It's getting harder and harder these days. Too much to do, too little time. At 56, and with all the things I want to do, know how to do, should do, can do, I just can't get it all done anymore. My brain just races through all of the to-do lists and and don't seem to accomplish anything. It doesn't help that I haven't had two days off at home to do what I need to do for myself - and I am beginning to wonder if I ever will again.
What I want to be doing right now is decorating my house for Christmas. I took some time on Saturday night to bring down the window candles - got them in the windows. Even found the tree skirt and brought the tree down from the attic to the second floor. But that's where it is. Had to stop and go to NN to attend a Christmas concert with Dad and Judy and visit with Mom.
But I'm grading essays right now. It's taken me the better part of the day to grade 60 Night essays - they really aren't all that bad, but I need to comment on them - that's the time-consuming part. Then I have to enter grades and get ready for the week of editing January newspaper first drafts and getting 56 pages of yearbook shipped before Dec. 14.
December just isn't as much fun as it used to be.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Normalcy
A full week of normal days and schedules has been a tremendous gift. All week we've had regularly scheduled days and classes with little to no interruptions to the program. We did have a fire drill - but during Advisory on Monday, so it really didn't disrupt the teaching flow. It is amazing how well the days go when it's business as usual - and right now, I'll take all the usual I can get.
Having had bronchitis for the last three weeks and dealing with the fallout of my mom's nursing home placement, I have been compelled to show up at school. It's such a challenge to carry on sometimes, when one's mind, body and soul are just not into the groove of teaching. I've said it all along - it is easier to go to work than to send lesson plans when teachers are sick. So much of what I do is ingrained in me that to write it all down is almost impossible.
Before I left to help my family with the nursing home weekend on Sept. 23, I sketched out the overview for the whole month of October - knowing that detailed lessons plans would be very necessary if I had to stay in Newport News for an extended period of time. I had not had the opportunity to train and solidify the newspaper or yearbook staffs in their protocol and direction for the year. What I had done - over the last five years - was to prepare the staffs for the inevitable day that I would have to leave, not knowing when I would return. Seniors knew the plan - who to call, what to do, how to carry on without me, no matter what. And it felt good to know they were ready to step up to the plate.
I only had to miss three days, but during my absence all of the players did their jobs and we are on track today. It is such a pleasure to work in a place that understands that family must come first. The support I feel from my DRHS family of colleagues and the parents of my students is a huge burden off my shoulders as I work through the details of this job. And that I have a support team in place with Tammy, Ashby and Glenn is so huge to the yearbook staff. Everyone did their part to make the staff feel successful during those days off.
This week has been huge in progress for both the newspaper and yearbook staffs. Building pages, writing stories, rising above the challenges to become journalists. I love the autonomy that the students have to lead their peers - and that I have the authority to give them the freedom to pursue this work. Even my English 10 classes have leveled out - kids who have been discipline problems are starting to come around and two days of classes that have achieved every objective I have put before them is a pleasure to witness. I have found my groove with this year's students, and I really like it.
It feels normal to move through the day now - to know their names, to feel connected to each student that I teach, to know their strengths and to challenge them to reach beyond their comfort zone. I love my job right now.
And coming home at night, feeling at peace with my accomplishments is a great reward.
Having had bronchitis for the last three weeks and dealing with the fallout of my mom's nursing home placement, I have been compelled to show up at school. It's such a challenge to carry on sometimes, when one's mind, body and soul are just not into the groove of teaching. I've said it all along - it is easier to go to work than to send lesson plans when teachers are sick. So much of what I do is ingrained in me that to write it all down is almost impossible.
Before I left to help my family with the nursing home weekend on Sept. 23, I sketched out the overview for the whole month of October - knowing that detailed lessons plans would be very necessary if I had to stay in Newport News for an extended period of time. I had not had the opportunity to train and solidify the newspaper or yearbook staffs in their protocol and direction for the year. What I had done - over the last five years - was to prepare the staffs for the inevitable day that I would have to leave, not knowing when I would return. Seniors knew the plan - who to call, what to do, how to carry on without me, no matter what. And it felt good to know they were ready to step up to the plate.
I only had to miss three days, but during my absence all of the players did their jobs and we are on track today. It is such a pleasure to work in a place that understands that family must come first. The support I feel from my DRHS family of colleagues and the parents of my students is a huge burden off my shoulders as I work through the details of this job. And that I have a support team in place with Tammy, Ashby and Glenn is so huge to the yearbook staff. Everyone did their part to make the staff feel successful during those days off.
This week has been huge in progress for both the newspaper and yearbook staffs. Building pages, writing stories, rising above the challenges to become journalists. I love the autonomy that the students have to lead their peers - and that I have the authority to give them the freedom to pursue this work. Even my English 10 classes have leveled out - kids who have been discipline problems are starting to come around and two days of classes that have achieved every objective I have put before them is a pleasure to witness. I have found my groove with this year's students, and I really like it.
It feels normal to move through the day now - to know their names, to feel connected to each student that I teach, to know their strengths and to challenge them to reach beyond their comfort zone. I love my job right now.
And coming home at night, feeling at peace with my accomplishments is a great reward.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Surprises
I mostly love surprises, especially the good ones. Today when I first awoke, I felt lethargic, so I rolled over and went back to sleep. Normally this wouldn't be a big deal, but for me, it is. I haven't been able to sleep in for months. I can't remember the last time I rolled over and went back to sleep - just like that. But today I did. And it was 10:30 when the groomer called to confirm Chelsea's appt. for today. "OMG. Can we put that back 30 more minutes?" "Yes."
So, I got up at 10:30, had my coffee, got dressed and delivered Chelsea girl to her spa day - DJ went along for the ride. Then we came home and started with the to-do list for the day. Best of all, I mostly knocked out the list - except for the grocery shopping and the hair cut, the rest is pretty much done.
Sometimes it's just the simple everyday ordinary chores that can give us the most pleasure. I didn't overdo it today, I just kept on ... did the bathrooms, vacuumed, trash out, unloading and reloading the dishwasher and washing machine, basic stuff than needed to be done.
It felt good.
So, I got up at 10:30, had my coffee, got dressed and delivered Chelsea girl to her spa day - DJ went along for the ride. Then we came home and started with the to-do list for the day. Best of all, I mostly knocked out the list - except for the grocery shopping and the hair cut, the rest is pretty much done.
Sometimes it's just the simple everyday ordinary chores that can give us the most pleasure. I didn't overdo it today, I just kept on ... did the bathrooms, vacuumed, trash out, unloading and reloading the dishwasher and washing machine, basic stuff than needed to be done.
It felt good.
Friday, October 14, 2011
Aaahh, Friday.
I actually was home before 4:30 today. On a Friday. I used to go shopping on the way home on Fridays or out to happy hour with friends on Fridays. Not anymore. I just want to come home on Fridays now, and it is truly a luxury.
There was also the time when I would rush home, grab my stuff and hit the road on Fridays - those days were fun. Meeting up with boyfriends; going to the beach with the gang; heading down to visit my parents and sister and having a home-cooked meal at my mom's kitchen table; even attending conferences with friends was fun. I also used to have parties on Fridays.
Not anymore. Now Fridays end with 10 minutes of commons duty watching kids make plans to do something they are not supposed to be doing. Looking to see if one of my bosses is looking for me as I stand there to say "have a nice weekend" ... when I know I just want to pack up my stuff and leave or God forbid, hit the export button on my computer one more time to meet someone else's agenda item.
The up side to Fridays is two whole days off from teaching and talking to people who really don't know what I do, how I do it, what I think, what I care about. Two whole days of doing stuff on MY agenda - taking care of me, my house, my animals, my family, my friends, my stuff. Usually some good intentions are thrown in there (grading a few papers, cleaning out the cupboards or garage, making a delivery to Goodwill... something of that sort) and every now and then, that happens.
