To Ponder, To Chortle, To Weep

The Last Few Thanksgivings

2010-11-25T18:15:00.000-05:00

Every Thanksgiving I think about how the natives gave so much to us and what we gave them in return. But that's too heavy for tonight.

Last Thanksgiving I had a fractured hip. Rob stocked up on Burritos and movies, and we had a nice day. I did keep calling my family. It was strange not being with them.

The night before Thanksgiving the year before Rob called me when he got to work in a panic. McDonald's is closed on Thanksgiving, and we didn't know it. Houston, we have a problem. You see, we were taking care of Uncle Donald at the time and Rob took him biscuits and gravy from McD's every morning with his medications. It was the only thing he would eat in the morning. So I thought about it and called Rob back. He got permission to take an order of biscuits and gravy from the Casino (normally not allowed), and when he got home I switched them into a McDonald's breakfast container I had saved for leftovers and put coffee in a McD's cup. One bite and our clever deception was (how do I say this politely, Donald didn't) exposed. One bite! And my coffee did not me McD's standards but was palatable with enough sugar. The gravy had a "wang to it." The little things we remember with a smile. May love surround you and your friends and family.

Unpredictable Memory Treasures?

2010-11-23T10:52:00.000-05:00

Both Rob and I have always worked with the public. And our ten year marriage has taken us down roads we never even knew were on the map. However, it hit me the other night that it's the memories and stories we have that are the essence of our life. And when I'm sittin' in the old rocker with some young thing pretending to listen to me, it's her loss. So, I'll tell you a short story just for the fun of it.

Rob works as a security guard. He got a call from the hotel saying that there was a man running around the 12th floor in his underwear. So he and another guard went to check things out. They looked and looked, but couldn't find anyone. Finally a man stuck his head out of the door of his room and pointed down the hallway. Rob and Jeremy went to check it out, and sure enough, there was a man in his underwear curled up beside the soft drink machine passed out. Rob and Jeremy finally succeeded in getting him to come to and asked his room number. No one in the room would answer the door. They went back to him and he came to enough to say "It's okay. I'll just sleep here." Rob then said to him "Sir, you're in public place with only your underwear on." While this didn't phase the gentleman, Rob thought to himself, "Well those are words I never thought I'd say!" So Boxer Joe (as he was named by the staff) is now a part of our history. Now there's something I never thought I'd be saying!

The Inevitable Question

2010-11-22T18:38:00.000-05:00

My sister, Donna, was the first to ask. "Do you have anything you want to put on your Christmas list?" Actually I had an answer. Earrings. The last few weeks I've lost three pairs. She told me Mom wants to get Rob and I something really nice. I told her a '92 Toyota 4Runner with a J22 engine would be fit the bill. She thought maybe we might get a Matchbox one. Smart mouth. But the question opened up that brain void of what to get for everyone. Of course the five catalogs being stuffed in my mailbox might be of some help. And then there's the delightful commercials for sales to come that should stimulate my creativity. But it seems that we should be asking each other what do we really need. You could count on a silent room in response to that. All we need is each other.

Presents are part of the tradition. Personally I am a ripper. Yep, rip that baby open and let me at it. We all open our presents at the same time so it's chaos. Lyla will be 5 months old by then. She'll get a kick out of that. But I really don't know my families tastes anymore. I don't know what they have and don't have. We all do things for others in need, but we just can't kick that present tradition. So I guess we pick it out, wrap it up (Kristin volunteered to do all the wrapping this year. HA) Seriously, she's a pro! Robert comes in second. I just slap on some paper and tape. I'm told my I inherited that trait from my mother's mother.

Personally I'm tired of holidays, all of them of every culture, religion, and those that honor people. We've commercialized the meaning out of them. But I think this Christmas will be different. They'll be a new little personality bringing joy to the celebration. Oh no, what do I get Lyla Joy?????

Sparks Flying Sparks Dying

2010-11-07T18:02:00.000-05:00

It was a week of quiet tears in the world of sports. The famous Breeder's Cup Race, held at Churchill Downs this year, had an incident never seen in the prestigious world of horse racing, the sport of kings. Two jockeys had a very close call during the race and blows were exchanged later. I guess you could say that we saw an example of turf rage. I really don't like watching horse races though I love the tradition and the beauty of a thoroughbred cannot be matched. But the truth is, the lives of both jockey and animal are on the line, and we've seen the tragedies too many times. Then came the final race with the big girl, Zanyatta. She had raced nineteen times and won nineteen times only to nosed out at the finish line of her twentieth and last competition. This horse was beyond exceptional. You felt her personality as soon as you saw her. I heard that every time she won she was rewarded with a Guinness. I knew a lady who was part owner of a racehorse. They gave the horse a glazed donut when she won. One race she (the horse) had run her heart out, but came in second. They tried to give her the victory donut, but she wouldn't eat it. My guess is Zanyatta refused her brew too. It was a heartbreaking end to an historic career. I really don't think this champion is going to be happy in forced retirement.

Earlier in the week, was both the tragedy and blessing of the death of Sparky Anderson. Cincinnati was honored to have him grace Riverfront Stadium for as long as he did. His dementia was a walking death, but the actual passing of this beloved man still brought grief to so many people. As members of the Big Red Machine and the media told us antidotes of his life, if was with tears in their eyes. We thank you for the memories, Sparky. We thank you for your humor, your talent, and, something I had really never thought of before-- making a family out of a big bunch of talented, spoiled men living out their childhood dreams playing pro ball. You were loved and are a part of all those men whose characters you helped to mold. I know you are at peace now, and, hopefully, you found good ballgame going on. Do the benches ever empty in heavenly games? Whatever, you're an eternal part of Red's history, and your name will always bring a smile to our faces. I know other teams had you for a time, but you chose to come back to Cincy to be buried. For that too, we are honored. So long, Sparky, see you in a couple of seasons.

Dear Mr. President:

2010-11-03T17:53:00.002-04:00

Sir:
Thank you for the dignity and humility you showed in your address to the nation this afternoon. You must have had a long restless night wondering if the outcome of the election was your fault. It wasn't.

I trust you when you say you will work with the new Congress in every way you can. I was awed that you said there were issues that you would not compromise on no matter what.

Sir, I mean this sincerely. Your health and happiness are of greater concern to me than the work you are doing. Have you noticed the number of people willing to step into your shoes? Please note that I'm not saying able, just willing. Democracies don't die, they just fade away; eroded by storms of selfishness, greed and self-righteousness decade after decade until they no longer exist.

You are a young man with a lovely family. It would grieve me, but if you decide not to run for another term, your loyal followers will understand. You are cordially invited to join an ever growing entourage making plans for an extended vacation in Canada. But, before you make any big decisions concerning your future, do you have any influence you can exert to get Pete Rose in the Hall of Fame?

With gratitude and respect to you and all your family. Peggy in Indiana

This Day Too Shall Pass

2010-11-02T10:02:00.000-04:00

When we wake tomorrow, the American people will have spoken. Either our new elected officials will help President Obama continue to put his agenda in place, or they will further block him. Whichever, it is the will of the majority. I will exercise my right to vote today. I will continue to let the elected officials who represent me know my opinion. But whoever is elected, I will address them with respect. I will criticize policies I disagree with in a respectful manner. It is my way of respecting the country I live in.

But tomorrow I'm focusing on an important issue: Getting Pete Rose into the Hall of Fame during his lifetime. Yes, he broke the rules. But did it affect the outcome of any game. I don't think so! Show me a clip of a game where he didn't put every ounce of energy into every play. Show me a clip of him standing at home plate waiting to see if a ball goes foul before taking off toward first base. Can we continue to ignore his dedication and love of the game. Can we continue to pretend that the odds of anyone besting his hit record is close to an impossibility.

Yes, that's going to be my most serious concern. Hang on, Charlie Hustle, I'm on the way!

Thanking Your God

2010-09-26T18:35:00.000-04:00

Today I am thanking "my" God for the beautiful weather.
Today I am thanking "my" God that a young woman is out of pain and safely back at the feet of the master.
Today I am thanking "my" God that I don't have the emotional turmoil and insecurities of my cousin-in-law which are tearing the family apart.
Today I am thanking "my" God that when Donald fell last night someone was right there to help him. He's fine. He just has a cut on his forehead and some rug burns.
Today I am thanking "my" God for leading me to the man I married who knows that tears and anger are temporary and the real me is only moments away.
Today I am thanking "my" God for my friends.
Today I am thanking "my" God for the soft skin of Lyla Joy and the soft skin of my mother.
Today I am sad, but thankful.
Today "my God" is very busy with others who need him so much. May he help them find peace in their hearts.

A Story Retold

2010-09-22T19:37:00.000-04:00

Last night after my husband got up to get ready to go to work, he told me a story he had just heard on NPR. I thought I'd try to pass it along, although I know I cannot do it justice.

There was a man whose life dream had been to explore the Himalayas. He finally gathered the money and arranged for a guide to take him where tourists rarely go. After they had been traveling about a week, the guide asked him if he would like to visit the village where he was raised and still considered his home. The man enthusiastically accepted, thanking him for the offer.

As they approached the guide's village, people began to gather, excited and in awe of this stranger coming to their humble dwellings. The guide explained that they had never seen "a white one." They smiled and welcomed him with bows. After they relaxed a little, they touched his high tech clothing which was like a miracle to them. The children were equally fascinated (and amused) by his beard. Men in this village didn't grow facial hair.

The largest house belonged to the guide's grandparents. They were welcomed there and a place was made for their belongings. When he was told he would sleep on the grandfather's mat, be refused. But the guide shook his head and accepted on his behalf. It would have been rude to refuse.

After the bedlam of his arrival passed, he found he had time to go explore the area. Soon he found himself on the edge of a cliff, gazing into the mountains as the most glorious sunset made its final exit. He realized that he had just experienced the most glorious and most sacred moment life could give him.

Returning to the village he found dinner had been prepared. Previously he had offered to contribute food knowing how poor the people of the village were. Of course, that was refused. Family and friends gathered on benches to eat as he was presented with the only chair in the house with a hand-woven cushion and extra pillow. He was feeling uncomfortable with all the attention he was receiving. The grandmother served his dinner first, bringing him a tray for his lap filled with food. As he looked down at the generous amounts of rice and vegetables on the tray, he realized there was a chicken wing and thigh. Tears filled his eyes as he thought of the value of the chicken they had sacrificed for this meal.

Unconsciously, he crossed his legs and the entire tray filled with what was probably a month's worth of food tumbled onto the dirt floor. He was horrified. Seeing his distress, the grandfather came to him, rubbing his shoulders and telling him (symbolically) that it was okay. The others in the room smiled at him, nodding their acceptance, telling him with their eyes all was well. It was at that point he realized that not only had his eyes seen the most wondrous sight, his heart was receiving the simplest and most pure love that he would ever receive. His life desire brought him to this unknown place where civilization was truly civilized.

My True Destiny (Continued)

2010-09-18T19:17:00.001-04:00

To enjoy tonight's saga of my preordained life, you need to read the blog entry from yesterday. More has gone awry, I'm afraid. And it's almost created disharmony on the home front.

Yesterday we received an e-mail from PayPal saying that Jessica's bank had refused to pay and the money was removed from our PayPal account while PayPal investigated. To be certain you understand, PayPal e-mailed us that the transaction was complete Thursday. I packed the box and off it went. Then PayPal puts the payment on hold yesterday, and the box of dolls in somewhere between here and Wisconsin.

It didn't seem like a big deal to me. If Jessica just got married like she says there could have been an overlap when she closed her checking account. It shouldn't have happened, but, stuff does. Rob is convinced we've been scammed. I found myself defending Jessica like she was a personal friend. He's saying things like "We'll take Vitto on a little trip north and handle this." That Hoosier paranoia that everyone is out to get you! I guess you can't avoid it if you live here long enough. Since I'll be leaving the country if Sarah Palin doesn't go away real soon, I think I can fend it off for a while longer.

Here's the e-mail I just received from Jessica this evening:

Oh my goodness this is frustrating....and extremely embarassing!!My last name when I opened the paypal account was Olmstead.I have banked with Wells Fargo for years and never had a problem not changing my paypal account name.I now bank with a small credit union, and I suppose that they probably saw the different last name and thought it was fishy.I have had 4 different last names since I've had this account, and I've not had a problem.I called the 1-800 # on the back of my card, but they keep true bank hours, so Ill have to go in on Monday.I just got home from work and I see the box you sent on my porch!!Ugh, I feel like such a jerk!!I'm so so sorry, and I assure you I am not a schmuck trying to get out of paying you.I will get this mess straightened out.Thanks for keeping me up-to-date on your end.I will continue to do the same.Thanks, Jessica Schockmel (first Olmstead, then Rath Miller-my mom and step-dad's last names, then Groves-1st marriage....and

> now Schockmel)

My money is still on Jessica. [Stop laughing!] I guess I should word that differently since she not only has my money, she has my dolls. My visuals on her have altered a bit. Or is some complete nut case keeping up this charade and laughing his or her head off. I need to be right on this one. You see, if Rob's right he would never say "I told you so" but I'd sure be hearing it in my head! And, just so you know, we don't use Vitto on anything under $100....

My True Destiny

2010-09-16T20:30:00.000-04:00

Some of you may remember the heart rending e-mail I received when we were selling the Avenger 1 No. 1 comic book on eBay. The gentleman begged me to sell it to him at X dollars. It was his life's dream to own it. He would treasure it always. Well, I met the sweetest young lady buying some dolls from us. What follows is the fourth e-mail she sent within 20 minutes. I didn't see them until about an hour after she sent them. It's so strange, but these people I'm "meeting" are so real to me. I can picture them, imagine their life stories. I can't stop the visualizations.

Introducing Jessica.

I really apologize for this mix up and I hope we can fix it.I was trying to change my account and then pay for this on my phone--which I have never tried to do before--and it was a shorter process, and didn't allow me to choose the payment account or let me get to the part where I could see if the insurance had been added.it took the payment from an account that doesn't exist anymore.Is it possible to re-send an invoice and I'll pay from my computer??I'm super super sorry!!I'm at work and I felt bad I hadn't paid yet, so I was trying to take care of it with the internet on my phone and I just made a mess of it all.I really apologize for this mess.I try really hard to be a good ebayer.I just got married and joined my husband's account and cancelled mine, and apparently I didn't get the new account as my primary when I tried to fix things on my phone.I apologize for the inconvenience, and I super hope this is an easy fix. Thanks, Jessica

Needless to say, after I stopped laughing, I wrote her back and told her to relax and take a deep breath! Bless her heart. It was a $10.00 purchase. We discounted her shipping as a wedding present and gave her an excellent rating.

I am so in awe of the terrible problems that people experience in their life and cope with. But you know, I think it's the little things that are going to kill us. I remember trying to "change my identity" when I married. Doing any business on the phone is like working your way through a maze. I may a bathrobe merchant now, but somehow I'm still out there counseling. I could have sworn I got that tattoo "Tell me your problems" off my forehead!
Hope everyone is doing well and please, if you need anything, just "holler." I'll be there!

Sharing My Day

2010-09-11T19:18:00.001-04:00

Maranda Faith Daigle Horine: Mother Extraordinaire! Where's Lyla?

Grandma Donna steals the child under the supervision of Great Grandma Betty

Who's this? Oh, Great Uncle Robin. The manatee guy!

These two could be fun, later...

Hot diggity dog! It's Great Grandma!

Whoa! I've got them both roped in!

THIS FAMILY THING IS FAR OUT!
HAPPY 60TH ANNIVERSARY FROM
YOUR LOVING AND GRATEFUL FAMILY!

That Wasn't Thunder or Fireworks

2010-09-05T18:06:00.000-04:00

That loud terrifying noise around 5pm was me verbally tearing cousin-in-law Jeri Lyn apart. I have tried over the last few days to set up a compromise between Jeri Lyn and her mother (who haven't spoken since the Fourth of July fiasco) regarding things of Donald's that she says have "sentimental" value and her mother, Frances, says Jeri has no right too. After a long phone conversation Thursday night I assured her I would hold back things I thought she might value. I changed the plan and started storing things instead of setting up a sale or giving things away. Friday, after my ultra sound, before I had coffee or food, I stopped at her store and had another long talk with her and her husband. Obviously the only value of this gesture was to have to hear about the problems between her and her mother.

I made it clear that I was in charge of Donald's house. I made it clear that no one enters the property without Rob or I with them. I made it clear we were tired of this burden we were handed and I was not going to tolerate interference. I drove up to Don's to do a couple of hours of work just getting trash out of his house like old pans, bottles, bathroom stuff. I pull in the drive, and there's a chain on the gate. I couldn't get in.

That thundering sound you heard was me calling Jeri Lyn, ordering her to get the chains off the gate, telling her I would call the sheriff if she trespassed again. That gate isn't going to stop anyone who wants to get in from getting in. In fact, it calls more intention to fact that the place is empty. Then I issued the ultimate threat. I told her if this sh** didn't stop Rob was going to step down as power of attorney and they could just deal with the Evil Ex-Caretaker. There's nothing in this for us. We don't want anything. And if there's something in the will then, it's there whether we do for Don or not. He was never an uncle to Rob. Rob grew up in Kokomo and maybe came down and camped a few days with his father during the summer.

Jeri Lyn is emotionally damaged so the point I pity her. But enough is enough. So every sterotype you've ever heard about mean Scotts, Irish Tempers, Emotional Italians,German Rages emerged from me tonight. And I I have for it is an upset stomach. I want to make this perfectly clear. God promised me that he would not pass any of my bad traits to Lyla Joy.....but when she's hungry I think she sounds a bit like I sounded tonight.:-) How's your holiday weekend going?:-)

Untitled

2010-09-01T18:19:00.000-04:00

I find it particularly hard to write what's in my heart tonight because of the people of who will read it. Each person I send this to has their own set of beliefs, their own life and death experiences, their own individual way of looking at the reality of their body as it is now and where the aging process will take us. So know that if something I write violates your faith or offends you, I did not mean to.

While on Facebook a friend of a friend's message caught my eye, so I wrote her a little cheer up note. Since then we occasionally message each other. I try to make her laugh or give her instructions on how to handle medical personnel (some of it borrowed from Debby P). She's going to die within the next few days. It's cancer. She's been to the experts. The last round of treatment, not long ago, was at Vanderbilt's Medical Center with the best speciality doctors consulting and devising last chance efforts. She posted about being scared and talked about all the staff coming in and out of her room. I told her I could take care of that: We'd load up everyone we could from Northern Kentucky, come to Nashville, and break the Guinness Book of World Records for number of people stuffed in a hospital room without white (or blue) coats on. Later she wrote me that when she read that she laughed and laughed. And boy did she need a good giggle that day.

I don't know why this is the path a beautiful twenty-three year old woman has had to walk. I don't know why any of us have the joy and despair that we experience in life. But I do believe it's all to teach some specific lesson. I don't believe energy can be created or destroyed. And, wherever our energy goes when our bodies give out, it's a resting place with total peace permeating our souls. Total peace to me would be no questions or decisions jumbling up my thoughts. It would just be being. And then we reenter whatever the next level is, our energy is given a physical form. God doesn't need to punish. The worst that He'd do is give you that look a parent gives a child when the child is trying to hide something he's done wrong and the parent knows he did it. And that's enough for the lesson to be learned. Not punishing can be a very effective teaching tool.

