we’re all used to it now and I find it rather amusing on the rare occasion that it happens now - since Doc. B. doesn't fall over as much anymore.

Until this week, I would get all annoyed when the yoga instructor would make us at least try to do a headstand, even if we didn't know how to do one. It’s not like there is any reason for me to be able to do one. After all, I’ve not practiced doing a headstand AT ALL since I was ten years old. That’s when I took a series of gymnastics classes before promptly deciding basketball was the sport for me. The truth is that I just plain hate it when I can’t do something, no matter what it is.

For example, I hate it that I can’t fix the computer, which is what I was trying to do when I made my first successful attempt at a headstand. What a rush it was! What a head rush it was in this case! I was trying to get on the internet downstairs but once again, there were problems. So I went upstairs to the other computer to check the wireless router and the modem and to basically pretend that I knew what I was doing. As I was waiting the requisite five minutes for the various computer parts to reset themselves, I suddenly had the urge to try to do a headstand. I didn’t do it the way they teach it in class (the cartoon picture above), but rather I did it in a tri-pod stance (the other picture). I was so excited when my torso (read "fat butt"), legs and feet went right up into the air! I tried it again the next morning just to make sure it wasn’t a dream and yup, I was able to do it again. And then at yoga class the following night, I was actually excited when one of the students asked if we could practice inversions (upside down postures). We first tried to do handstands. While I couldn’t do one, I had much more confidence in trying. And then we did headstands. I actually did it like the cartoon picture; I received a little help from the yoga room walls and the instructor, but I did it! And I’ve been patting myself on the head and rubbing my belly at the same time ever since – since I’m just certain I can pretty much do anything now.

And speaking of head rush, what the heck was going on in Rush’s head when he bashed Michael J. Fox. I better not get started on that topic

King of Malapropisms

photo courtesy of Kimberlee Hewitt

Hitting the one year anniversary of this blog has caused me to reassess what topics I might want to write about, bitch. Something that happened at work a couple of weeks ago, when I started the draft of this blog entry, was resonating with me then, but has now faded for the most part. What the hay, I’m sharing it anyway.

Here's the pitch. We all use clichés, idioms, proverbs, phrases and over-utilized words all day long without giving them a second thought. And I don’t know about you, but I also hear malapropisms on a regular basis too (as in the sentence “I was being very ‘pacific’ when I gave him directions to the cafeteria”). I just thought it would be fun to keep track of these somehow, thus the link to the right that says “new blog idea”. I’m over it now but figured I’d leave the new blog out there in cyberspace for the moment while I wax prolific. See, that’s what I’m talking about. Who waxes anything but prolific unless it’s their new car? And why do we use that phrase so much? It’s similar to: “he’s an avid reader”. We rarely do anything avidly other than read, right?

But anyway, it all started at work recently, when a flood of idioms rolled off of my tongue in a short time span. It made me curious about the origin of these old sayings that have become so commonplace in our speech. When I googled some of the phrases, I discovered there are books published, “pacifically” for people trying to learn English, that explain the meaning of everything from “the cat’s out of the bag” to “bury the hatchet. And I love it when someone uses one I haven't heard in a while, or better yet, when this here Yankee comes across one I've never heard before - this happened all of the time when I first moved into the bible belt and below the Mason-Dixon Line. Take for example this proverb: “don’t try to teach your grandma to suck eggs”. This means that you shouldn’t try to teach anyone who knows more than you. But come on, how was I supposed to know that? Have you really ever heard that one before? Come visit for a spell and you just might.

Here’s the work incident. I got called into the director’s office and I wasn’t told why. I've been in this job for a year and a half, have never once been in the director’s office, and have certainly never been summoned there. My mind went into a rambling stream of idioms that went something like this: “I wonder why I’m being called on the carpet? Am I going to get my feet held to the fire? I guess I better get ready to face the music”. I was happy to learn that I just needed to sign some paperwork so it ended up being "no skin off my teeth".

In addition to hearing these phrases on a regular basis, I also read them in case files. You may not be aware that when psychological testing and/or mental status exams are done, proverbs are often used to determine a person’s ability to think abstractly. On one of my good days, I have difficulty explaining the meaning of some of the standard proverbs they ask the potentially disabled. In fact one of my former co-workers recently raised an excellent question: “as a disability reviewer, how many times must one see his/her own diagnoses in a psychological claim for disability before one can file his/her own claim?” Anyway, what the psychologist will usually ask is something like: “tell me what is meant by ‘what goes around comes around’ or ‘a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush’”. Could it be that first one means the Democrats will do well this November? And the second one might mean that a Barack Obama is worth more than a George Bush, a Dick Cheney and a Condoleezza Rice combined?

On that note, just remember that “one’s pen is mightier than one’s sword” but “one’s blog is not worth much except to one’s mother” ...

Stop, blook and listen

Target wasn't kidding when they created the slogan "expect more, pay less". Check out item number two on the Target receipt Doc. B. got last week. I had no idea that you could acquire a husband for the low, low price of just $3.99? Who needs "match.com" when you can simply walk into a Target store and pick up a mate. Now what was Doc. B. doing buying one? I'm not certain, but so far it does not appear that I've been replaced. And considering Saturday was our nine year anniversary, I'm happy that's not the case. Perhaps it was a gift for one of our many single friends? Truth be told, what's funny is that we were both looking at the receipt so that Doc. B. could flaunt what a great deal a lamp purchase was. We both just burst out laughing when we saw it.

In order to write a blog like mine, you have to be out in public or in the company of others in order to find material. Because of this, I found a recent Wall Street Journal article very interesting (10/5/06, "How Demon Wife Became a Media Star And Other Tales of the 'Blook' in Japan"). This piece examined how a weekly blogger's anecdotes about his "demon wife" have now become a blook (a book based on a web log/blog), a television show, a video game and soon a movie. The blog author is a Japanese businessman who writes about the awful things his wife does or makes him do. The WSJ listed some of them as follows:

* making him sleep in the living room when he caught a cold, and
* making him give blood in order to get a free parking voucher that was available only to blood donors.

He's reportedly received over $300K just by telling stories about what happens in his real life. He even spends more time with his wife and family because of it, just so he'll have things to write about. The Demon Wife, believe it or not, keeps all of the money he's made and gives him only a small amount as spending money. Afterall, she says, if it weren't for her, he'd have no front page news.

Once again, someone else's great idea that I didn't think of first - though there are certainly times when I'm sure I've been considered a demon wife...Perhaps it's Doc. B. that missed out on the opportunity...

p.s. Here is another great blog site that is quite creative, so much so that it has been listed as a "blog of note" on the blogspot home page: three beautiful things. What the creator does is a daily post with a list of three things that happened to her that day. Very sweet idea.

p.p.s. No, I'm not posting this blog entry from work - Like all good federal employees, I'm taking advantage of the Columbus Day Holiday to drink some coffee, play on the computer, celebrate that my European ancestors discovered that the world is not flat and appreciate that my Native American ancestors were already here when Columbus landed.

