"I'm just sittin' on the dock of the bay, watchin' the tide roll away.....I'm just sittin' on the dock of the bay, wastin' time...."
Otis Redding 1968
If you have ever sat on a dock, on any body of water, and focused on the water, you have probably experienced the sensation that you were moving instead of the water. There are scientific words for this, but they are not near as interesting as the phenomenon itself.
The summer before I turned 16, Mother, her sister, her sister's husband and I took a road trip. We drove from Illinois to Florida. I have many memories from that jaunt, but the one thing that fascinated me were the trees.....pine trees. Not having ever traveled too much at that age and having most of my knowledge of the outside world coming from a television set, I always associated pine trees with northern climates and snow capped mountains. I had never heard of the southern yellow pine.
When I made the one thousand plus mile journey in a day to this new place, I was aggravated that I had driven nearly across the entire state of North Carolina in the dark. But, in the fresh light of day, I realized that the scenery was probably pretty much the same from beginning to end.......mile after mile of tall pine trees.
Standing on the back deck of our new 'home', I face the same direction as I did at the place I left behind. The view I had before was wide open, with a great expanse of sky. The view here has but a sliver of sky and a wall of southern yellow pine trees. These trees are over one hundred feet tall. Their needled foliage grows mostly at the top as they grapple for their fare share of sunlight. They are straight, 'stick straight', which, of course, is why they are such a good tree for lumber and some of them grow so close together that it would be impossible to walk between them.
When the wind blows, these southern yellow pine trees begin to dance. They sway back and forth with the breeze, not just their lofty boughs, but the entire tree. When I watch this grand performance, from my perch thirty feet off the ground, it is sometimes almost eerie. More than once, I have reached out my hand to steady myself on the deck railing.
These trees, they bend, they sway and sometimes they break. They are much like us, swaying through the winds of life.
Monday, February 29, 2016
Tuesday, February 23, 2016
Rip & Snort
"If I exercised as much as I think about exercising, I'd probably die from exhaustion." R. E. Reeves
Being in a new place gives one the opportunity to do new things. It is a liberating feeling to have new thoughts and ideas while standing at the starting line of a brand new experience.
Having thought a long time about getting serious about exercising, I figured this would be the perfect time to really do it. Yoga was my workout of choice for two reasons. One, it is easy on the joints and two, just getting into the beginning 'mountain pose' is a workout in itself and getting there is an accomplishment in itself.
After donning my yoga pants, which are a wonderful piece of attire, giving one the thought that maybe it was just the imagination saying the blue jeans were a bit tight, I set out to begin my first session. I had no more picked my spot when Runtly, the ever so entertaining Jack Russell Terrier, let me know he needed to go outside.
Several months ago I purchased a training collar for Runtly. It is the kind that has battery on the collar and a remote control that allows the trainer to give the trainee a mild static shock when a directive has not been followed. This turned out to be the best investment, because within three days, we were walking without a leash.
This new environment we have found ourselves in has many pet owners and most of those pets are dogs. This place also requires said dogs to be on a leash. Runtly and I have already been reprimanded for this. Since it was our first encounter with one of the ladies who work here, I decided not to be a smart-alack and say, "He is on a leash, you just can't see it." and told here I would oblige by the rules. We only use the training collar under the cover of darkness or early in the morning before above mentioned lady shows up for work.
This meant having to use the harness for the daily day time outings. I do not know what it is about the harness, but Runtly does not like it. It is made with soft padded straps and nylon mesh so it isn't binding or tight, but when it comes into his line of vision, the chase is on. I truly believe he thinks it makes him look like a wuss.
Our new living quarters has carpet throughout the entire area except the kitchen. This is a new experience for Runtly because he has been raised on hardwood and tile floors. It was not long before he gave the word 'traction' new meaning. At first sight of the harness he tucks his rear end under and takes off. This particular dog posture somehow activates turbo mode. Runtly flies from room to room, turning on a dime, bouncing off of whatever furniture might be in his path and then rips and snorts back to his original starting place, with me in hot pursuit. This goes on far longer than necessary, but it sure is funny to watch.
After several minutes of ripping and snorting, Runtly's futile effort to elude the harness came to an end and I was catching my breath as we headed out the door. No sooner had we returned, my husband showed up with a washing machine. Since it was laundry day and I was going to have to find a laundry mat, I was over joyed to see this appliance. "You're going to have to help me unload it.", he said.
Luckily, he had secured a two wheeled cart for this endeavor and we wallowed the machine out of the back of the truck and on to the cart. We navigated the first two steps and then the long walk way that leads to our apartment. As we reached the steps he looked at me and said, "Only 15 steps to go."
Yes indeed, 15 steps, straight up. He took the lead and I pushed. About half way up, I came to the realization that the upper arm strength was nowhere close to what it used to be and I had to wave the white flag for break time. There was not much ripping going on, but I'm sure I heard a snort or two. By the time we got the machine through the front door, my arms felt like jello.
At this point, I decided the yoga could wait for another day.
Being in a new place gives one the opportunity to do new things. It is a liberating feeling to have new thoughts and ideas while standing at the starting line of a brand new experience.
Having thought a long time about getting serious about exercising, I figured this would be the perfect time to really do it. Yoga was my workout of choice for two reasons. One, it is easy on the joints and two, just getting into the beginning 'mountain pose' is a workout in itself and getting there is an accomplishment in itself.
