This is the shortest non-political blog ever. I have an AOL account. There's the AOL Guy who always says "You've Got Mail" when you log on (assuming there is mail in your box).
Recently my AOL Guy has developed a stutter. Seriously.
Instead of saying "You've Got Mail", he now says "You've G-G-Got Mail".
I have a number of questions, but the three most important ones are:
1) Is the AOL Guy a real person?
and if so,
2) Has he developed a stutter?
3) Is it wrong of me to make fun of him for it if he's not there to hear it?
Monday, March 28, 2005
Friday, March 25, 2005
Monday Thursday
My husband and I went to church last night. We recently joined a Lutheran church in town that we both really enjoy going to. Finding a church we could both enjoy was a bigger task than we thought it would be, as we like different styles of services -- Husband would like more music, and I enjoy the more "classic" style Lutheran service -- the kind I grew up in.
I was a minister's daughter. No, not that kind. But last night just before my husband and me decided to go to church, we both had a laugh about "Monday Thursday".
When we were growing up, we both thought that instead of "Maundy Thursday", the Thursday before Good Friday and Easter, that people were saying "Monday Thursday". Of course as small kids, this was very confusing to us, considering how much it took to memorize the days of the week and the order they came in.
In truth, Maundy Thursday is celebrated in our church as the night of that Last Supper between Jesus and his disciples, during which time Jesus took the role of servant and washed his disciples' feet.
Now stay with me, here. I'm not here to convert anybody.
The point of the service was to illustrate that the servant is as important as the master, and that the messenger is as important as the person sending the message. As Lutherans (and perhaps this is a human condition), it's very easy for us to "give" -- be the one to wash feet -- for example, but it's harder to LET someone wash our feet. We tend to get all uncomfortable with that kind of thing, you know.
At our church, there were foot-washers and several foot-washing stations put throughout the church, and we filed forward to have our feet washed. It was largely symbolic, as no one was getting out the loofahs and scrubbing anything, but my feet got wet and dried, and the story was told about how Jesus did this for his disciples on the night he was betrayed.
You don't have to be a Christian to appreciate this story, in fact I still struggle with my own faith. But stories like these always help me to bring home the fact that Christianity isn't about just "Go forth and subdue the earth". It's about taking care of each other, and also allowing someone else to take care of us.
I was a minister's daughter. No, not that kind. But last night just before my husband and me decided to go to church, we both had a laugh about "Monday Thursday".
When we were growing up, we both thought that instead of "Maundy Thursday", the Thursday before Good Friday and Easter, that people were saying "Monday Thursday". Of course as small kids, this was very confusing to us, considering how much it took to memorize the days of the week and the order they came in.
In truth, Maundy Thursday is celebrated in our church as the night of that Last Supper between Jesus and his disciples, during which time Jesus took the role of servant and washed his disciples' feet.
Now stay with me, here. I'm not here to convert anybody.
The point of the service was to illustrate that the servant is as important as the master, and that the messenger is as important as the person sending the message. As Lutherans (and perhaps this is a human condition), it's very easy for us to "give" -- be the one to wash feet -- for example, but it's harder to LET someone wash our feet. We tend to get all uncomfortable with that kind of thing, you know.
At our church, there were foot-washers and several foot-washing stations put throughout the church, and we filed forward to have our feet washed. It was largely symbolic, as no one was getting out the loofahs and scrubbing anything, but my feet got wet and dried, and the story was told about how Jesus did this for his disciples on the night he was betrayed.
You don't have to be a Christian to appreciate this story, in fact I still struggle with my own faith. But stories like these always help me to bring home the fact that Christianity isn't about just "Go forth and subdue the earth". It's about taking care of each other, and also allowing someone else to take care of us.
Thursday, March 24, 2005
What's your definition of a beautiful day?
It's cloudy and cool in Denver this morning. I love days like this. Especially when I don't have to work.
I'll take my dog to the lake and we'll walk freely because there will be few if any people out there. If it's snowing or raining, there will be no one out there but us.
You see, native Denverites are pretty fickle about the weather. This is Day #2 of cloudy weather with no real snow or rain falling, and if it continues by tomorrow they'll be asking "Where am I, Seattle?" I have actually heard these words come out of people here. Of course being from Seattle, I laugh.
The last winter I lived in Seattle in 1998-1999, it rained for 100 days straight. Yes, the entire month of December, January and February, it did nothing but stay cloudy all day and spit from the sky. Even the natives were complaining, and they don't usually comment on the rain because it's omnipresent.
When Denverites don't see the sun for 3 days, they get a little freaked out. Spoiled to the level of people who live in Phoenix or even Hawaii, they are used to beautiful cloudless days strung together virtually endlessly. In the summer when the thunderstorms move through in the afternoon they enjoy the fact that it cools everything off, but even then they may cancel plans because it "might rain".
In Seattle, if you cancel plans everytime it might rain, you'd never leave your house. This is the city that invented the nation's first indoor mall (Northgate Mall, which is still standing). They have a retractable roof on their baseball stadium which cost more than $500 million to build. Ironically, Coors Field has no roof here in Denver -- and last year when my husband and I went to an early game in April, we got snowed out, not rained out.
To be honest though, Denverites are hardy when it comes to freak spring storms that bring a bunch of snow, whereas Seattleites are hardy about the rain. Seattle people don't carry umbrellas usually. They're more of your Gore-Tex wearing types who pride themselves on the fact that they're not afraid of getting a little wet.
I'm sure as you go from the lowlands here where Denver is into the high country towns, that hardiness goes up 10-fold.
But today's cloudiness is actually beautiful to me. After 15 years in Seattle, this gives me a feeling that I'm back there, and I half expect to smell the salt sea air and see some seagulls flying around.
The last time I looked at the sky on Day 5 of rain when I was home for the holidays, I actually heard myself say "Wow, it's still raining" and I heard my brother say "Yeah, it does that here."
It's amazing how it doesn't take long to get spoiled by the sun. Sure, I enjoy the weather today. But like a good transplant, I'll be glad when the sun comes back in a few days.
I'll take my dog to the lake and we'll walk freely because there will be few if any people out there. If it's snowing or raining, there will be no one out there but us.
You see, native Denverites are pretty fickle about the weather. This is Day #2 of cloudy weather with no real snow or rain falling, and if it continues by tomorrow they'll be asking "Where am I, Seattle?" I have actually heard these words come out of people here. Of course being from Seattle, I laugh.
The last winter I lived in Seattle in 1998-1999, it rained for 100 days straight. Yes, the entire month of December, January and February, it did nothing but stay cloudy all day and spit from the sky. Even the natives were complaining, and they don't usually comment on the rain because it's omnipresent.
When Denverites don't see the sun for 3 days, they get a little freaked out. Spoiled to the level of people who live in Phoenix or even Hawaii, they are used to beautiful cloudless days strung together virtually endlessly. In the summer when the thunderstorms move through in the afternoon they enjoy the fact that it cools everything off, but even then they may cancel plans because it "might rain".
In Seattle, if you cancel plans everytime it might rain, you'd never leave your house. This is the city that invented the nation's first indoor mall (Northgate Mall, which is still standing). They have a retractable roof on their baseball stadium which cost more than $500 million to build. Ironically, Coors Field has no roof here in Denver -- and last year when my husband and I went to an early game in April, we got snowed out, not rained out.
To be honest though, Denverites are hardy when it comes to freak spring storms that bring a bunch of snow, whereas Seattleites are hardy about the rain. Seattle people don't carry umbrellas usually. They're more of your Gore-Tex wearing types who pride themselves on the fact that they're not afraid of getting a little wet.