Treat Yourself

My life is very much about treats – treating myself for some accomplishment achieved, hurdle jumped or basically any other celebratory reason. Take for example yesterday when I treated myself to lunch and a beer at a local pub in honor of regaining DSL/internet access for the first time since returning from vacation. I had taken my second day off of work to wait on the service technician who would eventually end the negative effects a lack of internet access had been having on my blogging efforts. Not to mention my affected affect. Did those sentences contain the correct usages of "effect" and "affect"? Yet another one of those language issues I’m unsure of, bitch. Why am I swearing for the first time ever in my blog? Because one of my sisters always says that since you can’t end a sentence with a preposition, you simply add the word "bitch". Try it; it works. And it sounds better than rephrasing the sentence to make it proper, as in: "another one of those language issues of which I’m unsure". In any case, a celebration was certainly in order, bitch. Oh wait, I didn’t need to use the prepositional profanity there. Oh well, it was for affect, I mean effect. Once again, where is "Tenacious Teacher" when I need educational assistance?

Solving the computer problem was harder than you might think. Doc. B. made more telephone calls to our internet service provider than both Robert Downey, Jr. and George Michael, combined, have made attempts to stop using drugs. Or, if you’re one of my Michigan relatives, you might say that Doc. B. made more phone calls in the past 18 days than the number of times the Tigers have missed the playoffs in the past 18 years. But the Tigers have prevailed and so has Doc. B. I can’t speak for Robert Downey, Jr. or George Michael though. Also, I think Doc. B. now knows every employee by name at the customer service center in Omaha, Nebraska as well as the technical support office somewhere in India. Although at the latter location it’s easy to know everyone by name as it seems they’ve all selected "Alex" as their Americanized moniker, regardless of gender.

So once the capable, pleasant, somewhat attractive service technician left the bedroom (that’s where the computer is, you silly!), I bellied up to the bar at the Universal Joint with a quesadilla and a Sweetwater 420. At 1:30 on a Monday afternoon, bars aren’t too crowded. I had the place to myself for all of five minutes until a middle-aged woman joined me. She sat down a few barstools away from me with a copy of Alice Walker’s "Possessing the Secret of Joy" and ordered a pitcher of Sweetwater 469. The barkeep winked at me to indicate he knew what she meant and then he and I both glanced around to see if it looked like anyone would be helping her consume the brew. We saw no one, so he slid the pitcher, along with one frosty mug, onto the bar in front of her. She looked down into the glass with a frown and mumbled something about it being dirty. I saw her dilemma and suggested that if she wanted to go ahead and drink right out of the pitcher, I wouldn’t tell anyone. She laughed and said she’d do it if she didn’t think her father would frown down on that from up above. Meanwhile, I was thinking that my own father might frown at me for simply ordering an entire pitcher of beer all to myself. Well, no, he'd probably go get my mom to help me drink it (right, mom?!).

I asked her about her book and she smiled, reporting that it was the only Alice Walker book she had not yet read and that she had just started it. The bartender interrupted us to deliver the french fries she had ordered. She asked me to pass her the ketchup squirt bottle and when she went to squeeze it onto her plate, it made one of those embarrassing restroom noises. We just looked at each other and giggled like eight year old boys.

When I got up to leave, I told her "have a good week". She responded with "you’ve got a good spirit; thanks for blessing my day".

That’s what it’s all about – treating ourselves and while we’re at it, treating others – she made my day and it sounds like I made hers.

9/16/06 - ONE YEAR SINCE MY FIRST ENTRY! o.k., I'm one week late

*****NOTE: photos will be posted separately on a later date*****

My vacation plans included several wonderful intentions. One of them was to compose a spectacular one year anniversary blog entry that would be ready to post on 9/16/06, the day of our return from 10 days on the northeast coast. That didn’t happen. As terrific as our trip was, my reading, writing and concentration efforts were thwarted by an ugly case of poison ivy or poison oak – I don’t know which. In order to refrain from scratching my arm off, I had to be actively doing something: jogging along Commercial Street, riding bikes amid the sand dunes, walking the beach, perusing art shops, eating excellent food, talking with my mom and her friends, or participating in a long list of other gerunds – or are they present participles? I always get those two confused – perhaps "Tenacious Teacher", who commented on my last blog entry, can help me out here? We sat by the pool and on the beach a few times but I couldn’t even concentrate on reading the books I had brought along with me, let alone write a blog entry. Doc. B. suggested I try her Sudoku puzzles for a while which did help me focus long enough to enjoy some of the sun’s rays. An added plus - the sun felt good on my forearm where most of the poison ivy/oak juice was concentrated. Don’t look for this in your grocer’s freezer.

Sadly, this is not the first time Doc. B.’s been on vacation with me when I’ve been under the influence of nature’s wrath. Thank goodness this time I was not on a tapering dose of Prednisone. That stuff literally makes me crazy with mood swings. It can cause suicidal ideations for the affected person as well as homicidal ideations toward the affected person. I’m exaggerating of course – well, maybe I better ask Doc. B. if I’m exaggerating about the latter. I made it through the vacation with over-the-counter medication and, upon return to Atlanta, promptly took the fat of my left hip to the dermatologist to get me a cortisone shot. So far so good – no mood swings and no changes into the Incredible Hulk yet. Guess I better not enter any professional sporting events over the next two weeks. That’s how long the physician’s assistant said the steroids would be in my system. I wouldn’t want my name on the cover of any local papers for doping.

Okay, enough about the dang poison ivy/oak, well, other than how I got it. Before we went on vacation, we took an extra few days off of work to spruce up the yard. This included trying to save the beautiful, old, oak tree in the alley behind our house. It’s half ours, in that we split the alley with our neighbors, and it provides some much needed shade for the hostas my dad so lovingly gifts us. Not knowing what was back there in the alley, but knowing how deathly allergic I am to poison leaves, I covered every inch of my skin with a most attractive (HA!) work in the yard "outfit" – some might refer to it as a "get up". One of our neighbors is famous for saying: "that’s not poison oak, it’s just Virginia Creeper". And another neighbor is famous for telling her: "you roll around in it naked and then tell us if it’s just Virginia Creeper". During the entire time we were out there cleaning up brush, Doc. B. only saw one little bit of poison ivy. It was never knowingly touched by me as Doc. B. took great caution to ensure it was carefully placed way in the bottom of a leaf bag. I guess my new routine now will be to simply come in from doing yard work, do not pass go, and head directly to the shower. And it wouldn’t hurt for me to go ahead and put on some of that ivy block lotion before venturing into the yard. All of you out there, stop saying "duhhhh".

Despite the bubbles of itchiness on my arm, the vacation was still relaxing and fun. Day one took us to Martha’s Vineyard for the first time via numerous modes of transportation: car (ride to the airport from the second of the two famous neighbors referenced above), airplane, car rental shuttle bus, rental car, ferry boat and taxi. We stayed in a cozy bed and breakfast for two nights where we awoke to the smell of freshly made bread each morning. We motored around the island on a $6.00 bus pass and saw the three major towns plus the starfish-covered beach and clay cliffs of Aquinnah, my favorite part of the visit there.