More often than not, though, before I can put my butt in a chair I have retrieved the mail, fed the cat, played with the dogs, let them outside, poured a glass of wine, lit a cigarette, checked the phone, opened and logged on to facebook and scrounged for a snack and grabbed the bag of puppy treats. That is my idea of being home. Then for about 20 minutes I search and scan the computer for anything important that needs my immediate attention. If not, I'm good for the night. And on the weekends, I can start thinking about what I want to do.
Yes. Fridays are good and likely the best day of the week.
There was also the time when I would rush home, grab my stuff and hit the road on Fridays - those days were fun. Meeting up with boyfriends; going to the beach with the gang; heading down to visit my parents and sister and having a home-cooked meal at my mom's kitchen table; even attending conferences with friends was fun. I also used to have parties on Fridays.
Not anymore. Now Fridays end with 10 minutes of commons duty watching kids make plans to do something they are not supposed to be doing. Looking to see if one of my bosses is looking for me as I stand there to say "have a nice weekend" ... when I know I just want to pack up my stuff and leave or God forbid, hit the export button on my computer one more time to meet someone else's agenda item.
The up side to Fridays is two whole days off from teaching and talking to people who really don't know what I do, how I do it, what I think, what I care about. Two whole days of doing stuff on MY agenda - taking care of me, my house, my animals, my family, my friends, my stuff. Usually some good intentions are thrown in there (grading a few papers, cleaning out the cupboards or garage, making a delivery to Goodwill... something of that sort) and every now and then, that happens.
More often than not, though, before I can put my butt in a chair I have retrieved the mail, fed the cat, played with the dogs, let them outside, poured a glass of wine, lit a cigarette, checked the phone, opened and logged on to facebook and scrounged for a snack and grabbed the bag of puppy treats. That is my idea of being home. Then for about 20 minutes I search and scan the computer for anything important that needs my immediate attention. If not, I'm good for the night. And on the weekends, I can start thinking about what I want to do.
Yes. Fridays are good and likely the best day of the week.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Columbus Day 2011
There was a time - long ago and far away in what feels like another galaxy - that teachers would get random days off or teacher work days to actually catch up and do work in our classrooms. The students got the day off to play and rest, teachers got the day to do some filing, go out to eat with our peers, grade papers, plan lessons, you know, teacher stuff. Those days are completely gone.
For some reason, the overpaid powers that be in the central office have decided they must justify their jobs by assigning teachers MORE to do, add more to our plates, and then make us do more than we already have time to do. And then, after usurping our "teacher workday" with a bunch of crappy sessions that are completely irrelevant to our content areas, feeding (or not feeding) us badly planned meals, sending us to the school farthest away from our own adding to our frustration level earlier in the morning than we might normally be driving to work - we get to blog about it, search for a google doc to rate, rank or rant about what a horrible day we had. Then we get to go back to work unprepared, annoyed and unrested from a frustrating day of nothing importantness.
All of this has taken the fun out of being a teacher. Heaven forbid we should LIKE our jobs. I used to love my job. And most days when I actually get to teach, have a planning period, get to sit at my desk and grade a few papers, actually think about what my students have accomplished on a given day, had a 25 minute lunch break with my peers, I do still like my job. Unfortunately, those days are few and far between.
For some reason, parents now feel a need to respond to every new number that lands in the gradebook, question every entry on the website (or missing one, as the case may be). As a yearbook adviser, I get to field all of the stupid questions from parents about their little darlings' pictures, or explain that no, we are not selling or giving away pictures taken at every game or event for which we receive crappy pictures from a "professional" photography company. Do these people have any idea how little time in my day I have to actually do MY job?
I want my life back. I want the job I love back. I want my Columbus Day off. So today, I took it back. I am mowing my grass (that hasn't been mowed since school started). I will do laundry (that hasn't been done in two weeks). I will grocery shop for myself and my animals. I will bathe the dogs. I will take care of me today. And I will be rested tomorrow, knowing that I did something for myself and my life.
It's much like the adventure that Columbus took - how many years ago?
For some reason, the overpaid powers that be in the central office have decided they must justify their jobs by assigning teachers MORE to do, add more to our plates, and then make us do more than we already have time to do. And then, after usurping our "teacher workday" with a bunch of crappy sessions that are completely irrelevant to our content areas, feeding (or not feeding) us badly planned meals, sending us to the school farthest away from our own adding to our frustration level earlier in the morning than we might normally be driving to work - we get to blog about it, search for a google doc to rate, rank or rant about what a horrible day we had. Then we get to go back to work unprepared, annoyed and unrested from a frustrating day of nothing importantness.
All of this has taken the fun out of being a teacher. Heaven forbid we should LIKE our jobs. I used to love my job. And most days when I actually get to teach, have a planning period, get to sit at my desk and grade a few papers, actually think about what my students have accomplished on a given day, had a 25 minute lunch break with my peers, I do still like my job. Unfortunately, those days are few and far between.
For some reason, parents now feel a need to respond to every new number that lands in the gradebook, question every entry on the website (or missing one, as the case may be). As a yearbook adviser, I get to field all of the stupid questions from parents about their little darlings' pictures, or explain that no, we are not selling or giving away pictures taken at every game or event for which we receive crappy pictures from a "professional" photography company. Do these people have any idea how little time in my day I have to actually do MY job?
I want my life back. I want the job I love back. I want my Columbus Day off. So today, I took it back. I am mowing my grass (that hasn't been mowed since school started). I will do laundry (that hasn't been done in two weeks). I will grocery shop for myself and my animals. I will bathe the dogs. I will take care of me today. And I will be rested tomorrow, knowing that I did something for myself and my life.
It's much like the adventure that Columbus took - how many years ago?
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Debit card fees
What? Wait a minute there, Bank of America. You say you are going to charge me $5 per month to use my money with the debit card you want me to have? What's up with that!?
Are you saying you want me to use my checks - which you are already charging me money to purchase, then $3 per month to write them, and now you want to charge me money for using MY money at stores?
In other words, you are saying you want me to deposit my money in your bank and NOT use it until the end of the month - after I have used your credit card all month to buy stuff, then pay off my balance in full with the money from my checking/debit account.
Why didn't you say so? This is so freaking stupid. It doesn't take rocket science to figure out what you are trying to do. Circumvent the banking regulations by charging me money to use my money. You must not really want my direct deposit - which costs you nothing to receive. Maybe my employer can figure out a way to charge YOU money to receive my money - and give me a raise for putting my money in your bank.
Think about it. I think I'll take the cash.
Trish Lyons
Are you saying you want me to use my checks - which you are already charging me money to purchase, then $3 per month to write them, and now you want to charge me money for using MY money at stores?
In other words, you are saying you want me to deposit my money in your bank and NOT use it until the end of the month - after I have used your credit card all month to buy stuff, then pay off my balance in full with the money from my checking/debit account.
Why didn't you say so? This is so freaking stupid. It doesn't take rocket science to figure out what you are trying to do. Circumvent the banking regulations by charging me money to use my money. You must not really want my direct deposit - which costs you nothing to receive. Maybe my employer can figure out a way to charge YOU money to receive my money - and give me a raise for putting my money in your bank.
Think about it. I think I'll take the cash.
Trish Lyons
It's a new day.
So. It's the first day of October, 2011. A cool and crisp fall Saturday morning. I am sitting in my kitchen looking out over the dappled sunny lawn where the leaves haven't really begun to collect yet, but I know they soon will. It has rained most of the last ten days and everything is really green right now, and I am thankful for the sunshine and cooler temperature. I am thankful for a weekend and a few days of down time in this crazy rat race this new school year has brought upon my world and my family. I am also thankful for the fantastic meal I had last night at the Houndstooth Cafe, the first really good meal I've had there in months.
I am thankful for the conversation that I just had with my Dad and Judy - they just finished a sausage & egg casserole breakfast that I made for their freezer choices and were putting their to-do lists together for their Saturday morning routine errands. Today they will visit Mom at the Newport, go to the grocery store, come home and put away Judy's must-have Lean Cuisines and lunch items, then head back out to the mall for Judy's hair appointment, food-court lunch and monthly birthday card purchases.