I'm sure as you go from the lowlands here where Denver is into the high country towns, that hardiness goes up 10-fold.
But today's cloudiness is actually beautiful to me. After 15 years in Seattle, this gives me a feeling that I'm back there, and I half expect to smell the salt sea air and see some seagulls flying around.
The last time I looked at the sky on Day 5 of rain when I was home for the holidays, I actually heard myself say "Wow, it's still raining" and I heard my brother say "Yeah, it does that here."
It's amazing how it doesn't take long to get spoiled by the sun. Sure, I enjoy the weather today. But like a good transplant, I'll be glad when the sun comes back in a few days.
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
The Right To Die
I've been watching with interest the Terri Schiavo case, and it has caused me to think a lot about a person's right to die, and whether or not they have such a right.
When my Grandma was ill last month, she had just filled out a Living Will in January, and I was very glad to see that she had made her wishes clear, and specifically that she had done it so recently.
In my Gram's case, she was 94 -- and asked that we not artificially feed her -- that means nothing through a tube or an IV.
When she had a stroke several years ago, it affected her ability to swallow, and over the past few years that swallowing ability had gone downhill, until she aspirated some liquid in her lungs and ultimately got aspiration pneumonia.
By the time the nursing home took her to the hospital, the doctors hooked her up to an IV with antibiotics, but did not feed her due to her wishes made clear in the Living Will. She bounced back for about 24 hours, and asked for food, and she ate very little before she took another turn for the worse. After almost a week into this ordeal, she passed away when all the hospital staff could do was to make her comfortable with morphine.
I have a distant cousin who had flown into town during that weekend before Gram died, and at one point she told my Grandma to "hang on". My sister, who was present for this, asked me later "What should she hang on for?"
Good question.
I know in the Schialvo case, the woman is much younger, and the parents are fighting to keep her alive while her guardian/husband is asking for her to be unhooked from food. The legal wranglings about this case make me pause to think -- what would I want?
I can tell you one thing: If I had told my husband that I didn't want to be kept on tubes, I would be proud of him for trying to see to it that my wishes were granted. As much as my Mom or someone else might try to see it differently, if I were in that woman's shoes, I can't say that living a life of brain death in a nursing home would be my idea of a life.
Clearly, if Terri Schiavo were in a position to say what she wanted right now, she would -- instead, she only has her husband to fight for her wishes.
It is so important that people make their needs known. But more importantly -- and a greater issue I think -- is that we need to hold our lawmakers accountable when they try to interject their beliefs into our lives. If I want everything done to save me, and the doctors think it's fruitless, is it the lawmaker's job to say "No, she should die because she's too much a burden on the system"? I think not. In the same way, I think a person should have a right to say they don't want to be force fed to be kept alive.
When my Grandma was ill last month, she had just filled out a Living Will in January, and I was very glad to see that she had made her wishes clear, and specifically that she had done it so recently.
In my Gram's case, she was 94 -- and asked that we not artificially feed her -- that means nothing through a tube or an IV.
When she had a stroke several years ago, it affected her ability to swallow, and over the past few years that swallowing ability had gone downhill, until she aspirated some liquid in her lungs and ultimately got aspiration pneumonia.
By the time the nursing home took her to the hospital, the doctors hooked her up to an IV with antibiotics, but did not feed her due to her wishes made clear in the Living Will. She bounced back for about 24 hours, and asked for food, and she ate very little before she took another turn for the worse. After almost a week into this ordeal, she passed away when all the hospital staff could do was to make her comfortable with morphine.
I have a distant cousin who had flown into town during that weekend before Gram died, and at one point she told my Grandma to "hang on". My sister, who was present for this, asked me later "What should she hang on for?"
Good question.
I know in the Schialvo case, the woman is much younger, and the parents are fighting to keep her alive while her guardian/husband is asking for her to be unhooked from food. The legal wranglings about this case make me pause to think -- what would I want?
I can tell you one thing: If I had told my husband that I didn't want to be kept on tubes, I would be proud of him for trying to see to it that my wishes were granted. As much as my Mom or someone else might try to see it differently, if I were in that woman's shoes, I can't say that living a life of brain death in a nursing home would be my idea of a life.
Clearly, if Terri Schiavo were in a position to say what she wanted right now, she would -- instead, she only has her husband to fight for her wishes.
It is so important that people make their needs known. But more importantly -- and a greater issue I think -- is that we need to hold our lawmakers accountable when they try to interject their beliefs into our lives. If I want everything done to save me, and the doctors think it's fruitless, is it the lawmaker's job to say "No, she should die because she's too much a burden on the system"? I think not. In the same way, I think a person should have a right to say they don't want to be force fed to be kept alive.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
It's My Birthday...and I'll Cry If I Want To!
It's my birthday today!
For some reason I woke up with that 1960s song in my head "It's My Party, I'll Cry If I Want To". I sing it in my head in a rather upbeat way, considering I'm still unemployed and the first few months of this year have been rather trying.
I'm well into my 30s, and I woke up as I always do on my birthday. After weeks of anticipating what it will be like to be a year older, I wake up realizing that I feel the same as I did yesterday.
This is not a bad thing.
I remember when I turned 30 -- it was a lucky year as my birthday fell on a Saturday. I woke up that day thinking I would feel older, but I didn't, and it was such a relief to me. My boyfriend at the time rented a limo, and a bunch of us went out and partied and had a great time. The next year was markedly different, however. When I turned 31 I poked my head up out of my cube and said "It's my birthday, does anyone want to go out for a beer?"
Since then, it's gotten to be a progressively mellower non-event. I get a few cards, I might get some people together to have a drink, but I don't care to celebrate my birthday the same way I used to. Now I'm beginning to understand why my Grandmother didn't want anything done for her when she turned 90.
This is the first birthday in a few years in which I don't really care that I've gotten a year older. My husband and I had tried to have a baby the past few years, with no success...and each birthday since I turned 35 had become a marker of how old I was getting, and how much closer I was getting to 40 without a child in my life. I could write a book about how horrible it is to be constantly reminded that at my age every other woman on the planet apparently has a kid, or at least wants one, and the ever-ticking clock that comes with being in your late 30s starts sounding like an alarm going off.
Since we gave up on it and decided to grow our family in a different way (through adoption or foster children) in the past few months, suddenly I realized that I really don't care if I get older. I know people who have died of cancer or other illnesses by the time they're in their late 30s, and I'm happy to be alive, healthy and relatively happy, despite my ups and downs of the past few years.
I've learned a lot in my 30s. I've learned how to be a better friend, how to take less B.S. from people without having to burn bridges, and I've learned to cherish life more than ever. And most importantly, I've begun to understand that age is really just a number, and my attitude towards life is really what counts.
I've chosen to be a survivor, and not just that -- to thrive, despite whatever adversity life throws me. I know a few people who insist on being victims -- whenever something bad happens, it's always some sort of "ism" that did it -- sexism, racism, or other discrimination. Not me.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not a "PollyAnna" who thinks that everything in life is meant for good. I know there are bad people and bad things in this world. But every time life hands you lemons and you don't try to make pie or something else out of it, you're missing an opportunity to not only eat some good lemon pie, you're letting someone else dictate your day.
Well, It's my birthday -- I'll cry if I want to. But I don't want to. I want to enjoy this day off and go have some fun.
For some reason I woke up with that 1960s song in my head "It's My Party, I'll Cry If I Want To". I sing it in my head in a rather upbeat way, considering I'm still unemployed and the first few months of this year have been rather trying.