Then it was on to Cape Cod where we had done a time share trade to a converted motel in Provincetown. The place was small, but our sliding glass doors opened up onto a patio deck that overlooked the ocean. Can’t beat that even if we did have to cook our breakfast while standing in the bathroom (okay, I’m exaggerating again). I really don’t know what to say about Provincetown without sounding like a Jehovah’s Witness talking about "The Watchtower" – I’d recommend it to anyone. Hmm…sometimes I think I sound that way about yoga. Anyway, Doc. B. and I love it there and have visited three times in the last 5 years. If we could afford it, we’d probably live there. The highlight of this trip was the synchronicitous fact that my mom just happened to be vacationing there at the same time. She gets together with three of her high school friends every year for a "girls’ week out" and this year they picked Truro, just 5 miles from where we were staying. One of her friends has access to a family beach house so they arranged to stay there for a few days. We arrived on Saturday and my mom and her friends were to call us on Monday night when they got in. So when Monday came around, we went on to one of our favorite Provincetown restaurants, Napi’s, for some seafood. As we were finishing our meals, guess who walks in - my mom and her friends. She said "oh, you got my message!" And I said, "what message?" She had left me a voicemail on my cell phone to tell us they had arrived and were going to eat at a restaurant called Napi’s if we wanted to join them. I had not yet listened to my voicemail. Another synchronicity. We had the true pleasure of dining with my mom and her very cool friends two more times during the week.

Now we’re all back home, safe and sound, ready to face the world in a much more relaxed fashion. Let’s hope the effects of vacation last for a good long while…

p.s.

Favorite bumper stickers seen while in Cape Cod:
1. "Where are we going and why am I in this handbasket?"
2. "Bush’s last day: 01.20.09"

Get me to the Concert on Time - and with a nap, please

"The best thing you've ever done for me (MARTA) is to help me take my life less seriously, it's only life after all" Indigo Girls (Emily Saliers), "Closer to Fine".

Our neighbors somehow managed to reserve a table for four at Eddie's Attic this past Thursday night and invited us to join them. How they got coveted tickets to hear the Indigo Girls at this sold out show, I'll never know. We sat at a table right next to one of our City of Decatur Commissioners, who was there with her girlfriend. At the table next to her was our City Manager. And beyond her was one half of the Indigo Girls, Emily Saliers, who was at a table enjoying the opening acts. Behind us was one of our favorite yoga teachers. In other words, we were in good company.

Doc. B. and I had a plan for Thursday. We would both try to get home from work early, fix a healthy dinner, and relax a bit before the concert. I even had in the back of my mind that I might snag a cat nap since we'd likely be out late. We were also going to do our part to save the environment by both riding MARTA home. You would think by now that we would know better than to make any of our plans rely on MARTA. Don't get me wrong, MARTA has it's good qualities. Reliabilty just doesn't happen to be one of them.

So I leave work around 4pm and as I'm walking into the MARTA station, I see that way too many people are exiting the premises. I'm expecting the typical loudspeaker announcement of "ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please; we are currently experiencing delays in our east-west rail service...". But what I hear instead is that the east-west rail service is just plain closed somewhere between where I was standing and where I was needing to go. I was being directed to join hundreds of people at a nearby bus stop where we would all wait in the sweltering heat to be shuttled to our final destination.

I knew Doc. B. would not be pleased to discover this once she arrived at the east-west transfer station from her north-south rail line. So I dug my cell phone out of my backpack and was able to reach her before she parked her car and boarded a train. We agreed that I would ride north to the Lindbergh MARTA station where she would pick me up.

The train I caught was as crowded as any Peachtree Roadrace morning and just as hot and stinky. At first I passed the time by listening in on the conversation of two Woodward Academy students. These cute 12 year old boys were intelligently discussing Harper Lee's "To Kill a Mockingbird". They thought it was cool that there was an 80 year old woman character who was addicted to morphine. I guess the teachers have to hone in on something that might actually get the students to read a classic?

Unfortunately, these two boys got off the train and were replaced by two VERY drunk, extremely smelly, likely schizophrenic, white guys. They were talking non-stop as they attempted to squeeze themselves and their trash bags of goodies onto the already crowded train. This was all while trying to keep track of their Burger King plastic cup - likely for making sure they didn't have to both drink from the next bottle of Mad Dog they were lucky enough to find.

I was impressed with the smaller and smellier of the two men in that he was able to get from "Lindbergh" MARTA station to "Johnny Depp" all in one long stream of consciousness....It went something like this:

"Okay, we need to get off at the Lindbergh MARTA station, right? Ha! Lindbergh, sounds like Limberg cheese. But I like feta cheese. MMMMM...Greek salads. With calamari. MMMMM can't have calamari without Red Stripe beer. But then again Red Strip is Caribbean. I liked "Pirates of the Caribbean II', didn't really like the first one. But Johnny Depp is sure to win all the Academy Awards for the second one."

Pretty impressive, huh?

We all finally arrived at Lindbergh. I tried to let the drunk, smelly, schizophrenics depart first so that I could be sure to walk the opposite direction. But no; they insisted that it should be ladies first. So off I went to find Doc. B. When she arrived, we decided that neither of us wanted to cook after our harrowing commutes. We grabbed dinner at a Taco Mac and made it home in time to meet our neighbors for the concert. No healthy dinner, no nap, but an adventure nonetheless.

The concert was incredible as expected...

"The less I seek my source for some definitive (or count on MARTA to get me there on time), the closer I am to fine". Indigo Girls (Emily Saliers), "Closer to Fine".

No More Panty Hose

photo courtesy of "Just My Size"

Mrs. T. and I drive to yoga together every Tuesday after work. Well, she drives, and I thumb a ride. We're nearing our one year anniversary of yogic carpooling and would you believe that she doesn't even make me help pay for gas? Shoot, she even lets me have a piece of gum too (she keeps a pack in her car at all times). Now that's a good friend if you ask me.

They're doing some repairs on Peachtree Street near our office, so lately we've found ourselves stuck in traffic as soon as we leave the building. It's no problem though; we put this time to good use by chatting about pretty much anything. So this past Tuesday, we blabbed about the good old days that weren't so good - the days of panty hose. I can't recall the last time that I put those God-awful things on my gams but sure enough, I still have some in my drawer, way at the back, that I'm holding onto for a reason only known to my subconscious mind. Do drag queens even wear hosiery anymore? I doubt it.