I am thankful for my father's stamina and determination, yet sad that he must endure what is probably the hardest time in his life, unsurrounded by the love that we all know our family has for him. He has loved Ginny Howland for 68 years, and just when he loves and needs her the most, she is elsewhere in mind and body, not understanding what is happening to her and it is killing my dad. The irony of it all, the questions of why or how could such an unfair disease exist in a world that God created pound in my thoughts and make me wonder why. There is no answer.
I search and pray for peace of mind - for all of us in this absolutely unfair situation we now find ourselves. New solutions and conversations are musts in this new day.
The only thing that comes to mind is love. Continue to love - and remind myself, my Dad, my sister and my Mom that love will find a way. I don't know how, but it has to.
To that I say: At least I can do that.
I am thankful for the conversation that I just had with my Dad and Judy - they just finished a sausage & egg casserole breakfast that I made for their freezer choices and were putting their to-do lists together for their Saturday morning routine errands. Today they will visit Mom at the Newport, go to the grocery store, come home and put away Judy's must-have Lean Cuisines and lunch items, then head back out to the mall for Judy's hair appointment, food-court lunch and monthly birthday card purchases.
I am thankful for my father's stamina and determination, yet sad that he must endure what is probably the hardest time in his life, unsurrounded by the love that we all know our family has for him. He has loved Ginny Howland for 68 years, and just when he loves and needs her the most, she is elsewhere in mind and body, not understanding what is happening to her and it is killing my dad. The irony of it all, the questions of why or how could such an unfair disease exist in a world that God created pound in my thoughts and make me wonder why. There is no answer.
I search and pray for peace of mind - for all of us in this absolutely unfair situation we now find ourselves. New solutions and conversations are musts in this new day.
The only thing that comes to mind is love. Continue to love - and remind myself, my Dad, my sister and my Mom that love will find a way. I don't know how, but it has to.
To that I say: At least I can do that.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
55+
I think this is the first year I've wished I didn't take off those eight years to pursue my own business. Had I not done that, I could be retired right now. As each new school year approaches, I get anxious about it all - not just the teaching part because that is relatively easy most days, but the demands of my time before, during and after school. If I had control over my schedule, that would be one thing, but others seem to like setting my agenda for me, or at least rearranging it.
So, it sounds like my point is I don't much like being told what to do or how to do it. Funny, I tell kids what and how to do things all of the time. Does this mean I am a control freak?
I think I've taken on too many projects this summer - ha, what else is new. And the paint color mistake in the kitchen has really set me back. It's only paint, I get that. But two more days of painting (after disassembling the cabinets and waiting for everything to dry so I can put it all back). What a mess.
And I've not painted the master bathroom yet, even though that's the first paint I purchased. Still need to sort through all of the clothes and closets. Maybe I'll be inspired after the guest closet gets finished today.
Guess I need to get on with it. Life is getting complicated all of the sudden. Everything seems upside down in the world. I wonder if it will every turn right side up?
Maybe next Sunday.
So, it sounds like my point is I don't much like being told what to do or how to do it. Funny, I tell kids what and how to do things all of the time. Does this mean I am a control freak?
I think I've taken on too many projects this summer - ha, what else is new. And the paint color mistake in the kitchen has really set me back. It's only paint, I get that. But two more days of painting (after disassembling the cabinets and waiting for everything to dry so I can put it all back). What a mess.
And I've not painted the master bathroom yet, even though that's the first paint I purchased. Still need to sort through all of the clothes and closets. Maybe I'll be inspired after the guest closet gets finished today.
Guess I need to get on with it. Life is getting complicated all of the sudden. Everything seems upside down in the world. I wonder if it will every turn right side up?
Maybe next Sunday.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Summertime, and the living is easy
Ain't it the truth. Each day is a new day with very few obligations. I especially like that part about the summer. Shoulda, coulda, woulda's are all words that really don't matter in the summertime. It's more "if I want to, I can do..." and mostly I am doing just that.
This summer is mostly about this kitchen of mine. It's be fun making the decisions and getting ready to get ready to paint. I have three painting projects right now - the front stoop, my bathroom and the big one: the kitchen. I think I'll do the front stoop first - it's scrubbed and ready. Then the kitchen ceiling and top cabinets. Then the walls, then the lower cabinets. Should be pretty in pale grey. Then the biggest change of all - granite countertops, a new sink and faucet. Woo-hoo!
9:15 on Sunday morning. I think I'll go get a breakfast biscuit and then I can get started on this home improvement stuff!
This summer is mostly about this kitchen of mine. It's be fun making the decisions and getting ready to get ready to paint. I have three painting projects right now - the front stoop, my bathroom and the big one: the kitchen. I think I'll do the front stoop first - it's scrubbed and ready. Then the kitchen ceiling and top cabinets. Then the walls, then the lower cabinets. Should be pretty in pale grey. Then the biggest change of all - granite countertops, a new sink and faucet. Woo-hoo!
9:15 on Sunday morning. I think I'll go get a breakfast biscuit and then I can get started on this home improvement stuff!
Sunday, May 22, 2011
No rapture. Yay.
So the day of the apocalypse came and went without incident - though I did hear there was a minor earthquake in California. And now we wait for Oct. 21 - a five month window that Camping has predicted doom and gloom day.
Who does he really think he is? Why would anyone want to predict the end of world? So many people believe nonsense because they want their ticket to heaven. We're all gonna get there - one of these days, but we don't need to know when that day will be. We need to just keep doing the very best we can and take care of ourselves and our loved ones. It's really that simple. Do the right things and tell the truth.
It bothers me that some people gave up their savings and "bought" into the nonsense of one man's predictions. And that there are people who are disappointed. I am glad he was proven wrong. I am glad for today and for the sun. Heck, I even went to McDonald's for breakfast today just because I could and I like their mcgriddle. Hit the spot - so now I can move on with my planning.
Aahh. May is a promising month - and the promise is intact. Yay.
Who does he really think he is? Why would anyone want to predict the end of world? So many people believe nonsense because they want their ticket to heaven. We're all gonna get there - one of these days, but we don't need to know when that day will be. We need to just keep doing the very best we can and take care of ourselves and our loved ones. It's really that simple. Do the right things and tell the truth.
It bothers me that some people gave up their savings and "bought" into the nonsense of one man's predictions. And that there are people who are disappointed. I am glad he was proven wrong. I am glad for today and for the sun. Heck, I even went to McDonald's for breakfast today just because I could and I like their mcgriddle. Hit the spot - so now I can move on with my planning.
Aahh. May is a promising month - and the promise is intact. Yay.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
May 18, 2011
So Dad calls to give me an update - which is becoming more frequent lately. He's been talking to the lawyer about a medical power of attorney for all of them to me and Freddy; talking to doctors and nurses about how to get Judy the assistance she needs to recuperate from her knee surgery; and then he hits me with the bomb of all bombs:
"Today was a day for the calendar. May 18th. The day my wife could not remember who I am."
What a sad conversation. I tried to remind him how important it is for him to take good care of himself - that he is the head of the triangle at 23 Douglas Drive and he must remain in good health and strong to do what he has chosen to do.
When we got of the phone, I started crying and I just couldn't stop. Thank heavens I have Linda to talk to - she is such a good listener. She also knows how to change the subject.
Oh my. What I wouldn't do to turn back this clock and this calendar. To insist that Dad move Mom and Judy to Richmond so I could help him navigate this maze of medical maladies and turmoil to his world. I tried to make this happen three years ago, two years ago, and I thought I had everything in order to make it happen last year, but such was not the case and now it is necessary but oh so much more difficult.
I have no idea how all this is going to fall out - so the "rapture" prediction may come true at 23 Douglas Drive, whether we like it or not. I can't control it nor can I stop the inevitable. It is past time to have mom in a nursing home, but I am fully aware that Dad's life has revolved around his Ginny, and he would rather do anything than to upset her routine and apple cart. But her apple cart is already upended and she has no idea who she is, where she is, or what is happening to her. And Daddy is dealing with it all the very best that he can - which now may not be enough to keep his world altogether.