I'm well into my 30s, and I woke up as I always do on my birthday. After weeks of anticipating what it will be like to be a year older, I wake up realizing that I feel the same as I did yesterday.
This is not a bad thing.
I remember when I turned 30 -- it was a lucky year as my birthday fell on a Saturday. I woke up that day thinking I would feel older, but I didn't, and it was such a relief to me. My boyfriend at the time rented a limo, and a bunch of us went out and partied and had a great time. The next year was markedly different, however. When I turned 31 I poked my head up out of my cube and said "It's my birthday, does anyone want to go out for a beer?"
Since then, it's gotten to be a progressively mellower non-event. I get a few cards, I might get some people together to have a drink, but I don't care to celebrate my birthday the same way I used to. Now I'm beginning to understand why my Grandmother didn't want anything done for her when she turned 90.
This is the first birthday in a few years in which I don't really care that I've gotten a year older. My husband and I had tried to have a baby the past few years, with no success...and each birthday since I turned 35 had become a marker of how old I was getting, and how much closer I was getting to 40 without a child in my life. I could write a book about how horrible it is to be constantly reminded that at my age every other woman on the planet apparently has a kid, or at least wants one, and the ever-ticking clock that comes with being in your late 30s starts sounding like an alarm going off.
Since we gave up on it and decided to grow our family in a different way (through adoption or foster children) in the past few months, suddenly I realized that I really don't care if I get older. I know people who have died of cancer or other illnesses by the time they're in their late 30s, and I'm happy to be alive, healthy and relatively happy, despite my ups and downs of the past few years.
I've learned a lot in my 30s. I've learned how to be a better friend, how to take less B.S. from people without having to burn bridges, and I've learned to cherish life more than ever. And most importantly, I've begun to understand that age is really just a number, and my attitude towards life is really what counts.
I've chosen to be a survivor, and not just that -- to thrive, despite whatever adversity life throws me. I know a few people who insist on being victims -- whenever something bad happens, it's always some sort of "ism" that did it -- sexism, racism, or other discrimination. Not me.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not a "PollyAnna" who thinks that everything in life is meant for good. I know there are bad people and bad things in this world. But every time life hands you lemons and you don't try to make pie or something else out of it, you're missing an opportunity to not only eat some good lemon pie, you're letting someone else dictate your day.
Well, It's my birthday -- I'll cry if I want to. But I don't want to. I want to enjoy this day off and go have some fun.
Thursday, March 17, 2005
Do you think these things when you drive?
I am always amazed at people on the freeway. People who drive in Colorado are a little more like Texans -- no-nonsense and generally willing to move over particularly if the tail-gating car is bigger than them -- and a little less like Californians -- who seem to have a sense of entitlement to their driving. "Who me? Move over?"
I've lived most of my life in Washington State, Seattle specifically, and I found the drivers there to be of the worst kind I've experienced at least. In Seattle, the traffic is so bad that you can get stuck in a traffic jam at noon on a Tuesday, not just rush hour. As a result, no one feels compelled to move over on the freeway -- in fact I've sailed past people in the right lane, only because everyone's so pissed and in a hurry to go, they all park in the left lane, and don't see the right is open.
Don't tell anyone, but here in Colorado, there is such a thing as "Rush Hour". It starts earlier and lasts longer on Fridays, but other than that there's only a serious pulse of traffic moving into the city in the morning, and out in the afternoons. Before I got laid off from my job, freeing me up to blog away, I sat in 15 miles of I-70 every day, out to East Aurora and back again.
This afternoon, I got another taste of it as I drove home from my afternoon at the spa (yes, even unemployed people have to take a break and sit around in bathrobes that aren't theirs getting facials they can't really afford). But I've digressed.
On the way home, there was the usual 5 p.m. traffic. It was worse coming the other direction, until I came upon not 1, not 2, but 3! rear-ending accidents, all within a mile of each other.
If Coloradans have one bad habit, it's the "Looky-Loo" Syndrome. This is where if the wind is blowing really hard, they will slow down to observe it. If the guy behind you doesn't notice in time, he'll hit you. They also drive Mach 3 with their hair on fire in the snow, which is why I've been rear-ended twice in winter here.
As I drove home today I thought about all the craziness there is on the freeway. I saw a State Patrolman at one of the three accidents and wonder what kind of messes he gets to clean up all day.
But from my padded interior of my 10-year-old Subaru, I worry about less serious things. I often find myself wondering about the stickers people put on their cars. My University of Washington window decal is a subtle way of saying where I'm from, but I'm smart enough to slap a Denver Broncos sticker in the middle, just so everyone knows where I sit in the Church of The NFL.
When I see people in big cars with "W" bumper stickers, yakking on their cell phones, that sends me a message. It's the one where I hear "I don't care about you, the environment, or the world at large, because I'm entitled to drive this big-ass SUV."
When I see someone driving a Bug, I just thinkg "Awwwwwww". They're so cute. When I see a 1970s Ford Pinto, I feel like applauding. Really, who has the guts (or the spare parts) to keep one of those things going anymore? And most importantly, "WHY?"
I decided a while ago I was too "Type A" to commute for long periods of time. I used to get so stressed out. I've been known to give the one-fingered salute, but felt so bad afterwards that it really is an incredibly rare occasion.
But today I popped in an old tape of UB40, refusing to let the bottleneck of traffic get to me. I wonder sometimes if everyone just left their houses 10 minutes earlier and listened to a little raggae on the way to work and back every day, wouldn't the world be a better place?
I think so.
And W fans or not -- if you've got something plastered to your car from the last election -- do the world a favor and take it off.
I've lived most of my life in Washington State, Seattle specifically, and I found the drivers there to be of the worst kind I've experienced at least. In Seattle, the traffic is so bad that you can get stuck in a traffic jam at noon on a Tuesday, not just rush hour. As a result, no one feels compelled to move over on the freeway -- in fact I've sailed past people in the right lane, only because everyone's so pissed and in a hurry to go, they all park in the left lane, and don't see the right is open.
Don't tell anyone, but here in Colorado, there is such a thing as "Rush Hour". It starts earlier and lasts longer on Fridays, but other than that there's only a serious pulse of traffic moving into the city in the morning, and out in the afternoons. Before I got laid off from my job, freeing me up to blog away, I sat in 15 miles of I-70 every day, out to East Aurora and back again.
This afternoon, I got another taste of it as I drove home from my afternoon at the spa (yes, even unemployed people have to take a break and sit around in bathrobes that aren't theirs getting facials they can't really afford). But I've digressed.
On the way home, there was the usual 5 p.m. traffic. It was worse coming the other direction, until I came upon not 1, not 2, but 3! rear-ending accidents, all within a mile of each other.
If Coloradans have one bad habit, it's the "Looky-Loo" Syndrome. This is where if the wind is blowing really hard, they will slow down to observe it. If the guy behind you doesn't notice in time, he'll hit you. They also drive Mach 3 with their hair on fire in the snow, which is why I've been rear-ended twice in winter here.
As I drove home today I thought about all the craziness there is on the freeway. I saw a State Patrolman at one of the three accidents and wonder what kind of messes he gets to clean up all day.
But from my padded interior of my 10-year-old Subaru, I worry about less serious things. I often find myself wondering about the stickers people put on their cars. My University of Washington window decal is a subtle way of saying where I'm from, but I'm smart enough to slap a Denver Broncos sticker in the middle, just so everyone knows where I sit in the Church of The NFL.