We both recalled some specific things about "nylons" as we called them. My memories included always having to buy the "Queen" size with the "control top". Afterall, I wouldn't want my beer belly hanging out. And I generally went for the "reinforced toe" rather than the "sandalfoot" - less chance of getting a run. But oh what a drama if you did get a run in your stockings. You either had to try to do a major spackling job with clear nail polish or pray that you had stashed a spare pair in your desk drawer at work. Mrs. T. even knew of women who did the "double up". I had never heard of this but the idea is if you get a run in one leg of the panty hose, you cut that leg off. Then when another pair gets a run in just one leg, you cut that off too. You then can wear one leg from each pair. Why didn't I think of that?

I also had trouble with the panty hose color choices. Back when I actually wore them, I was a pretty tan chick. The "nude" color was way too white for me and the "suntan" color was really not so close either. I can't even imagine what my black co-workers did back then - I'm sure they weren't pleased with the suggestion that the "nude" color was something their naked skin even came close to resembling.

Nylons could also be tricky when you were in a hurry. Take for example the poor former co-worker of mine who high-tailed it from her front row seat at a wedding ceremony to make a quick trip to the restroom. Upon her return, she walked almost the entire length of the church sanctuary with her dress tucked into the back of her panty hose before someone flagged her down.

Almost worse than the panty hose themselves were the clothes and shoes that went along with them. Shoulder pads and high heels - need I say more? Oh wait, remember the "L'eggs" brand that some marketing genius decided to package in an egg-shaped container? Now, that's enough said.... well, besides "viva la business casual".

Don't fly away...

FIRST THINGS FIRST: HAPPY BIRTHDAY DOC. B.!!!!!!!!
We jogged in the Georgia heat for 43 minutes this morning - in honor of Doc. B.'s 43rd year on earth. We're usually off in cooler climates at this time of the year (such as Montana or Michigan). But since we have our trip to the Northeast planned for early September, here we are, enduring the sweltering temperatures while listening to the cicadas who clearly have no problem with this heat - just makes their tune louder it seems!

Okay, now to the planned post:

Last Sunday, the only semi-cool day we've had in what seems like months, I hung the second of my three hummingbird feeders. I've had one in the backyard for a couple of weeks and have enjoyed watching a playful pair dive bomb each other to get to the feeder first. Last year on my birthday, Doc.W., who works with Doc. B., gave me the pictured copper and glass globe feeder. When I was cleaning it out at the end of last season, I accidentally broke the tube where the feed comes out. But low and behold, there is a chemist in the family who has access to stuff like that back at the lab. So, how many Ph.D. chemists does it take to bend a glass tube to repair my broken one? It's my understanding that it took three. This included the company's analytical chemist, vice president and president. Well, there was at least input from all of them so the rumor goes.

So my original plan last Sunday was to hang the feeder and then lounge on the porch swing with an intention of finishing the current book I'm reading, "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert. I only got a chapter or two under my belt when the hummingbirds showed up to fight over the sugar and water mixture. Of course I couldn't let this moment pass -I carefully tip-toed back into the house to find the digital camera and get one of these cute little birdies on film - well, not film, but you know what I mean. I decided to give up on the book and just sit quietly to watch the hummingbirds. I was mesmerized like I always am when there are birds, but especially hummingbirds, in our yard.

It's been a week and I still haven't finished the book, but there are some very happy hummingbirds I've been able to enjoy instead - when we haven't been out celebrating Doc. B.'s birthday that is!

Get Your Mad On

Does it seem to you lately that more people than not are in some sort of a low grade depressive, angry state? It does to me. We have over two more years of George, we’ll probably have to endure another military draft by the time my nieces and nephews are 18, and World War III is likely in my lifetime sooner than later. What’s not to be mad about?

A friend admitted yesterday that he and his partner were just sick of everyone and they didn’t know what to do about it. They keep quoting Elaine from Seinfeld: "people, huh, they’re the worst".

And just pulling up today’s headlines make you wonder what the heck is going on in our mad, mad world:
"Crazy person stabs man to death"
"Standoff ends, man arrested in shower"
"Police taser naked man"
"McKinney aide scuffles with photographer"
And my personal favorite: George Bush saying that today’s airline terror plot is a stark reminder that we are at war. Does he really think we need a reminder?

As much as Cynthia McKinney drives me crazy, she does know how to get mad. I guess that’s what the therapist types call your "shadow self" – when someone’s actions bother you way too much, you need to look inside yourself to find out why. Cynthia is one of our Georgia congresswomen who just went down in voter flames. At her "concession rally", she was caught on camera singing along (albeit off key) with Pink's "Dear Mr. President". You gotta love that. After playing the Pink song, rather than giving a traditional concession speech, she took the opportunity to bust the chops of the POTUS (that’s secret service speak for President of the United States) regarding the war. Cynthia’s been quoted as saying "Ever since I came to Congress in 1992, there are those who have been trying to silence my voice. I've been told to 'sit down and shut up' over and over again. Well, I won't sit down and I won't shut up until the full and unvarnished truth is placed before the American people." My guess is that we’ll be hearing from her again soon. And frankly, I hope so; she's great blog fodder at a minimum. Cynthia's Swan Song

So I’ve been trying to pay better attention to what makes me mad and what I then do with that anger. This is going to be a long process since getting mad is not really something I do. Since being more attuned to this, what I noticed rather quickly is that I get annoyed an awful lot, but I don’t really get raging mad. If anyone ever asked me if I had anger issues, I would respond with a resounding "no". If I don’t get angry, I don’t have anger issues, do I?

I’m guessing it’s kind of a Midwestern thing – that old "keep your emotions to yourself" and the "if you can’t say something nice, don’t say it at all". One of the first things I noticed in moving to the south (after learning that a blessing is said before every meal, even if you are attending a work lunch function), is that we Yankees don’t know how to get mad. Southerners have a way of being able to smother their anger in pure Black Strap Molasses while still being direct. They have perfected the ability to call you a bitch to your face but then somehow lighten the blow by wrapping it up in a "bless your heart".

But for me, I doubt I’ll ever be the type to get angry right in someone’s face; it’s just not part of my DNA. So my challenge is to figure out a way to vent my anger, and more often my annoyances, in a personal way. To find a way to get rid of it so that it’s not all stuck inside eating at my stomach lining or splattered all over someone else in a fit of rage.

So I’ve been getting suggestions on how to do this. Here are a few of the ideas that have been floated:

• Go to the batting cages or the driving range and smack the life out of those softballs or golf balls
• Take up kick boxing or karate
• Spend an hour just writing all of my anger out on paper, uncensored, and then burn it
• Crank out some head-banging music and dance around until I tire myself out
• Go to big lots, purchase the cheapest set of glass dishes I can find, then go find an empty dumpster and smash them all to pieces one by one

Now that I have some ideas, I need to pick a couple and then plan for it. I’m leaning toward this combination: I write down my anger for an hour while listening to Metallica, Marilyn Manson and The Smashing Pumpkins, and I take occasional breaks from my writing to jump up and down in my own personal mosh pit. Don't those sound like healthy choices? Wouldn’t you like to be a fly on the wall and witness this?

I think I will need a "calm down" plan for what to do when this hour is over. I guess I better get more suggestions for that AND pick a day when poor Doc. B. won’t have to walk in on this!