After donning my yoga pants, which are a wonderful piece of attire, giving one the thought that maybe it was just the imagination saying the blue jeans were a bit tight, I set out to begin my first session. I had no more picked my spot when Runtly, the ever so entertaining Jack Russell Terrier, let me know he needed to go outside.
Several months ago I purchased a training collar for Runtly. It is the kind that has battery on the collar and a remote control that allows the trainer to give the trainee a mild static shock when a directive has not been followed. This turned out to be the best investment, because within three days, we were walking without a leash.
This new environment we have found ourselves in has many pet owners and most of those pets are dogs. This place also requires said dogs to be on a leash. Runtly and I have already been reprimanded for this. Since it was our first encounter with one of the ladies who work here, I decided not to be a smart-alack and say, "He is on a leash, you just can't see it." and told here I would oblige by the rules. We only use the training collar under the cover of darkness or early in the morning before above mentioned lady shows up for work.
This meant having to use the harness for the daily day time outings. I do not know what it is about the harness, but Runtly does not like it. It is made with soft padded straps and nylon mesh so it isn't binding or tight, but when it comes into his line of vision, the chase is on. I truly believe he thinks it makes him look like a wuss.
Our new living quarters has carpet throughout the entire area except the kitchen. This is a new experience for Runtly because he has been raised on hardwood and tile floors. It was not long before he gave the word 'traction' new meaning. At first sight of the harness he tucks his rear end under and takes off. This particular dog posture somehow activates turbo mode. Runtly flies from room to room, turning on a dime, bouncing off of whatever furniture might be in his path and then rips and snorts back to his original starting place, with me in hot pursuit. This goes on far longer than necessary, but it sure is funny to watch.
After several minutes of ripping and snorting, Runtly's futile effort to elude the harness came to an end and I was catching my breath as we headed out the door. No sooner had we returned, my husband showed up with a washing machine. Since it was laundry day and I was going to have to find a laundry mat, I was over joyed to see this appliance. "You're going to have to help me unload it.", he said.
Luckily, he had secured a two wheeled cart for this endeavor and we wallowed the machine out of the back of the truck and on to the cart. We navigated the first two steps and then the long walk way that leads to our apartment. As we reached the steps he looked at me and said, "Only 15 steps to go."
Yes indeed, 15 steps, straight up. He took the lead and I pushed. About half way up, I came to the realization that the upper arm strength was nowhere close to what it used to be and I had to wave the white flag for break time. There was not much ripping going on, but I'm sure I heard a snort or two. By the time we got the machine through the front door, my arms felt like jello.
At this point, I decided the yoga could wait for another day.
Friday, February 19, 2016
What Was I Thinking?
Not having moved for over thirty years, it is never quite clear which items should go and which items should stay. Waiting until the last minute to pack is never a good idea either.
When someone saw the picture of the mini van, loaded from floor to ceiling, they asked, "Is that a rocking chair in there?" Yes indeed, it was a glider rocker and its matching foot stool.....not only that, there were two of them.
According to Murphy's Law, nothing ever goes as planned. That turned out to be true as our meager belongings stayed boxed and wrapped in bath towels, a very good way to pack when one does not have enough boxes, for much longer than we thought. At nearly the three week mark, I had forgotten just exactly what I had brought with me.
I'm always waxing eloquently about down sizing. Living a simpler life and not having so much stuff. One thing is for sure, having only two chairs in the living room allows Runtly, the ever so entertaining Jack Russell Terrier, lots of run and play room.
My husband began voicing his opinion, several months ago, about living on one level. No up the stairs, no down the stairs, makes things easier for aging joints. This too, is true and I must admit, quite convenient, other than the fact that our apartment is on the third level, thirty feet off the ground, so there are still many steps to be traversed in a day. This causes one to think strategically when it comes time to buy groceries. It also makes for a great upper arm workout by trying to pack all the sacks in one trip.
Unpacking began to reveal what treasures had seemed important to bring. The majority of these were kitchen items. I thought it necessary to bring two crock pots. Not the regular size crock pot, but two mahonkin' crock pots that hold enough food for a small army. Then there are the five platters of many colors.......just in case the small army shows up. I unwrapped ten dinner plates, ten matching bread plates, seven soup bowls and numerous drinking glasses. When I got to the cooking utensils, I must have thought I was going to turn into Martha Stewart because I brought dang near all of them. All these things and not one strainer....of which I have three. Everything fit into my new kitchen, which is about one fourth the size of the one I left behind. I can unload the dishwasher and put everything away standing in one spot.
When it came to the equipment for my work, I had left behind one tool that I use almost on a daily basis......the Dremel. As I peck out these words, it is somewhere in transit between point A and point B. I will be most happy when it arrives.
I do not know what I was thinking when I packed our belongings for this great adventure. Perhaps I was not thinking at all. Rest assured though, if you show up for a meal, there will be plenty of plates, but you may want to BYOC.....(chair).
When someone saw the picture of the mini van, loaded from floor to ceiling, they asked, "Is that a rocking chair in there?" Yes indeed, it was a glider rocker and its matching foot stool.....not only that, there were two of them.
According to Murphy's Law, nothing ever goes as planned. That turned out to be true as our meager belongings stayed boxed and wrapped in bath towels, a very good way to pack when one does not have enough boxes, for much longer than we thought. At nearly the three week mark, I had forgotten just exactly what I had brought with me.