When I see people in big cars with "W" bumper stickers, yakking on their cell phones, that sends me a message. It's the one where I hear "I don't care about you, the environment, or the world at large, because I'm entitled to drive this big-ass SUV."
When I see someone driving a Bug, I just thinkg "Awwwwwww". They're so cute. When I see a 1970s Ford Pinto, I feel like applauding. Really, who has the guts (or the spare parts) to keep one of those things going anymore? And most importantly, "WHY?"
I decided a while ago I was too "Type A" to commute for long periods of time. I used to get so stressed out. I've been known to give the one-fingered salute, but felt so bad afterwards that it really is an incredibly rare occasion.
But today I popped in an old tape of UB40, refusing to let the bottleneck of traffic get to me. I wonder sometimes if everyone just left their houses 10 minutes earlier and listened to a little raggae on the way to work and back every day, wouldn't the world be a better place?
I think so.
And W fans or not -- if you've got something plastered to your car from the last election -- do the world a favor and take it off.
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
The Grass Is ALWAYS Greener.
I have a friend. Perhaps friend is a bit too much of a description.
I know someone. I used to be friends and work with him. For purposes of this blog let's call him Steve.
There has been something about Steve that has been bugging me for some time. Not just his alcoholism or the fact that he bad-mouths his wife in front of other people. I've been avoiding Steve and his wife now for some time for the above reasons and more.
I've been trying to figure out what bugs me about Steve. Is it the chummy way he always finds some way to get you to have a beer with him? Yeah, that's a pain. For those of you high school and college kids out there, there is life after beer, and if you want to avoid becoming an alcoholic, you'll discover that sooner rather than later.
No, this friend's other behavior is getting to me and the light finally went "on" one day. Steve is exactly how my ex-husband used to be in so many respects, it's eerie. On one hand, he wants to be free and single, going out to bars til all hours, having fun with the boys. But he also wants to have a wife waiting at home for him. And God forbid he should do any housework.
Fact is, Steve has actually made comments that his wife sits around watching TV and eating bon-bons while he's off at work (However, I'm sure since she's home with a 2-year-old she doesn't get much of a chance to catch up on "As The World Turns"). He makes comments about how other people are so "lucky" while he's stuck in a job he's not doing very well at. It's not that he can't do better, in fact I've seen him do very well, but part of that "Grass is Greener" problem lies in the fact that everyone has it so much better than him that there's always an excuse as to why he fails.
I know what that feels like to some extent. I envy people who have children, for example, because everybody I know is either pregnant or has kids, and all my husband and I have to show for 3 years of trying is 3 miscarriages and another bill from the fertility specialist.
I know, however, that despite how I look at parenthood (just as an example, since it's something I don't have or I'm not a part of) I also realize that there are people out there with 3 kids under the age of 5, and they just might be looking at me going "Man, I wish I was her".
But this person is not quite capable of truly appreciating anything that he has, and instead wants bigger, better and more.
This person is a great friend if that's all you are -- friends. I mean after all, if all you want is intelligent conversation over beers in a sports bar, this person is great to be around. Well, until closing time. When Steve's outdrunk me 2-to-1 or better, it does eventually catch up to him, and he doesn't know it enough to get a ride home. He's the kinda guy who's bound to get a DUI sooner or later. Then guess what? It'll probably be something the police officer did.
I know there are few if any reasons to remain friends with this person. I feel for his wife mostly, and wonder if Steve thinks she'll never leave him, and that's why he treats her so badly. My ex-husband thought that about me too. In one of our last counseling sessions before the big divorce, my ex had the gall to say, when the counselor asked him why he married me, that he did so because "she comes from a good family so she'll never leave me."
Wrong-o.
It's hard to know what to do or say. When does crossing that line into an area of intervention about their drinking? What business is it of mine how he talks to or about his wife? I guess as a human and as a woman who's been there, I want to tell him to straighten up -- because she could end up leaving him despite his assumption that she won't. Oh don't get me wrong, she's already mentioned it to me, but I do wonder if she has the backbone to do it.
To interfere or not interfere? That is the question.
I know someone. I used to be friends and work with him. For purposes of this blog let's call him Steve.
There has been something about Steve that has been bugging me for some time. Not just his alcoholism or the fact that he bad-mouths his wife in front of other people. I've been avoiding Steve and his wife now for some time for the above reasons and more.
I've been trying to figure out what bugs me about Steve. Is it the chummy way he always finds some way to get you to have a beer with him? Yeah, that's a pain. For those of you high school and college kids out there, there is life after beer, and if you want to avoid becoming an alcoholic, you'll discover that sooner rather than later.
No, this friend's other behavior is getting to me and the light finally went "on" one day. Steve is exactly how my ex-husband used to be in so many respects, it's eerie. On one hand, he wants to be free and single, going out to bars til all hours, having fun with the boys. But he also wants to have a wife waiting at home for him. And God forbid he should do any housework.
Fact is, Steve has actually made comments that his wife sits around watching TV and eating bon-bons while he's off at work (However, I'm sure since she's home with a 2-year-old she doesn't get much of a chance to catch up on "As The World Turns"). He makes comments about how other people are so "lucky" while he's stuck in a job he's not doing very well at. It's not that he can't do better, in fact I've seen him do very well, but part of that "Grass is Greener" problem lies in the fact that everyone has it so much better than him that there's always an excuse as to why he fails.
I know what that feels like to some extent. I envy people who have children, for example, because everybody I know is either pregnant or has kids, and all my husband and I have to show for 3 years of trying is 3 miscarriages and another bill from the fertility specialist.
I know, however, that despite how I look at parenthood (just as an example, since it's something I don't have or I'm not a part of) I also realize that there are people out there with 3 kids under the age of 5, and they just might be looking at me going "Man, I wish I was her".
But this person is not quite capable of truly appreciating anything that he has, and instead wants bigger, better and more.
This person is a great friend if that's all you are -- friends. I mean after all, if all you want is intelligent conversation over beers in a sports bar, this person is great to be around. Well, until closing time. When Steve's outdrunk me 2-to-1 or better, it does eventually catch up to him, and he doesn't know it enough to get a ride home. He's the kinda guy who's bound to get a DUI sooner or later. Then guess what? It'll probably be something the police officer did.
I know there are few if any reasons to remain friends with this person. I feel for his wife mostly, and wonder if Steve thinks she'll never leave him, and that's why he treats her so badly. My ex-husband thought that about me too. In one of our last counseling sessions before the big divorce, my ex had the gall to say, when the counselor asked him why he married me, that he did so because "she comes from a good family so she'll never leave me."
Wrong-o.
It's hard to know what to do or say. When does crossing that line into an area of intervention about their drinking? What business is it of mine how he talks to or about his wife? I guess as a human and as a woman who's been there, I want to tell him to straighten up -- because she could end up leaving him despite his assumption that she won't. Oh don't get me wrong, she's already mentioned it to me, but I do wonder if she has the backbone to do it.
To interfere or not interfere? That is the question.
Thursday, March 10, 2005
Work, then shower. In that order.
I got up early this morning...having a nightmare about my Mom being dead (she's not), and I dreamed I found out while I was smoking cigarettes and I was waiting for the social worker to come to my house for a home study, which was a complete catastrophe (Man, I wonder what's on my mind lately...health, death, adoption?)
But I digress.
This morning I get up, I decide to do yoga first thing, before coffee, before logging on, etc. Well, I do the yoga. All good. I shower, then fax a resume over to a temp agency just so I can say I applied for a job today.
With my hair still wet from my shower, I decide to go outside and trim back the roses. After all, I didn't do it in the fall when I should have, and well, there's "No time like the present".