I am sad for them all - and I want to do what is right, but I don't know exactly what that is. I guess I'm going to find out one way or another. I hope it's not a phone call from a stranger.
Too much change in the air right now. Too many variables out of control. Too many tasks to accomplish and not knowing how many days I have to do them.
One day at a time is a good way to approach this - so that's what I'll do. But for the rest of my years, May 18 will stick in my brain as the day my dad noted was the end of the Fred and Ginny era.
"Today was a day for the calendar. May 18th. The day my wife could not remember who I am."
What a sad conversation. I tried to remind him how important it is for him to take good care of himself - that he is the head of the triangle at 23 Douglas Drive and he must remain in good health and strong to do what he has chosen to do.
When we got of the phone, I started crying and I just couldn't stop. Thank heavens I have Linda to talk to - she is such a good listener. She also knows how to change the subject.
Oh my. What I wouldn't do to turn back this clock and this calendar. To insist that Dad move Mom and Judy to Richmond so I could help him navigate this maze of medical maladies and turmoil to his world. I tried to make this happen three years ago, two years ago, and I thought I had everything in order to make it happen last year, but such was not the case and now it is necessary but oh so much more difficult.
I have no idea how all this is going to fall out - so the "rapture" prediction may come true at 23 Douglas Drive, whether we like it or not. I can't control it nor can I stop the inevitable. It is past time to have mom in a nursing home, but I am fully aware that Dad's life has revolved around his Ginny, and he would rather do anything than to upset her routine and apple cart. But her apple cart is already upended and she has no idea who she is, where she is, or what is happening to her. And Daddy is dealing with it all the very best that he can - which now may not be enough to keep his world altogether.
I am sad for them all - and I want to do what is right, but I don't know exactly what that is. I guess I'm going to find out one way or another. I hope it's not a phone call from a stranger.
Too much change in the air right now. Too many variables out of control. Too many tasks to accomplish and not knowing how many days I have to do them.
One day at a time is a good way to approach this - so that's what I'll do. But for the rest of my years, May 18 will stick in my brain as the day my dad noted was the end of the Fred and Ginny era.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Time for another rant!
My nephew's wife just reminded me of something that really - REALLY - pissed me off many years ago before I was going to marry my first official fiance, Linwood. My brother Phil (now Mary's father-in-law) had his then new wife Jeanie give me this book called "The Total Woman" which I read with disbelief. I could not fathom that any woman in the late 20th century would read this book and believe a word of it.
How to please a man. How to run a household. How to be a perfect wife. How to be a happy woman 24/7. Good god amighty. It was the biggest bunch of crap I had ever read. That any woman in the 1980s would succumb to such utter ridiculousness just blew my mind.
I hated that book. I hated what it suggested. I hated that my brother's wife thought I might even consider behaving in such a way. And now, I hate it even more. After TWO marriages to complete idiots I know more about men than I ever wanted to know. How stupid they are. That one woman could "please" one man by giving of herself - giving UP her own identity - to make HIM feel special and important when his thoughts and ideas might be better than hers? Who ever bought into that idiology must be the ultimate of stupid.
Sorry, girls. I get it - let the man think he's smarter than you so he can bring home the bacon, let you fry it up in the pan. You get to be a "total woman" and be a mommy and happy homemaker, and decorate and clean, cook and shop with "his" money, and raise your children and sleep in his bed and be available at his beck and call. And when he doesn't like something you do or say, agree with him so he will feel the ultimate of important. Roll over and let him have is way with you so you can continue to be the happy housewife.
NOT.
Women are smarter than men. Women are more capable of coping than men. Women know how to make things work and do what must be done in this world better than men. Women know how to feel their feelings, share them, embrace them and get past the pain to improve their circumstances better than men.
I don't hate men - I find them very entertaining under many circumstances. I prefer them in social settings and I thought I could love the two that I married. But I could not love them unconditionally because they were stuck on themselves and couldn't see the forest for the trees. (There's a sexual metaphor that I won't pursue here... lol.) I'll just say that I enjoyed having sex with them and that they fulfilled my needs physically; emotionally, they did not. Nor did they meet my intellectual needs.
Ah. I hadn't thought about that stupid book in a long time until Mary wrote a passage from it on Facebook. Thanks, Mary, for reminding me about it. That book made me stronger than any stupid man ever could.
And no, I didn't marry Linwood. He was the epitome of the stupid men for whom that book was written.
How to please a man. How to run a household. How to be a perfect wife. How to be a happy woman 24/7. Good god amighty. It was the biggest bunch of crap I had ever read. That any woman in the 1980s would succumb to such utter ridiculousness just blew my mind.
I hated that book. I hated what it suggested. I hated that my brother's wife thought I might even consider behaving in such a way. And now, I hate it even more. After TWO marriages to complete idiots I know more about men than I ever wanted to know. How stupid they are. That one woman could "please" one man by giving of herself - giving UP her own identity - to make HIM feel special and important when his thoughts and ideas might be better than hers? Who ever bought into that idiology must be the ultimate of stupid.
Sorry, girls. I get it - let the man think he's smarter than you so he can bring home the bacon, let you fry it up in the pan. You get to be a "total woman" and be a mommy and happy homemaker, and decorate and clean, cook and shop with "his" money, and raise your children and sleep in his bed and be available at his beck and call. And when he doesn't like something you do or say, agree with him so he will feel the ultimate of important. Roll over and let him have is way with you so you can continue to be the happy housewife.
NOT.
Women are smarter than men. Women are more capable of coping than men. Women know how to make things work and do what must be done in this world better than men. Women know how to feel their feelings, share them, embrace them and get past the pain to improve their circumstances better than men.
I don't hate men - I find them very entertaining under many circumstances. I prefer them in social settings and I thought I could love the two that I married. But I could not love them unconditionally because they were stuck on themselves and couldn't see the forest for the trees. (There's a sexual metaphor that I won't pursue here... lol.) I'll just say that I enjoyed having sex with them and that they fulfilled my needs physically; emotionally, they did not. Nor did they meet my intellectual needs.
Ah. I hadn't thought about that stupid book in a long time until Mary wrote a passage from it on Facebook. Thanks, Mary, for reminding me about it. That book made me stronger than any stupid man ever could.
And no, I didn't marry Linwood. He was the epitome of the stupid men for whom that book was written.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Happy Birthday, Willy Boy
Shakespeare knew what he was talking about - so many times, ages hence would quote him - sometimes giving him credit, sometimes not, but even 500 years ago, he knew stuff would be timeless, and he really capitalized on it. At least I hope he did.
To be or not to be. Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Yond Cassius (insert other covetous politician's name) has a lean and hungry look; such men are dangerous. Yep. He knew what he was talking about.
Deciding who and what to do or be is a timeless concept. Relating women to the heat of passion another timeless adage; and lean and hungry politicians will do just about anything to get attention. Such is the stuff that writers are made of. I wonder if the Bard knew just how timeless his works would be? Hell, he must have known - he wrote about his own immortality often enough.
Happy Birthday, Will. You pulled it off!
To be or not to be. Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Yond Cassius (insert other covetous politician's name) has a lean and hungry look; such men are dangerous. Yep. He knew what he was talking about.
Deciding who and what to do or be is a timeless concept. Relating women to the heat of passion another timeless adage; and lean and hungry politicians will do just about anything to get attention. Such is the stuff that writers are made of. I wonder if the Bard knew just how timeless his works would be? Hell, he must have known - he wrote about his own immortality often enough.
Happy Birthday, Will. You pulled it off!
Monday, April 18, 2011
Spring Break Monday
So that was a good idea. I called Dad and asked if it would be okay if I came down for Sunday - taking the food and hugs all around - then come back to my house to take advantage of these beautiful days on Monday and Tuesday, then return to NN on Tuesday night or Wed. morning for two days. He said that was a good idea. So that's what I did.
Now I am at home on the first day of Spring Break and getting ready to go out and play in my big sandbox, aka the yard. I'll get the mowing done and weed wacking, and if I still have any energy left, I will begin the mulching. Maybe even paint the front porch. Woo hoo.