I'm always waxing eloquently about down sizing. Living a simpler life and not having so much stuff. One thing is for sure, having only two chairs in the living room allows Runtly, the ever so entertaining Jack Russell Terrier, lots of run and play room.
My husband began voicing his opinion, several months ago, about living on one level. No up the stairs, no down the stairs, makes things easier for aging joints. This too, is true and I must admit, quite convenient, other than the fact that our apartment is on the third level, thirty feet off the ground, so there are still many steps to be traversed in a day. This causes one to think strategically when it comes time to buy groceries. It also makes for a great upper arm workout by trying to pack all the sacks in one trip.
Unpacking began to reveal what treasures had seemed important to bring. The majority of these were kitchen items. I thought it necessary to bring two crock pots. Not the regular size crock pot, but two mahonkin' crock pots that hold enough food for a small army. Then there are the five platters of many colors.......just in case the small army shows up. I unwrapped ten dinner plates, ten matching bread plates, seven soup bowls and numerous drinking glasses. When I got to the cooking utensils, I must have thought I was going to turn into Martha Stewart because I brought dang near all of them. All these things and not one strainer....of which I have three. Everything fit into my new kitchen, which is about one fourth the size of the one I left behind. I can unload the dishwasher and put everything away standing in one spot.
When it came to the equipment for my work, I had left behind one tool that I use almost on a daily basis......the Dremel. As I peck out these words, it is somewhere in transit between point A and point B. I will be most happy when it arrives.
I do not know what I was thinking when I packed our belongings for this great adventure. Perhaps I was not thinking at all. Rest assured though, if you show up for a meal, there will be plenty of plates, but you may want to BYOC.....(chair).
Thursday, February 11, 2016
Duck Duck Goose
These new surroundings I have found myself in are much different than what I left behind. This new 'home' sits amidst many apartment buildings. For being nestled right next to the biggest city in North Carolina, it is surprisingly quiet. The winding streets that lace their way around the buildings, sometimes ending in a cul-de- sac, are private roadways for the residents who live here. There is more traffic on the street that I grew up on, in a tiny mid-western town with a population of 1200 or so, than there is here.
The area is set with rolling hills, pine trees, zillions of pine cones, (that I may have to start picking up and grab my glue gun) and three ponds. The folks here refer to the biggest pond as a lake, but to me, it's not much bigger than my favorite fishing hole back home. Even though the traffic can be heard rushing by on the outer roads and the nearby airport lends the sound of incoming and outgoing aircraft, this place is almost like being in the country.
It is also a winter haven for the Canadian Goose and there is a pair of them on the pond, named Large Pond, that Runtly, the ever entertaining Jack Russell Terrier, and I walk to each day. The other pond is called Big Pond but it is not as big as Large Pond. My small map of the area shows no name for the lake, perhaps it is Lake Biggest.
Runtly is not a fan of anything that honks and that includes large water fowl. The first day, a small formation of geese flew over our heads, honking, and Runtly was making his way back to the door. This was also true for the many cawing crows that live here, but he is finally getting acclimated to the sounds.
Runtly's first encounter with the geese went well. I held him back, with his leash fully extended, as I watched the pair skim across the pond in our direction. The lead goose had its neck also fully extended. I have seen that goose body language before and it usually means they are not a happy goose. By the time they reached the edge of the pond, Runtly had lost interest in them and they must have decided he was not big enough to be a threat. Even when I took the pieces of bread, to feed the geese, they paid little attention to him as he lunged for the chunks that did not land in the water.
One day, as we were walking, we came around a corner and there sat seven geese on a small grassy hill, right in the middle of one of the parking lots. A couple of them honked and pumped their necks up and down. Runtly did not know what to think, being in such close proximity, but I believe it was at that moment when he decided it was best to leave them alone.
Large Pond also has a couple of pair of Mallard ducks, but they usually stay to opposite side of wherever we are standing. As we walked down the road, above Large Pond, I noticed a large ripple forming in the center of the pond. I stopped and watched, wondering if the pond held fish big enough to make that size of a wake. A few seconds later four ducks popped up from the water. I thought they were Wood Ducks because of their markings and I was elated because I had never seen a Wood Duck in real life. They would dive into the water and then resurface nearly on the other side of the pond. After watching them for several minutes, one of the females came up from the water and was bathed in sunlight. It was then that the Voice, that lives in my head, was waving a page from my bird book.
Since the bird book got left behind, as soon as I got back 'home', I did a search for pictures of wood ducks on the computer. Nope, they were not Wood Ducks. They were Hooded Mergansers. Male Hooded Mergansers are a beautiful duck species that have striking black and white markings. The female Hooded Merganser.....not so much. They have feathers on their head, that are usually standing right straight up, that give new meaning to a 'bad hair' day along with being a drab brown color. We human females should learn something from this, guys really don't care how much time we spend on our hair.
Years ago, a friend of my folks, who was an avid hunter, gave Mother a couple of ducks already prepared to be cooked. She flew, no pun intended, into the kitchen and set out to make what I have always referred to as the duckiest meal ever. Everything tasted like duck. There was duck dressing, duck gravy and duck duck. I've never had the desire to eat duck again.
I will continue to enjoy their beauty in real life and maybe, the next stroll taken down to Large Pond will reveal a new species.....I sure hope it's the Wood Duck.