I don't know why a family is about to be devastated. I don't know why a boyfriend will grieve for his love. I don't know why her many friends have to say goodbye to her now. I only know it was a good thing for all us, this time that Chelsea was on Earth, and I was blessed with a little touch of her. I hope it is a quiet death. I hope the Spirit of Acceptance is by her side. I hope the Veil that protects you from the pain and despair of your loved one is there for her. A star will fade from our sky very soon. But it will reappear over a new horizon. There's nothing to fear, my young one. There's nothing to fear. Farewell for now Chelsea. We'll meet sometime later. And no, I won't go rock climbing with you then either!

TMGOT

2010-08-30T16:59:00.000-04:00

The day started out pretty well. I had my morning chat with my sister. Rob hadn't had a terrible night. We chatted for a while about what we always talk about recently, getting him off of third shift. We're just too old to be juggling those hours with other responsibilities. Then I went up to Donald's to check to see if our friends had been back. They hadn't. But I noticed that Don's wife's country dancing clothes and boots weren't where I remembered them. Umm. I'll think about it tomorrow and check again before putting those on the list. Then I ran down to Hanover to pick up a few things only to get home to find I paid for groceries and left them sitting in the store. So, back to Hanover. I don't even bother to blush and stutter when I make mistakes like that any more. I'm brain drained. Think what you want, folks. You'll get like this some day.

I made Robin BLTs. Did you know I make the best BLTs in the whole world. And you know, they do taste better when someone else fries the bacon. Now if I could just find another house to fry it in. The phone rang. It was Ken who cuts the grass at Donald's house in Madison and the farm. Guess who's copper is missing from the air conditioning at the Madison place? Whoever this was has balls of copper. The house sits at the intersection of two busy highways and is visible from both roads. I asked Ken to check to see if any doors or windows were broken or open. There weren't, so we'll take care of that...tomorrow.

I picked up the phone to call Frances and there was a message. It was from my brother-in-law Reid's daughter. Reid is the bipolar one who primary occupation is being a con artist although he keeps telling us that he's been saved and is spending all his time helping others. Take your meds Reid and stop calling your brother Jeffrey when your stoned. Anyway, his daughter has called before. Reid gave up all rights to his daughter and was paid by the family to never have any contact with her. When she called a few years ago, I talked to her and explained we couldn't give her any information. I hoped she was just going through a phase of hating her step-father or something and being rebellious. Now she claims that she needs information from Reid for her college applications. I'll talk to the lawyer and call her... tomorrow.

I decided maybe some Toby time would help, but he told me the plans we made last night were just fantasies to distract me. I can't even trust my own lawn mower. When I came back in I had just missed a call from the lawsuit lawyer saying he had heard from the store where I fell's lawyer. I called him back. Of course he won't be back in the office until after 2:00 tomorrow afternoon.

And then there's poor Janet who refuses to accept that her brothers work on holidays. I need to call her. No Janet, you're not coming to our house for a picnic. No, Jeffrey has to work too. No, I'm not bringing you two 2-liter Diet Caffeine cokes and some money. And no, I don't want to know about the stitches in your leg or hand or head.....until tomorrow.

Too much information. Too much going on today. I don't think it's wise to put a lump sum of money in our hands right now. We know places where the hospitals can never find us to get what they're owed!

Help! It's only 5:00! Did I mention that I'm waiting on the results of my blood workup and have convinced myself I have some terrible disease?

By Jove I Think I've Got It!

2010-08-29T21:06:00.000-04:00

You know there's nothing like a twilight ride on Toby to clear your mind. And with the evenings getting shorter, it's even better. Dark by 8:30, I love it. For any of your keeping track, I didn't even get a bid on the "Children of the World," but I wasn't really expecting them to sell. In fact, it's time to take a break from eBay. It's the end of summer and people have spent what extra they have on vacations, kids going back to school, high electricity bills. The global economy is in a slump and so is most everyone I know. So...I can prep the stuff to start selling in October and Toby gave me a marvelous idea!

Rob and I went to check on Donald's house/farm this morning. After taking more pictures like this of a $5000 AC unit, we looked through things a little more closely and found that JoAnn's wedding dress is gone. Nothing else, just the wedding dress. That tells me definitely who broke in the house. Too bad I can't prove it. However, looking at all the things (junk/stuff) at Donald's triggered a full fledge panic attack. What are we going to do? That house has to be sold. There are repairs to be done. It's starting to really show and smell its vacancy. Every day its empty is one more chance for someone to come in and strip the copper wire and take anything metal they can get. So what does Toby think? Toby thinks a sale that benefits the Alzheimer's Association is in order. Now Don needs cash in the bank, but when you get down to selling his things, it probably wouldn't keep him in the Legacy Wing a month. However, since he has had income through the sale of land, charitable contributions can be written off to help offset the capital gains tax, and we'd be doing a very good thing. We empty the house, get the repairs done, and sell that baby. Now, I'll have to do this in secret, find a place to sell his things in the next county, and pray Aunt Frances doesn't find out. But first, I have to convince Robin. Uh oh. Toby, you got any ideas? Hey Patricia, can you believe it's me thinking like this?

Children of the World

2010-08-29T10:16:00.001-04:00

I think my imagination is in overdrive, but see what you think. My mother-in-law had a collection from Franklin Mint called Children of the World. There are twelve hand painted pewter figurines representing different countries and their culture. The detail and design are really extraordinary. They seem to breathe life. But, although she loved them; they are not really my taste in decorating, and people who have cats rarely have pretties sitting on tables, although cats are pretty effective at negotiating clutter unless they're mad at you.

I checked eBay and there are two complete sets up for sale. Each is from a different small shop in Connecticut. One has hers priced at $498 Buy It Now or Make Offer. The other is Buy It Now for $700 or Make Offer. Both sellers claim theirs were made in 1977. One claims to have one of the few sets sold all together in 1977. One doesn't mention that. One claims to have paid $1000, one $1400. Seller number one does a curt explanation and lets you know that even though she's going to take a terrible financial loss, she will carefully wrap and package each figure and ship it. Does she think the other shop will just throw them in a box and mail it? Have these ladies been rivals for years?

Here's my dilemma. I always thought the teaser for Franklin Mint was that you had to wait a month or two months to get the next item when you were buying a set. The set we have are dated 1977-79. Are these women falsely advertising their product or, if you go to Franklin Mint, can you make special purchases like theirs would have been? I just want someone to enjoy these. If they don't sell I think I'm going to take them to the children's librarian and see if she wants to have them to display. My only reservation with that is they are made of pewter.....heavy objects that can be thrown may not be such a great idea.

I put our set up for a straight 10 day auction. Eleven people have viewed them. Two are watching them. I keep picturing these two New England gray haired ladies with their hair in tight buns glaring at my listing on eBay. I know they're the two watchers. I priced it at $125 with lower shipping costs. It's difficult trying to be a nice seller and not take advantage of those like me with limited knowledge. The sale ends this afternoon. A savvy eBay-er doesn't let you know they're watching your item. They just start bidding. But I know these ladies have been questioned about my price and with their sharp tongues have said they're probably damaged or have some line about the all bought in 1977 thingy. One thing for sure, I'm not going antiquing in New Haven or Cheshire! Excuse me now, I'm sure there's a paranoid pill I've forgotten to take.

Animal Husbandry

2010-08-26T21:57:00.000-04:00

In January of 1973, after attending Northern Kentucky University for a semester, I transferred to Eastern Kentucky University. I was late registering and signed up for a class in the School of Agriculture. I freely admit that I figured it was a great way to meet guys. As I was at EKU trying to mend a broken heart, it seemed a perfectly sane idea to me at the time. Freshman at EKU were not allowed to have cars on campus and it turned out the AG classrooms were a l-o-n-g walk in the middle of winter. The day of my first class I happened to pass the Administration Building just as I lost feeling in my fingers and nose. I decided that a schedule change was in definitely order.
This is just a prelude to introduce you to Lonnie, not Lhani. When I took HIM to be spayed today.....well, it's another month before they can neuter him. This being the second time we've made this mistake with this vet (Lateesha turned out to be Lester), they professionally held back their laughter and told us (again) that this happens all the time. Lonnie was a good boy in the car and got his rabies shot. Everyone thought he was a spectacular cat. So, Rob and I have a son again, and another appointment on September 24 at the vet. Maybe sex education in our schools should include hands on experience on dogs and cats. Or maybe just I need a stronger magnifying glass...

Boy oh Boy is SHE Here!

2010-08-25T12:09:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, believe it or not, I was able to clear a day to go meet my great niece, Lyla Joy is already five weeks old. Let me tell you, it went extremely well. The first thing she said was, "You're my favorite!" Well, actually I could tell by her eyes that she found me quite interesting. Her mother did say that she was having a very good day, and I did catch her at play time.....But I think when I whispered chocolate and cheetos in her ear she figured out who she can get to the easiest. All babies are beautiful, so I'm not going to carry on about how she's the most gorgeous child I've ever seen, but she is. What really got to me is how much she's already working toward what she wants to be. She's a stretcher, a mover, an 'ok, a short cuddle but don't push it", let's go for it kind of baby. Yes, I arrived at play time and unfortunately had to leave when it was change the diaper time, and she was hungry. This is when great aunt's start to laugh and have to cover their mouths because mommy and daddy have to take over.....You got to admit, God knew what She was doing when she decided to give us children as babies and not adolescents! Love you mommy and daddy and Lyla and Chloe. Sorry Chloe, I didn't get a shot worthy of you with your human sister. But when Lyla says, "I'm hungry!" you have to take pictures as quickly as you can!

This Is Not An eBay Story

2010-08-20T18:13:00.000-04:00

But if we hadn't been going through the comic book box, I would never have known this. Rob picked up a Superman comic book with no outside cover and commented on what its value would be if it hadn't been damaged. Then he read the opening page to me:

This story, prepared in close cooperation with the late President Kennedy, was scheduled for publication in Superman No. 168. When word of his tragic assassination reached us, we immediately took it off the press and substituted other material. However, White House officials have since informed us that President Johnson wanted it published, as a tribute to his great predecessor, and so, we dedicate to the memory of our late, beloved President this plea for his Physical Fitness Program, to which he was wholehearted devoted during his life ...
"SUPERMAN'S MISSION for PRESIDENT KENNEDY

May no fourth grade girl or third grade boy
ever watch a flag lowered to half mast
at their school again, be the one to tell their mothers that the President had been shot and killed,
then stand in bewilderment when they
begin to sob in grief.

May all our Presidents be safe and our young blessed with being young.

You Ain't Going to Believe This.......

2010-08-18T20:35:00.000-04:00

blueskidoo8 was fast out of the gate (for an auction) and was quickly joined by yabegood2. After a neck and neck run down the stretch, jnfc, and then collector_quest passed yabegood 2 on the turn. yabegood2 quickly regained his lead only to find little known 04em2 in a neck to neck heat with him. yabegood2 regained the lead and discovered another newcomer, scubaspurgeon, coming around the right and taking the lead. Then just at the wire, jstan5003 appeared out of nowhere and won the race at $760.00 + shipping. Not bad for a 12 cent comic book, huh.

I have not turned into a money-grubbing old lady trying to make her fortune late in life. Rob and I agreed that a percentage would go to the Save the Manatees Organization . So Lyla Joy's (whose birthing gift was a manatee) is going to have a cousin! Save the Manatees was founded by Jimmy Buffett and works to protect and maintain accurate counts of fresh water manatees at 7 fresh water springs where the manatees winter in Florida. Wait! They just got permission to work another spring! Our goal is now 8 manatees. Since we want to have a Muster/Horine/McGee manatee at every location, I'm going to need to get busy. Hmmmm, what else can I sell?

SOLD for .......

2010-08-18T18:51:00.000-04:00

Actually, I don't know yet. There' still about 2 hours left on the auction of the Avenger #1 of 1, September 1963. The price is up to $709.00. A new bidder has entered the room. I can't imagine yabegood2 is very happy about that.

Toby is home with a new belt and sharpened blades. The lawn mower doctor caught me in my bathrobe at 5pm again...oh well. He and Turbo, his little dog who goes everyplace with him, have probably seen worse.

We missed a few "little things" when we listed stolen items from Donald's with the police. They also took the radiator out of the old truck and tried to take the metal off the air conditioning unit behind the house. Both Rob and I look under the hood of that truck figuring they probably took the battery. I thought something looked funny...oops! And nobody thought to walk around the outside of the house including the deputy. She had other things on her mind, like it was 1:50pm and her vacation started when she got off at 2:00pm. This is creating a delay in our filing the insurance, but, everyone needs a vacation.

My nephew's first day back to teaching was today. It's too hot to have kids in school. I bet he had the first day back nerves. Every teacher except the burnouts and the icouldcareless ones do. I mean, you're meeting your new family for a year. They're yours, no matter what. Come to think of it, the students are stuck with the teacher too. I guess it's a little uncomfortable for everybody, like a blind date!

Our doctor retired and I had to find a new one. Rob went for the introductory appointment today. Guess who told him the wrong time and made him two hours late. They had to reschedule him. Oh well, I'm not perfect. Close, but not perfect. Actually I said doctor but I was able to find a Nurse Practitioner which in my book is two steps up from a medical degree! Wishing we hadn't made a bad first impression won't change things, will it. Did I mention teacher nephew is married to a brand new Nurse Practitioner who got who licence shortly before Lyla Joy joined us. She's quite a lady: They're quite a couple! I mean couple plus one, don't I.

Okay, I'm down to an hour and a half...maybe I'll do some laundry or mop the floor. HA! Catch you later! I know at least one of your have to be curious about the auction, aren't you? A 46 year old comic book....I just don't get it.

The e-Bay Avenger

2010-08-17T18:14:00.001-04:00

Almost 47 years ago, an 8 year old boy's father gave him 12 cents to buy this Avenger comic book. I was that boy, and I've had it since that day. About 24 years ago I placed it in a plastic protective cover with a cardboard back. That was the last time it was touched by human hands until I rediscovered it in the closet a few weeks ago. I took it from its cover to examine, put it back in the protective cover and sent it to PGX for grading. ( A 4.5). I received the graded encapsulated copy yesterday and am putting it up for sale tonight. The encapsulated cover was only handled for photographing, then packed for shipping. This is a great collector's item that can only gain value as the release of the new movie "Avengers" nears. I am starting it at a very reasonable price and hope to see a lot of bidding. Hopefully someone will get a good deal, and I'll get a good price as I need the money now.

Yes, this is the description I wrote when we listed this comic book on e-Bay. You can put the girl in business, but you can't rob her of her right to a add touch of drama to her work. The people Rob works with got a big kick out of it. If the actual truth be told, for the last 10 years it's been in a box in a rented non-climate controlled storage area although it was enclosed in a plastic cover. Several times after having unsuccessfully discussed cleaning out this area with Rob, I almost paid someone come and carry the junk away. I even considered an "Oh, we've been robbed" after breaking the lock. However, I controlled my impulse. For one thing you don't mess with a man's toys. Secondly, it's e-Bay bid is up to $646.30 right now with a day left to bid. Why would anyone pay this much for a comic book? I mean, we paid to have it graded and then they encased it in plastic so you can't even look at the thing. All to get this.

After listing it the games began.
First I got this e-mail:
Dear rpm.2010,

will you take $450 for it and end the auction???
There is a legal way to do this, but e-Bay doesn't like it, so I declined his offer.

Then I got this:
Dear rpm.2010,

hello there. I was wondering if I could purchase this now from you? I am not a business and am avid fan and collector. I want to own and cherish this
book for years to come. I can paypal you directly
and right away if you feel like selling it today
to a true fan. Thanks for considering.
best regards, Mickey

Okay, no fair! My first reaction was to mail him the dang comic book and earn a feather for my wings. But....this is business. However, if this was a con, he hit the right nerve. Mickey has bid as high as he can, I think. His last bid upped the price by $9.30. What did he do? Stand on a street corner with his hat out? Alms for the comic book, alms for the comic book... 'Tis a strange world we live in. And I'll never know if I crushed the dreams of an avid fan! But it's encased in plastic, for pete's sake! Why on earth..........? I just don't get it. But we'll be taking the winning bidder's money anyway. Who am I to judge?

Don't Panic!

2010-08-16T20:40:00.000-04:00

He's going to be fine. His drive belt has broken before so I knew exactly what to do. Nothing. Dial 911. And we had been trying to ignore that strip of roughly cut grass in each row that can only only mean one thing, a badly chipped or bent blade. Toby was so brave when the lawn mower doctor came to get him. He stared bravely ahead, not even turning to wave. So I wiped my tears, got in the truck, and drove in the opposite direction to mail my latest sale on e-Bay. Will this summer ever ease up? Today was almost bearable with a light cooler breeze blowing. But my time to enjoy bonding with Toby, well, it wasn't meant to be. We've been separated for several weeks, neglecting the grass as I chose to pretend it wasn't growing and that I was supposed to stay in the air conditioning each day. But, alas, the grass had grown. And grown. And grown. At least we were able to get Uncle Don's grass whacked down a bit. (background office and yard). After about 75 years of serving as a cow pasture, if we lose control over there, we have to let that nasty old tractor take over. Yucky noisy old thing!The man who drives it is sort of cute though.....:-)

Hard Times?

2010-08-16T10:33:00.000-04:00

While we knew this was inevitable and did our best to prevent it, someone broke into Uncle Donald's house. Some of you remember Uncle Donald from previous posts. He's Rob's uncle that has dementia, had to go to a memory care unit last November when I broke my hip, is 91 years old, and left his nephew (my husband) with the responsibility of maintaining his property and liquidating his assets so he can receive the best care we can obtain during his final years. Yep, someone must be really having it rough to steal from an elderly, incompetent man. I mean he only worked seven decades making money that he spent on his wife ensuring that she had everything she could possibly need. It was out-of-pocket expenses that provided her with 24/7 care so she could be in her home for her final eight years. What did that cost? Most of his lifetime earnings.

I truly wish I could do more for this poor desperate soul who was been driven by life to break the law.

I did found their choice of things to steal interesting. We had removed medications, jewelry, money, and guns from Don's house immediately after he left his home. The ammunition for the guns had 'disappeared' several years ago and, fortunately, Donald never noticed. So what was left? Well, we did forget about the bottles of alcohol. Since Donald hasn't had a drink in about 40 years, I hope it was so aged that they all got sick as dogs. And it was "they." It takes more than one person to carry out a cedar hope chest, an antique sewing machine, 2 vintage hand stitched horse saddles, a practically new flat screen TV, a riding mower that was broken, and 3 weed eaters. Too bad the tractors wouldn't start. And lest I forget, they stole the original cash register from the 50's when Donald and Rob's father owned a produce store together. Well, I mean, what's a little family history gone forever. No big deal. While they had tossed a few drawers and emptied the hope chest, for the most part they were tidy little thieves. If fact, they were so considerate that they carefully removed the figurines sitting on the old sewing machine (which was covered with a cloth) before they carried it out. Wasn't that sweet? I thought it was a table until recently. They must be antique experts to have spotted that piece. And they left the two older TVs. I am so touched by their generosity.