So out I go. I get the roses trimmed back, then think "hey, the flower bed in front of the house could use some cleaning up"...by then, things are starting to look good, so I decide to rake up the pine cones the big fir tree dropped over the past winter....then the piece of resistance (yes, I know there's some sort of french word, but I don't speak french).
I'm not sweaty yet, but there's this big pile of rocks and "fill" that we excavated to put the roses in. It's been an eyesore to the entire neighborhood for some time, and figure hey -- "let's move that".
We would have put it in the back part of the back yard last year, but the dog house was there, and it has since been removed and the area completely cleaned out.
So I move this pile of rocks and fill in about 2 hours of heavy shoveling and wheelbarrowing.It's now noon and I'm a sweaty dirty mess.
I need a nap too, and before I can lay down anywhere I must clean up again.
Ok, that was fun. Fudge brownies to anyone who got this far.
I must say though that my front yard looks better than it has in a year.
But I digress.
This morning I get up, I decide to do yoga first thing, before coffee, before logging on, etc. Well, I do the yoga. All good. I shower, then fax a resume over to a temp agency just so I can say I applied for a job today.
With my hair still wet from my shower, I decide to go outside and trim back the roses. After all, I didn't do it in the fall when I should have, and well, there's "No time like the present".
So out I go. I get the roses trimmed back, then think "hey, the flower bed in front of the house could use some cleaning up"...by then, things are starting to look good, so I decide to rake up the pine cones the big fir tree dropped over the past winter....then the piece of resistance (yes, I know there's some sort of french word, but I don't speak french).
I'm not sweaty yet, but there's this big pile of rocks and "fill" that we excavated to put the roses in. It's been an eyesore to the entire neighborhood for some time, and figure hey -- "let's move that".
We would have put it in the back part of the back yard last year, but the dog house was there, and it has since been removed and the area completely cleaned out.
So I move this pile of rocks and fill in about 2 hours of heavy shoveling and wheelbarrowing.It's now noon and I'm a sweaty dirty mess.
I need a nap too, and before I can lay down anywhere I must clean up again.
Ok, that was fun. Fudge brownies to anyone who got this far.
I must say though that my front yard looks better than it has in a year.
Saturday, February 26, 2005
And just like that, she was gone...
My Grandma was special.
A force to be reckoned with, she had 94 long years of life on this planet.
When she was born in 1911, people were just beginning to ride in cars, World War I (The war to end all wars) had yet to break out. There were still plenty of people alive who would be able to recall The Civil War.
Grandma came to see us every summer, and spent lots of Christmases with us. She was the grandmother most kids wanted -- one that would go anywhere with you and spoil you rotten.
But she didn't just spoil us, she tried to instill important lessons in us too...I remember when I was about 5 years old, she took me to the hospital when Grandpa was dying to show me what emphysema does to someone and caution me about the dangers of smoking.
She took us to the Oregon Coast, down to The Enchanted Village, or over to Aunt Bea's to say hello (she wasn't my aunt, but don't tell Grandma that, if you were a friend you were like family).
Sometimes for Easter Mom & Dad would send us to see Grandma and spend the week with her. She'd make matching dresses for my sister and me, and of course my big sister would be horrified at the thought of being dressed just like me.
She let us dress up in her old catillion gowns and we'd sit in the back of her 1970 Pontiac and she'd drive us around town so we wave at people and we could feel like princesses. Even my sister liked that.
There were many trips to Dunkin' Donuts up the street from her house, where she'd let us eat as many donuts as we wanted. If Mom had only known, she would have been mad.
Grandma's greatest gift to me was that she taught me to sew. When I was 7 she put me on phone books to reach the sewing machine, and 30 years later I've made countless quilts, outfits, wedding dresses and other things for people -- all because she took the time to share her gift with me.
I know she sewed well into her 80s for others as well, and I know it was hard on her when she couldn't do it anymore.
She had a way about her, and anyone who knew her knows exactly what I'm talking about. She lived life how she wanted to, and sometimes dragged us along with her.
Even though the Grandma Peterson I've known for years has been gone for a long time now as life faded from her, she will still be missed.
Thanks for everything, Gram.
I love you.
A force to be reckoned with, she had 94 long years of life on this planet.
When she was born in 1911, people were just beginning to ride in cars, World War I (The war to end all wars) had yet to break out. There were still plenty of people alive who would be able to recall The Civil War.
Grandma came to see us every summer, and spent lots of Christmases with us. She was the grandmother most kids wanted -- one that would go anywhere with you and spoil you rotten.
But she didn't just spoil us, she tried to instill important lessons in us too...I remember when I was about 5 years old, she took me to the hospital when Grandpa was dying to show me what emphysema does to someone and caution me about the dangers of smoking.
She took us to the Oregon Coast, down to The Enchanted Village, or over to Aunt Bea's to say hello (she wasn't my aunt, but don't tell Grandma that, if you were a friend you were like family).
Sometimes for Easter Mom & Dad would send us to see Grandma and spend the week with her. She'd make matching dresses for my sister and me, and of course my big sister would be horrified at the thought of being dressed just like me.
She let us dress up in her old catillion gowns and we'd sit in the back of her 1970 Pontiac and she'd drive us around town so we wave at people and we could feel like princesses. Even my sister liked that.
There were many trips to Dunkin' Donuts up the street from her house, where she'd let us eat as many donuts as we wanted. If Mom had only known, she would have been mad.
Grandma's greatest gift to me was that she taught me to sew. When I was 7 she put me on phone books to reach the sewing machine, and 30 years later I've made countless quilts, outfits, wedding dresses and other things for people -- all because she took the time to share her gift with me.
I know she sewed well into her 80s for others as well, and I know it was hard on her when she couldn't do it anymore.
She had a way about her, and anyone who knew her knows exactly what I'm talking about. She lived life how she wanted to, and sometimes dragged us along with her.
Even though the Grandma Peterson I've known for years has been gone for a long time now as life faded from her, she will still be missed.
Thanks for everything, Gram.
I love you.
Thursday, February 24, 2005
The Job Hunt
Well, isn't this fun.
I've been laid off for less than a week, and I'm looking for work. I'm learning that the unemployment office requires you to look for work by making five contacts per week, and today I can't find anything to apply for.
I interviewed for a job at a newspaper not far from my house, and was told a month ago that I would get a second interview. I've called, e-mailed and tried to stay "in touch" as I know the job could take forever for them to fill, and yet nothing. I've been reassured several times by someone who works at that company that it can take a month for them to get me in, so why did the hiring manager say he'd get me in at the end of the week? Another person in this world living on Fantasy Island, I guess.
Meanwhile, I wait. I never was a very patient person, and being unemployed really hasn't helped that cause any. I want to be working now, and if not now, I'd like to know when.
I made myself a deal. Every day I would do some form of exercise so my butt doesn't look like it did working my last office job when I take my next one. I also promised myself I'd apply for one job a day (minimum), and that I would walk the dog.
So far I've been able to keep that end of the bargain. I've lost 3 pounds in the past week (sorry if this sounds too much like Bridget Jones' diary as she calculates drinks drunk, smokes smoked, and weight lost and regained). I guess that's a good deal. But the only jobs I see in the paper this morning are to work for the local newspaper selling them in stores as people come in, which I'm just a tad overqualified for, and a job so far south that I'd be sitting in the traffic cluster called "T-Rex" -- a highway expansion project south of Denver that would take years off my life trying to get to, and it's not even close to full time work.
So perhaps today will be a trip downtown. I've already showered, so it shouldn't take much work to dress and get out of the house for a while.