The area is set with rolling hills, pine trees, zillions of pine cones, (that I may have to start picking up and grab my glue gun) and three ponds. The folks here refer to the biggest pond as a lake, but to me, it's not much bigger than my favorite fishing hole back home. Even though the traffic can be heard rushing by on the outer roads and the nearby airport lends the sound of incoming and outgoing aircraft, this place is almost like being in the country.
It is also a winter haven for the Canadian Goose and there is a pair of them on the pond, named Large Pond, that Runtly, the ever entertaining Jack Russell Terrier, and I walk to each day. The other pond is called Big Pond but it is not as big as Large Pond. My small map of the area shows no name for the lake, perhaps it is Lake Biggest.
Runtly is not a fan of anything that honks and that includes large water fowl. The first day, a small formation of geese flew over our heads, honking, and Runtly was making his way back to the door. This was also true for the many cawing crows that live here, but he is finally getting acclimated to the sounds.
Runtly's first encounter with the geese went well. I held him back, with his leash fully extended, as I watched the pair skim across the pond in our direction. The lead goose had its neck also fully extended. I have seen that goose body language before and it usually means they are not a happy goose. By the time they reached the edge of the pond, Runtly had lost interest in them and they must have decided he was not big enough to be a threat. Even when I took the pieces of bread, to feed the geese, they paid little attention to him as he lunged for the chunks that did not land in the water.
One day, as we were walking, we came around a corner and there sat seven geese on a small grassy hill, right in the middle of one of the parking lots. A couple of them honked and pumped their necks up and down. Runtly did not know what to think, being in such close proximity, but I believe it was at that moment when he decided it was best to leave them alone.
Large Pond also has a couple of pair of Mallard ducks, but they usually stay to opposite side of wherever we are standing. As we walked down the road, above Large Pond, I noticed a large ripple forming in the center of the pond. I stopped and watched, wondering if the pond held fish big enough to make that size of a wake. A few seconds later four ducks popped up from the water. I thought they were Wood Ducks because of their markings and I was elated because I had never seen a Wood Duck in real life. They would dive into the water and then resurface nearly on the other side of the pond. After watching them for several minutes, one of the females came up from the water and was bathed in sunlight. It was then that the Voice, that lives in my head, was waving a page from my bird book.
Since the bird book got left behind, as soon as I got back 'home', I did a search for pictures of wood ducks on the computer. Nope, they were not Wood Ducks. They were Hooded Mergansers. Male Hooded Mergansers are a beautiful duck species that have striking black and white markings. The female Hooded Merganser.....not so much. They have feathers on their head, that are usually standing right straight up, that give new meaning to a 'bad hair' day along with being a drab brown color. We human females should learn something from this, guys really don't care how much time we spend on our hair.
Years ago, a friend of my folks, who was an avid hunter, gave Mother a couple of ducks already prepared to be cooked. She flew, no pun intended, into the kitchen and set out to make what I have always referred to as the duckiest meal ever. Everything tasted like duck. There was duck dressing, duck gravy and duck duck. I've never had the desire to eat duck again.
I will continue to enjoy their beauty in real life and maybe, the next stroll taken down to Large Pond will reveal a new species.....I sure hope it's the Wood Duck.
Tuesday, February 9, 2016
Carats & Grain
When it comes to marketing, we humans are the most gullible breathing machines on planet Earth. We buy into the latest new gadget, skin cream, fat burner and whatever only to find out after our money is gone, so is the promise of the product. When it comes to the infomercial, we can spend those sleepless nights watching a plethora of miracle makers just waiting to take our dollars and make our lives so much better.
One of the biggest 'wools' that has been pulled over our eyes is that of the diamond, most notably, the diamond engagement ring. It has only been in the last one hundred years or so, that the idea of a diamond engagement ring came into existence. It was a marketing ploy invented by the largest owner of diamond mines and it worked like a charm. "Diamonds Are Forever" was the phrase that put would be couples in debt before they ever said "I do". The diamond mongers even came up with the brilliant scheme to sell the idea that the amount to be spent on a diamond engagement ring should equal two months salary. If a man would not spend that amount, well, cheapskate be his name.
Although the truth of this is readily available, if one would just look for it, it does not matter. Millions are spent on the beautiful jewel each year and I'm pretty certain that will not change anytime soon. And no.......I'm not going to stop wearing mine.
The next thing that is taking the nation by storm is the gluten, gluten-free craze. Gluten is a protein in grass based grains, wheat, barely, rye, that makes dough sticky and gives the end product a chewy texture. The word gluten comes from a Latin word meaning......yep, you guessed it........glue.
Gluten is now the new enemy of the people. There are vast resources that tell of its evilness and tons of tests one can do to see if they are gluten sensitive. Most doctors will agree that yes, there are a few (few being the key word) people who truly are gluten intolerant, but the majority are missing a key point.
The wheat flour products, that are consumed by the zillions of tons each year in this country alone, are made with wheat flour that is far from what it was meant to be while that wheat stalk was blowing in the breeze before harvest. It has been refined to the point that most of its original healthfulness has packed its bags and left the building. Our wheat flour has been pulverized, bleached, and washed leaving behind a mere shadow of the wheat itself. When folks stop eating refined wheat products and begin to feel better, the marketing wheel that is turning at a high rate of speed, convinces them that they were certainly gluten sensitive. The reality is, less bad carbs will make just about anybody feel better.