The good news is they didn't vandalize the place. They only broke one window to get in. They probably have terrible headaches today, but a few aspirins should take care of that. And they did try to steal the truck, but, by then they were probably having trouble seeing those little wires you have to splice together. His good car had a flat tire. If we had known they were coming, we would have put new tires on it and had the alternator fixed. If they had just called and let us known!

They didn't bother with some china antiques and other things of interest sitting around. They didn't tear up the place. And, thank God Don wasn't there. And thank God twice because yesterday Aunt Frances noticed a big tree had blown down by the barn when she drove by but didn't go up check on it. She came on home and called us. That's why we went up there. I'm so grateful it was Robin and I who found this violation of her brother's home and not her.

And Aunt Frances. Nothing seems to ruffle her, but I know she's upset. We had disagreed strongly about removing anything from the house. She thanked us profusely for making her see the light. Our uninvited visitors could be out there armed and very dangerous. But now she wants to clean the house out. I'm going to have to have a battle on my hands. With her health there is no way I'm letting her go into a vacant house that's dusty and musty carrying her oxygen tank. Wish me luck. I'm not sure I'll be able to stop her. In fact, if you have an extra 10, bet against me. I know, I'll get Rob to tell her to wait a few days. If he says it, she'll do it. How was your weekend?

Tonight He's Home and Loved

2010-08-13T20:28:00.016-04:00

Today a three year old went to his private preschool. It was just another day for him. But for his grandparents, who have been his parents for two years, it was the day of reckoning. They knew that tonight their home might be empty, and the child who has become the center of their universe might be back in the home of his biological mother. They have been trying to adopt him, and it was hopefully the day the court would make a decision.

As much as this country treasures its children, mothers' rights almost always prevail regardless of the mother's ability to raise a child. The mother of this particular child had/has serious problems and was sent to a private school for help. She managed to get pregnant and left the school with the father of the baby (we think). He left her eight months pregnant by the side of the expressway. Her father went and got her and set her up in her own apartment. She filled the apartment with friends of less than reputable character. The child's first year is a nightmare whose details will never be known. Supposedly there was neglect, drug usage, trafficing, and all that goes along with that. And, no surprise here, there's another baby now in the picture now.

I'm not sure how the little one got to his grandparents. I do know that the natural mother hasn't seen him in two years. She makes appointments and doesn't show up. She hasn't called on birthdays and holidays. Our little love wouldn't recognize her if he saw her. He is an exceptional child. During his first year he developed incredible coping skills. Since living with his grandparents he has learned communication skills far beyond a 'normal' three years old's. He is loving. He is happy. He is very aware of other's feelings. He enjoys independent play as well as interaction with others. He is a child with a future that is his to write, unless the courts give him back to his biological mother.

Why do sixteen year old girls get pregnant? It has little to do with knowledge of or availability of birth control options. Much comes from them thinking that their sexual partner must be attracted to them if they want to have sex with with them which makes them feel good about themselves. It's a pretty poor technique for improving self image. I've lost count of how many teen students I had who got pregnant. They would come in and tell me with such great pride. NOW, they were women. NOW no one could treat them like a child. And, for my teens on state aid, they would get their own check and own apartment.

I think it boils down to how women view women carrying babies. At no time do you get more attention than when you're pregnant. And since the babies are always so darling, people stop to fuss of them and make over the mother. Then after the baby's about two.....grandmothers become mothers of their grandchildren. The next big dump your kid period occurs as they enter their teens. You know this is true. How many people do you know raising someone else's children or financially supporting their child's family.

Some of my teens made good mothers. Most didn't. I was never asked once about abortion or adoption. These were teenagers still absorbed in what others would say. "You would kill your baby?" "How could you give your baby to strangers?" These girls were just normal adolescent girls who felt the world revolved around them, were just beginning to know who they were, incapable of thinking of others before themselves. But, babies shouldn't be responsible for helping their mother grow up. There lies the problem.

The court did not make a decision today. A much loved three year old is happy and laughing and being tucked into bed and read to. As for his grandparents, they face more weeks of wondering if this miracle who came into their lives will suddenly disappear. Should a mother's rights be so strong? Shouldn't the history of care given to the child mean everything? I sure hope the judge thinks so. No offence biological mother, but you screwed up royally, and some things can't be changed. Our courts need to redefine "what's best for the child."

Good night little wonder boy. Sweet dreams.

How Do You Catch A Cloud and Pin It Down?

2010-08-12T19:09:00.001-04:00

Dedicated to my "aging" "ailing" readers. That means it's dedicated to all of us. LOL

Meet Aunt Frances, Robin's deceased father's sister, sister to Larry who passed away 10 years ago, and sister to Master Don. Her mother died when she was young, and her step-mother was no saint. She worked all of her life and was one of the first female supervisors in a union company. Quite honestly, she would have scared me to death and even today she intimidates me a bit. She was married three times (twice to the same man, a race car driver) and pretty much raised three daughters on her own. Sometimes she'll just tell me out of nowhere how much she misses "Chick", her husband. Tracy, her second daughter, died of cancer at the age of 30. She never talks about that. How does a mother's survive that kind of loss? She's had hip surgeries, female surgeries, surgery we don't want to discuss, and is struggling with respiratory problems where she has to sleep with oxygen and keep a tank with her at all times. She works a couple of days a week for her daughter, who owns a florist shop, to "keep from losing her mind." That's not going to be possible much longer, neither her working or keeping her mind. The memory loss is setting in. She is totally "pissed off" (that's a quote) because she can't do all the things she used to do. She can't keep her house ready for Good Housekeeping Magazine to show up, or the yard perfectly groomed. But....

her daughter, Rickie Paige, showed up from Cleveland Monday morning and told Frances to pack a bag. They didn't know where they were going, they just up and went. They wandered around Sag Harbor, Michigan, and explored a few other places before arriving home Tuesday night. On Tuesday I called Frances twice. I was going to the store, and I wanted to see if she needed anything (not that she ever lets me help out). She didn't answer, but her car was home. (She only lives a quarter mile down the road.) I decided that if I went and checked on her she'd 'holler' at me for hovering. Robin agreed. Wednesday morning I called again. No answer. So I threw on some clothes and went down there. It turned out she was just in the shower. I told her that I didn't want to seem like I was checking up on her, but if I left her lying on the floor for two days, the family was going to be pretty ticked off at me. She laughed. It turns out her other daughter who lives nearby is already mad. I didn't ask why or don't want to know the details. Today she let me pick up sour cream at the store for her. I felt honored! But it makes me wonder. How will I act at her age? Will I be a 'bit' stubborn like Frances? Will I be gracious and let others do things when I need help and make them feel good about it. Will I assume too much like Donald? Or will I slow down, do what I can when I can, and remember the only thing important thing that's aging is my soul, which is a good thing. I guess I better decide soon!!! Frances only has 23 years on me and I suspect my time is coming long before that.

Spare Change

2010-08-09T12:38:00.007-04:00

No, we're not so broke that we are soliciting money from our friends and family. My father-in-law (Tunis) was an entrepreneur. He last venture was a restaurant in Kokomo, IN. Despite economic ups and down, it was a successful endeavor. Rob tells me his father would always say, "Don't look around trying to find ways to save dollars. Look for how to save pennies. Pennies add up to dollars."

I wish I could have known him, but he passed away a year before I met Robin. No one has anything negative to say about Tunis. However, I would have one bone to pick with him. He believed that as long as he had a roof over his head, so would his children. That one came back to haunt him, but he never hesitated to protect his family no matter how old they were. My opinion is that sometimes a swift kick in the tail is required which is why none of Rob's brothers are under our roof.

Our e-Bay sales are going well. We're selling at very reasonable prices. Why not? None of what we are selling cost us anything. It is all what Robin inherited. And I'm forming a new e-Bay family. Despite all the work that goes into selling an item, I'm feeling this sense of satisfaction that I haven't felt since I left the workforce. We put two larger items up for auction, a multi-autographed guitar and an Avenger No 1 of 1, September 1963, which was graded at a 4.5 out of 10. That was nerve wracking. But, within 12 hours we had a number of views and watchers. Who knows? And today Rob pulled out a box from the back closet that may be a treasure box. It's time to do to some research. There's teapot sets, perfume bottles, fans from Spain, Faberge-type? eggs, lovely small boxes, and more.

Tonight our second Matchbox item auction ends....going, going, gone. And I mean gone as in the mail before 2PM tomorrow. Then I'll complete all the documentation. I like writing the personal e-mails. Maybe I'll send all our trade partners Christmas cards! It's so nice to work in such a friendly environment; in my kitchen, good company (human & animal), and the best part, I'm still in my bathrobe!

Working in the Real World

2010-08-06T22:20:00.002-04:00

In this period of high unemployment, you would think that people would value their jobs and try hard to make the workplace a more agreeable and pleasant environment. On average, people spend 10 hours or more preparing to go to work, traveling, and actually doing their job. Every once in a while I go someplace where I do not hear workers complaining. It's fairly rare. When I'm spending my money on a meal out, I don't want to hear the workers gossiping and talking about their personal problems. I am paying to get away from the ordinary. I'm paying not to cook, to be served, and not to be "bothered" by the outside world. I feel the same way about stores.

There seem to be three general groups in our workplaces. The first have wonderful work habits and are miserable when there's nothing to do. Getting paid to do nothing sounds good; but to this group, it's hell. Eight hours feels like sixteen. The second group is just clueless. They have no concept that work is not just a place to hang out. The third are angry and tired. They've seen it all; favoritism, decreasing wages, no raises, higher insurance costs, etc. My husband falls into group one. He just wants to go to work, do a good job, and return to a harmonious household.

When we quit our professional jobs which engage your every waking moment, we thought a routine job paying enough to meet the bills would make things better. We missed three things when we considered this change. One was the impact of losing the company car. We also didn't see the economy dropping as badly as it has. But, most importantly, we didn't see the impact on being fellow workers from groups two and three. In our former jobs; we listened, counseled, changed what we could, and filed it away.

Now available on e-Bay

In 2008 Rob was awarded the first Security Guard of the Year Award. We had a nice dinner with management, and the award was an acoustic guitar signed by most of the people who had performed at his place of work in 2008. Cool idea! But after he won it, people began to treat him different. He stopped being "good old Robin who would always give him a hand." In short, people were jealous. We figured that would pass.

Shining Star

The second award came as a surprise. Robin was "shopped" by a professional Mystery Shopper and scored 100%, the first person to do so in his company's history. A female customer pretended to have a problem, Robin did his job and solved it while treating her as the valued guest she was. This award will never be discarded. It symbolizes who Robin is. It also came with a paid day off and a nice personalized gift.

So tomorrow, bite your tongue before that negativity comes rolling out, smile a little extra. And that person or persons who seem to be determined to ruin everyone's day, gently ask them not to.

Work is a fact of life, as is being a consumer. Maybe we can change the world a little by curbing our tendencies to criticize and giving a little more kindness. Maybe we should sponsor a "walk that extra mile" as a reminder that internal customer service is as important as external customer service.

I Can't Believe I Did It But I Done It

2010-08-03T19:41:00.000-04:00

When the infamous Uncle Donald had to go to the Legacy Wing of a memory care center, he left an empty house. I had his telephone number set up with a distinctive ring at our house so if anyone he knew called they wouldn't panic if he didn't answer. Also, it added protection to the house by confusing people who might call trying to see if the house is empty and have less than honorable ideas in mind. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

He got more calls than we expected. When he was able, he had donated to many worthy charities. I would tell them that Don was under full time medical care, and we had to use all of his finances to support his needs. That was a fairly successful technique. But up to George the II, Donald was a staunch, check writing Republican. And political parties have many different wings. They were all calling wanting cash. Quite frankly, I'm not bashing Republicans for a change. I'm sure this goes on throughout the entire political arena. However, they wouldn't give up. If Donald couldn't donate maybe I would be interested in.....etc, etc. You get the drift. I finally told him he had died. So far, that has stopped the calls. Then somehow Donald got on a list that said he is a diabetic. He's not. However, with new help available for diabetics, every medical supply place in the country started calling us. I finely told them he has passed on.

That may sound horrible, like putting a jinx in motion. But, Donald is invincible. There's not a curse that would dare go near him. The jink came back on me this morning. Donald's phone rang. I was trying to get to the store before it got any hotter. Okay, I confess, I also hadn't eaten so I was a bit grumpy. A male voice asked for Donald. I couldn't see the caller ID, so I just told him that Don had died. All the other callers had had their prepared scripts of condolences. This guy sounded shocked. I said something and hung up. Then I checked the caller ID. Don has accounts at two banks. It was one of those banks, the one with the checking account where his social security check is deposited and where his supplement insurance is paid automatically each month. And I didn't know who the individual was who had called. I only had the main phone number. It took about twenty minutes to locate the person who had called. I apologized. I explained myself. I put on my hysterical I can't believe I did this voice. He understood completely (and probably laughed his head off when we hung up). The good news is, Donald's account will remain open, his social security check will continue coming, and his supplemental insurance will not be suspended. And as for me, "Praise the Lord! Don has risen from the grave!"

A Little Bit of This and That

2010-08-03T14:32:00.000-04:00

I'm killing time before I list new items on e-Bay. Figuring out the best time to list items is yet another one of the myriad of things associated with being a seller on e-Bay. I want my auctions to end at times when my buyers are available. Although you can bid on e-Bay from your cell phone, iPhone, whatever....I'm still dealing with the times zones in the US, Mexico, and Canada. We opened up Mexico and Canada for this sale to see if I can handle the additional calculation of costs related to those areas. The first large group of items we sold I sold only to the US and listed as no combined shipping. However, I got the combined shipping figured out in time and was able to ship at reduced rates. That earned us mucho positive feedback. (We have earned first star. Aren't you thrilled for us!) After this group, we have to offer items for international sale. Help!

However, we are finding some great items that hopefully will bring in bigger dollars. I've spent a lot of time researching the last few days, and, of course, the Donnapedia (aided by the Robertpedia this time) has been a big help. Where did I find the time right now to do all this? Husband Robin has picked up a bad cold, or bronchitis, or something. We might know what he has if he would go to the doctor....but that's a long story, and I wouldn't want to give the impression that there was even minor discord in my marriage. So he has slept, eaten, and finally accepted some cold medication which made him goofier than all get out. My fault: He told me he can't take that kind of medicine. He's going into work tonight (or that was how he negotiated not going to the doctor today). I personally don't handle sickness very well. It makes me feel helpless. So I just waited on him hand and foot trying to feel like I made a difference. Bless his heart. He' not a whiner....although holding his glass in the air seems to mean he needs water and holding his stomach is an indicater of hunger.......Kleenex and adjusting his blankets and pillows are rewarded with a pitiful thank you too. Oh please, let him be getting over this. LOL

I also got most of the grass back in workable shape. Geezel Pete it's hot out there. I should be finishing it off tonight, but I don't want to wake Robin. That's working as a good excuse for me....you buying it?

Hopefully, I'm going to feel strong enough to make it up to see Lyla Joy and R&K's new house tomorrow. Have I mentioned our '92 Toyota Pickup doesn't have air conditioning? I'll just have to trust Mechanic Extraordinaire Russell that the check engine light is faulty and nothing else is wrong. I've tried to wait until things got a little more settled up in Covington and was hoping for a break in the weather. I don't think either is going to happen....and my patience is worn out. I'm homesick. I want to see my family!

Other than Queen Skoa being more cantankerous than usual, the next generation being stronger and faster than me, and the kitten's nature is so playful that she's irritating all her fellow felines, life is going along pretty normal. Hope all my readers are well and staying cool. This heat, too, shall pass: Then it will be winter......snicker.

Oh great, the spell check isn't working. How do I know? I'm sure Geezel Pete isn't in the dictionary, at least the geezel part......

I'm the e-Bay Diva of Southern Indiana

2010-07-29T19:50:00.006-04:00

I'm not sure I have anyone left out there reading my blogs, but I thought I'd give you an update anyway. Despite all my complaints and resistance to selling on e-Bay, I'm hooked. I assure you it's not because of the money, although I have moved us into the black. Tuesday night the auction of 23 Matchbox items ended. By end of day Wednesday, everything had been packed, shipped, refunds posted for the amounts I saved them by combining multiple items for shipment, individual e-mails sent to let them know purchases had shipped & thanking them, all items marked shipped on e-Bay, and every buyer had their rating posted. Yes, both buyers and sellers get rated on every transaction. I think we'll get positives from my matchbox group. We became so close for a few days. Now they've taken their toys and gone away. Sigh. There's got to be a morning after...

Do you wonder why I keep saying I, I, I. Because I'm doing all of the work, except for the some of research on stuff we're finding. We have to figure out what the heck things are, whether they're selling right now, and how the devil to write an honest but compelling description of what we're trying to sell as well as determine what's a bargain price without giving it away. Rob gets absorbed in the research and helps out a lot. The on-line work, that's my domain. And talk about getting positive reinforcement. The man is prolific in his praise, has designated me the e-Bay Diva of Southern Indiana, and, as you can guess, is pulling off one of the best Tom Sawyer's I've ever seen! But ya gotta love being conned sometimes.

Other than that, the beasties are fine. Lyla Joy is thriving, and I called Rob in sick last night without his agreement. He has a terrible cold and the dedicated, reliable worker bit wasn't flying with me. I just turned off his alarm and didn't wake him. I got lucky. He could have been upset with me, but he thanked me.

So, we're having a quiet 3-day "weekend" although e-Bay must go on. I have 27 more Matchbox items to list. When those are gone, I'll have about 1 cubic foot of open space in the back closet! But, hey, Rome wasn't decluttered in a day, ya know. Look at all the ruins they left behind. The war for space must continue!

A Two Headed Coin

2010-07-21T13:12:00.002-04:00

Last night I got angry. Furious. The type of emotion that makes you physically nauseous, the depth of which spreads like a poison through your entire spiritual being. I have tried to train myself to control my temper. While I've never physically struck a person, I have an uncanny ability to verbally go straight for the jugular. My aim is extremely accurate. I try to diffuse situations before my temper takes control. If I'm not successful, I walk away. But I will not walk away when freedom and justice are on the line. Free speech is a right in this country. But you have to recognize that words lead to shouting, shouting leads to shoving, shoving leads to fists flying, fights lead to riots, etc., etc. In other words, freedom of speech carries with it an awesome responsibility.

After shutting down my original Facebook list because of hate messages being posted, comments of agreement, and the number of likes clicked; I thought I could come back to FB with a more selected list of friends and enjoy myself. I am not the only person that has felt the need to do this. But the past found me. The hate mongers honestly don't know what they are. You can't post an inflammatory anti-any race but Caucasian message, a prayer for the death of our President, flaunt your arrogance about our country's greatness and not be aware of the impact you have. You cannot justify your actions by telling people how open minded you are because you have enjoyed the company of a few people from different cultures. And re-posting a comment definitely means you agree with it and want more people to read it. Either way you flip this coin, you reveal the head of a racist.