Meanwhile, I look at my cats -- Jack the kitten playing with my slippers, attacking the doorjam, and knawing on the bench that holds his food bowl. Ah, to be a cat, and only need to obsess when the food bowl is empty.
I've been laid off for less than a week, and I'm looking for work. I'm learning that the unemployment office requires you to look for work by making five contacts per week, and today I can't find anything to apply for.
I interviewed for a job at a newspaper not far from my house, and was told a month ago that I would get a second interview. I've called, e-mailed and tried to stay "in touch" as I know the job could take forever for them to fill, and yet nothing. I've been reassured several times by someone who works at that company that it can take a month for them to get me in, so why did the hiring manager say he'd get me in at the end of the week? Another person in this world living on Fantasy Island, I guess.
Meanwhile, I wait. I never was a very patient person, and being unemployed really hasn't helped that cause any. I want to be working now, and if not now, I'd like to know when.
I made myself a deal. Every day I would do some form of exercise so my butt doesn't look like it did working my last office job when I take my next one. I also promised myself I'd apply for one job a day (minimum), and that I would walk the dog.
So far I've been able to keep that end of the bargain. I've lost 3 pounds in the past week (sorry if this sounds too much like Bridget Jones' diary as she calculates drinks drunk, smokes smoked, and weight lost and regained). I guess that's a good deal. But the only jobs I see in the paper this morning are to work for the local newspaper selling them in stores as people come in, which I'm just a tad overqualified for, and a job so far south that I'd be sitting in the traffic cluster called "T-Rex" -- a highway expansion project south of Denver that would take years off my life trying to get to, and it's not even close to full time work.
So perhaps today will be a trip downtown. I've already showered, so it shouldn't take much work to dress and get out of the house for a while.
Meanwhile, I look at my cats -- Jack the kitten playing with my slippers, attacking the doorjam, and knawing on the bench that holds his food bowl. Ah, to be a cat, and only need to obsess when the food bowl is empty.
Monday, February 21, 2005
Indignance vs. intolerance
This isn't an easy blog for the day, but I have to get it out of my head and out here on the web where others can read it and help me chew on it.
I have an interesting family dilemma going on. I have a brother who's gay and has been out of the closet for some time. Now, we're not here to talk about his gay-ness. It's there. Let's all just get over it. The question for me is about some friends and family members who are struggling with this, and how he responds to it.
On one hand, I am entirely sympathetic to him -- knowing full well he stayed in the closet for years, I don't think we need to shove him back in every Christmas so someone else in the family doesn't have to deal with his gayness. On the other hand, I know how conservative some friends and family members are, and that they do occasionally speak up on the matter, but really are just quietly uncomfortable with discussing the whole topic. So far nobody had started any holy wars about this issue.
Well, until recently. A family friend sent this brother a book titled something unbelievably hilarious to those of us who are at least understanding of the homosexual community. It read "You Don't Have To Be Gay!" Packed with pseudo facts and anecdotal stories of gay men gone straight, it was a personal affront to my brother, natch.
The thing is, no one in the family sent this...and yet my brother has recently decided to discuss this issue with everyone in the family, fanning the embers of a conversation that no one really wants to have except him. On one hand, I see why -- I mean some people's bigotry or biases against something is in my view, not something to be condoned or encouraged. On the other hand, I feel that those who are more conservative on some issues aren't necessarily bad people, we just happen to agree on some very important issues. For that reason, for example, I will not leave any children I have to be raised by a more conservative member of the family, but rather a like-minded sibling if I were to die prematurely.
I guess for me it comes down to the difference between me being indignant at someone's behavior and beliefs or intolerant of them. I do believe it is imperative (especially in this day and age) that people learn to be more tolerant of each other. I can defend my ideas to the ground (act indignant that people are being racist or classist, for example), but it doesn't mean I have to be intolerant of them. In keeping the conversation going, more progress can be made than by slamming the door on the relationship. I realize that this could be construed as complacency, but that's not what I mean at all.
I don't think it's a matter of semantics. I think it's a matter of accepting that other people have different beliefs while still defending your own. Intolerance instead says "you're wrong, and you're wrong until you believe what I do." Sure, the people who sent this book were out of line and should be talked to, but expecting anything to come of it seems a bit naive.
Meanwhile, the loud voice in my head keeps saying ala Rodney King of the 1990s riots "Can't we all just get along?"
I have an interesting family dilemma going on. I have a brother who's gay and has been out of the closet for some time. Now, we're not here to talk about his gay-ness. It's there. Let's all just get over it. The question for me is about some friends and family members who are struggling with this, and how he responds to it.
On one hand, I am entirely sympathetic to him -- knowing full well he stayed in the closet for years, I don't think we need to shove him back in every Christmas so someone else in the family doesn't have to deal with his gayness. On the other hand, I know how conservative some friends and family members are, and that they do occasionally speak up on the matter, but really are just quietly uncomfortable with discussing the whole topic. So far nobody had started any holy wars about this issue.
Well, until recently. A family friend sent this brother a book titled something unbelievably hilarious to those of us who are at least understanding of the homosexual community. It read "You Don't Have To Be Gay!" Packed with pseudo facts and anecdotal stories of gay men gone straight, it was a personal affront to my brother, natch.
The thing is, no one in the family sent this...and yet my brother has recently decided to discuss this issue with everyone in the family, fanning the embers of a conversation that no one really wants to have except him. On one hand, I see why -- I mean some people's bigotry or biases against something is in my view, not something to be condoned or encouraged. On the other hand, I feel that those who are more conservative on some issues aren't necessarily bad people, we just happen to agree on some very important issues. For that reason, for example, I will not leave any children I have to be raised by a more conservative member of the family, but rather a like-minded sibling if I were to die prematurely.
I guess for me it comes down to the difference between me being indignant at someone's behavior and beliefs or intolerant of them. I do believe it is imperative (especially in this day and age) that people learn to be more tolerant of each other. I can defend my ideas to the ground (act indignant that people are being racist or classist, for example), but it doesn't mean I have to be intolerant of them. In keeping the conversation going, more progress can be made than by slamming the door on the relationship. I realize that this could be construed as complacency, but that's not what I mean at all.
I don't think it's a matter of semantics. I think it's a matter of accepting that other people have different beliefs while still defending your own. Intolerance instead says "you're wrong, and you're wrong until you believe what I do." Sure, the people who sent this book were out of line and should be talked to, but expecting anything to come of it seems a bit naive.
Meanwhile, the loud voice in my head keeps saying ala Rodney King of the 1990s riots "Can't we all just get along?"
Saturday, February 19, 2005
"Panic Won't Pay The Mortgage"
I just got laid off from my job on Friday. I knew it was coming, but it didn't save me from having a hard time with it.
Work had slowed to a crawl as my job duties were transferred to people out of state, and I found myself often walking the dog in the mid-afternoon, starting dinner before my husband got home -- living the life of a part time stay-at-home wife. I tried enjoy the time because I think everyone sees people walking their dogs in the mid-afternoon and wish they could too, but instead they have meetings or other places they're driving to.
But when D-Day came, for some reason it felt strange. I'm sure on Monday when I wake up with nowhere I have to be it will feel even stranger.
This morning I realized that we have a $1,200 tax bill along with my unemployment...that it is going to be tight in the coming weeks unless I find a job quickly. As I started to tell my husband how nervous I was about this (perhaps overstating my feelings by saying I was "scared out of my mind", which in reality I don't think I've ever been), my husband had the perfect words for me: "Panicking Won't Pay the Mortgage".