The most amazing thing about this gluten scare, and that is what it is, fear of food, is the products that are labeled gluten-free that never had any gluten in them to start with. Here are just a few:
marshmallows, smoked turkey breast, pickles, coconut flour.....that seems obvious, it came from a coconut, oats, cheese, garlic, diced tomatoes, yogurt, black pepper and my all time favorite......Gluten Free Bottled Water............really? If you do not think this is true, take a closer look the next time you are in the grocery store. The labels will tell the story. That can of red kidney beans labeled gluten-free will not hurt you, but keep in mind, it never, ever had any gluten in it.
In her later years, when I would reprimand her on whatever she was eating, Mother used to say, "If you can't eat what you like, what's the point?" So, the next time I sit down in front of a deep dish, loaded to the max, pizza, I shall feel no guilt, but I may check to see if my diamond ring is sparkling in the light over the table.
One of the biggest 'wools' that has been pulled over our eyes is that of the diamond, most notably, the diamond engagement ring. It has only been in the last one hundred years or so, that the idea of a diamond engagement ring came into existence. It was a marketing ploy invented by the largest owner of diamond mines and it worked like a charm. "Diamonds Are Forever" was the phrase that put would be couples in debt before they ever said "I do". The diamond mongers even came up with the brilliant scheme to sell the idea that the amount to be spent on a diamond engagement ring should equal two months salary. If a man would not spend that amount, well, cheapskate be his name.
Although the truth of this is readily available, if one would just look for it, it does not matter. Millions are spent on the beautiful jewel each year and I'm pretty certain that will not change anytime soon. And no.......I'm not going to stop wearing mine.
The next thing that is taking the nation by storm is the gluten, gluten-free craze. Gluten is a protein in grass based grains, wheat, barely, rye, that makes dough sticky and gives the end product a chewy texture. The word gluten comes from a Latin word meaning......yep, you guessed it........glue.
Gluten is now the new enemy of the people. There are vast resources that tell of its evilness and tons of tests one can do to see if they are gluten sensitive. Most doctors will agree that yes, there are a few (few being the key word) people who truly are gluten intolerant, but the majority are missing a key point.
The wheat flour products, that are consumed by the zillions of tons each year in this country alone, are made with wheat flour that is far from what it was meant to be while that wheat stalk was blowing in the breeze before harvest. It has been refined to the point that most of its original healthfulness has packed its bags and left the building. Our wheat flour has been pulverized, bleached, and washed leaving behind a mere shadow of the wheat itself. When folks stop eating refined wheat products and begin to feel better, the marketing wheel that is turning at a high rate of speed, convinces them that they were certainly gluten sensitive. The reality is, less bad carbs will make just about anybody feel better.
The most amazing thing about this gluten scare, and that is what it is, fear of food, is the products that are labeled gluten-free that never had any gluten in them to start with. Here are just a few:
marshmallows, smoked turkey breast, pickles, coconut flour.....that seems obvious, it came from a coconut, oats, cheese, garlic, diced tomatoes, yogurt, black pepper and my all time favorite......Gluten Free Bottled Water............really? If you do not think this is true, take a closer look the next time you are in the grocery store. The labels will tell the story. That can of red kidney beans labeled gluten-free will not hurt you, but keep in mind, it never, ever had any gluten in it.
In her later years, when I would reprimand her on whatever she was eating, Mother used to say, "If you can't eat what you like, what's the point?" So, the next time I sit down in front of a deep dish, loaded to the max, pizza, I shall feel no guilt, but I may check to see if my diamond ring is sparkling in the light over the table.
Monday, February 8, 2016
Weather Or No
During a period of time, somewhere between the mid 1940's and the mid 1960's, a phenomenon encompassed a good deal of the globe. In the beginning, it was called the post-war era. The world was calming down and things were beginning to look forward to a brighter future.
I reckon, that because folks were so happy, the best thing to do was to have babies. Well, that probably wasn't the initial reason, but the outcome was an upheaval in the world's population. In the United States alone it was estimated that the annual birth rate increased by 4 million. Later, this new generation was referred to as the baby boomers.
Now that we have reached the year 2016, this group of people are now somewhere between the ages of 51 and 70 years old. The Boomers have been blamed for all kinds of things, being spoiled, being excessive and if there really is global warming or climate change, that is probably their fault too. But, with this group came lots of new changes and ideas that were meant to make life easier and more enjoyable.
One of those new ideas was a television show dedicated to nothing but the weather. I don't know what it is about the baby boomer generation, but they do like to watch the weather channel. Maybe it's because they are getting older and it's just easier to grab the remote than it is to get up out of the recliner and walk out the door.
Since I fall somewhere between the above stated ages, I too have fallen into the weather watching phenomenon. I do not sit and watch it on TV, but I have a wonderful app on my cell phone that shows me the current temperature and other weather related nonsense at the tap of an icon. This app has another feature that has allowed me to become a "weather creeper". It lets me add different locations, anywhere in the world and each day I can look to see what the weather is like in places where I know someone. Places like Phoenix, Arizona, where sister Lela lives, or Milwaukee, Wisconsin, the residence of my proof reader extraordinaire and Houston, Texas, the home of a good friend. I even add places where I have never been, just to see what is going on there weather wise. Recently though, I had cause to actually sit down and watch what the weather had in store for a long journey I was about to embark on. That is when I discovered yet another phenomenon had taken place.