I pretty much am my hair

kindergarten
5th or 6th grade
freshman/junior




India Arie - I Am Not My Hair



Well, okay, I'm not really my (covered up gray) hair. But today I am my teeth, my chipped front one that is. I'm taking a "vanity day", which is actually using up a sick day, so that I can go and wait at dentist Dr. Tom's office with high hopes that he can squeeze me in for a quick fix. Somehow I broke off a part of my tooth and it's been driving me crazy since Friday night. I pointed out the huge, gaping, crevice to a number of people over the weekend and then again at work yesterday. Every single person did that old line of "oh, it's not that bad; I wouldn't have even noticed it if you hadn't pointed it out." How anyone can not notice the fragment of enamel that is obviously missing from my coffee-stained pearly whites is beyond me. Maybe they were all just being nice. And since I appreciate nice, I guess I'll just leave it at that.

Have you heard the new song by India Arie called "I am not my hair"? If not, you can listen to a snippet by clicking on the link above. Here is a bit of her lyrics:

"Little girl with the press and curl
Age eight I got a Jheri curl
Thirteen I got a relaxer
I was a source of so much laughter
fifteen when it all broke off
Eighteen and went all natural
February two thousand and two
I went and did
What I had to do
Because it was time to change my life
To become the women that I am inside
Ninety-seven dreadlocks all gone
I looked in the mirror
For the first time and saw that HEY....

[Chorus]
I am not my hair
I am not this skin
I am not your expectations no no
I am not my hair
I am not this skin
I am a soul that lives within"

I think if I were to write a song, it would be called "I am not my glasses". Going through my old photos to find snapshots for this blog has been fun but boy have I had some funky spectacle lenses...I'll save that photo montage for another day - the pre-adult hair styles were enough for me today...

Up or Down?

Personally, I prefer it down when not in use, the toilet seat AND lid that is. And now it’s become a necessity in our home since our cat, Rumi, likes to get his morning gulp of water from the bathroom sink by jumping from the toilet to the vanity. I’m pretty sure his furry 20 pounds would swiftly sink to the bottom of the bowl if he were to miss the fact that the seat, or even just the lid, had accidentally been left in the upright position.

I’ve never understood why toilet seats and lids get left up in the first place? Please, if you have any insight on this, do share. What’s the big deal; you do your business and you close the lid, simple as that. Why do commodes even have lids if they weren’t meant to be closed?

Now I understand that people with dogs might leave the lid up for a different, perhaps legitimate, reason. A dog drinking out of the toilet is gross to me, but never having owned a dog, I can’t say that I wouldn’t give in and allow it if that’s what my sweet little puppy doggie wanted. Heck, I’m letting the dang cat drink from the bathroom sink faucet so who am I to talk about what’s gross.

I don’t watch a ton of television, but when it is on, I’m likely to end my channel surfing when I find a home improvement type show, usually something on HGTV. By the way, did I ever mention that my youngest sister’s house was featured on an episode of "Restore America"? She was interviewed, as were my parents, and I have it on tape if anyone ever wants to come over for some popcorn and a private viewing. Anyway, I had been noticing recently that when bathrooms are being filmed for television, the toilet seat and lids are always closed. Then, just as I got ready to write this, I saw a toilet with the lid up! It was on that HGTV show called "National Open House" where realtors in three different cities show you what you can get for $150,000 all the way up to $1 million. I can't recall now which city they were in but it was a young couple with no kids and a dog. Hmmm...now we're back to that dog topic again. I better get the "scoop" on a number of things before I let Doc. B. even think about getting us a puppy...

Speaking of toilets, have you ever had someone you didn't know come into your home and "use" your bathroom? We have. No, it wasn't some homeless person from off the street. They generally make use of any number of Porta-Johns that are scattered about the neighborhood due to the constant renovations. In fact, pretty much every Saturday morning, there is a bicycle parked at the outhouse across the street. Hey, being regular is important and when you gotta go, you gotta go. And that leads me back to my original point, strangers using your toilet when they gotta go. Ever since our house was renovated, we've had people asking to come in and see the work. Normally I just love it when that happens and am thrilled to share the great job our contractors pulled off. Well, one couple tracked down our phone number after seeing a magazine article about the work that Small Carpenters at Large did on our home. The couple only lived about a half mile away and they were fixing up their kitchen. They were particularly interested in seeing our kitchen cabinets, so we arranged for them to stop by on a Saturday morning. Right about the time they were due to show up, we see a couple with a CHILD AND A BABY STROLLER walking up to the house. They never said anything about their ADD, ADHD, not yet Ritalin-laced, six year old Indigo Child, let alone a baby. I faked a smile and invited them in for the tour. Finally, after the six year old had put his hands all over one two many things, including the last straw, the dad became a mind reader and decided to take the kids out to the front porch while the mother finished looking at the kitchen. So, while we're standing there admiring the craftsmanship, the mother puts her hand on her stomach and says, "oh my, I must have eaten something at breakfast that didn't agree with me; could I use your bathroom". Well, what was I going to say - "no, go across the street and use that Porta John"? Needless to say, the home tour ended shortly after she emerged from the restroom reporting that she was feeling much better.

Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for doing business with Doc. B. and me. As you prepare yourselves for flushing, please also remember to return your toilet seat and lid to the downright position. Flotation devices sold separately (okay, this last part was my inner ten year old boy coming out to play - too much talk of children I guess).

Primary Voter Guilt

From the title of today’s entry, you might think that I did not vote in the Georgia Primary today. Actually, I did vote, but my guilt is coming from how I treated the little old lady who was checking my identification at the precinct. But I’ll get to that in a moment.

Doc. B. and I started the morning by getting on the Georgia Equality Project website so that we could get advice on who should get our votes. We were surprised to discover that the recommendation was to vote in every category except governor. The idea was to make our voices heard by skipping the vote for governor, whether you are republican or democrat. By showing that there were multiple votes cast for others on the ballot, but not for governor, the hope was that this would show them that they can’t just take our votes for granted. The three frontrunners (the republican incumbent and the two democratic challengers) have basically the same stance on "our" issues, so this was touted as a way to initiate a response from, and subsequent conversation with, the winner.

I should also let you know that there has been a big concern here in Georgia about a proposed picture ID requirement in order to vote. From my days back at the local community action agency, I know how difficult it is to even get a voter registration card for a low income or elderly person let alone get them an ID card with a picture on it. If they don’t drive, why on earth would they need a photo identification card that costs them cash money? At least the voter registration card itself is free and the registration forms can be hand-delivered to a person’s home. For voting in Georgia, the bottom line has always been that if you have registered to vote, all you have to do on Election Day is to show any one of 17 different forms of identification (listed below). There is no requirement for a photo though some of the forms of identification happen to include a photo.