Last night I received a long message from a person who had been actively involved in posting the type of messages which led me to leave FB. She needed to feel closure on the issue. In short, I got to hear what a great person she is and what a horrible person I am because I revealed her for what she is. Within the message was a reference about someone currently on my friend list. I should have followed my instincts and not added her/him as a friend. Now, months ago when this occurred, I publicly apologized for naming the individual related to the hate comments. Strangely enough, she missed those messages. Now I'm not sure an apology was appropriate. But, last night, I read what she wrote, I responded with reserve. She wrote back: I let go on her. I wasn't as bad as I'm capable of being, but I took at least five steps backward toward becoming the person I want to be and walking the path of goodness I know I want to walk. Words: Powerful weapons of destruction when used for the wrong purpose.

I allowed a few people who I don't really don't know to upset the balance of my life. At 10:30 last night after I'd squinted at the bottom of Matchbox items to list on e-Bay, the last thing I needed was to find this message on my FB page. I decided to deactivate and be done with it. But, on FB, I get to laugh, share myself in many different ways, and learn so much from organizations and groups. I refuse to feel pressured into withdrawing again. I eliminated some friends who might be leaks in my pipeline. I'll move more cautiously when responding to some people. Most of all, I will use the delete message button as I should have done last night. But, silly me, I read the message thinking that she might be trying to build a bridge.

Seven South American countries want to join Mexico in their legal suit against the new immigration laws Arizona enacted. NPR interviewed American citizens who are, quite frankly, getting the hell out of Dodge before they end up in a Mexican prison trying to prove they are legal. One woman interviewed had devoted her adult life to building a beauty salon which catered to Hispanics. Her six chairs are now empty because her clients are afraid to be seen in groups. Our fellow citizen got a whopping $20,000 for her life's work. She's moving to California. Ditto for the US citizen who ran a Mexican restaurant and the man who accepted an offer for one third the value of his home in order to move to another state where he won't be afraid. The immigration situation isn't a political issue. It's a moral battleground. I once responded to a "debate" with the comment "Do your homework." This is the type of information I wanted to people to find out for themselves, and I wanted them to really look at the economic/political framework in Mexico. That remark was ill-stated and backfired on me big time.

I hope right overcomes fear and predjudice soon. In the meantime, I'll let my voice speak through effective channels while I work on my peace of mind...and my temper.

Thanks To Johanna, Mike, and John

2010-07-18T22:40:00.000-04:00

If you know me and have been anywhere near a computer, you know my first great niece was born yesterday. As I was updating her arrival on Facebook, Johanna (Jody) Wherry commented on how Lyla would hear all the wonderful stories of her birth every birthday. My husband read Jo's comment and said he thought it would be a great idea to write a chronicle of the day Lyla came to Earth. (Well, he said "was born", but I'm allowed writer's license.) Then Mike Delaney started a dialogue on how the paths we plan in life don't always lead where we think they will. And, last, by not least, John Gardner has been on a "colorful" road trip, literally.

I wanted to give her something special when she was born, something no other kid on the block would have. Since I didn't think ponies would be welcome in Latonia, we adopted her a manatee. His name is Robin, and he winters in Blue Spring, FL, more toward the eastern part of the state. He will be "hers" for as long as I live. Of course she had to have the "Save the Manatee" onesie, a book about a mother teaching her manatee baby how to have fun, and a manatee puppet to read the story to her. A small problem developed with the puppet. Maranda caught Clark playing with it, (Lyla's parents) and became a bit concerned about his mental health. And Chloe, their dog, thinks the puppet is a home invader. They'll just have to work that out on their own. Great aunts can only do so much.

But my FB friends have triggered another gift that keeps on giving. I'm going to write her a history book, not of her life, per se, but what was going on in the world on July 17th every year, and give it to her when she turns twenty-one. I'm going to talk about technology, climate, war, peace, medical advances, social changes taking place, family events, funny stories....just a brief chronicle of each year of her life that will have special meaning to her, I hope. And I'll try, (I can't promise), but I'll try to keep it unbiased. That's more than we can say about the history books students today are given.

In closing, I want to extend my sincere appreciation to all my FB and e-mail friends who share so freely your thoughts, hopes, and the obstacles you face. You are all influencing my thinking which I'll pass on to Lyla Joy. She will be her own person. There's no doubt about that. I think my chronicle will help her know her great aunt had a mind of her own better than anything I will ever be able to say to her. Twenty-one years is a long time away, and I will be 76, I hope.

Preposterous Pandering of Primitive Problems

2010-07-15T12:50:00.003-04:00

Bomdiggity! Those news reporters will do anything to get a headline. Yesterday MSN home page's local news, provided by WLKY/Channel 32, Louisville, Kentucky, ran this lead story: "Pigeons Preferred Perch Plagues Pavement with Poop." Now either the boss was out of town or this reporter just decided to have a good time and got away with it. Or maybe there was just limited legitimate laments that lacked the luster of this lingual nightmare. It appears that Brownsboro Road had to be shut down while workers removed "massive amounts" of pigeon droppings from an underpass. On "Tuesday night, crews dug out of the dung" while
"pigeons on power lines watched, trying to look innocent."
This delightful chore actually has to be done three to four times a year. When officials were asked about the cost of recovering the rancid route, they replied, "If you want your freeways free of feces, there's going to be a fee." My guess is that the Tea Party won't be asking their three favorite questions: "Who's paying for it? "When can we review the bids? and "What's in it for me?"

Hmmm...maybe getting paid to write isn't as hard as I've been led to believe. Does my future lie in photo journalism? After inspiration of this magnitude, how can I ignore the plethora of potential prosperity? Bomdiggity.

For another opinion on the elimination of naturally occurring fluids, please refer to "Say What??!", May 26, 2010 at http://www.debby-everythingbutthekitchensink.blogspot.com/

Cicadian Collapse

2010-07-14T21:20:00.000-04:00

Today practically everyone in France was on holiday. It's le quarorze juillet, Le Fete Nationale, or just plain old Bastille Day, the celebration of the beginning of the French citizens' battle for independence. Unlike our Fourth of July, everyone gets the day off except for essential services. If you run out of gas, you're out of gas until tomorrow. Forgot an ingredient for Aunt Lucy's potato salad, better borrow some from a neighbor because the stores are closed. Don't bother planning to eat out. All the restaurant employees are celebrating with family and friends.. The Europeans understand the need for rest and fun. It's built into their entire economic and social systems.

What have we done to ourselves in America? Who decided to maim and kill us with the shift systems. We have our long established 1st, 2nd, and 3rd shifts. We have our 2 days on, 3 days off, 3 days on, 2 days off. Then there's the rotating months; 1 month on 1st shift, next month on 2nd, then 3rd. It's insane. And then we have "salaried positions." We give you X dollars annually, you give us your life. Our bodies are designed with a circadian rhythm; to be awake during the day and sleep at night. You can't mess around with Mother Nature, at least not for very long. Eight hour days, even for those who actually get breaks and take lunch, have at least two non-productive hours. Ten and twelve hour shifts, give me a break. Nobody is functioning on all pistons after hour six. You have to really wonder about the care we receive in hospitals, or for that matter, the quality of the products coming off our assembly lines. I know enough about productivity to know it's time to try something different. Here's a radical idea. Let's make sure our workforce gets quality food while working, full breaks, and come and go from work at the same time every day. Let's recognize that the human body, young or old, needs sleep and routine. Let's accept that, without some time for ourselves, we're losing our minds.

It sounds so easy. But, what if the lights went out at night, and we had to wait until the morning crew clocked in the next morning. And the 24 hour Wal-Mart's? Would we be inconvenienced or could we survive. I don't need Taco Bell at 4am. I may want it, but I don't need it.

I think if we want to rejuvenate the America economy. we need more time away from our jobs. Then maybe we can learn to love our work again or, at least, be proud of what we do and the way we do it. After all, cicadas only work overtime every seven years, and those little buggers get a hell of lot accomplished!

And for any one thinking what about all the people out of work, though experts don't agree with me, I've done the math. We could create more jobs, lots of jobs. The money would have to come from upper level management and profits. Oh, I guess we do have a little barrier there, she said sarcastically. Well, I'll just ponder on it a while longer and maybe I'll come up with some more ideas.

I'm Going To Yard Sale Hell

2010-07-12T08:11:00.000-04:00

A continuation of "I'm in E-Bay Hell"

It's inevitable. As I poke and probe the long unseen, there's too many things that simply aren't viable to sell on e-Bay. They nice enough to make a true yard saler's day, though, with my pricing methods . It's not like I haven't had yard sales before. It's been a while now; but every year my parents, my sister's family and I would rent a house on the beach in North Carolina. On the first Saturday in May, we would all bring our items to my mom's and have one big sale. We had regulars. There was one elderly lady who came looking for mom's shoes. Another knew the magazine selection would be divine. And, somewhere in Latonia, there's a child who grew up in my nephew's slightly worn clothes. Note: nephew is singular. The other one never slightly wore anything. This woman was so nice that we would put the clothes in a hard to reach place until she came. The sale generated enough money to pay for food for the entire week at the beach, including eating out. It seemed worth it at the time.

In fact, now that I think about it, we got started doing our annual yard sale because someone organized a neighborhood sale. This event went on for a number of years. You can imagine the parking issues on a city street. But overall, we had a good time. The men stayed long enough to get tables up and such, then disappeared. The women set things up and worked the sale. Later in the day the men would reappear for the 'box it for charity or take it to the curb' phase. What went to the curb disappeared quickly. But, we gave it up after people refused to climb three steps and kept climbing the small hill into the yard. A woman fell. Liability issues danced in our head, and we ended that family tradition abruptly.

But despite the many reasons why I shouldn't do this, I'm going to.And I'm adopting a positive attitude toward the impending chaos. "Selling clutter in the hot sun, I'll make some money and have fun, I'll make some money and have fun." Maybe I should wait October......Did I mention that Rob pulled out the boxes of comic books and vinyl records yesterday. I'll end with another, geez.

I'm in E-bay Hell...

2010-07-10T20:40:00.005-04:00

...or purgatory. Being raised in a moderate protestant church, I'm not sure where I'm at. Purgatory is like being suspended in time until heaven's gates open, right? I think that's a reasonable simplification. I'm not seeing gates of heaven culminating this experience. And, in our church, we didn't talk much about heaven or hell or anything that might be too controversial, so I could be overestimating heaven. But I'm pretty sure heaven is where you're not tripping over things every time you walk through your house, and you actually know where you put things. This must be hell. Oh, about my church. That's not a criticism. We probably had less internal tensions than most churches do. And the people were FINE folks.

See. I'm avoiding even beginning to discuss the issue of E-bay. We have two full room dedicated to boxes of stuff and more stored down the road. Most of it is from my now deceased in-law's, collectibles. By the way you can spell collectible either collectable or collectible. But spell check doesn't know that. Sorry. There I go again, nudging E-bay aside.

You may ask, why don't you just give the stuff away? To whom? The practical things were given away ages ago. Everyone I know now is up to their eyeballs with pretties and such. And if I give it away, the charities would just sell it for a bit, and I'd see it on E-bay for 100 times the price. I could have a yard sale. But, it's too hot, people trample all over your flowers, park anywhere they want creating dangerous situations, trip over tree roots, and the cats and dog would have to be confined: Those are just Rob's protests. Let's face it, a good yard sale is hard work. And I hate to haggle. Haggling is why people go to yard sales. I put $5 on something, someone offers me a buck, I say sure, hey, why don't you just take the matching piece too. No charge of course. It's a genetic defect. Did I go a whole paragraph without referencing E-bay? Nope, it's in there.

I live near a tourist town where people come to go antiquing. Why don't I get a booth in one of the stores. Because I don't know what's antique or not. My in-laws had three sons. Like they remember when or where things were bought or if their Mom displayed or used said item? Researching items is not as simple as I thought it would be. Or maybe I'm just too simple. You end up with more information than you need and then have to take a guess at the worth anyway. Donnapedia has been quite helpful, but refuses to make decisions for me. Left out the word E-bay, didn't I.

Moving on, to sell on E-bay, you have to check what other people are selling the same item for, thus realizing that if other people are selling the same thing, then the demand for this item had better be high (which it's not, we're in a recession). Then you have to decide what people will pay, which leads to deciding if you want people to have this thing that came out of your back closet and hasn't been looked at in ten years at pennies on the dollars you or someone else spent for it. I'm proud of those last couple of sentences. The brightest of you readers will have to read them twice to make any sense out of it at all. But I'm no closer to making sense or cents. Back to business. A small area in an antique mall will cost me $70 a month plus a percentage on sales. Will I make or lose money? The odds are better on E-bay, at least the loss of money will probably be less. Sigh....... Spell check recognizes E-bay as a word. I find that frightening, especially since it's e-Bay. I just changed the capitalization so it wouldn't look funny if I started a sentence with it. Why doesn't it recognize Donnapedia? Geez.

So, it's taking hours to figure out what things are, what they're worth, what the competition is selling them for, and if there is a market for it before you even get to writing the description. Then, a lesson in terminology for pottery, jewelry, art work, baseball cards, matchbox cars, memorabilia, collectable plates (who's who there?) china defects and distinctions, AAHHHHH. Oh, I left out taking pictures of the items. Front, back, centered, angled, close up on chips....AAHHHHH. Spell check is recognizing my outbursts now...

Then there's shipping. As much as e-Bay and the USPS have worked to make it simple, it's not. Three sales, three losses in shipping costs. Shipping charges are high no matter how you do it; $14.50 for an item that you may have sold for $5.50. So forget adding on a handling fee which is where catalogs make their money. My time is obviously worth zilch as I clean and wrap and box and address and take items to the post office.

Maybe I'll get better at this. Maybe I'll develop more expertise, a better system that won't be so labor intensive. I need to do the smaller things before I pull out the big guns: seventy-two pieces of Royal Copenhagen china. Yes, there is demand for it and prices are almost what they originally cost. But, by the time I get to them???

Trust me, I wouldn't be doing this if the money wasn't going to be put to good use. I'd haul it all away and let it go: First come, first gets. I hate e-Bay. Now I have spell check totally wigged out. But it's not E-bay's fault....."guaranteed to make you shake back your hair and dance"

A Chelsea Good Morning

2010-07-08T07:08:00.003-04:00

A little while back, a friend posted a friend's comment to pray for her daughter who is battling cancer. I went to the daughter's profile and found a beautiful young woman named Chelsea. On impulse, I dropped her a little "Hallmark" note of encouragement and caring. Since then we have exchanged a few short messages. She said she was going to see a specialist at Vanderbilt in Nashville: I told her to remember she was in Nashville and to make someone take her out for at least for a ride-around tour of the town and to have a little fun. Last night she dropped me a note saying that it's possible they may have a new treatment plan and promised to keep me updated. This morning my first thought was of her, and I believe that Chelsea's life will change. The world will be allowed to know her courage and heart. Chelsea will make the world a better place just for being amongst us. Good morning Chelsea from a stranger in Indiana! Now it's time for a cup of java.

Poem Chelsea Has Posted Under Her Profile Picture

Maybe when the room is empty,

Maybe when the bottle's full.

Maybe when the door gets broke down,

Love can break in.

Maybe when I'm done with thinking,

Maybe you can think me whole.

Maybe when I'm done with endings

This can begin.

On That Of Which I Do Not Know ...

2010-07-07T19:02:00.003-04:00

...and neither does anyone else. Each marriage or committed partnership is unique. I will say one thing with certainty. Ladies, Gentlemen: The only time it's okay to change partners during a committed relationship is if you're square dancing. Need I cite examples?

I believe that your partner in life should be your best friend
I believe that, early on, you better find humor in human flaws, yours and theirs. Thirty or sixty years down the road, you're going to need the memories of that humor.
I believe you should never stop doing the little things that your mate could do for him/herself. Those teeny tiny acts of love have a way of taking on a life of their own which sustains a relationship.
I believe it takes two to tango. Respect and unwavering support are a two-way streets. Please's, thank you's, would you mind....words that cannot be overused.
I believe your mate doesn't need to know everything you're thinking. You may change your mind and find the damage is done.
I believe that you should simply love him or her. Love is different that "being in love" though both can exist simultaneously.

I can positively, absolutely, irrevocably say that being single is not the worst thing that can happen to you. It is not a bad thing. It is not a lower notch on the social ladder. If you single, don't fight to change it. Fight to change yourself into a more independent confident person. Learn to love yourself and your lifestyle. Let the change happen if it's meant to be. If you need to become single, do it. It's not going to get easier down the road. You'll be amazed by your own resourcefulness. Above all, believe in yourself, whatever your relational status. Live in the now.

Of Neighbors and Landlords

2010-07-06T00:06:00.004-04:00

Lately I've been noting a number of comments of FB concerning living conditions. Complaints of inconsiderate neighbors naturally crescendo during the summer months when people spend more time outdoors, and there's more comings and goings. As a renter for 25 years, if I had a notch in my belt for every time I moved, I'd have needed a belt rack. Not that I could have afforded it. As I told a friend, if I had saved all the money I spent on moving instead of moving, we could take a luxury cruise around the world twice.

Neighbors are like blind dates. Upon first meeting, everyone dons their best face. Even though I learned to drive to a new apartment on a weekend night and just park, watch and listen; this doesn't get you the in-depth information you need about those who will be living so close to "your space." The most common problem renters encounter is noise. Not a problem when you have acres between you and your neighbors?Not nearly as much, but I'm hearing fireworks for the first time tonight. Lots of them. Glad I'm not trying to sleep with my alarm set for 5am. Why tonight, July 5th? Oh yeah, the fireworks stores probably had 1/2 off sales. Silly me. For the record, Lucy the Brave Canine is hiding in the bathroom. Someone up the road did decide to show off their gun collection today. I've gone back and forth on this issue as it's becoming a common occurrence. There are two guns that don't sound like they could possibly be legal....but then my knowledge of gun laws in Indiana is limited.

Sleep is the huge issue. I never had a stereo (that dates me) anyplace I lived out of consideration for fellow tenants. However, the boom dada boom dada of the bass (that was the only thing I could hear coming from other apartments) did lead me to angrily bang on ceilings with a broom, stomp on floors, and hammer on walls. Maybe if I could have sung along. . .but only the the boom dadas were audible, the cadence rattling my pictures, vibrating my bed. . Confrontation is useless. And it sounds to me, from some of the comments on FB, that addressing the issue is becoming more dangerous. Besides, who wants to be constantly running into someone you've yelled at, called the police on, or even mentioned the problem too. Then there's couples who argue, loudly. Like you can look them in the eye the next day....And calling the landlord, there's a waste of time. So I moved, numerous times.

I had a neighbor with a nice wife and two little ones. He worked second shift. So at midnight when he got home, he would crank up the stereo to relax. In summer he would throw on the flood lights for the yard and mow in the middle of the night. Impossible problem in a two family living environment. I moved.

I rented a house in a very nice neighborhood that seemed perfect. It was until my neighbors put a large above ground swimming pool in their back yard. When it rained, the sand would slide into my yard. With the sand came sand fleas. The landlord swore that the fleas were from my cat. I got pictures of sand fleas and pet fleas for him to compare. Regardless, he put the blame on poor kitty. We moved.