Well, if he's not right again. I guess if I sat around and got all depressed and didn't leave the house for several weeks, that's not going to get me a job either. Ha.
My husband is one of those people who can tell me "It's going to be all right" and I believe him. He has a way of making me realize that we're in this together, and despite the ups and downs our lives have taken these past 5 years of marriage, we're a team.
I got an internet joke today about how it was a "chain letter" but instead of a letter, we were to pack up our husbands, send them to the person at the top of the list, and in a week I'd get 15,124 more husbands, and one of them had to be better than the one I had. I laughed as I read it to my spouse...I wouldn't trade him for anything, not even 15,124 other choices no matter how rich or otherwise different they may be.
Yeah, I'm lucky.
Work had slowed to a crawl as my job duties were transferred to people out of state, and I found myself often walking the dog in the mid-afternoon, starting dinner before my husband got home -- living the life of a part time stay-at-home wife. I tried enjoy the time because I think everyone sees people walking their dogs in the mid-afternoon and wish they could too, but instead they have meetings or other places they're driving to.
But when D-Day came, for some reason it felt strange. I'm sure on Monday when I wake up with nowhere I have to be it will feel even stranger.
This morning I realized that we have a $1,200 tax bill along with my unemployment...that it is going to be tight in the coming weeks unless I find a job quickly. As I started to tell my husband how nervous I was about this (perhaps overstating my feelings by saying I was "scared out of my mind", which in reality I don't think I've ever been), my husband had the perfect words for me: "Panicking Won't Pay the Mortgage".
Well, if he's not right again. I guess if I sat around and got all depressed and didn't leave the house for several weeks, that's not going to get me a job either. Ha.
My husband is one of those people who can tell me "It's going to be all right" and I believe him. He has a way of making me realize that we're in this together, and despite the ups and downs our lives have taken these past 5 years of marriage, we're a team.
I got an internet joke today about how it was a "chain letter" but instead of a letter, we were to pack up our husbands, send them to the person at the top of the list, and in a week I'd get 15,124 more husbands, and one of them had to be better than the one I had. I laughed as I read it to my spouse...I wouldn't trade him for anything, not even 15,124 other choices no matter how rich or otherwise different they may be.
Yeah, I'm lucky.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Ode to Chocolate
I am a chocoholic by nature. It occurs to me to give it up, but then my little addicted brain voice says "Why would you want to do THAT?"
Instead, I've learned to manage my habit. It's the last one I have, you see. I quit smoking so many years ago I forgot when, and I only drink alcohol occasionally, so chocolate is all I've got left for a vice. (Let's not talk about coffee, 'cause I can quit that any time I want).
Chocolate does not need to be interfered with. By that, I mean by additives of nuts, fruit, or other of what I call "thinners"...Chocolate should be pure, unadulterated and unencumbered by any other flavors, unless it's by more chocolate.
I make a double chocolate cookie that has insane amounts of chocolate in the dough, and twice the chips of Tollhouse cookies. I call it "Chocolate Held Together By More Chocolate Cookies". They're a big hit at parties. My husband has friends who will come to my parties and stand directly by the plate and eat them in succession until they're gone.
One time a child of a co-worker came by selling chocolate bars. All he had left were the ones with big almonds in them (figures). As I opened it up at home later that evening, I told my husband that I didn't think chocolate needed nuts in it, and his response was "well, what if the nuts need the chocolate?" He's got a point. But I do not need to help the nuts.
Some of the people I feel most sorry for in the world (at least in the category of those living with some sort of dietary restriction) are those who are actually allergic to chocolate. I wonder what life would be like if I liked chocolate but couldn't eat it.
I think that would be about as bad as having a warmongering Texan in the White House.
Ugh.
Instead, I've learned to manage my habit. It's the last one I have, you see. I quit smoking so many years ago I forgot when, and I only drink alcohol occasionally, so chocolate is all I've got left for a vice. (Let's not talk about coffee, 'cause I can quit that any time I want).
Chocolate does not need to be interfered with. By that, I mean by additives of nuts, fruit, or other of what I call "thinners"...Chocolate should be pure, unadulterated and unencumbered by any other flavors, unless it's by more chocolate.
I make a double chocolate cookie that has insane amounts of chocolate in the dough, and twice the chips of Tollhouse cookies. I call it "Chocolate Held Together By More Chocolate Cookies". They're a big hit at parties. My husband has friends who will come to my parties and stand directly by the plate and eat them in succession until they're gone.
One time a child of a co-worker came by selling chocolate bars. All he had left were the ones with big almonds in them (figures). As I opened it up at home later that evening, I told my husband that I didn't think chocolate needed nuts in it, and his response was "well, what if the nuts need the chocolate?" He's got a point. But I do not need to help the nuts.
Some of the people I feel most sorry for in the world (at least in the category of those living with some sort of dietary restriction) are those who are actually allergic to chocolate. I wonder what life would be like if I liked chocolate but couldn't eat it.
I think that would be about as bad as having a warmongering Texan in the White House.
Ugh.
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Ever wonder why you were somewhere, then had the question answered?
I've been working for a company that is well outside my normal industry for more than 2 years now. I started there as a temp, and was hired on permanently shortly thereafter. I never felt like I belonged there, never felt a sense of permanence or allegiance to the company, but it was a paycheck.
I finally started working in the marketing department a year ago and had been having a wonderful time with a great new boss. However, we learned late last year that they were moving our jobs to corporate headquarters out of state, a place few if any of us really would want to move.
Well, this week is my last week, and as the transition has been happening, I had less and less work to do. I offered to help out the training manager with putting together some binders and other projects for an upcoming seminar she's doing.
Last Friday, as we worked together, she told me that she hadn't been feeling well for some time, and that she felt like there were "a ton of bricks" on her chest.
I told her that while I didn't want to scare her -- that was a similar description my Dad gave 12 years ago -- and he didn't see a doctor (famous last words: "I'll be fine") -- and that he had died suddenly several weeks later due to a heart problem.
Well, that got her attention -- she called her doctor, was asked to come in, and I didn't hear from her all weekend. Come to find out Monday morning she had had a heart attack!
I don't know why -- I guess because I figured if someone else had been there maybe they wouldn't have said what I said to her -- or had a similar experience to jump-start her into going in...but what if I hadn't been there? What if I had said nothing, or just said "oh, just rest up this weekend, you'll feel better"?
I suddenly felt like the time I spent at this company was worth it all...maybe, just maybe, my saying something had helped save a life, or just prevent her from having more damage done.
Of course most people know that chest pain is not something to play around with -- but when it's YOU -- do you think "Oh, it'll go away" or that "It can't happen to me".
Boy, I've been there a few times. I let a sore throat get so bad I couldn't eat -- and by the time I got to the Ear Nose & Throat specialist, I had absessed tonsils that were threatening to close my airway. Left untreated, the doctor said the "mortality rate was 40%". That got my attention, and my tonsils came out.
Have you been ignoring a sign?
My favorite website for health -- the Colorado Quitnet -- for those who smoke or have other tobacco addictions, this is one web site that will help you kick the habit one final time: www.quitnet.com
I finally started working in the marketing department a year ago and had been having a wonderful time with a great new boss. However, we learned late last year that they were moving our jobs to corporate headquarters out of state, a place few if any of us really would want to move.
Well, this week is my last week, and as the transition has been happening, I had less and less work to do. I offered to help out the training manager with putting together some binders and other projects for an upcoming seminar she's doing.
Last Friday, as we worked together, she told me that she hadn't been feeling well for some time, and that she felt like there were "a ton of bricks" on her chest.