I love cooperative weather when I have so many outdoor projects to do! It is time to begin.
Now I am at home on the first day of Spring Break and getting ready to go out and play in my big sandbox, aka the yard. I'll get the mowing done and weed wacking, and if I still have any energy left, I will begin the mulching. Maybe even paint the front porch. Woo hoo.
I love cooperative weather when I have so many outdoor projects to do! It is time to begin.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Is it selfish?
Is it selfish to want to be at home and enjoy my yard, my house, my down time alone?
It must be why I am feeling guilty about things right now. I wouldn't have what I have were it not for my parents - and they need me to come to their house.
Now that the business of school work is done and I have a week off, I want to do what I want to do - which is tidy up this place and get it looking reasonably good so I can entertain again. Yesterday I spent the day inside because of the rain and got both guest rooms looking good again - Christmas stuff all put away (I know, April?) - and threw out alot of junk/papers/icky stuff from the fridge; did the laundry; napped; talked on the phone; vacuumed - regular rainy day/Saturday chores. Now that the sun is out, I want to mow the grass, weed wack, get this place looking good. Maybe even do some mulching. But I can't. I have to go to the Newport News for three days - which happen to be the best three weather days of this week.
Damn. When I think of what I could get done with those three days, it pisses me off that I don't get to enjoy them in my yard. Why don't I just call them and see if I could come on Tuesday night instead?
I think I will.
It must be why I am feeling guilty about things right now. I wouldn't have what I have were it not for my parents - and they need me to come to their house.
Now that the business of school work is done and I have a week off, I want to do what I want to do - which is tidy up this place and get it looking reasonably good so I can entertain again. Yesterday I spent the day inside because of the rain and got both guest rooms looking good again - Christmas stuff all put away (I know, April?) - and threw out alot of junk/papers/icky stuff from the fridge; did the laundry; napped; talked on the phone; vacuumed - regular rainy day/Saturday chores. Now that the sun is out, I want to mow the grass, weed wack, get this place looking good. Maybe even do some mulching. But I can't. I have to go to the Newport News for three days - which happen to be the best three weather days of this week.
Damn. When I think of what I could get done with those three days, it pisses me off that I don't get to enjoy them in my yard. Why don't I just call them and see if I could come on Tuesday night instead?
I think I will.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Ready to tackle springtime
In my mind, I know exactly how I want my yard to look. Pristine, well-tended, weed-free, mulched, beautifully manicured. And it's not that I don't know how to do it myself, it's that I don't have the physical endurance, the time or the right tools to make it happen. I know that a little bit each day will go a long way to making it happen, and that's my goal for this year.
I need help getting the pruning done and hauling away the debris, but after that, it's just a matter of doing it. I think about it all the time. Leaves - easy but time consuming. Painting the front porch rails, the deck and the fence. More easy - but I need to have everything powerwashed first. Mowing and trimming - more easy. Mulching - I can do it myself, but the edging needs to be done first. All of these tasks are doable.
Got a good head start. Lots of leaves up - ditch done, beds cleaned out, liriope pruned. Yesterday, I did the ivy on the side yard and started pruning the crape myrtles. They must be done this week or it will be too late. I'd like to start mulching, but that is a waste of time if the pruning isn't done. My body is aching today, and my brain is in overdrive with all of the tasks I need to do to get ready for Donna's visit on Friday.
The dogwoods are in full bloom in the front yard and the azaleas are starting to open up in the back. I wish I had accomplished more this winter with the clean up, but I didn't. I need help getting all of this done. It's too much for a 55-year-old woman to do by herself. Guess I need to find someone to help me.
Soon.
I need help getting the pruning done and hauling away the debris, but after that, it's just a matter of doing it. I think about it all the time. Leaves - easy but time consuming. Painting the front porch rails, the deck and the fence. More easy - but I need to have everything powerwashed first. Mowing and trimming - more easy. Mulching - I can do it myself, but the edging needs to be done first. All of these tasks are doable.
Got a good head start. Lots of leaves up - ditch done, beds cleaned out, liriope pruned. Yesterday, I did the ivy on the side yard and started pruning the crape myrtles. They must be done this week or it will be too late. I'd like to start mulching, but that is a waste of time if the pruning isn't done. My body is aching today, and my brain is in overdrive with all of the tasks I need to do to get ready for Donna's visit on Friday.
The dogwoods are in full bloom in the front yard and the azaleas are starting to open up in the back. I wish I had accomplished more this winter with the clean up, but I didn't. I need help getting all of this done. It's too much for a 55-year-old woman to do by herself. Guess I need to find someone to help me.
Soon.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Lightbulbs and spring...
... are synonymous.
Every year on the first day of spring, I buy lightbulbs. I also do this ritual on the first day of fall. I buy every kind of lightbulb in my house ... which isn't as short a list as one might think. I have the regular 60 watters for lamps all over the house; the 40 watters for the chandolier over the kitchen table and sink (and a few lamps); the dining room chandolier - which is also the same 25 or 40 watters that are in the fan lights, the bathrooms, the hall fixtures; outdoor bulbs, indoor specialty bulbs for small lamps, the microwave, and the hutch illuminator. It's about $50+/- worth of bulbs. Twice a year.
I guess because it's daylight savings time in the spring I feel this need to ensure that I have the right lighting for the right task. I used to have these cool outside lights in the back yard, but they don't work right now and I don't why. Likewise, in the fall, I have the same need to illuminate my world with a certain ambiance. I have always loved lighting.
Since I've lived on my own for more than 35 years now, I get to control which lights are on or off. I love the holidays, for example, and usually keep the window candles on all night long.
I'm still not used to daylight savings time yet - and I personally find it offensive that the whole free world has to change their clocks because someone somewhere with some infinite wisdom decided this was a good thing to do. Personally, I hate it, but I have to comply during workdays.
Oh well. It is what it is. But in the meantime, I can do whatever I want whenever I want because I can turn on or off the lights and just do it.
Every year on the first day of spring, I buy lightbulbs. I also do this ritual on the first day of fall. I buy every kind of lightbulb in my house ... which isn't as short a list as one might think. I have the regular 60 watters for lamps all over the house; the 40 watters for the chandolier over the kitchen table and sink (and a few lamps); the dining room chandolier - which is also the same 25 or 40 watters that are in the fan lights, the bathrooms, the hall fixtures; outdoor bulbs, indoor specialty bulbs for small lamps, the microwave, and the hutch illuminator. It's about $50+/- worth of bulbs. Twice a year.
I guess because it's daylight savings time in the spring I feel this need to ensure that I have the right lighting for the right task. I used to have these cool outside lights in the back yard, but they don't work right now and I don't why. Likewise, in the fall, I have the same need to illuminate my world with a certain ambiance. I have always loved lighting.
Since I've lived on my own for more than 35 years now, I get to control which lights are on or off. I love the holidays, for example, and usually keep the window candles on all night long.
I'm still not used to daylight savings time yet - and I personally find it offensive that the whole free world has to change their clocks because someone somewhere with some infinite wisdom decided this was a good thing to do. Personally, I hate it, but I have to comply during workdays.
Oh well. It is what it is. But in the meantime, I can do whatever I want whenever I want because I can turn on or off the lights and just do it.
Friday, March 11, 2011
I want my life back
And this is the week it will happen.
Tonight, we finished YB11. Done. Shipped. Gone. It is there, awaiting retrieval from Pam's ftp site, and then she will process and send page proofs. In the meantime, we have, oh, 150 pages of proofs to return, and that will happen this week.
I have a newspaper to finish, a teaching certificate to renew, and classes to plan and teach. It sounds so simple by comparison to finishing a 304-page yearbook. The history of 2011 at Deep Run High School.
If you've never done a yearbook, you have no idea what is involved in the planning and the doing. Even my editors don't know what all is involved in the doing, though they have conceived and designed, written and edited, stayed long and worked hard, they have no clue what is necessary to make it possible for them to orchestrate an award-winning product.