I've moved because things that needed to be fixed never got fixed. Landlord wins again. I had a great setup when I first went country. A cheap, horribly run down house on 36 acres adjacent to land I was buying. It was the family farm. They swore they would never sell it. Then the Indiana Land Company came along and made them an offer they couldn't refuse. Out with wandering the fields; in with double-wides, children being yelled at, arguing and, the most painful, watching people's dreams die when their shiny new homes and lovely new yards were repossessed because they were led into contracts they couldn't fulfill. I moved.

So those of you trying to deal with difficult neighbors and slumlords, I can empathise. Maybe you could slip them an anonymous copy of "Everything I Need To Know I Learned in Kindergarten." I guess you'd have to buy the books in bulk. My advice on landlords, if he/she hasn't come to check a problem out within 24 hours, hire the job done and take the cost out of your rent. It's not legal, but I had some success with it. And always know exactly where your landlord lives. It's an act of desperation to bang on his/her door, but these are desperate time. You need your sleep. Your need sleep. You need sleep. You deserve peace in your home.

Wait a minute, they're using our road as a drag racing track! Heavens! There's no place to run, no place to hide. Perhaps the only quiet we'll ever know will have to come from within. This time I'm not moving.

Mr. Webster Just Told Me I'm Not A Patriot

2010-07-03T19:14:00.027-04:00

Actually, on July 3, 2010, I'm a bit relieved. Webster's Dictionary defines patriot as "a person who loves his native country and will do all he can for it." Patriotic is defined as "inspired by, showing or aimed at arousing love of one's country." With a slightly different emphasis, patriotism means "a zealous love of one's country." Zealous can be a dangerous frame of mind. It appears that one of our revered forefathers had a bit of a problem with these terms as well. Patrick Henry stated, "Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel." I interpret that to mean you can hide behind patriotism to do a wide variety of horrible, despicable acts 'for love of country.' I will do all I can for my country up to the point where I have to violate my moral values. Then, End. Full Stop. It's okay. I'm quite satisfied with being a good citizen and enjoying the perks of that status.

Remember the old bumper stickers "America: Love It or Leave It." I thought it was stupid then and I still do. I love living in the United States. Who wouldn't? There's a reason people are beating down our borders. But I don't love everything about our government and our citizens. It saddens me when freedom of speech is used to promote hate and violence, but it's part of the deal, as is the fact that I don't have to listen when they spew their venom. The same applies to spinning the news in an attempt to influence our understanding of current events through evocative language and sound bites taken out of context. Click. Gone.

This country we call the United States of America was created after we stole land from its natives. That act of violence is the foundation of our nation. You can't sugarcoat it. Then a highly interpretable Constitution and, later, Bill of Rights were written to guide a new nation. The good news is supposed to be the existence of a balance of power with decisions being subject to agreement by the President, Congress, and the Supreme Court. In 2010, it looks to me like the balancing act has gone awry rather than a system designed to ensure our right to Life, Liberty, and Pursuit of Happiness.

I am a responsible citizen of the United States of America. I am a responsible citizen of Planet Earth who recognizes no lines on maps. I am tired of so many Americans faux patriotic hoohaa. Words of bigotry while waving a flag in my face isn't cutting it. If you're posting flags and ribbons on FB, go in and read about the group and the comments that have been made. It was an eye-opening experience for me.

Why does it take the World Cup Soccer to create a day devoted to global non-discrimination? That was yesterday in case you missed it. Team Captains read beautiful statements from their teams expressing their desire to end all prejudice. However, I have a feeling that passionate soccer fans have never discriminated when fists start flying during or after a match. I watched Germany win today. Their Chancellor, well, SHE was delighted.

Do people know how much of the world's respect we have lost and how hard President Obama is trying earn it back? We are laughed at: Our arrogance gives good reason. We are viewed as bullies, and we have been. We do carry an enormous stick and rarely walk quietly. In fact, we carry two big sticks. One is called nuclear weapons; the other, foreign aid. Let's add one more stick: economic sanctions. For that we are often hated. I can understand why people aren't bowing down to Lady Liberty. But the United States doesn't need to be honored and thanked. We are the land of freedom. We have abundant resources. We are supposed to be offering a safe haven and opportunities to those who have never known peace or prosperity in their lifetimes. Isn't that what the Statue of Liberty symbolizes?

We need a moratorium on American bragging rights. We need to take action based our personal individual beliefs and values. In the words of or a quote cited by a FB friend to his students (and people in general) "You should rarely need to tell someone you are good. BE good. DO good. And if you ARE good, others will tell YOU and THAT IS good!"

And, as for me, I'm not leaving. This is my home. Those who disagree with me will just have to live with my vote. I'm going to keep taking it a day at a time. I'm going to keep forcing myself to see individuals, not groups. I believe in a concept that I think originated in the '60s from that shocking Broadway play Hair. "Be free, do whatever you want to do, be whoever you want to be, just as long as you don't hurt anybody."

Hey, you read all of this, and you didn't have to. And so far, no one is crashing through my door to haul me off to prison. America is floundering. Reasonable, compassionate, small acts of common sense by individuals will stabilize Her. I'm proud of Her most of the time. And when I'm not, I still live a life of freedom. That ain't too shabby.

Snooping, Researching, or Preserving History...

2010-07-01T14:03:00.003-04:00

...that is the question. I'm at Master Don's right now. Robin is cutting fields, and I'm, well I'm following an unwritten rule of rural life: Don't operatate heavy equipment without someone being close around in case you get in trouble. I should to be home working on our grass, but, here I am. For only spending a year taking care of Don, there sure are a lot of memories attached to this place. I was never in his house until the last few years. That's just the way it was. Now, Aunt Frances is getting past her "he's not dead!" phase. This house has to be readied to be put on the market. The junk ,a lingering habit from the depression days I suppose, includes every jar and bottle that was ever purchased, every piece of paper that was ever written on, and more. Amidst this clutter are valuable pieces of the past. The original cash register and scales from the Muster Brothers Produce Market, old phonographs, and who knows what else. The scent of emptiness assaults you when you enter now. I've pried open a couple of windows, and a refreshing cool breeze is wafting through. Donald never opened windows. He kept everything was shut up tight. But, during twilight talks (I kept hoping he would move into the small house he has across the road from us) he would agree with me that a big house needed new energy, to be filled with life and the sound of children's laughter. The setting is perfect: top of the hill exactly in the middle of 80 acres. I'm pushing to make that a reality sooner than planned. Lack of human presence in a building is tangible. I just know that there's someone driving by here everyday, looking up at this place and thinking "someday..." That's the way it happened with Donald and his wife. But before that can happen, Robin and I have our work cut out for us. Ok, Peggy, use the Fly Lady approach: One small task at a time. Rest. Accomplish one more small task. First I have to distribute the things now not valued by my in-laws and our single lives..i.e. the clutter in our house, Then I'll tackle Donald's.
I am "borrowing" all the old papers and letters of Donald's wife. I never met her. I'd like to tell her story. Somehow she, born in Iowa and met Donald of Indiana. And she married him. And, except for that year she took off with another man for a motorcycle ride across country, they seemed to make the marriage work. Who was she? What was her childhood like? No one knows a lot about her. However, I now know that in 1855, 165 acres was granted to someone in her family. Now the who, why, and exact wheres. I'm not looking for skeletons in closets, I'm looking for continuity of a story to be there for the future generations. At least I think I am. Otherwise I'm snooping.....

Thoughts To Ponder from Master Donald

2010-06-26T12:56:00.003-04:00

I found this yellowed wrinkled piece of paper in the top drawer of 'the big desk' as I was packing up some of Donald's business papers. As I read it, I remembered that several times when we were together having dinner and twilight talks, he got up and brought this to me to read. No person has only one side. We are all mixed bags of of honesty/dishonesty, love/dislike, moral/immoral thoughts and behaviors. I wonder how many years Donald has kept this close at hand. I wonder where he got it. Unfortunately, these are memories lost to him forever, and I can't help him bring them back. I'm betting that the "to ponder" stuck in my subconscious and made its way into my blog title.

THOUGHTS TO PONDER

People are unreasonable, illogical, self centered.

Love them anyway.

If you do good, people will accuse you of selfish motives.

Do good anyway.

If you are successful, you will win false friends and real enemies.

Try to be successful anyway.

The good you do will be forgotten tomorrow.

Do it anyway.

Honesty and frankness will make you vulnerable.

Be honest and frank anyway.

People favor the underdog, but they chum up to the top dog.

Fight for the underdog anyway.

What you spend years building can be destroyed overnight.

Build anyway.

Give the world the best you have and chances are you will
get kicked in the teeth.

GIVE IT ANYWAY.

This is now in the top drawer of my 'big desk." I wonder how many times I'll pull it out and read it. And the big test is, can I live it?

Straight From A Diver's Mouth: Gulfport, Mississippi

2010-06-23T19:58:00.000-04:00

We "met" Scott when his mother (Noreen), who works with my husband (Robin), asked if he could record a National Geographic program that featured her son. It was called "Deep Sea Salvage." Scott is a professional diver and, in this program, they were trying to figure out how to keep an oil drill from tipping over after Hurricane Katrina. It was actually quite fascinating, and to say his job is dangerous is a bit of an understatement.

Robin talked to Noreen last night. Scott is in Gulfport, Mississippi. So far he hasn't been able to dive, just participate in meetings. He reports that the stench in the air is horrific. The smell of petroleum dominates, but that's not all they're smelling. Scott says that the number of dead animals is being seriously underestimated or going unreported by the media. He said they are everywhere you go.

He described the water conditions: "It's like putting your hand in the ocean and when you pull it out, you're wearing a glove." Getting the tainted water off you hands is very difficult. A barefoot walk on the beach, I don't think so. We can only hope for the future.....I keep remembering Sally Brown Powell's pictures of her on the beach when she was visiting her family there. My heart is breaking.

So what is Scott doing in these meetings? Planning for the upcoming hurricane season which they can only pray won't come. Looking at this with eyes wide open, what can they do if mother nature decides to let the ocean unleash its massive power?

Tired of hearing me go on and on about this? Tough. I'm in for the long haul. You've probably heard about them having to uncap the pipe and that Pensacola Beach has for all practical purposes had to close. For a more complete update go to
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/37841204/ns/disaster_in_the_gulf/

Grab Your GPS

2010-06-22T23:11:00.000-04:00

You'll need it to find where I am tonight. Nothing very exciting is going on. I've picked up a few new people on my FB friends list which is great. Two of them I don't know. I saw comments from other people, read their profiles, and I think it's going to be fun "getting to know" them. One SUPER lady who got lost in my FB shuffle is found again. I'm extremely grateful for that. Her insights and humor have been sorely missed. Of course I'm also sending Chad Ochocinco motherly advise. That could be a bad sign, but overall things are going along smoothly. My Mom has to have an MRI on her pituitary gland tomorrow. Face it, you go to the hospital, they're going to find something. But she's claustrophobic, I mean like the I'll climb the ten flights of stairs rather than take an elevator type. They're giving her something to calm her down before the MRI. It would almost be worth the drive up just to see her...well, daughters shouldn't talk like that about their mothers. I can tease because I'm sure everything will turn out fine.

Soccer is getting to be more and more....well I'm all at sixes and sevens about it. I think the zuzuwhatevers have subliminal messages in them. The Reds are coming back to life after a short "oh my" series. My annual Tour of France, known to most as the Tour de France, starts in 10 days. Our satellite better carry it. I need a little European vacation. I actually entered a contest with an opposing team's sponsor (opposing Lance Armstrong's team, that is) to try to win a trip to the final stage. Airfare, meals, and a four star hotel in Paris. I think I could enjoy that. Is anyone asleep yet? You know this sports mania was only a ruse to entice my husband during our courtin' days. Now I'm addicted.

Did have a little excitement yesterday. Snake and cat are fine.

So, I just felt like writing/talking a bit. I'm shocked that the President doesn't have control over oil drilling after a disaster of this magnitude. And all those poor people in Brazil. Doesn't it seem like loss of multiple lives is happening more and more via accidents or mother nature? Maybe I'm just more aware right now. But is loss of life really loss of life. It's the quality of life we should be concerned about. So I'm sitting here in my cool/cold AC house about to eat a snack and watch a British sitcom. No complaints here. Wish I could help more there. Is your GPS still working?

Dear Dad

2010-06-20T00:03:00.005-04:00

Dear Dad,
This certainly isn't the best photo I have of you, but I thinks it reflects the parts of you I love the most. There's Chloe in your lap. Animals and children, you've always been a magnet. And there you are with a computer close at hand. When your job stopped being fun, you retrained to be a computer analyst. I really admire that. And your personal grudge against Bill Gates makes your personal computer use much more interesting than the average geek's.

I hope you realize you are impossible to buy gifts for anymore. You used to be easy; puzzles, games, toys. I made a list of your hobbies through the years the other day. No one can ever accuse you of getting stuck in a rut. Let's see, you've gone through landscaping (sorry I killed your goldfish, I thought they would die when the little pond froze over), raising finches, calligraphy, wood carving, Japanese painting, fishing lures (although you filed off the barbs on the hooks), building model sailboats, and miniature furniture, just to name a few. Oh yeah, and you built two dulcimers somewhere along the way.

You're a voracious reader. I can't keep up with what you read, but Donna said you have talked about the book I sent you. Being the quiet private man you are, I really don't know many stories about you. But I do remember that you said you weren't much of a reader until you went into the service and ended up on a slow boat to Okinawa. A bunk mate had books. You said he would read a couple of pages, then tear them out and pass them to you. I don't think there's anything you don't find interesting, and you always seem to have some insight that hadn't occurred to me. You used to do that at the dinner table too. Out of your mouth would come a statement that disarmed or fueled or caused us such surprise, that the debates began. Interestingly enough, you only gave the opening statement, then sat back and watched the rest of us go at it. You had practiced for that role. I seem to remember you made a comment in the PX one time which ended up in a brawl. Of course, you and your beer were out the window before the fists started flying.

And you love music, all kinds of music. As retirement approached you prepared to keep yourself intellectually and physically active. You wanted a plain old bike with brakes on the pedals and no gears. So we got you one. You quickly went to a collection of bikes to take parts off of as you built a bike to your specifications. The fact that you rode that bike to downtown Cincinnati to get out-of-town newspapers or happened to end up in Hyde Park or Clifton, well, that's between you and Mom. To your credit, you always wore good safety equipment.

You hooked up with the paleontology department at UC for a while. That didn't surprise me. Some of my best memories of you are when we vacationed at the beach and you would wander off to the end of the island, returning later--sometimes much later--with pockets full of things of interest. But, you knew that the minds of those younger and those trained in the field would make for good company. I think you really enjoyed that.

I won't go into all the great dad things you did when Donna and I were little. I'll just say that most kids' dads don't wake them up in the middle of the night to watch a full lunar eclipse or the hundred other doors you opened for us. I won't go on and on about how you and Mom were always there for me. I'll just say that not only did you get the dad thing down to an art, you're also an exceptional husband; not perfect, but you continue to get high ratings from the woman you're still in love with, Mom.

I know it's been hard having your body turn on you and not being able to do all the things you'd like to do. And I appreciate the grace with which you accept this. So happy Father's Day. My present? We have a check engine light on in the truck, and I'm NOT going to ask you what you think about it! Oops, I forgot, you retired from being my personal mechanic about 30 years ago and gave me the number of your mechanic. Oh well.

I'm sending you all my love, and that's about as goopy as we get. That's just the way we McGee's roll. In about 5 weeks you're going to be a great-grandfather for the first time. I hope Lyla trails around after you, driving you crazy, just like I did. She's going to be one lucky great granddaughter. I know that because I'm one lucky daughter. Thanks for all your support as I was turning me into me. On my calendar, every day is Mother's and Father's Day!

When a Minute is a Minute

2010-06-18T23:40:00.004-04:00

Actually this post should be titled "I think, I'm not sure but, it seems like...." Despite everything I may have thought or said, I'm falling in love with soccer, or futball (pronounced like bootball with an f instead of a b). Yes, it's World Cup fever. I'm going to be an avid soccer fan at least once every four years. Of course, this competition is special. It's being held in South Africa. How can you not appreciate a global competition being held in a country who has been through so much, fought so hard, where so many have died--for equality. How can your heart not fill when you see this on your TV screen?

Yes, after a brief break from blogging, I'm "back on the pitch" (that's soccer for back on the field or back in the game." And, possessed by soccer brain, I'm having to relearn some things. I'd forgotten that England is England. Great Britain is England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales. This means that assuming the Irish are cheering for England is just plain globally stupid. And who is Prince Charles supposed to cheer for during soccer season? Now there's a dilemma. After all, he is the Prince of Wales. And how did 80,000 of 2,000,000 Slovenians (please don't ask me to find Slovenia on a map) decide to make Cleveland, Ohio their home. Bet there were some interesting parties there today!

I haven't figured out how many games will be played or how you get into the final round. There's 96 teams who qualified to play for the World Cup. Each gets two chances to win before being eliminated, then there's some point system that kicks in. With the number of games that have to be played, I should be able to figure it out before the Cup is won. If not, I'll break down and Google.

I do know that a game is 90 minutes long. You have to love a game where the clock starts at 00.01 and counts up to 90.00. If you want to know how much time is left in the game, you have to subtract from 90.00. That requires borrowing from 3 digits over sometimes.....mind bending, huh. There are no fouls or penalties per se. The referees, who are actually allowed to make calls that go unchallenged and don't have to be reviewed from a dozen different angles, can give you cards. Three yellow cards, you're out of the game, I think. A red card means you've been a very bad boy: Adios. And no one gets to come in and replace you. Your team has to go on playing a man short. And those yellow cards don't disappear at the end of the game. They accumulate and you can lose the chance to play in the next game.

Referees can add on minutes at the end of the 90 minutes. This seems to be to make up for injuries. (Mate, you better suck it up and get off the pitch as quickly as you can because they don't care if your neck is broken---the clock keeps ticking.) I think they can add minutes for points earned--excessive celebration is the norm, so I think there's time alloted at the end to cover that. . And there may be points added as some compensation for rule infractions--not sure on this. Anyway, we're generally talking 1 to 5 extra minutes. So these players run around for 45 minutes, take a short half-time, then they're hyped and ready for another 45. No wimpy rest periods for TV breaks or time outs like in football (pronounced football) or basketball. They don't seem to change players very often. The game just goes on and on.

No advertising. What a shocking concept! Watching an entire 45 minute quarter without interruption. Yes sir. You better gather your snacks and take care of any necessary bodily functions before these boys start kicking. Imagine, if you're recording a game, you don't have to set it for extra minutes, although we've added 15 just to be on the safe side. We've been subjected to American Sports production methods for too long to really trust this clock thing.

It seems to be a requirement that you have to be relatively attractive to play this sport. We'll call that a plus. The announcers have wonderful accents and get to use phrases like "lovely composure", "2 nil', and "unpalatable score". An ending score of 0-0 can be a good score ( I'm still working on that concept). This is all so unique. It's just plain fun.

Now, I'm not ignoring the crazy fans. Fan violence and soccer seem to be inevitable, but so far things have gone fairly well in that area. But then, the players haven't gone home yet..... But maybe the abundance of the now infamous horns are calming the most aggressive fans. They tend to make me doze. That's not good. They're not much on instant replay, so you just miss out. Or maybe, just maybe, a global event that doesn't have the feel of American dominance allows us to feel we're only one part of the whole. The focus is on the game, not the gossip or the politics. The players actually seem reverent when their national anthems are played. And those precious children coming onto the field with every player....not a dry eye in our house.