Remember when MTV first hit the airwaves of television? One could sit, stand, or dance along to all the latest music videos. Then someone decided rather than to show only music videos, they would ramble on aimlessly about the artist or fill the spot with more useless information. The M that stood for music had turned into mundane. As I perused the channels looking for the weather forecast, I realized the same thing had happened to the beloved weather channel. The TV guide showed endless listings of shows about weather, what it had done and where it had done it, but no plain old weather forecasts.
I posted my plight on a popular social media site and it was not long before someone suggested that if I scroll down one channel, I would find what I was looking for. To my relief, there it was, weather on the 9's. I watched it, over and over, hoping it would change. I finally decided that maybe the weather where I was going would be like the weather where I was leaving, "if you don't like it, just wait a day, it will change."
I don't know why weather watching is so entertaining. Perhaps it is because, for the most part, that it is the one thing we simply cannot do anything about. It is what it is.....weather or no.
I reckon, that because folks were so happy, the best thing to do was to have babies. Well, that probably wasn't the initial reason, but the outcome was an upheaval in the world's population. In the United States alone it was estimated that the annual birth rate increased by 4 million. Later, this new generation was referred to as the baby boomers.
Now that we have reached the year 2016, this group of people are now somewhere between the ages of 51 and 70 years old. The Boomers have been blamed for all kinds of things, being spoiled, being excessive and if there really is global warming or climate change, that is probably their fault too. But, with this group came lots of new changes and ideas that were meant to make life easier and more enjoyable.
One of those new ideas was a television show dedicated to nothing but the weather. I don't know what it is about the baby boomer generation, but they do like to watch the weather channel. Maybe it's because they are getting older and it's just easier to grab the remote than it is to get up out of the recliner and walk out the door.
Since I fall somewhere between the above stated ages, I too have fallen into the weather watching phenomenon. I do not sit and watch it on TV, but I have a wonderful app on my cell phone that shows me the current temperature and other weather related nonsense at the tap of an icon. This app has another feature that has allowed me to become a "weather creeper". It lets me add different locations, anywhere in the world and each day I can look to see what the weather is like in places where I know someone. Places like Phoenix, Arizona, where sister Lela lives, or Milwaukee, Wisconsin, the residence of my proof reader extraordinaire and Houston, Texas, the home of a good friend. I even add places where I have never been, just to see what is going on there weather wise. Recently though, I had cause to actually sit down and watch what the weather had in store for a long journey I was about to embark on. That is when I discovered yet another phenomenon had taken place.
Remember when MTV first hit the airwaves of television? One could sit, stand, or dance along to all the latest music videos. Then someone decided rather than to show only music videos, they would ramble on aimlessly about the artist or fill the spot with more useless information. The M that stood for music had turned into mundane. As I perused the channels looking for the weather forecast, I realized the same thing had happened to the beloved weather channel. The TV guide showed endless listings of shows about weather, what it had done and where it had done it, but no plain old weather forecasts.
I posted my plight on a popular social media site and it was not long before someone suggested that if I scroll down one channel, I would find what I was looking for. To my relief, there it was, weather on the 9's. I watched it, over and over, hoping it would change. I finally decided that maybe the weather where I was going would be like the weather where I was leaving, "if you don't like it, just wait a day, it will change."
I don't know why weather watching is so entertaining. Perhaps it is because, for the most part, that it is the one thing we simply cannot do anything about. It is what it is.....weather or no.
Wednesday, February 3, 2016
The Fast Lane
On a most recent road trip, traveling on the multi lane interstate highways, I discovered a most annoying fact. These roads are set up to make getting from point A to point B quicker, easier and for the most part, safer.
Some sections of the interstates have more than just two lanes for the flow of traffic to travel, at times there are four lanes or more. The lanes to the left were intentionally purposed for vehicles to pass slower moving traffic in the right lane or lanes. It probably would not matter if there were ten lanes of traffic flowing in one direction because there would still be those folks who have come to the conclusion the passing lanes were meant for them and them alone.
We've all encountered them. The car that slides into the left hand lane, sets the cruise control and never moves from that spot. The ones who, no matter how close you get to their back bumper in an attempt to make them move over, they ain't movin'. This usually leads to having to find a spot in the right lane traffic in order to pass Mr. and Mrs. Steadfast and sometimes leads to several hand gestures given while passing said vehicular occupants.
I encountered this many times on my journey. I did not give any hand gestures along the way though. I was much too busy hanging on to the steering wheel, in the 10 and 2 position, wheeling a packed to the max minivan as fast as I dared. I had discovered early in the trip that glancing to the side meant the van was going to follow, regardless of how tight my grip was. I knew if I ever lost control of my top heavy sled, it wasn't going to be pretty. There would be stuff strung for miles. As I thought of that scenario, I wondered if maybe I would land in one of the two rocking chairs crammed in the back.
Didn't these left lane drivers know I had a mission? Didn't they care? Obviously not, but I thought that having something like a giant bullhorn, to blast while riding their bumper, might be kind of fun.
Being in a large metropolis area offers so many more places to shop than the one big box store back home. As I made my way to the check out lanes, in a store I had rarely shopped in, I noticed they offered an express lane. The sign above the lane read, "10 or so items".