Sometimes I wonder if I even know - and I've done seven of them now.
Today, for example, I hand-delivered two ads (tributes of students who died this year) to adults who will be the couriers ... messengers, to the grandmother of one child, to the parents of another. These pages may be the last time their child will be memorialized, remembered in print - with pictures taken of them and/or words they spoke or wrote before they died. These young men who died way before their time have become my responsibility now, and I needed to ensure that these tributes were worthy.
This morning during my planning time I cleaned up and made meaningful these tributes. I didn't know either of the boys personally, but I have processed what others have told me about them - researched, studied the words and the pictures, talked to the people at my school who loved them, who were their friends, their teachers and aides, friends of their parents or just people at my school who felt compassion for these boys.
Robert was a Nascar fan. I know Nascar from my time with Linwood, a Nascar fan (and former fiance of mine), so I know what they like. They like black and white checkered flags, and that needed to be in Robert's tribute. He died in a hospital from a body that could not withstand the disabilities he had been given, but he went to RIR and met his favorite Nascar driver, and that needed to be conveyed.
Luigi died of a drug overdose, a senior who became an integral part of the Deep Run's class of 2011 - when 508 seniors (plus or minus) stood together on Feb. 7, 2011 in the senior courtyard and raised their hands in the shape of a heart to the heavens two days after Luigi died. That tribute in the yearbook needed to be clear: an azure-blue sky with clouds needed to be that background - which occurred to me driving home last night after reviewing Luigi's "senior ad." It is there now.
These tasks are necessary for a good yearbook adviser to follow through with. I did that today. I found Luigi's best friend and showed him the ad. I delivered the proof to our attendance secretary who will take it to Luigi's parents this weekend. I delivered Robert's ad to his teachers and instructional aides who loved him and made his life better in those last few months that he spent in the children's hospital. These adults and students loved the ads/tributes. They were moved and so was I.
When all is said and done with each yearbook, I know how it happened. How the history of that year was reflected in that book - from the staff and their leadership team's conception of the theme and how it was implemented; the events and people who inspired and brought the theme to life. From the trials and tribulations along the way - the successes and the failures, the proverbial towel thrown in the air when I gave up trying to motivate the staff and move the book along on the course I knew it needed to take it to an award-winning level.
There comes a time that a good adviser must remove herself from the creation and let it take it's course. That is really hard to do when you know it can be so much better than it is, but it is NOT yours. It belongs to them. To the staff. To the school. They are all responsible for the content of their own history. Some of the details must be managed with kid gloves, others must be left to the staff to fly or flounder. They own it.
Then we wait with patient expectation and pray that the work we've done was enough.
And when that happens, the adviser gets her life back.
Tonight, we finished YB11. Done. Shipped. Gone. It is there, awaiting retrieval from Pam's ftp site, and then she will process and send page proofs. In the meantime, we have, oh, 150 pages of proofs to return, and that will happen this week.
I have a newspaper to finish, a teaching certificate to renew, and classes to plan and teach. It sounds so simple by comparison to finishing a 304-page yearbook. The history of 2011 at Deep Run High School.
If you've never done a yearbook, you have no idea what is involved in the planning and the doing. Even my editors don't know what all is involved in the doing, though they have conceived and designed, written and edited, stayed long and worked hard, they have no clue what is necessary to make it possible for them to orchestrate an award-winning product.
Sometimes I wonder if I even know - and I've done seven of them now.
Today, for example, I hand-delivered two ads (tributes of students who died this year) to adults who will be the couriers ... messengers, to the grandmother of one child, to the parents of another. These pages may be the last time their child will be memorialized, remembered in print - with pictures taken of them and/or words they spoke or wrote before they died. These young men who died way before their time have become my responsibility now, and I needed to ensure that these tributes were worthy.
This morning during my planning time I cleaned up and made meaningful these tributes. I didn't know either of the boys personally, but I have processed what others have told me about them - researched, studied the words and the pictures, talked to the people at my school who loved them, who were their friends, their teachers and aides, friends of their parents or just people at my school who felt compassion for these boys.
Robert was a Nascar fan. I know Nascar from my time with Linwood, a Nascar fan (and former fiance of mine), so I know what they like. They like black and white checkered flags, and that needed to be in Robert's tribute. He died in a hospital from a body that could not withstand the disabilities he had been given, but he went to RIR and met his favorite Nascar driver, and that needed to be conveyed.
Luigi died of a drug overdose, a senior who became an integral part of the Deep Run's class of 2011 - when 508 seniors (plus or minus) stood together on Feb. 7, 2011 in the senior courtyard and raised their hands in the shape of a heart to the heavens two days after Luigi died. That tribute in the yearbook needed to be clear: an azure-blue sky with clouds needed to be that background - which occurred to me driving home last night after reviewing Luigi's "senior ad." It is there now.
These tasks are necessary for a good yearbook adviser to follow through with. I did that today. I found Luigi's best friend and showed him the ad. I delivered the proof to our attendance secretary who will take it to Luigi's parents this weekend. I delivered Robert's ad to his teachers and instructional aides who loved him and made his life better in those last few months that he spent in the children's hospital. These adults and students loved the ads/tributes. They were moved and so was I.
When all is said and done with each yearbook, I know how it happened. How the history of that year was reflected in that book - from the staff and their leadership team's conception of the theme and how it was implemented; the events and people who inspired and brought the theme to life. From the trials and tribulations along the way - the successes and the failures, the proverbial towel thrown in the air when I gave up trying to motivate the staff and move the book along on the course I knew it needed to take it to an award-winning level.
There comes a time that a good adviser must remove herself from the creation and let it take it's course. That is really hard to do when you know it can be so much better than it is, but it is NOT yours. It belongs to them. To the staff. To the school. They are all responsible for the content of their own history. Some of the details must be managed with kid gloves, others must be left to the staff to fly or flounder. They own it.
Then we wait with patient expectation and pray that the work we've done was enough.
And when that happens, the adviser gets her life back.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Obladi, Oblada, LIfe goes on...
lalalala, life goes on.
Such a relevant song, even 30+ years later. I don't know Desmond and Molly Jones, but I know that song has gotten me through a number of days, hours, moments when I could/would rather have chewed up and spit out some major crap going on in my world.
Today I spewed out some choice profanities at lunch and was asked the rhetorical question "So, how do you really feel?"
I just can't get over how some people who are hired to do a job ask stupid questions after the fact. "Did you...(enter the thing they know they didn't tell you, but expected you to do here)?" That would be a no. You didn't tell me you needed me to do that. If you told me, I would have done it. A failure on your part does not make a failure on my part. It is/was your failure, and yours to own. Not only did you NOT tell me, but you make me sign a paper that says I will do everything you tell me and fail to tell me, no matter what. And you make me sign another paper saying you gave me this many tests, and you pull kids out of my room with theirs tests, and at the end of the test, you make me sign that I am returning everything (no mention that I sent the kid with their paper with somebody else to another location). So, if anybody else doesn't do their job, I am screwed.
A real obladi oblada moment. A series of them actually. Somebody else gets to CYA and I get to be screwed. And I'm the one who is trapped in a room with 25 (plus a new one who arrived today for the first time: "Welcome to my room. You get to take the most important test of the year today and I don't even know you. Your name isn't even in my grade book yet, but here you go. Take this test and pass it so I don't have to give you an exam on the last day of the year. And oh, by the way, you need to pass this in order to graduate.")
Yep. Obladi. And life does go on. There was a time when I would hold my breath, wait for the other shoe to drop, somebody to come and tell me about my failures. Today, I just pour another glass of wine and sing like nobody's listening. "In a couple of years..."
That's my favorite part, and it's not even in the song.
Such a relevant song, even 30+ years later. I don't know Desmond and Molly Jones, but I know that song has gotten me through a number of days, hours, moments when I could/would rather have chewed up and spit out some major crap going on in my world.
Today I spewed out some choice profanities at lunch and was asked the rhetorical question "So, how do you really feel?"