This is not a sport for the weak of body, mind, or spirit. And it's being played in a place where we've witnessed miracles, with hopefully more to come. I'm so sorry that Nelson Mandela is not able to fully appreciate this time for his country. I believe certain people are put on earth at certain times, sort of walking angels. Mr. Mandela definitely qualifies. God Bless Our Planet.

How Do You Declutter Your Closet of Worries?

2010-06-13T22:50:00.002-04:00

We all have things we care about. We all have causes we're willing to fight for. But, in the year 2010, I have to find a way to organize and prioritize my lists. Manatees and sea turtles are staying. I am pure Pro-Choice which means I don't say "I think it's a woman's right to choose, but I wouldn't do it." That sort of dilutes the issue, doesn't it? I am straight up, "It's a woman's right to choose, and I will support her decision and defend her dignity." I will always fight for the underdog, the person or group that's too small to get the help they need. I will always put children first, and, unlike our Tea Party Friends, I am not going to ask who's going to pay for it. I'll shell out the taxes. But this.....

I just can't embrace this one. I understand the problem. For the last year the emerald ash borer has threated to become epedemic in our area. More and more ash trees have little birdlike houses that trap the borers. You can spot them because they're painted purple. And they are protected by federal law, so don't mess with those suckers.

Yes, we're already seeing far too many Japanese beetles this year, the real kind, not the fake ones that they imported about 10 years ago that live year round and reproduce three times a day. Yes, I'm aware of guidelines about taking specific plants, vegies, and fruit over certain state lines, mountains, and national boundaries. I honor those rules. But I am 'full up' with things to worry about. Someone else is going to have to adopt this cause. I do promise not to move firewood. Cross my heart and hope no more trees are infected.

The Last of the Dailies

2010-06-11T21:55:00.003-04:00

I am going to stop blogging daily. Now, don't get upset :-) I'm just going to cut back. Blogging has been a test for me. It's been over 8 years since I've been in the workplace. I needed to see if I still have the self-discipline to make myself sit down and do a project from start to finish. I needed to see if the words would still flow when when I positioned my hands above the keyboard. About six weeks ago we were finally able to access wireless. Our years on dial-up literally drove us away from the computer. It has just too frustrating and time consuming. Then, a new tower, a new provider plan, and presto! We were jolted into the 21st Century. The world reopened. And what a world it is.

I am now satisfied that I have right stuff to crank something out in writing on demand. I posted 15 out of 16 days. The day I didn't post was a day when my family had to come first. When I returned home, I was not in the mood to talk to anyone. And that's what blogging is, an opportunity to talk with no interruptions. As I have developed the deplorable habit of breaking in when someone is talking and inadvertently shifting the conversation in a new direction that I guide, blogging is perfect for me. I also finish people's sentences, especially my husband's. This fleeting look of impatience passes over his face. That minute signal is helping me improve my conversational skills, I hope. I thought I was a good listener. Now, I'm reassessing my social skills and hope to adjust my behavior accordingly. In my defense to myself, I am living a fairly isolated life. When a set of new ears comes in range, I start to ramble on and on and on. That, however, can be an asset. Some people (mostly strangers) seem to need that little chat as much as I do. Add to that the fact I used to be an excellent lecture teacher and public speaker. I did a lot of presentations. My big "claim to fame" in that area is that I was the speaker who proceeded John Walsh at the First National Convention on Missing and Sexually Exploited Children held in Texas. I salute his work that brought so much awareness to this issue and stimulated solid, tangible change to protect our children. Futhermore, I had to have extensive and expensive dental work that left me with pronunciation and continuity of speech delivery problems. You're seeing a $40,000 smile in that picture to the side, probably the result of my osteoporosis not being diagnosed until years later. I'm seriously considering speech therapy. Okay, I'm boring myself with this whining.

So, I've recovered my confidence in communication via the written word. My writing hasn't been all that great, but I was focused on cranking it out, not perfecting it. I found that my mind could still click into creative mode. The problem is turning it off. I don't think I've really heard a word my husband's said for a couple of weeks. The last time I let my mind follow a creative river, it cost both me and the environment. I kept missing exits and turns and put extra miles on my car....I may have been a road hazard.

I started out on Facebook and flunked FB 101 twice. FB seems to have a natural cycle. When you first start out you're thrilled with finding people you had wondered about, seeing names you recognize. You feel like you should accept everyone as a friend and comment or like everything you read. And I expected that in return. It didn't happen. I violated etiquette. I engaged in arguments that were only lightly disguised as discussions. I was disappointed that others didn't support my opinions when I knew they agreed with me. I found that at least 2/3 of the people who I befriended never said anything. Early on FB can become an obsession. You feel like to have to check it all the time. When they started the chat (or when I was able to access it) I'd see all these people on line. Was I offending someone by not chatting a hello or were they just on line while they were doing other things or were they all playing games? There were a lot of folks on my list (almost all childhood or high school acquaintances) spending mucho time in Farmland and other fantasy places. Another mystery is that certain groups tend to be drawn to FB. I didn't find anyone from anyone from the places I worked or people I spent considerable time with in volunteer activities. However, everyone in the state of South Carolina seems to be linked in. ?

It was a rude awakening to find that some patriotic groups on FB are obvious fronts for hate groups. I had posted ribbons and flags. Later I went in and read comments. It was a heart rending experience. I'd been writing off or slightly irritated by certain factions of Americans. But, now that I have had the FB experience, I have to wonder when it became necessary for you to shout that you're a Christian in order to be 'accepted' much less considered as such. What happened to praying in the closet? I found these people to be the least charitable (based on their comments). Does it matter where a starving child lives? Not to me. I just want to feed all of them. And who decided that only Christians (actually only certain denominations of Christians) can be patriots? Obviously people of all other faiths and agnostics and atheists are traitors to be watched and questioned. Maybe we should 'detain' them all. And I found pure bigotry, intolerable to me. I learned that I am totally intolerate of those totally intolerant. Yes, that sentence does make sense. I allowed this negative atmosphere into my home. It was like my test market. Then I cleaned my list to a dozen people and a few groups. I am so happy with the results. I did lose some people I would have liked to have gotten to know again, but their connections to less than acceptable friends was a factor. I offended someone who had been nothing but open and loving to me. I didn't apologize or take it back. I am well aware of the power of words, and 220 characters is not enough in some situations. Things I said were misinterpreted. You can't fix that. FB was my test market for the new me reengaging in life. I can't express my appreciation for the individuals who still allow me into their homes. Your intelligence, character, and humor flow so spontaneously and effortlessly. It strengthens me.

FB led me to blogging. Blogging is helping me put some of my issues into prospective. We need a new phrase for issues. We've done problems, hang-ups, psychological terms. Maybe we should just say we have DLMS, Delayed Life Maturity Issues. Oh geez. I've admitted to trying to find myself. I'm a cliche. I was so hoping to end this missive with panache!

Ann Gotlib Part II: The End?

2010-06-10T23:50:00.002-04:00

There's a storm brewing as I write this. The sky is ominous, but it's daytime and emotionally that's a more reasonable time for me. When we ended Part I, I had severely criticized now Senator Mitch McConnell and hopefully you recognized that Peggy, at 28. was a chronic do-gooder out playing the role of one of Charlie's angels. That role came to an abrupt end as I was introduced to Ann's parents by John Rabun and Lt. Bill Spaulding of the Jefferson County Missing and Sexually Exploited Special Unit. They had met Ann's parents the night before. The Team had pretty much followed protocol, as did the police, until they hit a roadblock. No one knew who was in charge. I have to take a minute to commend all the agencies for their intense desire to respond to this crisis. The system got in the way, not the personnel.

Compared to the massive dramatic publicity a missing person, especially a child, receives today, the ending is rather mundane. Despite Senator's McConnell's "full backing" of the concept of the Missing and Sexually Exploited Child Unit (The Team), he let 24 critical hours go by before deciding that the backing of the Fraternal Order of Police for his senatorial race was more important than following the precepts of the unit. The goal of treating every missing child report as an active search case crashed: It was labeled a homicide almost immediately. Just the use of that word drives parents to extremes. They want to know someone is looking and looking, and will not stop looking until she's found. On the whole, parents don't believe their child is dead until a body is found. Instead of The Team being able to coordinate with civilian agencies wanting to help find Ann, no one was left in charge. Thank God (Allah) the Jewish Community Center in Louisville is immense and stepped in at once with money for getting posters and people to support the search efforts. Ann is/was a gifted pianist and took lessons at the center. The Team continued to work the case coordinating with the police as best they could. Still, there were overlapping interrogations, conflicting statements given to the press, and general confusion on the part of her parents that I tried to sort out. Ann's parents are reserved, well-educated and gracious people. We'd talk a little. We sat in silence waiting for information a lot. Fortunately her father was ruled out as a suspect (now called person of interest) quickly. Not alienating the family with accusations and suspicions was a Team concept, not one of the police. The owner of the pet store at the mall took a beating. After all, children hung out there and he, well, he seemed like he was gay. Remember folks, it was 1983. My personal dream was that Ann had found a way back to her grandfather in Russia and that the Russian government wouldn't let them contact her parents. I would plant an image in my mind of her sitting under a rose trellis holding her papaw's hand when things got too intense. They had asked me to read her diary. I knew she was homesick. I found no indication that she was any more troubled than any other kid her age; had the same complaints about school, parents, and friends, and wondered who she was. She expressed her feelings in a manner far beyond her years.

A woman from the group I was working with (ECHO) wanted to come with me to the Gotlibs. Her son had been missing for a number of years. That's another story. I knew it was not the time for her to talk to Ann's parents, but how could I stop her? Even The Team thought it might help. It didn't. Early in a missing child case no one wants to talk with someone who hadn't gotten their child back. They were so polite to her, but I felt terrible. It wasn't fair to them.

About six months after Ann's disappearance, The Team heard that Ann's father had bought a gun. Since it's legal to own a gun in this country, officially nothing could be said to him. Unofficially, I got the job. We all knew he was convinced it was the pet store owner. When I talked to him, he tried to convince me he bought the gun to protect his family, that is, what was left of them. I was blunt and laid out the facts about the outcome of him taking the law into his own hands. I wasn't getting very far when Ann's grandmother, who I suspected understood English, leaned forward in her rocker and said, "Listen to her. She is right." Then she settled back and folded her arms. I left with the gun that night.

On the first anniversay of Ann's disappearance, now Senator Mitch McConnell's office called and asked if the Gotlibs would have their picture taken with him. It was the first contact he had made with them in that entire year. The man has no moral or ethical fiber. The Gotlibs said yes. They would do anything to get Ann's name out in the media.

I gradually let the people who had rallied to the family's side absorb my role. I had reached the point where I was seeing a pedophile behind every tree. I was at my Mom's one day, and my nephew was playing in the yard close to the house. I couldn't take my eyes off him. He was perfectly safe, in sight, but fear was gnawing at me. I was way off balance. I took off to Gatlenburg and the mountains to regain my senses and reason. I watched "normal" families, whatever that means. But still, not a day goes by I don't see her 12 year old face. Every time they find a body or catch a serial killer, I am filled with hope and dread. When the National Center for Missing and Sexually Exploited Children opened in Washington, they made it a priority case. John Rabun and several others were the start-up personnel. It was through those resources that the connections began to be made with repeat offenders and the identification of cases with similar MOs.

Several years ago the Louisville police announced they had identified Ann's killer, Gregory Oakley Jr.,(deceased) a veteranian in Louisville at the time Ann went missing with a record of sexual assault on young girls. Both his ex-cell mate and his former girlfriend reported to the police that he had told them he had murdered Ann. He also failed a lie detector test prior to his death. Ann's parents and her new little brother thanked the police and told the press they had their answer. Several days later, Ann's father recanted,stating he didn't think they had identified the right man. But officially Ann's case is closed. The End? Probably. I'm sure the public record doesn't read like my account. I'm sure police agencies still ignore chronic runaways even though they have no where to go but the street. We're educating our children better. That's a good thing. We have Amber alerts and idiots who abuse them. We can't afford to become jaded when an Amber Alert is issued, and then the ones involved turn up in Florida. It's also so important that the police acknowledge that parental abductions are extremely dangerous. If you're unbalanced enough to kidnap your child or children, someone had better intervene quickly. If you need to abduct your child/children to because they're in danger from the custodial parent, family courts are going to have to ease up on the unalienable rights of natural mothers. There's much work still to do, but we as a country are so much more informed. I just wish the Gotlibs had a body to bury. That sounds horrible, and it is.

Something's Off

2010-06-09T23:01:00.003-04:00

I've had several topics for my blog tonight in and out of my brain all day competing for my attention. It should have been a good day. We got word that the company we sued for medical expenses incurred when I fell last October wants to settle without litagation. I didn't like suing at all, but they were at fault, and the law says they are liable for my medical expenses. They had the slippery floors. They didn't post signs. They had the staff that was clueless how to handle an accident report and left me in considerable pain while they figured it out. My lawyer was ...a lawyer. I ended up doing all the work. And Master Donald- he ended up in the Legacy Wing because I broke my hip. I should be glad this legal fiasco is almost over, but I'm uneasy. Maybe it's the change in the weather. Maybe it's because I just spent two hours editing pictures using my Canon software and, once again, Windows photo software grabbed them in their original unedited version and I can't find the edited versions.

Or maybe it's just there's no chocolate in the house. I really thought I had more M&M's in the cabinet. I actually went through the trash to find the empty bag in order to convince myself I had, indeed, eaten the whole bag. Maybe it's because the increasing tension between the US and Mexico is rapidly leading to a stand off. Maybe it's because the oil spill became so real and horrifying again as I read about volunteer opportunities opening up in 6 months for 'General Volunteers' to man phones, manage files, gofer this or that. I had considered trying to help when when the spill occurred and found they could only use volunteers with training in oil spill cleanups. My head knows if we are able to recover from the damage, it will take years, decades. But seeing that they're planning the next survival step to begin in about 6 months in black and white made the devastation seem so--real...again. Maybe it's because people will think I'm yelling if I capitalize if or real or again.

Maybe it's because Kevin Costner is testifying before Congress tomorrow. The man started a company years ago dedicated to this type of situation, and they're just getting around to talking to him? Maybe it's because one of the Gore daughters is getting divorced, like Al and Tipper weren't upsetting enough. I saw them with Bill & Hillary during the first campaign at General Butler State Park. There was pure magic in the air. Now, years later, we have a good man doing a good job, stoically trying to stay on the path and probably counting the days until he can get the heck out of D.C. with more enthusiasm than the Republicans. Maybe it's because I can't find my reading glasses, any of them. Maybe it's because I didn't remember to edit yesterday's post this morning and someone may have read it complete with glaring errors.

Maybe I'm just hungry and tired and my hormones are acting kooky. Maybe I'm sick of the Hollywood bs when someone dies. Maybe I'm missing "Lost". No. That's not it Okay, Robin has called and is safely at work and the pizza's ready. See you guys tomorrow.

George and the Snake

2010-06-08T23:14:00.001-04:00

Ha! If you know me I bet you were sure I was going to write about George Clooney. GC is always a person of interest. My sister and husband were in Augusta, Kentucky, this weekend for their annual 'festival, "house tour'... I'm not sure what they call it. They went to breakfast at the General Store, a little place where the locals go for good food, and who walked in? The Clooney Clan. Yes, George's father Nick entered the door leading about twenty of the Clooney family. But, much to my sister's disappointment, George was unable to attend the family reunion this year. Heavy, heavy sigh.......

But, you know there's more than one George on this planet. I was out on Toby this evening, just cruising along, enjoying the ride, when I spotted a snakeskin. I go to great lengths to avoid hurting anything when I'm cutting grass. Even mowing over the skin a fellow creature had shed felt wrong. Then, George popped into my head.

I taught seventh grade for several years. If you're going to teach that age group, you better not be afraid of snakes, or things that jump out of desk drawers, or any number of things your students might do in order to get a laugh. I've never been afraid of snakes or mice or other beasties that inhabit the outdoors This proved helpful as a teacher. Now critters can startle me, but I am prone to move them or scare them to safety and continue on my way. I once drove a timber rattler out of my house with a broom. Later it occurred to me that it was probably a she and would have babies under the house where she sought shelter. Oh well.

One day a my student, George, came in caring a box with holes punched in it. Naturally I asked what was in it, and he was eager to show me. It was a large black snake. I told him how pretty it was, and since it was behaving, I saw no reason that it couldn't stay it in my classroom for the day. Weeell, before lunch, I noticed an odor. When we came back the odor was stronger. No one said anything, so I let it go until afternoon recess. Believe me when I say that I had a really bad feeling about this. As you've probably guessed, the snake was dead. I had no idea what to do. How could I tell George that the snake he had found on the way to school wasn't going home with him. George was a pretty big guy, easy-going, and had a heart as big as the football player they would try to turn him into. But I just knew he would cry. How could I make this easier for him?

There was one thing for sure. I had to get the snake out of the classroom. It smelled awful: I mean awful. And, I thought, maybe it would be better if he didn't see the dead snake. Box in arm, breathing through my mouth, Mr. Black Snake was placed in its final resting place, the dumpster.

Recess ended. George noticed the box was gone right away. I had him walk outside with me to break the sad news. He burst into tears. I was starting into some spiel about the circle of life, when he interrupted me. He knew the snake was dead. He had brought a dead snake to school. He wanted its skin and I had thrown it away. The kid was upset, almost mad! Needless to say, I wasn't going to dig the snake out of the dumpster. When he said he would, I let him. That got me in real hot water with the custodian.

Moral of story: I have no idea. Maybe you had to be there. Every time I go up James Ave by Meinken Field I think of George who lived there. I guess you just do the best you can do when the moment demands action. Sometimes you do the wrong thing with no ill intent. After that, I did announce that all creatures entering my teaching domain had to be breathing. To the best of my knowledge, no one violated that rule, although that one kid was asleep for a long time............

Moms

2010-06-08T00:12:00.001-04:00

My run of eleven consecutive days posting on this Blog came to a halt yesterday. My family are very private people, so I'll just give you the basics. My brother-in-law, Robert, called at about 4:00 in the afternoon. He never calls me. So I had that instant sinking of the stomach and said, "Robert, what's wrong." He and my sister were at the hospital with my dad. My mom had had an 'incident.' She was cutting some roses and something happened, most likely a mild TIA. She was suddenly disoriented and couldn't think of what she was doing or what had gone on that day. Dad called my sister, Donna. They took Mom to the ER and had a wallet full of tests, which she passed with flying colors. Though they thought it might be better if she stayed for observation, she wanted to come home and did. For a quiet, somewhat shy lady, she usually gets what she wants.

Since I would never presume to know with certainty what emotions my family were experiencing, I'm going to tell you that yesterday convinced me I am not a normal person. I used to take pride in being the craziest person I knew, but after I started working in Carrollton, the competition was so stiff that I reluctantly sought a new goal. And that was before I moved to Indiana.