I'm not sure what has happened in our society when it comes to this 'being offended' stigma. Yes, it would be pleasant to never have an unpleasant encounter with someone but, the reality of that happening is somewhere in outer space. Why couldn't the sign just read, "10 items or less"? Was it for people who cannot count to 10? If so, why not just put up a sign that reads, "This lane for people who cannot count past 10".....but I guess that would mean if they couldn't count, they couldn't read and then there we are again, offending somebody.
Putting up a sign that says 10 or so, is like telling a child they have ten minutes or an hour to get their fanny home. The whole point of even offering the directive has flown right out the window. Where do we draw the line?
So, I'm standing in the express lane with my five items. The lady and her daughter ahead of me had obviously drawn the line at somewhere around 30 items. The young checker took her time as she methodically picked up each item, studied it, scanned it and placed it in a bag. The lady shot me a look as if to say the checker did not know what she was doing. I smiled back and waited patiently. When my turn finally arrived, the checker smiled, asked me how I was, quickly scanned my items and was done in about 30 seconds.
I think she was irritated at the lady because of the amount of items she had brought through the express lane. Being a young employee and probably needing her job, she surely was not allowed to turn someone away for bending the rules to the point of breaking. As I left, I thought about that bullhorn again. It could hang above the beginning of the express checkout lane, equipped with a scanner. As soon as it scanned more than ten items......well, I think that would be fun too.
Some sections of the interstates have more than just two lanes for the flow of traffic to travel, at times there are four lanes or more. The lanes to the left were intentionally purposed for vehicles to pass slower moving traffic in the right lane or lanes. It probably would not matter if there were ten lanes of traffic flowing in one direction because there would still be those folks who have come to the conclusion the passing lanes were meant for them and them alone.
We've all encountered them. The car that slides into the left hand lane, sets the cruise control and never moves from that spot. The ones who, no matter how close you get to their back bumper in an attempt to make them move over, they ain't movin'. This usually leads to having to find a spot in the right lane traffic in order to pass Mr. and Mrs. Steadfast and sometimes leads to several hand gestures given while passing said vehicular occupants.
I encountered this many times on my journey. I did not give any hand gestures along the way though. I was much too busy hanging on to the steering wheel, in the 10 and 2 position, wheeling a packed to the max minivan as fast as I dared. I had discovered early in the trip that glancing to the side meant the van was going to follow, regardless of how tight my grip was. I knew if I ever lost control of my top heavy sled, it wasn't going to be pretty. There would be stuff strung for miles. As I thought of that scenario, I wondered if maybe I would land in one of the two rocking chairs crammed in the back.
Didn't these left lane drivers know I had a mission? Didn't they care? Obviously not, but I thought that having something like a giant bullhorn, to blast while riding their bumper, might be kind of fun.
Being in a large metropolis area offers so many more places to shop than the one big box store back home. As I made my way to the check out lanes, in a store I had rarely shopped in, I noticed they offered an express lane. The sign above the lane read, "10 or so items".
I'm not sure what has happened in our society when it comes to this 'being offended' stigma. Yes, it would be pleasant to never have an unpleasant encounter with someone but, the reality of that happening is somewhere in outer space. Why couldn't the sign just read, "10 items or less"? Was it for people who cannot count to 10? If so, why not just put up a sign that reads, "This lane for people who cannot count past 10".....but I guess that would mean if they couldn't count, they couldn't read and then there we are again, offending somebody.
Putting up a sign that says 10 or so, is like telling a child they have ten minutes or an hour to get their fanny home. The whole point of even offering the directive has flown right out the window. Where do we draw the line?
So, I'm standing in the express lane with my five items. The lady and her daughter ahead of me had obviously drawn the line at somewhere around 30 items. The young checker took her time as she methodically picked up each item, studied it, scanned it and placed it in a bag. The lady shot me a look as if to say the checker did not know what she was doing. I smiled back and waited patiently. When my turn finally arrived, the checker smiled, asked me how I was, quickly scanned my items and was done in about 30 seconds.
I think she was irritated at the lady because of the amount of items she had brought through the express lane. Being a young employee and probably needing her job, she surely was not allowed to turn someone away for bending the rules to the point of breaking. As I left, I thought about that bullhorn again. It could hang above the beginning of the express checkout lane, equipped with a scanner. As soon as it scanned more than ten items......well, I think that would be fun too.
Monday, February 1, 2016
The Great Escape
There was no moon in the dark sky. I did not notice if there were even any stars. In the dead of the night, I stole away. The great escape. At least, that is what it felt like at the time.
It was the most bittersweet moment I had ever experienced. I was leaving. I was leaving the only place I had ever known as home. A silent good-bye to the tiny community in the great Mid West. A place full of life's memories, good ones, not so good ones and ones that were the most wonderful in my life. Good-bye home town.
Good-bye to the house I had lived in since I was two years old. Its walls knew me better than anything or anyone in the whole world. The place where safety was right inside the front door. The place where we raised our family, the place we called home.
I had decided to rent a vehicle for this journey. All the items I thought I needed to take would not fit into my tiny car and then there was Runtly. Runtly, the ever entertaining, mischievous Jack Russell Terrier. My constant companion during the last, lonely 30 days. Well, it really wasn't 30 days, but it felt like it.....actually it had felt like an eternity since my husband had left for work in a land far away. Runtly needed to be comfortable for this trip because he does not travel well in a moving vehicle. A short trip to the store or the post office is fine, but, once outside the city limits, terror of the open road sets in and he is a panting mess.