I just can't get over how some people who are hired to do a job ask stupid questions after the fact. "Did you...(enter the thing they know they didn't tell you, but expected you to do here)?" That would be a no. You didn't tell me you needed me to do that. If you told me, I would have done it. A failure on your part does not make a failure on my part. It is/was your failure, and yours to own. Not only did you NOT tell me, but you make me sign a paper that says I will do everything you tell me and fail to tell me, no matter what. And you make me sign another paper saying you gave me this many tests, and you pull kids out of my room with theirs tests, and at the end of the test, you make me sign that I am returning everything (no mention that I sent the kid with their paper with somebody else to another location). So, if anybody else doesn't do their job, I am screwed.
A real obladi oblada moment. A series of them actually. Somebody else gets to CYA and I get to be screwed. And I'm the one who is trapped in a room with 25 (plus a new one who arrived today for the first time: "Welcome to my room. You get to take the most important test of the year today and I don't even know you. Your name isn't even in my grade book yet, but here you go. Take this test and pass it so I don't have to give you an exam on the last day of the year. And oh, by the way, you need to pass this in order to graduate.")
Yep. Obladi. And life does go on. There was a time when I would hold my breath, wait for the other shoe to drop, somebody to come and tell me about my failures. Today, I just pour another glass of wine and sing like nobody's listening. "In a couple of years..."
That's my favorite part, and it's not even in the song.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Harry's Law
I love this show.
There was a time I wanted to be an attorney, and if I had ever really pursued that fleeting passion, I hope I might have been an attorney like Harry (Harriett Kohn) on "Harry's Law." She accepts cases that are morally necessary for her to defend. She doesn't make very much money at what she does, but she pursues justice with vigor and righteousness. I love that about her character. She surrounds herself with diversified people who have personalities out the yingyang, and as the show unfolds, each personality contributes nuggets of their own forms of justice, so very cleverly intertwined into each plot segment.
Tonight's show evolved around a drive-by shooting in which a young, poor black boy is victim, and his ghetto life wasn't good enough for the hospital to willingly help save him. Harry to the rescue as spokesperson for victim's rights, as well as another young black witness whose efforts to save his friend paid off - and who also identified a cop shooter. Ironically, the cop shooter becomes the organ donor whose liver saves the younger victim's life. The liver recipient lives; the cop shooter is arrested/served within moments of awakening, still flat on his back after his good deed.
Ironies surround this show and weave themselves throughout the plot twists. My favorite part was the use of the song "In the Ghetto" - especially at the end as Harry and her office mates leave the downtown hospital and walk past a gang hanging out across the street from the hospital. And in the show's final frames, the gang members are clearly no less likely to have been victims themselves of a society that has left them out to dry, given up on their ability to rise above their poverty, and have taken matters into their own hands for survival in an incredibly cruel and unjust world. I wondered if any of them realized what Harry had just done in the previous 24 hours: stood up for the original victim, gone after and convinced the hospital to save his life by performing the transplant knowing they would not be paid for saving another gang-banger wannabe by using a body part of yet another older gang member/cop killer.
This is one of those outstanding shows that makes me think I need to go back to law school. I wouldn't be in the "Legally Blonde" category of smart sistahs who pursue passions - but I'd like to think I could be just as successful as Harry. I certainly look the part, anyway.
There was a time I wanted to be an attorney, and if I had ever really pursued that fleeting passion, I hope I might have been an attorney like Harry (Harriett Kohn) on "Harry's Law." She accepts cases that are morally necessary for her to defend. She doesn't make very much money at what she does, but she pursues justice with vigor and righteousness. I love that about her character. She surrounds herself with diversified people who have personalities out the yingyang, and as the show unfolds, each personality contributes nuggets of their own forms of justice, so very cleverly intertwined into each plot segment.
Tonight's show evolved around a drive-by shooting in which a young, poor black boy is victim, and his ghetto life wasn't good enough for the hospital to willingly help save him. Harry to the rescue as spokesperson for victim's rights, as well as another young black witness whose efforts to save his friend paid off - and who also identified a cop shooter. Ironically, the cop shooter becomes the organ donor whose liver saves the younger victim's life. The liver recipient lives; the cop shooter is arrested/served within moments of awakening, still flat on his back after his good deed.
Ironies surround this show and weave themselves throughout the plot twists. My favorite part was the use of the song "In the Ghetto" - especially at the end as Harry and her office mates leave the downtown hospital and walk past a gang hanging out across the street from the hospital. And in the show's final frames, the gang members are clearly no less likely to have been victims themselves of a society that has left them out to dry, given up on their ability to rise above their poverty, and have taken matters into their own hands for survival in an incredibly cruel and unjust world. I wondered if any of them realized what Harry had just done in the previous 24 hours: stood up for the original victim, gone after and convinced the hospital to save his life by performing the transplant knowing they would not be paid for saving another gang-banger wannabe by using a body part of yet another older gang member/cop killer.
This is one of those outstanding shows that makes me think I need to go back to law school. I wouldn't be in the "Legally Blonde" category of smart sistahs who pursue passions - but I'd like to think I could be just as successful as Harry. I certainly look the part, anyway.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Spring
It's in the air.
And all the promises that it brings. Warmth. Love. Light. The renewal of green lawns, trees, shrubs, bulbs, flowers, leaves. Days of living larger and longer. More time to be alert and awake in daylight. Sun. Rain. Heat. Electric bills. Pollen. Chirping birds, bees, bugs. Grilling out and living outdoors.
Could it be significant that "daylight savings time" creates hours of productivity? Could the extra light signify more life to be lived? I wonder.
I want to do more, be more, have more time to give, get and do. Will that be the reward of this change in all things? The sacrifice is sleep.
Is it worth it? The proverbial rhetorical question looms large over the next few weeks. We have no choice in the matter. It's already been decided that the world will usurp the hour and require us to adapt to the new time and space. How will we cope?
I've accepted that I cannot take kids to NYC that week, that I will not give up the hour, the days, the freedom that I need to adapt to the new time. Honestly, I've been forcing myself to awaken earlier this past week - just to get used to the idea of the time change. A week early. Perhaps a gift to myself - to see if I can do it successfully and not be mad when I have to wake up at 5:30 instead of 6:30 a.m. I've always hated daylight saving time. At least the change that is forced upon me.
How do others feel about this forced change?
I wonder.
And all the promises that it brings. Warmth. Love. Light. The renewal of green lawns, trees, shrubs, bulbs, flowers, leaves. Days of living larger and longer. More time to be alert and awake in daylight. Sun. Rain. Heat. Electric bills. Pollen. Chirping birds, bees, bugs. Grilling out and living outdoors.
Could it be significant that "daylight savings time" creates hours of productivity? Could the extra light signify more life to be lived? I wonder.
I want to do more, be more, have more time to give, get and do. Will that be the reward of this change in all things? The sacrifice is sleep.
Is it worth it? The proverbial rhetorical question looms large over the next few weeks. We have no choice in the matter. It's already been decided that the world will usurp the hour and require us to adapt to the new time and space. How will we cope?
I've accepted that I cannot take kids to NYC that week, that I will not give up the hour, the days, the freedom that I need to adapt to the new time. Honestly, I've been forcing myself to awaken earlier this past week - just to get used to the idea of the time change. A week early. Perhaps a gift to myself - to see if I can do it successfully and not be mad when I have to wake up at 5:30 instead of 6:30 a.m. I've always hated daylight saving time. At least the change that is forced upon me.
How do others feel about this forced change?
I wonder.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Time to rant
At the risk of losing my job, I am going to rant about a parent. I do not teach her child. This parent purchased a full page ad in the yearbook and she thinks she now owns me, the talent of my yearbook staff, and my school.
She turned in her artwork two months late. The lesson I have learned from all of this is refund the money. Nothing is worth this harassment.
Not only did she submit her artwork two months late, but she supplied 67 photos for her ad. Any idiot knows that 67 photos on a 9 x 12 inch page (with no bleeds, and .5 border) will be less than 1 inch square. Hello. The limit is 20 pictures. End of story. Don't I wish.