Naturally when I got the call my thoughts went to worst case scenario, the beginning of the end. Now you might wonder why I didn't get hysterical and jump into the truck and head up river. Well, first of all, Robert has this very calming way of stating things. Since they didn't know what was going on yet, and Mom seemed to be starting to remember things, I waited for Robert to call back. That gave me enough time to realize that Robert always manages to put things in their most positive light. It wasn't that I thought he wasn't telling me everything, I just know him well enough to begin to wonder if I should get to the hospital as soon as I could. Secondly, I have to consider the third shift schedule of my husband, Robin, and the fact that we're a one vehicle family. So I started prepping his uniform, setting up the coffee pot, etc., so I could get up there and be back by 10:15. Then there was the fact that it was already late and Robin hadn't gotten to sleep yet. He wanted to call in work and come with me, but I knew how tired he was. So we compromised: He called in work so that I wouldn't be under any time restraints getting back or could stay I was needed (or I needed to). He would sleep and be fresh and ready to go if we were needed the next day. In the meantime, the family was reporting in to tell me Mom was improving, she was having tests run, etc. I tried to get my sister to play mom and tell me whether to come or not. She refused. So here we are, in the midst of crisis, my sister refusing to be the brain for her 55 year old little sister, and I'm cracking up laughing at her response. By nature I am not a person who can find humor in every situation. And Donna, being the more stable daughter and living close to my parents is first on site if something goes wrong. She is an absolute Godsend for my parents. She, Robert, my nephews and their wives are always keeping a quiet eye on things. Yes, you're hearing some guilt here. But I had to laugh at her immediate answer to my plea, "tell me what to do."

I said I was coming after weighing all the weird things going on in my head. I mean, if I show up is Mom going to think things are worse than they are. Is it going to upset her knowing I was driving 2 hours just to see her. What if things were worse than they appeared, and I didn't go. What if Mom has to stay at the hospital. Would Dad even want me to stay at the house or would he think I thought he couldn't take care of himself?
As I hit the road you would have thought my thoughts would have been centered on Mom. They weren't. They were going in every direction. I can't even begin to remember the stream of consciousness that presented itself during the drive up. When I arrived at the ER, Robert was standing outside to meet me and take me back to Mom. We made a left down a hallway, and, at the first door there's a Villa Hills police officer. I peeked in the room, and there was another officer and an inmate. I was trying to hear what the inmate was telling the doctor, and I almost ran over Robert. I wasn't paying attention, and he had stopped in the doorway of my Mom's room right next door. (It turned out the inmate had overdosed on heroin, a situation the VH police probably don't deal with often.)

Now I did have my opening line prepared, "So you just had to smell the roses today, huh." Pretty weak, but as she is my Mom, she had to smile. It turned out that they were getting her release forms ready; so Donna and I helped her get dressed, rounded up her stuff, got follow up instructions, and off we went.

Robert had pulled the car up to the doorway and helped Mom and Dad into the car. I was parked in the garage and headed in that direction to follow them home. There were two women sitting leaning up against the building with a baby in a carrier. Of course I had to stop to get a cosmic recharge. I spoke to them, then leaned down and looked into the bluest eyes I have ever seen. They were so intense that I looked at his mom to see hers, which turned out to be brown. I might have thought the mom was the grandmother. They were both pretty young looking. Then, while I was having a little chat with Caleb, I noticed the hospital bracelet on his ankle. I asked his mom if they were here for him, and she explained that he had a congenital gastric-intestinal problem, and a tube from earlier surgery had broken lose. The hospital had put a temporary tube in place, but Caleb would have to go to Children's Hospital in Cincinnati the next morning. The group was looking a little haggard, so I asked them if they had a ride home. They had called two people, but neither had shown up. They told me they just lived down in Latonia, so I offered them a ride.

Now I drive a small Toyota pickup truck. Two people in the front is a full load. I had told them that, but the mom said she would lay down in the back. It turned out there was only room for Caleb in the front (safely in his carrier and belted in) and both of the ladies (who were not small people) climbed into the back and laid down flat in the bed of the truck. Yes, it is against the law to carry humans in the back of your pickup. Both women were uneasy about the whole situation, but they really needed to get home. Of course I know not to pick up strangers. Of course they were leery to get in the truck of a stranger. We just put fate in charge and headed toward Latonia. The family was safely delivered home. Caleb and I had had a wonderful talk. They were grateful and I felt good as I headed toward my parent's house.

Now Donna had seen me talking to the ladies, and, since it took me longer to get there to Mom's than it should, she had figured out what I had done.These are the kind of things I sometimes forget to mention to my Mom. I mean she's lived with her fair share of my shenanigans. There was no choice but to tell the story. She just shook her head. She had already started to take charge. Dad needed to be fed, and it seems my sister isn't up to speed on frozen dinners. In other words, Mom was clearly reclaiming her turf. We all hung out like everything was normal for a little while, then went home. It was 10:30 when I called Mom to let her know I was home safely (yeah, I still call in). Go ahead and chortle. Nobody has woken up that morning thinking gee, I think I'll go to the ER, least of all, all these moms. My guess is even the prisoner was surprised by the turn of events. But I can't believe how I just babbled on and made stupid comments and thought the thoughts I thought and did the things I did. But, hopefully, everyone we met yesterday found a reason to laugh today. And may all the people we saw be as blessed as we are. My Mom is going to be just fine.

A View of My Day

2010-06-05T23:00:00.001-04:00

You'll have to forgive me for not writing Part II of Ann Gotlib's life tonight. If you believe in coincidence, then, coincidentally we received "The Lovely Bones" from Netflix and just finished watching it. If you are like me, you too would take the arrival of this movie in today's mail as an omen. Ann's disappearance wasn't eerie or supernatural; but the movie caught the era, the emotions, and individual responses very well. I don't think tonight is the night to open that old wound. The movie hit too close to home. I will tell you later, when the sun is shining and 28 years seems like so long ago.

We got an early start today, too early by my standards. I am proud of the fact that I can now linger over coffee, piddle around the house, and stay in my gown as long as I please in the morning. I'm the goddess of this domicile. I have no schedule except.......well, except for mornings like this.

You see, it was auction day. The first auction of land belonging to my uncle-in-law. You remember him, don't you? This morning was a big step for us in starting the liquidation of his estate, i.e., turning his land into money so he can receivehigh quality care in The Legacy Wing (Memory Care Center). Don had discussed with Robin how he wanted things handled when he died. Since the dementia is his only health issue, it's up to Robin (with me by his side) to sell Don's properties to provide for his needs for as long as he decides to stay on earth. He had told Rob the auctioneer he wanted us to use if Rob decided auction was the best way to go. Today, I met this man. Talk about a "homegrown boy" who knows his way around. What a pro! He knew every detail about the 3 parcels of land sold today. Most of it was bad news. These three properties were the real "dogs" of the bunch. Two are wooded areas, very hilly; one small lot is in a flood plain. I don't know how he did it, but everyone won today. The buyers got reasonable good deals: Don gained more than we had hoped for in this economy. It was a small group that came. I'm sure Mike (the auctioneer) had planted a bidder to push up the sales amount. This was my first serious auction, and I was amazed to find that people were actually bidding with the slightest nod of their head, the wiggle of a finger. One man was bidding by raising his eyes to the heavens. I'm not kidding. I thought they only did that in the movies!

So, we have a good start solidifying funds for Don's comfort and care. One of Rob's cousin's showed up. She has issues. Quite frankly she's not the easiest person to deal with, and my presence in Don's life irritates her. It was a beautiful day, and we were in a beautiful place. That set in motion a long overdue discussion, some reality were brought to the table including the fact that she no longer has a "rich uncle." I think we all feel like we're working together in Don's best interest now. She is a mystery in many ways, insecure and arrogant. She always sees what and how things should be done, but never seems to be around to help. But I'll move on. I've taken my blog there before. And today was a good day for Master Don.

Then I wandered around Madison for a while shooting some pictures while Rob went to grocery.( Yeah, he went to the grocery. No, you can't have him, he's mine.) I found a new place to play. And the best part about it? No video games, no technology of any sort. Just toys and things to climb on and balls to roll in and books to read. You get my drift? What an original idea! I hope they make it!

I perused the Farmer's Market, then Rob found me. We came home and grilled out. Yes, my friends, he cooked. Then we watched the movie.

Putting the movie aside, The Reds just won, again. We're starting to get this anti-crastination thing down. Oh, did I forget to tell you that Robin got the tractor out and bush-hogged one of Donald's fields while I did some photo work and grabbed a quick nap? It was a good day, in my view.

Ann Gotlib Part I: Missing and Presumed Dead at the Age of 12 or 39

2010-06-04T22:45:00.001-04:00

I know where I was on October 24, 1954, the day I was born. I don't remember anything, but records do indicate that I was in St. Elizabeth Hospital. I know where I was April 12, 2001. I was standing by the Kentucky River getting married. I don't remember very much, but, again, there are documents that do prove that I was there. I remember where I was May 31, 2001. I was home helping my mother-in-law depart this earth as easily and painlessly as possible. But that's about all I have stored in my date memory bank except for one other occasion. June 1, 1983. It was the last school day for the Covington Public Schools. It was also the day Ann Gotlib disappeared from Louisville, Kentucky.

June 1, 1983: I wasn't particularly happy to see the school year end. I never liked saying goodbye to my students. So after wishing everyone a safe and happy summer, I jumped into my car and headed for Louisville to ride with the Missing and Sexually Exploited Children's Unit, (informally called Team). The Team was a model program where social workers and specially trained police officers worked in conjunction with the police on these type of cases. I had been volunteering with a Juvenile Court Diversion Program in Kenton County and was also working with a small group to form an organization we named the Northern Kentucky Exploited Childrens' Help Organization (ECHO). It's purpose was to support parents of missing and/or sexually exploited children. These activities were part of my ongoing quest to understand situations and life-conditions that I had not, and probably would not, experience.

The Team was interested in how volunteer groups could support their efforts and had invited us to "ride along" any time we wanted. That's how I came to be with them the night Ann was abducted. They took me to the part of town no city advertises. Lt. Bill Spaulding and John Rabun (who I believe is still Director of the National Center for Missing and Sexually Exploited Children) taught me how to empty an entire block of X rated shops and bars. (It's easy. I stood on the corner and Lt. Bill went into the nearest 'store'.) I laughed so hard as people started pouring out of doorways all the way down the block and headed in the other direction. It seems that all the businesses have a little panic button they press when suspected officers of the law are spotted. Despite the rapid egress of customers, I did do a little browsing in the store and visited the back area where individuals can "watch" their choice of dancers. Bill assured me that the underage dancers had been hidden as soon as the warning went out. We were cruising areas where child prostitutes were working, when the police radio reported the news about Ann. I was immediately dropped off at a motel (my car was locked in a public garage). No civilians were invited to this scene. Bill later told me that it was to protect me. Based on the early information received, the odds were high that a search would turn up a body.

I need to explain or remind you that in 1983 there were still 24-72 waiting periods before the police would take a report on a missing person regardless of age. There were no Amber Alerts, no National Center for Missing Children. We were in the infancy stage of providing better protection to our children. The Kentucky Legislature was working on a bill that would eliminate waiting time and require police agencies to respond immediately to any report of a missing minor. At that time, in general, if a child was under 13 and had no previous pattern of running away, the police would respond at once, but over 13..... And children being kidnapped: Society really didn't want to look too closely at that issue. Senator Mitch McConnell, then Judge Executive of Jefferson County where Louisville is located, had gotten the Missing and Sexually Exploited Units funded. It was his baby. He was running for the Senate for his first term, and was using the issue to as a major part of his campaign. Because he was a Republican, the Democratic dominated Kentucky Legislature was dragging their feet on the bill that would eliminate delays in searching for missing children. The political reason for this? No one wanted Mitch McConnell to get credit for getting this important piece of legislation passed. I actually met with him and asked him to lower his profile to expedite the passing of the bill. Yeah, I was that stupid. I left the meeting wondering how a robot could be elected Judge Executive, much less a Senator. I didn't know about his massive campaign fund. I didn't know how badly the Republicans wanted Kentucky's Senate seat in D.C. I still don't know how he slid into the most important committees and is now one of the most powerful people in our nation. He has no personality. He isn't particularly well-spoken. There's nothing within his eyes that indicates any trace of humanity. "He must have something on a lot of people," she said cynically.

I felt I needed to explain Senator McConnell's role in this issue, because it was up to him to assign jurisdiction of Ann's case to the appropriate agency. Lt. Spaulding came back to my room about 3am and told me that little was being done. No one knew who was in charge. We grabbed a few hours sleep and were at the Gotlib's before 6am the next morning. No word on jurisdiction from the Judge had been received. It turned out to be would be much later that day before he made a decision.The critical first hours were lost forever.

Now, as a civilian, I could be useful. I could go in, if the parents allowed me, and ask and do anything I wanted. Ann's parents invited me in and I began my work. Me, the youngest,dumbest, least experienced 28-year-old on the planet was at least temporarily the only official anchor they had in the search for their daughter. The Team took the lead and organized a door-to-door campaign looking for information. I took a deep breath and began my work. To be continued.....

If I don't sound sympathetic enough, if I'm not emoting the depth of my feelings, it's because I can't. You'll find I didn't sit and cry with the parents. There was work to be done and falling apart wouldn't have helped anyone. Some pain goes so deep that you have to block out your feelings in order to get the job done. Believe me, not a day in 27 years has passed that I have not thought of 12-year-old Ann Gotlib. I believe that I know someone in a similar situation now.....our President.

I Only Have Eyes For You

2010-06-04T00:14:00.001-04:00

My horoscope today started with, "You might want to stay in and not speak to anyone today." Then it rambled a little about being in some cosmic period of change and ended with, "Make sure you get your emotions out, otherwise they will fester and do more harm than good." Now, at last count, there is one other human, five cats, and one dog in our home. And they all know how to disappear when I "let my emotions out." I considered going ahead and writing about one of two serious issues, but today just didn't feel like the day. So here we go. Let's see where this ride ends.

Inspired by a conversation I had with my nephew Clark a little while ago, I want to talk about people's eyes. They truly are the windows to the soul. In less than two months, Clark will be the father of my first great niece, an awesome responsibility. He had been to see his newborn niece, and I asked him if he had looked deep in her eyes. It turns out he did get a brief glance at them (for the first time) before they sort of crossed like babies' eyes will do. It takes a lot of effort strengthening all their muscles so quickly. It's not like they have a gym to go to three times a week. Those little eyelids take some conditioning before they can stay open very long. But when they do, I sit quietly and take a deep long look into them. I once read that some cultures believe that babies are born with all the knowledge of the universe that they gradually forget during their first two years as new souls. Then they begin their journey through this life-lesson. I believe that's true. And it thrills me when I hold a baby for the first time and absorb the power of the wisdom they carry.

Today I looked many times into the eyes of Rue McLanahan whose soul has just returned home. Except for when she was playing her part as Blanch Deveraux on Golden Girls, I could see that she was trapped in fear most of her life. I celebrate her death and thank her for masking that fear and giving us eyes with a devilish sparkle, making her retreat from reality into a retreat of gentle comedy for us. I looked in Gary Coleman's eyes and found confusion, deep sadness. It was his time to go for a rest. He's earned it. And I looked into the eyes of Armando Galarraga, the Detroit Tiger's pitcher who was deprived of a treasured statistic by a bad call by the first base umpire, Jim Joyce. It was about the quickest transformation that I have ever seen a person go through: disbelief, dumfounded, and then a just a flash of control loss that was conquered as he came back to being the man he tries to be. In my book, he's earned the title of absolute best display of sportsmanship in the history of sports. And the umpire, I saw his eyes. He will never forgive himself. All the good work in his past was negated (for him) by one bad call. He's going to lose sleep for a long time. And, drifting a bit here, if there's an exception for every rule in the English language, couldn't Commissioner Selig take the chance and rule the call incorrect. It was the last play of the game. But, kudos to Galarraga. I'd like to have a day when I dealt with twenty-seven people and gave up no hits, no walks, and no errors.

But my favorite eyes today were our First Lady's. Did you see her light up when Sir Paul McCartney sang "Michelle" to her. Her husband, you know Barack, the President of the United States, was trying to croon to her, giving all the right romantic signals. But Michelle only had eyes for Paul. I loved it.

So now it's time for me to close my eyes. Everyone else here has. Oh, by the way, I didn't leave the house today. But that's because I didn't want to. My husband is home on a mini-vacation. Why would I want to go anywhere else? I only have eyes for him......

Making Memories with Jello

2010-06-02T20:52:00.004-04:00

My husband has four days off. We anticipate these 'long weekends like kids counting down the days until Christmas break. As much as we long for an extended time to just be together, we have obligations. Although we are not always happy with these responsibilities, we accepted them. We made a pledge to guide a man through his final time on Earth. If you've been reading my posts, my uncle-in-law Donald is a familiar topic. He tends to just show up in my thoughts at the oddest times. He also shows up on our schedule regularly.

On Day 1 of our mini-vacation, we drove to the **** **** Health Campus (a multi-level care facility for the elderly) to visit Donald and met with Memory Care Unit personnel to discuss Donald's care plan, share information, and exchange ideas on how we might improve his quality of life. Much to my surprise, we found that he's not in the Memory Care Center. It's been renamed. He's now receiving care in the Legacy Wing on the **** **** Health Campus. Now I discovered that I had naural talent for putting a positive spin on written requests early in my teaching career. I was spinning before people knew they were being spun. I wanted my kids to go to the first Frisbee course in our area, have a picnic, and, mostly just have a good time. However, I submitted this request as the ultimate health and science experience that would make any student groan. And the grants I wrote, bs worthy of an award. But Legacy Wing? They win. I am humbled by their creativity. First, with Memory Care Center, we didn't have to say Don was in a nursing home. Now we can say he's in the Legacy Wing.....I suspect we'll have to add further explanation to that.

But the meeting was wonderful. I really feel that we were able to revive their interest in preserving the personality that was Donald. In turn, they were able to bring me to a new level. I now accept that Donald is where he needs to be. We shared our perceptions of the changes in Don. The man that couldn't speak a simple sentence without three curse words disappeared a few weeks after he was admitted. Another male guest pointed out to him that cursing was not the way they talked up there. Neither staff nor family have heard him curse since then. If nothing else Donald continues to spontaneously adjust to the situation h'e in. There's a lot to be for that skill. They are concerned that he doesn't socialize enough. We assured him that Donald has always been that way. His business accounted for most of his time and interests.The same with activities. I'd love to know what he's really thinking when they invite him to join them Making Memories with Jello. He does wander in and out of activities, which is good enough for me. He's healthy. He's gained weight. He eats well. He has no physical problems except for the memory loss. Their main concern is that he sleeps too much. He's 91. Let the man sleep. The Donald I never knew and the Donald I did know are buried deep within the dementia at this point. They're not coming back. Today I believed that for the first time. When we left I shed no tears, uttered no "well maybe if we shoulds..." Today I felt okay about coming home without him. He is safe there. And that feeling of security is something he desperately needed, something we couldn't give him. Though the many faces of Don of the past are gone, they represent the respect that we expect the staff to show him. We are certain that they do, and will. We are so grateful to have found the Covered Bridge Health Campus. I think someone upstairs gave us a little extra help. I hope He knows how grateful we are. Please meet Donald In His Prime.....