So we made our way to the neighborhood Baptist church to vote. Does anyone else find irony in that? Just so you know, this is a cool Baptist church that withdrew from the Southern Baptist Convention. Anyway, when I got to the point in the voting process where I had to produce identification, I glanced down at the rather long list of acceptable items that was taped to the desk in front of me and that had been printed using a font so large that a legally blind person was likely able to read it. On a whim, with no planning whatsoever, I decided to present my United States Government issued picture ID card. When I handed it to the polling worker, she said "what’s this?" I said, "It’s my government ID; it’s number four on the list, right here" and I pointed right to it. She said, "but it doesn’t have your address on it". I said, "I don't think passports have addresses on them. Many of the items on this list don’t have addresses on them." She seemed flustered so I reached into my pocket and handed her my driver’s license. She seemed relieved. I felt bad for giving her a hard time. And to make it worse, as I was handing her my drivers license, she kept saying "your're so right, you're so right", just like I'm sure she was trained to do. But can you even imagine what would have happened if I had decided to present, say, my Georgia License to carry a pistol (number seven on the list below) or even better, a certified copy of court records showing I had undergone a sex change (lucky number 13 below)?

*NOTE: just for the record, I have neither of these latter two items – they were just being used as examples.

So now we wait. I've gone to my evening yoga class and am ready to sit up and watch the voting results. Or better still, perhaps I'll just go on to bed and read about it in the morning...

Direct from the Georgia Secretary of State Website
“Voting on Election Day
When you arrive at your polling place, you will complete a voter's certificate which asks for your name and residence address. You will then present the certificate and proper identification to the poll officials who will verify that you are a registered voter in that precinct by checking the voters list for that precinct. Voters are required to present identification at their polling place prior to casting their ballot. Proper identification shall consist of any one of the following:
(1) A valid Georgia driver's license;
(2) A valid identification card issued by a branch, department, agency, or entity of the State of Georgia, any other state, or the United States authorized by law to issue personal identification;
(3) A valid United States passport;
(4) A valid employee identification card containing a photograph of the elector and issued by any branch, department, agency, or entity of the United States government, this state, or any county, municipality, board, authority, or other entity of this state;
(5) A valid employee identification card containing a photograph of the elector and issued by any employer of the elector in the ordinary course of such employer’s business;
(6) A valid student identification card containing a photograph of the elector from any public or private college, university, or postgraduate technical or professional school located within the State of Georgia;
(7) A valid Georgia license to carry a pistol or revolver;
(8) A valid pilot's license issued by the Federal Aviation Administration or other authorized agency of the United States;
(9) A valid United States military identification card;
(10) A certified copy of the elector's birth certificate;
(11) A valid social security card;
(12) Certified naturalization documentation;
(13) A certified copy of court records showing adoption, name, or sex change;
(14) A current utility bill, or a legible copy thereof, showing the name and address of the elector;
(15) A bank statement, or a legible copy thereof, showing the name and address of the elector;
(16) A government check or paycheck, or a legible copy thereof, showing the name and address of the elector; or
(17) A government document, or a legible copy thereof, showing the name and address of the elector.
If an elector is unable to produce any of the items of identification listed, he or she shall sign a statement under oath swearing or affirming that he or she is the person identified on the elector's voter certificate.”

Top Four

The other day during lunch, my co-workers and I were sidetracked by that standard "been out drinking too much" game of "who's on your top 5 list?". Since it was a work day we weren't drinking of course, but the game surfaced nonetheless. For those of you not familiar with the rules, you make up a wish list of famous people for whom you'd drop everything. And since the liklihood of that happening is less than your chances of winning the lottery, there's no harm in this game. The people that make your list are there because you think they're attractive, you admire them for some reason or you just plain think they're cool. The list can change daily and it can only include people with celebrity status. For example, you can't put your best friend's husband on your top five list, that just wouldn't be right. Well, unless your name is Denise Richards and your best friend is Heather Locklear, whose husband is Richie Sambora. Wait a minute, I'm not sure how this game works if all parties involved are already celebrities?

I'll call mine the top four list because I can usually come up with at least 2 men and 2 women who would be on it. While my list members are generally in no particular order, I always put Sela Ward at the top. And Tom Cruise is almost always on my list even if he did put foot prints on Oprah's couch and name his first born "Suri". After all, what's not to love about a man who slid into every young girl's living room, in his underwear, to the tune of Bob Segar's "Old Time Rock and Roll". And then of course there was that seen he had with Rebecca de Mornay on the Chicago EL in which we were all introduced to Tangerine Dream's "Love on a Real Train", but I won't digress.

As for Sela Ward, I've always thought she was classy ever since she played "Teddy" on the television show "Sisters". She'll pop up on a show every so often and I was pleased to see her with a recurring role on one of my new favorite dramas, "House". Synchronicitously, when I was looking for photos of Sela to place on the blog, I read her bio and discovered she has the same birthday as my dad, lucky 7/11. All the more reason to put her in the number one spot.

The rest of my list changes regularly. Today, it's Ashley Judd and J.D. Fortune. Ashley is of course the sister of Wynonna and the daughter of Naomi. I just loved her in "The Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood" and she pops up on my list frequently. A newcomer to my list is J.D. Fortune. He is the new lead singer for the band "INXS" and he won this role on a reality television show - how cool is that. But he's got an awesome voice and I'm hooked on his song "Afterglow" right now - so that's why he's on the list at this moment.

Who's on your list?

No Crying in Baseball

David Beckham crying?









One of my favorite lines from a movie comes from "A League of Their Own" when Tom Hanks' character says to one of the female baseball players "Are you crying? Are you crying? There's no crying in baseball!"

But there is crying in soccer. The World Cup has been cause for tears.

Today is the final game of the World Cup. Host country, Germany, closed out the event with a third place finish and today, Italy takes on France to determine who is the best soccer team in the world. Unlike American baseball's "World Series", soccer's World Cup is actually country vs. country. But have any of my numerous readers watched any of the World Cup games? My guess is probably not. Soccer just isn't as popular in the U.S. as it is around the world. I've only watched some of the games and that's because our friends, Mr. and Mrs. T., are really into it. Mrs. T. and I work together and several times over the past few weeks, she has rounded up a bunch of her co-workers to join her at CNN's Jock's and Jill's for lunch-time soccer games. It was fun, but thank goodness the World Cup ends today. My gut has clearly been overstuffed with nachos, chicken wings and buffalo bites.

I'm curious as to why soccer hasn't gained huge popularity here in the U.S. yet? I don't know about you , but I see those soccer ball stickers on Caravan after Voyager after Odyssey on a daily basis. Soccer moms with minivans have become ubiquitous vehicles on the Atlanta area roads. But still, soccer is not as big as football, baseball and basketball. Shoot, even breakfast at Wimbledon this morning will probably draw more viewers than the World Cup finals.

Here's my theory. I think we American's like action. When a World Cup soccer game can end in a zero to zero tie - what's exciting about that? No one has even scored and the game is over? That makes no sense to us competative Americans who at least want a sudden death to the finish. We want high scoring games with a clear winner when it's all said and done. And we don't want crying unless it's tears of joy. We only want to see wet eyes when the trophy is being held high above the MVP's head and he's thanking God for making it all possible.