I told her that while I didn't want to scare her -- that was a similar description my Dad gave 12 years ago -- and he didn't see a doctor (famous last words: "I'll be fine") -- and that he had died suddenly several weeks later due to a heart problem.
Well, that got her attention -- she called her doctor, was asked to come in, and I didn't hear from her all weekend. Come to find out Monday morning she had had a heart attack!
I don't know why -- I guess because I figured if someone else had been there maybe they wouldn't have said what I said to her -- or had a similar experience to jump-start her into going in...but what if I hadn't been there? What if I had said nothing, or just said "oh, just rest up this weekend, you'll feel better"?
I suddenly felt like the time I spent at this company was worth it all...maybe, just maybe, my saying something had helped save a life, or just prevent her from having more damage done.
Of course most people know that chest pain is not something to play around with -- but when it's YOU -- do you think "Oh, it'll go away" or that "It can't happen to me".
Boy, I've been there a few times. I let a sore throat get so bad I couldn't eat -- and by the time I got to the Ear Nose & Throat specialist, I had absessed tonsils that were threatening to close my airway. Left untreated, the doctor said the "mortality rate was 40%". That got my attention, and my tonsils came out.
Have you been ignoring a sign?
My favorite website for health -- the Colorado Quitnet -- for those who smoke or have other tobacco addictions, this is one web site that will help you kick the habit one final time: www.quitnet.com
Sunday, February 13, 2005
You're Going to Laugh at the Romance of this...
My husband took me down to Lowe's yesterday and had me pick out a new kitchen faucet. We live in a 95-year-old house in which no home improvement is inexpensive or easy -- so this was quite a feat.
He's under strict orders to not buy me jewelry unless I ask for it, and when I say "I want a vacuum cleaner" for Christmas or "We need a new faucet for Valentine's Day -- It is NOT a trap! I REALLY want that!
I included another photo of the kitties because hey, kittens are cute. Even big 20-lb. ones like the one on the left. Happy Valentine's Day!
My Valentine's Day Present & Gratuitous Kitties Photo.
He's under strict orders to not buy me jewelry unless I ask for it, and when I say "I want a vacuum cleaner" for Christmas or "We need a new faucet for Valentine's Day -- It is NOT a trap! I REALLY want that!
I included another photo of the kitties because hey, kittens are cute. Even big 20-lb. ones like the one on the left. Happy Valentine's Day!
My Valentine's Day Present & Gratuitous Kitties Photo.
Saturday, February 12, 2005
Jack & Quilts
This is a picture of two of my favorite things -- I have many to show you, but these are two of my favorites: My kitten, Jack, and my major hobby: quilting. We'll talk about Jack in a later post, but here's what I learned about making a quilt.
My grandmother, who's still cantankerous and kicking at 94, taught me how to sew when I was 7 years old. She sat me down on phone books to reach the height of the table, and set me loose on Mom's 1960 Singer, which I ruthlessly stole when I left home for college at 18. I loved sewing, and I was a natural...She taught me the basics of reading patterns and buying fabric, and off I went -- first learning to make clothes, then becoming the family mender.
When I was 13 and visiting a friend in the family at college, I saw a quilt she and her Mom had made for her before she went to school. Made of plain squares, I took one look at it and said "I can do that". So my first quilt was turned out round about 1980 for my brother as he went to college -- longer and thinner than it should have turned out, but full of Dad's shirts, sister's skirt and a bedspread for a backing. Over the years I've made quilts for everyone in my immediate family -- for friends' babies, and the like. The one below is a recent one I made for my sister.
Quilting is a unique art -- one that requires you to do math (yes, you have to remember some of that geometry like A2+B2=C2), be creative, have an eye for color, and well, a fair amount of patience. You also have to be willing to make mistakes. But people I know who have never sewn before can be taught -- it's all really a matter of taking the time to try.
Favorite quilting web site: www.equiltblocks.com
What have you done that's creative lately?
Meet Jack
My grandmother, who's still cantankerous and kicking at 94, taught me how to sew when I was 7 years old. She sat me down on phone books to reach the height of the table, and set me loose on Mom's 1960 Singer, which I ruthlessly stole when I left home for college at 18. I loved sewing, and I was a natural...She taught me the basics of reading patterns and buying fabric, and off I went -- first learning to make clothes, then becoming the family mender.
When I was 13 and visiting a friend in the family at college, I saw a quilt she and her Mom had made for her before she went to school. Made of plain squares, I took one look at it and said "I can do that". So my first quilt was turned out round about 1980 for my brother as he went to college -- longer and thinner than it should have turned out, but full of Dad's shirts, sister's skirt and a bedspread for a backing. Over the years I've made quilts for everyone in my immediate family -- for friends' babies, and the like. The one below is a recent one I made for my sister.
Quilting is a unique art -- one that requires you to do math (yes, you have to remember some of that geometry like A2+B2=C2), be creative, have an eye for color, and well, a fair amount of patience. You also have to be willing to make mistakes. But people I know who have never sewn before can be taught -- it's all really a matter of taking the time to try.
Favorite quilting web site: www.equiltblocks.com
What have you done that's creative lately?
Meet Jack
The First Post of What Will Be Years of Blogness
I'm new to this...so new, in fact, that I am hardly prepared to say much today...but this is exciting! I guess we'll start with an introduction:
My name is Jules, Julie, really...but everyone calls me Jules. I love where I live, and I love to travel, hike, play and have fun. I am happiest when I make people laugh. I'm not afraid to look stupid in the pursuit of making people laugh either.
I am married -- for 5 years now -- to my high school sweetheart, who came back into my life after 10 years' absence...we live in Denver, Colorado, where we have a house and pets (2 cats and a dog).
I travelled a lot last year -- I got to go home to the Northwest (Seattle/Portland area) a couple of times, went to New York City to visit my actor-brother Joel. The year before that I went to Europe.
One of my pet peeves is the recent lack of tolerance for those who wish to express their political views -- even negative ones -- in the wake of 9/11. I am shocked, dismayed and frankly -- pissed off -- at the attacks on those who speak their minds. I wish everyone understood the importance of Free Speech as a foundation of our society...if we're not free to criticize our government, NO ONE is free.
I will spend my blog time wisely -- I will do my best to entertain, inform, delight and perhaps make you mad sometimes, but I promise you, there will be rays of sunshine when you will actually catch yourself thinking about something in a whole new light.
Now, back to work with you.
My name is Jules, Julie, really...but everyone calls me Jules. I love where I live, and I love to travel, hike, play and have fun. I am happiest when I make people laugh. I'm not afraid to look stupid in the pursuit of making people laugh either.
I am married -- for 5 years now -- to my high school sweetheart, who came back into my life after 10 years' absence...we live in Denver, Colorado, where we have a house and pets (2 cats and a dog).
I travelled a lot last year -- I got to go home to the Northwest (Seattle/Portland area) a couple of times, went to New York City to visit my actor-brother Joel. The year before that I went to Europe.
One of my pet peeves is the recent lack of tolerance for those who wish to express their political views -- even negative ones -- in the wake of 9/11. I am shocked, dismayed and frankly -- pissed off -- at the attacks on those who speak their minds. I wish everyone understood the importance of Free Speech as a foundation of our society...if we're not free to criticize our government, NO ONE is free.
I will spend my blog time wisely -- I will do my best to entertain, inform, delight and perhaps make you mad sometimes, but I promise you, there will be rays of sunshine when you will actually catch yourself thinking about something in a whole new light.
Now, back to work with you.
Sloganizer