"You Know There Ain't No Cure for the Summer Time Blues"

2010-06-01T23:48:00.003-04:00

This post was supposed to be about me. Once again I've been delegated to the sidelines. Don't blame me for the quality of this picture. I'm not the one who runs and hides every time I see a camera, or there's thunder, or a car backfires. Blame Lucy. I know, look at that sweet thing. How could I have driven her under the back porch trembling at the thought of a shutter clicking. Shame on me!

I was going to start with the old southern expression, "Horses sweat, men perspire, and a lady glows." Well, ladies in my family definitely don't sweat. We don't perspire. And, if you get us hot enough to glow, you better be a good 100 feet away from us. We are not pleasant when we glow. It is not a healthy glow. It's a signal that if you don't get us into air conditioning soon, someone is going to get hurt. Some genetic defect deprives us of our natural cooling system. While others have perspiration running down their faces, we look at them with awe and wonder.

But, today, something happened. Lucy had to be clipped. Imagine wearing three fur coats tightly bound on an 85 degree, humid day. That's what it's like for her. She has the look of a collie, but her hair: It's just bad. She sheds in clumps that have to be pulled from her like plucking a chicken. And, silly me, had the brilliant idea that I should get a before and after picture. HA Only three year olds and pets can run you that far into the ground when they don't want to be caught. Lucy was a well trained dog when we got her. We just aren't well trained owners. Still, her defiance today was impressive. Under the porch, a quick exit and around the house at the speed of a locomotive to hide in the bushes, another circle of the house culminating in a dive into a honeysuckle thicket. Well, she pinned herself in at that point. Robin was able to get a choker on her (talk about hurt feelings) and secure her for her summer trim. She held out, pulling at the choker as far as she could, staring straight ahead as if she was trying to transport herself into another dimension in time and space. She took a treat from me, then laid it down in contempt. What could we do? Let her go through summer looking like a Wookie, a walking fur ball and a very large one at that? I clipped and plucked and clipped and plucked. She finally gave in and laid down as she allowed Robin to pet and fuss over her.

Then it happened. I had already chased the beastie around, and I had been leaning over a for a while. It was around noon, and you know what they say about mad dogs and Englishmen in the noontime sun... Anyway, I began to sweat. It was streaming down my face. I felt strange, but I continued on. Oh, did I mention the M ladies are allergic to their own sweat? Yes, it's a burning sensation, and anywhere there's a crease or fold becomes a scalded painful area. Did I mention the flies that were biting and the gnats that drove me crazy? It wasn't pretty.

I gave up. Actually, I said, "That's it, I'm done, I'm going inside," in a not so nice tone of voice. Wisely, Robin said, "You go ahead, I'll finish up here." So he took over (quite frankly, she likes him best) soothing her, clipping, plucking, clipping... We need to find a place to sell the hair we take off off her. Surely if you put it in a garden or flower bed, it would scare something away. And we had piles of it.

There is no "after" picture to post. I tried to take one while she was inside, but she ran into the bathroom and hid. We had played enough 'Hide 'n Seek in one day for me. She looks like she had an all-body afro and some little kid took dull scissors to it. Obviously we'll have to take another go at this, a clean-up session. However, she is cooler, calmer and lying beside me in our air-conditioned home. Good air conditioning is a must for me. Had the house not had it, it would have been a deal breaker for my marriage.

After being fed and watered, I napped until around six. Then I bravely donned my grass cutting clothes and cut the paddock and Boyd's field. Toby, my riding lawnmower, who doesn't seem to mind the heat, tried to put me in a better mood. But, why do the days have to be so long in summer? Longer evenings are not a plus in hot weather. While it's light, I feel compelled to be doing something. I'm in trouble. It's only June 1st. There's a long, long summer ahead.

You Want to Take Who, Where???

2010-05-31T23:31:00.002-04:00

Once upon a time there was a young, enthusiastic teacher who wore her rose colored glasses 24 hours a day. She sincerely liked her students. She was not that crazy about some of her fellow co-workers who had allowed themselves to become a bit hardened, a bit cynical, a bit same old-same old. And then there were those who obviously didn't like people, especially children. She felt sorry for them most of the time. It must be a horrible way to live, waking every morning, dreading the day ahead. OK. The teacher is me. So I'm dumping all this 'she was', 'she thought' cutsy stuff.

I taught seventh grade at a downtown city school, First District School in Covington, Kentucky for several years. And it was a long, long time ago. There were two seventh grade teachers, Mr. H and me. Do not rule out the possibility that Mr. H might be one of those teachers I felt sorry for. As is par for the course with budding adolescents, there was bullying and fights in the alley and God knows what going on when they got home. Bullying is by far the hardest behavioral issue a teacher deals with. It's a lose/lose. If you protect the person being bullied too strongly, you set them up for more bullying as pay back. If you go after the bully, you set the one being bullied up for pay back. It's a vicious cycle. So I thought a lot of how to break the cycle and how to stop the times when fighting became the only way my students had to establish themselves as the alpha kid.

The movie Ghandi had just been released. Ah, I thought, the perfect lesson in non-violent behavior effectively solving problems. I mean, the "turn the other cheek" had gone in ears and out the other so many times that I was willing to give anything a try. So I approached Mr. H with the idea of a field trip to the movies. No thought, no expression, no listening to my reasoning, he just told me his kids weren't going. They would never understand a movie of such depth. It was a waste of time. Well, I don't know which kids he thought were his, the ones in his home room I guess, but we both taught all of the kids. He taught some classes (math of course), I taught others (like reading). No stereo-typing occuring in that educational environment, was there.

But, back to the movie. I took my case to the principal, who, as usual, managed not to laugh as I ranted a bit about Mr. H's attitude.He coined the phrase, "Weell, Ms. M is passionate about her work..." (to get me out of trouble with the superintendent a few times). He gave me permission to set up the field trip for all the students. I bet he thought that Mr. H would never agree to go with me, and that would be the end of it. Mr. H did, in fact, refuse to be a part of this "fiasco." But no one had said I couldn't go it alone. So I did.

I decided not to overload my students with preconceptions about Ghandi. I gave them an idea of what they would be seeing. They were excited about going to a multiplex cinema. At that time, there was only one in the Northern Kentucky area, and none of them had ever been there. When the day arrived, they came to school dressed a little more neatly than usual, groomed a bit like they were going to church. And they were nervous. For them it was like they were going into a foreign world. The trip of the bus was rather subdued. But, hey, no teacher complains or worries about that!

They lined up without being told and followed me into the theatre, standing quietly as I took care of the tickets and led them to the proper theatre. Seating themselves quickly and with little disruption, I took a seat where I could easily catch the eye of anyone whose behavior might deteriorate during the show. The movie started, and they appeared to be glued to the screen. Now somewhere in my preparation I had missed the fact that Ghandi is one of the longest movies ever made, so long there was an intermission. When the intermission came, I quickly gave them instructions about getting snacks, using the restroom, reminded them they were representing our school, and let them go. I then began the infamous teacher patrol, seeking out problems before they could occur. There weren't any. They didn't rush to play the video games, they walked (not ran) in small groups. I easedropped. They were talking about the movie. So I turned into wall paper. No way was I going to play grown up or teacher. They were spontaneously absorbing the atmosphere and behaving accordingly.

The second part began. I positioned myself to see who would fall asleep. No one did. The movie ended, and they lined up and headed for the bus. The manager of the theatre stopped me at the door and complimented me on my students' behavior. He told me they were probably the best behaved class he had ever seen. I thanked him and turned to go. He stopped me again and said, "You are the group from Ft. Thomas, aren't you?" Yeah, Fort Thomas, the wealthy school district, 'rich kids'. So, being a Covington girl myself, I proudly I smiled, and said, "Why no. We're from First District School in Covington." I remember that his jaw dropped. I went to the bus to find my students silent, sure they were in trouble. I still hate it that their first thought was that something bad had happened when they had been so, well, perfect. I told them what the manager had said and how proud I was of them. Then, to break the tension, I started to do a cheer about our school or some such nonsense. We cheered for a while, then the bus became quiet again. My little darlings had worn themselves out being good.

Mr. H and the principal were waiting outside for our bus to arrive. As the students got off the bus, I simply walked by them and said, "They got it. No problems," and walked inside. I made them come to me later to get details. Mr. H was unimpressed. The principal just grinned and shook his head as he walked away.

They did get it. The next day they had a few questions, and I could tell they couldn't quite see how the idea of non-violence would work in the world they lived in. No surprise there. I couldn't quite explain it myself. Very few people understand the bravery it takes to stand your ground and not raise a fist. However, peaceful resistance does and has worked to resolve major global issues. It just takes enough people believing and working together to change the world through peaceful resolution of differences. I think that knowledge was imparted to 50+ children that day.

To Weep

2010-05-30T23:08:00.002-04:00

Memorial Day is not a holiday to be celebrated. It is a time of remembering. It's origin and true purpose is to honor those who established and gave their lives to maintain our freedom. It is, by its nature, a time to thank and pray for those serving our country today. For many people it is also a time for honoring family and friends who have left this life behind. For others, it's a most welcome long weekend. I have no problem with this. Maybe if we all had more long weekends this growing atmosphere of hate and distrust within our nation would dissipate.

The time surrounding Memorial Day is not a happy time for my husband and I. We have to work to maintain our equilibrium from May 25 through June 6. Five years ago, on May 25, my husband almost died while an angioplasty was being performed. Two blockages were found, and, as they reentered to put the needed stents in place, the wall of the main artery was perforated. He almost bled to death. Fortunately we had a great surgeon and the hospital was taking part in a study. They were able to stop the bleed with a wraparound stent, experimental, but available. So far, it's worked. My husband decided we should commemorate the anniversary of this event. Breathless with anticipation, you can imagine my confusion when he announced we were going to slaughter the English language and re-rate ourselves as anti-crastinators instead of procrastinators. Now I have to admit that is a big change in our lifestyle. But I was expecting an announcement more reckless or profound. At least we can laugh about that time now. I even have a funny hospital story or two.

Nine years ago tonight we were sleeping on couches while my mother-in-law was lying in a hospital bed in our living room, dying. She left us on May 31st, her husband's, my father-in-law's who I never met, Robin's father's birthday. He would be 84 if he were with us today. On June 6, 1999, he left this earth. How Robin misses them both.

Then there's June 5th, a tale for another time.

Yes, it's probably good we don't have a three-day weekend like most of you. Rob's job being part of the entertainment/service industry means holidays are prime work time. Since too much time to think is not advisable this time of year. it's good that Robin's working and I'm staying slightly manically busy. This too shall pass.

I Wanna Be A Hippie

2010-05-29T22:21:00.004-04:00

This is more than a wanna. This is a need to. It's not like I had the chance to be a flower child. The 60's never really made it to my hometown. Oh, I guess if you went looking you could have found small pockets during the 70's, but I was still a little young then. The only hippie-like activity around were some drugs. I did inhale, but, being a control freak, altered states of consciousness in public didn't appeal to me. I made a great designated driver though! Then in the mid 70's I went through my "pure and wonderful" phase; vegan, meditation, classical music, hanging out with artists and stuff. Nope, I didn't get to be a hippie.

Why wasn't I on a bus to Arizona to protest the immigration laws? Because I'm not a hippie. A hippie wouldn't have worried about having money or the less than comfortable conditions related to travel and lodgings. Why am I here in Indiana when there's three states whose beaches need every pair of hands they can get to work on the oil spill, trying to prevent a buildup of ruin. I should be in a van loaded with bleach and Dawn Dishwashing Liquid. And towels, lots of towels. Hell, I should be on I-65 thumbing right now, with just a backpack. But, I'm not a hippie. I'm broke and worry about mosquitoes and heat and disease.

The fact is, I really can do without my physical comforts. My husband kissed me goodnight as he left for work tonight and promised to buy lottery tickets. If we hit any money, it's mine to use to head to Florida. And as for Arizona, they didn't become a state until 1912. Obviously they weren't very eager to become team players. I'm starting a petition to give them their independence as an early centennial present. Let them become a sovereign nation. Let them be subject to our immigration and trade laws. You don't have to go through Arizona to get anyplace. We can create alternate routes.

Yeah, I need to be a hippie. I bet there's a handbook around here somewhere. I'll put a flower in my hair and look for it tomorrow.

Bewildered..Which Side of the Law Am I On?

2010-05-28T14:52:00.007-04:00

*Remember that Donald (Don) is my control freak, cantankerous, adorable 91 year old uncle-in-law who has dementia

Last October (2009) I fell in a local store and fractured my hip. The area outside was damp from rain and heavy fog, and the floor had been waxed the night before. There were no caution signs posted. I had never been involved in a law suit before. And I don't feel particularly good about suing this corporation. But, I am. Having been responsible for the space where my students and employees "were invited," I'm well aware of liability laws. Ditto for my husband in the business area. Quite frankly, we, the 'voluntarily poor' don't have any room to spare in our monthly budget for additional medical bills, 20% of the total cost of my treatment. And as far as pain and suffering, I went there. And, worst of all, I had been caring for Donald, trying to keep him in his home for as long as possible, and this fall cost him his freedom. It is the reason he is in a Memory Care Center where, truthfully, he is better off, but it wasn't his or our choice. Maybe we could have held out a bit longer if I hadn't fallen. And the chaos during the next few weeks following my fall--finding him the best care, ensuring that all the paperwork and personal possessions were ready while making sure someone fed him and gave him his meds on time was one of the worst times of my life. If my husband hadn't been on vacation.........some way to spend your time off, isn't it.

We have a relationship with a law firm, via Donald. They are the best in the area. Attorney A has worked for Don for over thirty years. So, my husband contacted Attorney A, (AA) who introduced him to Attorney B, (AB) the liability expert. They met (I was home on the couch--no weight bearing movement allowed), and Robin was satisfied with AB's assessment that we had a good case and should be able to recover our medical expenses. Thus the game began. I typed up a nice record of the events that occurred and sent them to AB.

Time passed. Then I received in the mail a hippa load of release forms to sign so they could obtain all my medical and financial records. I signed, and signed, and signed, then sent them back to AB. More time passed. We were finally notified that the suit had been filed. Of course, this being a small town, it was recorded in the local paper. So much for my loyal customer status at the store involved. Yes, I was and am still ostracized. The first time I was able to go back, about three months later, the clerks nudged each other and said, "That's her." The assistant manager headed for the back and, while this may be paranoia, I'm pretty sure the security cameras were following me. Well, I showed them! I cheerfully found some great buys and bought them!

More time passed. A thick packet arrived in the mail containing two items, an Interrogatory (27 questions) and a Request To Produce (evidence). I looked at the Interrogatory: What does my work history, why I left my jobs, my address for the past ten years, whether my husband and/or I have ever been arrested or convicted of a crime have to do with me taking a header on a freshly waxed floor. The Request to Produce: No I don't have any pictures. I don't carry a camera when I run to the store for a pound of coffee. No, I don't have any written statements from witnesses. No customers were in the store and the employees were in the back working on whatever. It was several minutes before they spotted me lying on the floor, or, more exactly, struggling to stand up. No, I don't know their full names and addresses. That wasn't exactly at the top of my priority list at that point in time. And, our tax records for the last five years, why????? So back in the envelope it went. I know these legal documents are used as a scare tactic. Still I waited until close to the reply date before I called AB for an appointment. I just had a bad feeling about this. Now, I figured AB would walk me through this pile of legal bologna. Wrong. He just kept saying this was the part of lawsuits he really hated, yadayadayada. I thought he had much of the information they were requesting, and he said he did, somewhere. So much for signing all those release forms. The solution, let's file for a 30 day extension, you fill out these forms and then we'll meet again. At that point I felt nauseous.

Twenty Seven Days Later: I faxed my completed documents to his paralegal. Fortunately, a wonder woman named Elizabeth at our insurance company went into overdrive gathering the info and faxed complete records to AB's office. I have expressed my gratitude for Elizabeth's exemplary performance to her boss.

Twenty-Nine Days Later (May 27, 2010): We meet again with AB. I read over the words I had written, make a few suggestions, and signed them. Then I listened to his warnings on what was to come, the deposition where they would grill me trying to find weaknesses, possible trial by jury, etc. Bring 'em on. They've created a lioness. Don't tread on me. Of course this won't happen for another three to six months, probably....I asked him about a letter he/we had received from the corporation involved that suggested that he call them to see what could be done to resolve this case. Hem, Haw, Yeah, I remember something about that, let's see, where's that file.....That's unusual to ask to talk to the other attorney at this point in a case. I suppose I should call him this afternoon.

Professional Peggy was still in charge. I thanked him for his time and said I needed to take a minute and write a message to AA concerning Donald's property. As we were leaving, AA appeared. Robin handed him the note and AA said, "Do you have a minute?" Robin told him what was in the message, then I added that we had someone interested in buying Don's house and farm. Now, he had been opposed to this, advising us to sell that property last. That's legalese for 'in case Donald goes through the rest of his money before he dies, the sale of that property will cover my legal fees'. Well, now someone is interested in buying the farm...sharp right turn. Whiplash! Why, that's what he wanted to talk to Robin about, one of the partners in the firm is interested in the farm..........We finished the meeting with grace and exited the building.

The moral of this long tale: Avoid lawyers. If you have to see use one, guard your back and anyone's you love. Make sure you have time to go for a long ride with someone who loves you after the meeting. Let go of it and enjoy the rest of the day. Remember, in the legal world a day is a week, a week is a month.....no, wait....sorry....that's LOST, isn't it.

Failure is Not An Option

2010-05-26T22:30:00.001-04:00

While Toby and I were out working today, I found myself thinking, again, about the oil spill in the Golf. Toby (my riding lawnmower) has been in a funk since it happened. He understands the delicate balance of nature. It's nice to have two sensitive, informed males in your life.

The movie, Apollo 13, tells the story of heroic efforts that prevented a disaster in space after an explosion of unknown origin occurred early in the flight. Ground control was working with very limited information, much of it based on what the astronauts could see from their windows. As the best minds in the world argued about the problem of insufficient fuel and unknown amounts of battery power, the flight director banged his fist of the table and yelled, "Failure is not an option!" Then, like things weren't bad enough, they had to contend with the problem of oxygen supply. One team of engineers had designed the circulation system for the command module, another for the LEM, where the astronauts had taken refuge. The teams were faced with the challenge of working together to figure out, literally, how to put a round peg in a square hole using only what the astronauts had on board. Failure was not an option. Then, not knowing if the heat shield was damaged, they had to go ahead, take the risk, and bring them home. The mission was labeled a successful failure because no lives were lost.

This isn't much different from the situation in the gulf. No one had considered the possibility and implications of this type of disaster, much less worked together to have a plan in place should an explosion occur. Now, more than a month later, the world knows that Failure Is Not An Option. They're going to have to let go of their fears (being blamed), work more closely together and try every option that can possibly be conceived. The best minds in the world are working on this. An entire ecological system is in danger. Today they started filling the leaking pipe with mud. I'm about as thrilled with that idea as I was when they put the 4 inch pipe in the 21 inch pipe that is spouting oil into our waters. But, it's something. Failure is not an option. A successful failure is not possible. Life has already been lost.