Diamonds and Firewood

frooglephotos





Nope, not ebony and ivory, but rather diamonds and firewood. That describes Doc. B. and me this weekend (and most days?). Doc. B. is off on a camping trip today while I’m meeting my social worker friend at Solomon Brothers to have my ring and Doc. B.’s grandmother’s ring checked and cleaned. While I’m doing that, social worker will be taking in the view from the 17th floor of Tower Place in Buckhead. Oh, and she’ll be looking for an engagement ring to which she hopes to direct her boyfriend.

Doc. B. is checking out campsites and fly-fishing opportunities just outside of Asheville, NC in the Pisgah National Forest. If she finds some good places, I may actually leave my diamonds at home and go sit round’ the campfire with her. We both love Asheville and could even see ourselves living and/or retiring there some day. It’s like a small, combined version of all of the cool places in and around Atlanta (Little Five Points, Decatur, Emory Village, etc…). You may recall that one of my very first blog entries referenced the Grove Park Inn. If you’ve never been to Asheville, visiting the Grove Park is reason enough to go. It was built in 1913, during the heyday of the Arts and Crafts movement. And I’m not talking about finger painting and scrap booking. I’m talking about bungalows, natural colors, Morris chairs, inglenooks, Elbert Hubbard and fine craftsmanship. In fact, the Grove Park Inn hosts the Annual Arts and Crafts Conference every February and 2007 will mark the 20th year. What about the Biltmore Estate you ask? Yes, it too is in Asheville and is of course beyond amazingly beautiful. But the comfortable feeling of the arts and crafts era is more my speed and perhaps more my nature.

So, while I’m hanging out at the jewelry joint, Doc. B. will be collecting her firewood for the evening. Hope she’s able to relax and enjoy her communing with nature knowing that I’ll be amid millions of dollars of diamonds with a credit card in my purse.

Pop's day!

Dad and me on the shores of Lake Michigan
The farm house and barn where my Dad grew up
Dad's first school?







Happy Father's day Dad! I bet you weren't expecting this given the tribute to Mom at Mother's day? Hope you are back safe and sound from Hosta College?

Whereas I opined that my Mom didn't particularly care for Mother's day, I think my Dad rather enjoys Father's day. And I'm glad he does because his children like to shower him with annoying attention on his special day - we particularly like to send him funny cards. I mailed him a card many years ago that, on the cover, had a cartoon dog doing a tightrope walk act. On the inside, it said something like "who says you can't teach an old dog new tricks". In good form, Dad gave it back to me for my birthday one year. He's good about recycling, or regifting if you want to call it that. Some might call him a cheapskate, but I'd say he simply developed some creative money saving techniques just trying to get four kids through college. Now he's got four kids with not only college degrees, but graduate degrees - and I know he's proud. He even helped get us all to some great schools: Michigan State (where Dad met Mom), Notre Dame, Western Michigan and the University of Michigan.

But back to teaching an old dog new tricks - I must say that Dad has been a master at reusing old tricks. But, he's also been open to learning new ones. I know this first hand from being the first born. I experienced his inaugeral attempts many times over. You might think this was a bad thing - but it wasn't necessarily always a negative. Take for example his first shot at coaching basketball. I was in fifth grade and the only girl on the team. He coached us to a complete losing season, but thanks to his positive attitude and ever changing tricks, I stuck with basketball and ended up as an honorable mention player on a team that was second in the state my senior year of high school.

And speaking of athletics, Dad's just always been a good sport. Like when I was in grade school and he would put the top down on the Mustang convertable because that's what I wanted. It didn't matter that we lived in Minnesota and that it was cold out, or that I had a blanket wrapped around me. Oh, and one of his great old tricks, that he's reusing with his grandkids now, is the candy in the glove compartment trick. It's a great way to get your oldest grandson to go to the lumber yard with you three or four times while you are building a tree house. A young kid is much more likely to get back in the car to run errands with you if there is red licorice or circus peanuts to be found hidden in the vehicle.

Dad was also a television star. When I was a kid, Dad had to attend meetings several nights per week because of his job. Many of the meetings were televised. So even though he wasn't always home for dinner, we were able to watch him on cable access t.v.

And Dad is also a gourmet cook. His specialties are popcorn, omelets and anything that one can throw together in a microwave.

But I think Dad's best examples of learning new tricks can be found in his acceptance and support of me, Doc B., our life, the things I've wanted to do, who I've wanted to be, and who I ultimately am. Happy Father's day Pops! I love you!

June Cubed

Hosta June
Hosta June again
house finch nest












It's June 13, and for my family, this day could be called June cubed. It's the month of "June" and everyone in my family has a Hosta by the name of "June" in memory of my grandma "June" whose birthday it would have been today. The first two photos above are from the backyard garden that Doc B. has so wonderfully tended. Me, I'm just the water girl. It's part of my morning routine to get up and exercise and then quench the thirst of the potted plants while I take care of my own fluids with black coffee. Happy birthday sweet grandma June, wherever you are...

The other picture above is of a house finch nest built behind a mini, non-functional "see rock city" birdhouse. It's not really a birdhouse, it's more of a Christmas tree ornament - my baby sister gave it to us as a gift. We set it in a corner of our upper porch and the finches decided to do their version of an Amish barn raising.

So, speaking of birds and plants and watering, PLEASE add this movie to your "must see" list: An Inconvenient Truth. It's about global warming. I know, sounds really boring, right? It's not. It's one of those movies that will force you to consider the way you use/abuse our planet - perhaps without even knowing that what you are doing is a problem. Al Gore is the star of the show, it's his baby. But even if you can't stand Al one little bit, and even if you didn't vote for him like I did, you just can't ignore the facts presented in this movie. As my neighbor put it, it's a big powerpoint presentation. Yes, that's partly true, but it also puts global warming into understandable terms and makes you want to adjust your actions. If you do nothing else, please go to the movie's website and click on "take action". This will outline the most basic things that each of us can do to make a difference before my nieces and nephews have to deal with the repercussions. We are that close, possibly within ten years, to some major environmental tragedies. If global warming keeps going along at its current pace, our politicians will have no time to argue about gay marriage, abortion, stem cell research and the sex lives of our presidents... So perhaps we could just stop arguing about all of that right now?

We were pleasantly surprised to see that we are already doing many of the things on the "take action" list. But, we can do more; we all can do more, no matter how "inconvenient".