When it came to deciding what style vehicle to choose, I picked an SUV. There was a twofold reason for this, one, it gave me more room for my belongings. Two, I would look cool in a SUV. When it comes to a 50 something woman traveling alone, on a one thousand plus mile road trip, coolness is an important factor. It sends a message to would be bad people that says, "Don't mess with the old lady in the SUV, there's something about her that just looks too cool." Yes, I had my trusty Jack Russell Terrier riding shotgun, but Runtly likes everyone and has no filter for anyone who may be carrying untrusty thoughts.
When I arrived at the rental company to pick up my cool ride, the only thing they had available for the trip was a........mini van....the epitome of uncoolness. For some odd reason, I was not too disappointed in my fate. After all, a mini van meant lots more room for lots more stuff. My youngest daughter had accompanied me on this trip and she was elated. She is the master packer when it comes to moving items from one household to another. I was sure I could see her eyes glaze over when she realized how much space she and her older sister where going to have to work with. We jumped in my uncool ride and made our way home.
It was not long before the packing crew duo were in full packing mode. They made it clear I needed to stay out of their way and I did not argue with them. I simply placed more things in a pile that I was sure I needed to take with me. A few hours later, they had not only packed a mini van with a load of cargo that would have filled an small U haul truck, they had left barely a space big enough for me to stuff a small plastic bag that held my last worn outfit.
So, in the still of the night, with Runtly secure in his kennel, we headed out on the open road. I had purchased a mild sedative for Runtly, just in case, but I did not give it to him. I thought surely he would calm down and enjoy the ride. Eighty miles down the road I was sitting in an empty parking lot, wrestling fifteen pounds of nervous white dog, in a mini van packed to the gills, trying to cram a small pill down his throat. He had panted so hard that it sounded like he was running along side of the van instead of in it. About twenty minutes later, the pill kicked in and Runtly was somewhere in la la land enjoying the journey.
There is more to this story but, I will save it for later. One thing is for sure though, if I could have written a ticket to every person who lives by the phrase, "the left lane was made for me", I could have solved this country's deficit problem.
It was the most bittersweet moment I had ever experienced. I was leaving. I was leaving the only place I had ever known as home. A silent good-bye to the tiny community in the great Mid West. A place full of life's memories, good ones, not so good ones and ones that were the most wonderful in my life. Good-bye home town.
Good-bye to the house I had lived in since I was two years old. Its walls knew me better than anything or anyone in the whole world. The place where safety was right inside the front door. The place where we raised our family, the place we called home.
I had decided to rent a vehicle for this journey. All the items I thought I needed to take would not fit into my tiny car and then there was Runtly. Runtly, the ever entertaining, mischievous Jack Russell Terrier. My constant companion during the last, lonely 30 days. Well, it really wasn't 30 days, but it felt like it.....actually it had felt like an eternity since my husband had left for work in a land far away. Runtly needed to be comfortable for this trip because he does not travel well in a moving vehicle. A short trip to the store or the post office is fine, but, once outside the city limits, terror of the open road sets in and he is a panting mess.
When it came to deciding what style vehicle to choose, I picked an SUV. There was a twofold reason for this, one, it gave me more room for my belongings. Two, I would look cool in a SUV. When it comes to a 50 something woman traveling alone, on a one thousand plus mile road trip, coolness is an important factor. It sends a message to would be bad people that says, "Don't mess with the old lady in the SUV, there's something about her that just looks too cool." Yes, I had my trusty Jack Russell Terrier riding shotgun, but Runtly likes everyone and has no filter for anyone who may be carrying untrusty thoughts.
When I arrived at the rental company to pick up my cool ride, the only thing they had available for the trip was a........mini van....the epitome of uncoolness. For some odd reason, I was not too disappointed in my fate. After all, a mini van meant lots more room for lots more stuff. My youngest daughter had accompanied me on this trip and she was elated. She is the master packer when it comes to moving items from one household to another. I was sure I could see her eyes glaze over when she realized how much space she and her older sister where going to have to work with. We jumped in my uncool ride and made our way home.
It was not long before the packing crew duo were in full packing mode. They made it clear I needed to stay out of their way and I did not argue with them. I simply placed more things in a pile that I was sure I needed to take with me. A few hours later, they had not only packed a mini van with a load of cargo that would have filled an small U haul truck, they had left barely a space big enough for me to stuff a small plastic bag that held my last worn outfit.
So, in the still of the night, with Runtly secure in his kennel, we headed out on the open road. I had purchased a mild sedative for Runtly, just in case, but I did not give it to him. I thought surely he would calm down and enjoy the ride. Eighty miles down the road I was sitting in an empty parking lot, wrestling fifteen pounds of nervous white dog, in a mini van packed to the gills, trying to cram a small pill down his throat. He had panted so hard that it sounded like he was running along side of the van instead of in it. About twenty minutes later, the pill kicked in and Runtly was somewhere in la la land enjoying the journey.
There is more to this story but, I will save it for later. One thing is for sure though, if I could have written a ticket to every person who lives by the phrase, "the left lane was made for me", I could have solved this country's deficit problem.
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