Here's what Doc B. and I are doing since seeing the movie less than 48 hours ago:
* actually using our programmable thermostat.
* dialing that thermostat up 2 degrees for the summer.
* switching out more regular lightbulbs with the fluorescent kind.
* making a heating and air conditioning filter swap calendar.
* totally unplugging electrical devices when we can, and for sure turning them off when we aren't using them.
* when our current potted plants die, we won't replace them - saves on watering.
* writing to our mayor to find out why our city, Decatur, has not signed the U.S. Mayors Climate Protection Agreement. Atlanta's mayor, Shirley Franklin, has signed. If you've not heard of Shirley Franklin, you will. I'd bet good Vegas money on her future national political career. My family will be glad to know that Ann Arbor, Michigan has signed on as well. Shoot, even Gary, IN has signed on.
* and the biggie - Doc. B. took MARTA yesterday for as much of her normal car ride as the Metro Atlanta light rail system would allow. Her morning drives have become about an hour and a half long. So what she did was drive all the way to work yesterday but then on the way home in the evening, she left her car at the northern-most MARTA station. She then rode the train all the way to a MARTA stop that is a ten minute walk to our house. This morning, we'll both walk up to MARTA and I'll get off at my usual stop while she transfers from the east/west rail line to the north/south rail line. She'll ride back up to her car and finish the drive to work. We are both anxious to see how much money this saves and if it will even save her some commute time. We'll keep you posted.

Good luck to all of us on this...

Happy Birthday 6/6/06ers!

PHOTOS COURTESY OF: Worldbridges.com, moviemarket.com and Starpulse.com (Janet Mayer)

Why on earth would I place a picture of The Dalai Lama anywhere near snapshots of Sandra Bernhard and Bjorn Borg? Because they were all born on June 6. I held back on including photos of Harvey Fierstein, Robert Englund (the guy who plays Freddy Kreuger) and Gary "US" Bonds. While all of these famous people were born on 6/6, none of them have the claim to fame of being born on 6/6/66 like my brother. Happy 40th birthday, Bro. Perhaps you'll treat yourself to a movie on your big day? I'd recommend "The Omen" remake? Well, either that or "Over The Hedge" since it's real close to that old saying "over the hill".

In case you had never researched this before, I thought you might like to know what was going on at the time of your birth:

*Lyndon Johnson was president and Hubert Humphrey was VP,
*Gas was .32 cents per gallon,
*the average household income was $8395/year and the DOW was at 786,
*Star Trek was in its first year,
*Hot Wheels were introduced, not to mention a battery operated Batmobile,
*Elizabeth Taylorwon best actress for "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" - by the way, if you've not seen this movie, I would highly recommend it,
*Top songs included the Monkees "I'm a Believer" and "Wild Thing" by the Troggs, and
*Claus Von Bulow married Sunny Crawford

Oh Brother, I hope you have a great day! Welcome to the club!

Memorable Memorial Day

I'm still in fun mode from the great long weekend Doc B. and I had and now it’s Friday again.

World travelers and spontaneity freaks won't think there is anything special about our weekend but it was right up my alley. It was a nice mixture of home time and social activities. Here's the scoop if you'll indulge me while I write my "what I did over summer vacation" version of Memorial Day.

We started off Friday evening with a pay per view movie. What a great invention by the way. You check to see if there are any movies on at the time that you want to watch, hook up a phone cord between your Dish receiver and a telephone jack, and voila, you are watching a movie. The charge miraculously appears on your next billing statement and is the same price as a DVD rental at Blockbuster. Now, if I could only figure out a way to have my dad’s famous popcorn come through that same phone line? So, what movie did we select? It was between "King Kong", that was 3 ½ stars but also 3 ½ hours long, or "Memoirs of a Geisha", that only got 3 stars but was just 2 hours long. Since my friend Matthew says that "Memoirs of a Geisha" is his life story, that’s the one we picked. Well, actually we picked it because it would be over by 10:00PM, just slightly later than our bedtime. Since it was a holiday weekend, we figured we could lose the sleep. Little did we know that would become the trend for the following few days.

Saturday we hit the new Lowe’s for some plants and spent the day in the yard. That evening we went to an early cook out at a friend’s house and then joined our neighbors at the Starlight Drive-In movie theater for a double feature. None of us really cared what the movies were, we just wanted to go sit out in the open air, eat really salty popcorn, drink beer, and watch a couple of shows. I think the last time I went to a drive-in was about ten years ago with my middle sister and her husband. I don’t recall what the movie was, but I do remember we enjoyed sharing a bottle of Hot Damn. Once again, an alcohol theme emerges. The first drive-in movie I ever went to was back in the 70’s. The movie was "Saturday Night Fever" and as I recall, we were on a family vacation out west. We all just piled on top of the van to enjoy the show.

Anyway, the movies we watched this time were "Poseidon" and "An American Haunting". I was only eight when Shelley Winters won best supporting actress for the 1972 original "Poseidon Adventure", but I did later see the movie. This updated version was no match for the original, especially with Josh Lucas thinking he was Matthew McConaughey (who, by the way, has broken up with Penelope Cruz and can be seen jogging the streets of Atlanta while he’s here filming a movie), Richard Dreyfuss trying to play a gay man, and Freddy Rodriquez (one of my favorite "Six Feet Under" characters) getting killed off early. And "An American Haunting" also left much to be desired, but it did have some big names in it – Sissy Spacek and Donald Sutherland. The movie was an early 1800’s ghost story. And what is it with Sissy Spacek and scary movies? Try saying that fast three times. First she’s the telekinetic heroine of my namesake’s movie, "Carrie", and then she joins in for "The Ring Two". I think she was also in that movie called "In the Bedroom"? But scariest of all was for sure "Coal Miner’s Daughter". We didn’t get home from the double feature until 1:00AM – closer to our usual wake up time than our go to sleep time.

Sunday we again spent the day in the yard. That evening we went to our favorite Atlanta concert venue, Chastain, an outdoor amphitheatre. A friend of ours is connected with Chastain’s ticket sales and had recruited us a few weeks ago to help out with the phone lines. We blatantly hinted around that some free tickets would never be turned down. Low and behold, we got an e-mail that there would be two free tickets waiting for us at will-call to see "Jewel". We had no idea where the seats would be, we were just thrilled to get to go. We packed our picnic basket with snacks and vino, headed to the ticket window and were pleasantly surprised to find our tickets were in Row B – the best seats we’ve ever had at Chastain. We were so close, that we didn’t even need our binoculars to see that Jewel had in fact had her teeth fixed. I’m not a huge Jewel fan, but I do like her music and have some of her CD’s. She did an amazingly good show and was very funny. She at one point admitted that she knows we all think she sometimes sings like Kermit the Frog, but that she didn’t care because it’s worked out well for her financially. At one point, a guy in the crowd yelled out "I LIKE YOUR DRESS" and she replied, without missing a beat, "I LIKE YOU DRINKING BEER". And at 11:00PM, when Chastain has to turn off the sound system because they are located in a residential area, Jewel was still yodeling. On our way home, we stopped for a slice of pizza and didn’t get home until after midnight…again.

Monday was yet another work in the yard day followed by dinner at Kali's house (nickname not changed as she has nothing to hide). Kali prepared some superb chicken on the barbie, not to be confused with chicken on the ken. After a very pleasant dinner, we made our way home at, finally, a reasonable hour.