But because we "aim to please," we worked with this mother (f.....). We tried to build an ad for her lovely son, and we invited her to the newsroom to consult with us, and because I was out sick, she abused my advertising manager - who tried to accommodate her and made a new ad for her. When she saw her proof, she went off, to put it mildly. "NO! NO! NO!" she wrote on her proof.
Long story short, I told the mom she could take her artwork and pay a professional designer @ $85.00 an hour to design her ad for her. In three days.
Same mom has been back to the school to abuse the front office staff. "Where's my proof? I want to see Ms. Lyons! I paid $300 for this!" bla, bla, bla.
To Mrs. Mom: You need to get a grip. Look into my eyes. Hug your son. Two sets of our parents don't get to do that right now because their sons are dead. I am too busy right now to accommodate your delinquent needs because I have REAL parents who need my attention, 142 kids in my classroom who need me to teach them how to grieve and deal with the realities of life, a newspaper and a yearbook to manage, 80 pages of yearbook to lock up, and my own life to live (with my own family to attend to). Your tardy ad and ass can WAIT.
I have never felt so strongly about teaching a PARENT how to behave. Do you have any idea that there are other people who have bigger things in life to do than to accommodate your sorry ass?
You send me an email at 2:16 pm (about the time the fire drill bell rings) telling me that you are going to the grocery store and then stopping by the school to see your re-proof, and then have the NERVE to fuss at the office staff? You have NO appointment with me. I'm in my classroom redirecting the attention of 30 sophomores to the merits of Julius Caesar after a fire drill - oblivious to the chaos you are causing in the front office.
You have SOME nerve! I am so looking forward to the day I tell you this to your face - and it will be very soon. Like I said, hug your son. That is what really matters.
Get a grip.
She turned in her artwork two months late. The lesson I have learned from all of this is refund the money. Nothing is worth this harassment.
Not only did she submit her artwork two months late, but she supplied 67 photos for her ad. Any idiot knows that 67 photos on a 9 x 12 inch page (with no bleeds, and .5 border) will be less than 1 inch square. Hello. The limit is 20 pictures. End of story. Don't I wish.
But because we "aim to please," we worked with this mother (f.....). We tried to build an ad for her lovely son, and we invited her to the newsroom to consult with us, and because I was out sick, she abused my advertising manager - who tried to accommodate her and made a new ad for her. When she saw her proof, she went off, to put it mildly. "NO! NO! NO!" she wrote on her proof.
Long story short, I told the mom she could take her artwork and pay a professional designer @ $85.00 an hour to design her ad for her. In three days.
Same mom has been back to the school to abuse the front office staff. "Where's my proof? I want to see Ms. Lyons! I paid $300 for this!" bla, bla, bla.
To Mrs. Mom: You need to get a grip. Look into my eyes. Hug your son. Two sets of our parents don't get to do that right now because their sons are dead. I am too busy right now to accommodate your delinquent needs because I have REAL parents who need my attention, 142 kids in my classroom who need me to teach them how to grieve and deal with the realities of life, a newspaper and a yearbook to manage, 80 pages of yearbook to lock up, and my own life to live (with my own family to attend to). Your tardy ad and ass can WAIT.
I have never felt so strongly about teaching a PARENT how to behave. Do you have any idea that there are other people who have bigger things in life to do than to accommodate your sorry ass?
You send me an email at 2:16 pm (about the time the fire drill bell rings) telling me that you are going to the grocery store and then stopping by the school to see your re-proof, and then have the NERVE to fuss at the office staff? You have NO appointment with me. I'm in my classroom redirecting the attention of 30 sophomores to the merits of Julius Caesar after a fire drill - oblivious to the chaos you are causing in the front office.
You have SOME nerve! I am so looking forward to the day I tell you this to your face - and it will be very soon. Like I said, hug your son. That is what really matters.
Get a grip.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Love
Such a wonderful thing, love is.
I love love. I love my life, my family, my friends, my critters, my job, that I have a beautiful home and days doing the thing I love most - publishing. I love that I have enough money in my bank account to live comfortably, food in my refrigerator and a great place to sleep at night. I love that I have a garage to keep my car in so I am not cold in the morning driving to work. And that I get to wake up every day knowing that each day is a new day.
I used to love the men in my life. I loved my husbands - Bruce and Michael - when they were lovable. And they were for a time. Bruce I fell in love with in 1986 because he was fun. He had been an outstanding musician in the band Oscar and I remember how great they were. He had two beautiful daughters and he so doted on them. During the year we dated, he treated me extremely well, and he seemed to want a better life for himself as I did. So I married him. But then he wasn't fun. He preferred drinking alcohol and doing drugs to socializing with the great new neighbors we met when we moved to a fabulous up-and-coming neighborhood. Then he started siphoning the money out of our bank account and then left me on the interstate five miles from home one cold, December night. He beat the tooty out of me for 17 minutes and burned me with his cigarettes and kicked me and tried to make me feel small. He was sick, and I was sick and tired of being maltreated. It was extremely unpleasant for several months. It took almost two years to undo that marriage, but I got to keep the house. That was my reward for that love affair.
Michael. OMG, how I loved him. He came into my life like a whirlwind. Just when I was ready to give up on love, he swept me off my feet and reminded me of how it feels to be loved unconditionally. We danced, we laughed, we sang, we camped, we travelled, we watched tv together and shared our fears and our failures. He won my mom's heart. We joked about commercials and saved dogs on the highway. But then he obsessed about physique. I was was thinner and more fit than I had ever been in my life, and he told me I was fat. He never knew the 190-pound me. I weighed 119 the day we married, and that wasn't good enough. I worked my ass off, literally, for him. And then, if that wasn't enough, I quit my job to be self-employed, he offended my neighbors, and he abused my credit cards when I was not paying attention. The clincher was Hurricane Isabel. My parents had a 10-ton tree land on their house, no power and enormous devastation to their home, and he refused to come help them. My brothers and I went to NN and when I returned five days later, Michael asked me to bring him ice - which I did. Then he told me I looked like hell. I hadn't had a hot shower in six days and he needed ice. I dumped the ice on the driveway, retrieved my dog and went home alone.
I don't regret loving these men. I learned a lot from them. Mostly, I became a stronger woman because of them - and for that, I can never thank them enough. I became self-reliant because of them - not despite them. I learned to love myself and my life unconditionally. Both of them taught me how conditional love is, and that conditions are unacceptable terms in a relationship. I hated that about them - and I think they know that now. But I can't say for sure.
Both of them have tried to reconnect with me since those days of long ago. I can't go back to unacceptable terms. I won't. They taught me how to love, but they also taught me how not to. For that, I am thankful, and I choose to love unconditionally anyway.
My terms? Love me because I am who I am. Don't tell me your terms. I don't want to hear them. Been there, done that.
What I love now is friends who accept me "warts and all"... and family members who don't put conditions on my love. There are only three of those: my mom, my dad, and my sister. And I have other family members who have stated conditions - well, you all can "bioya" because I don't accept the terms. There are no saints in this life. You can believe if you want to, but I don't - because I know you, I know who you are, what you've done, and you ain't no saints. And I am not one either - and I don't pretend to be.
What I want to be, and what I love the most about myself, is that I am true to who I am and what I am capable of. I love getting up every day and pushing myself to my limits. And God gives me the strength to be this person that I am.
I love that. So, Happy Valentine's Day, everybody. I love being me. So there.
I love love. I love my life, my family, my friends, my critters, my job, that I have a beautiful home and days doing the thing I love most - publishing. I love that I have enough money in my bank account to live comfortably, food in my refrigerator and a great place to sleep at night. I love that I have a garage to keep my car in so I am not cold in the morning driving to work. And that I get to wake up every day knowing that each day is a new day.
I used to love the men in my life. I loved my husbands - Bruce and Michael - when they were lovable. And they were for a time. Bruce I fell in love with in 1986 because he was fun. He had been an outstanding musician in the band Oscar and I remember how great they were. He had two beautiful daughters and he so doted on them. During the year we dated, he treated me extremely well, and he seemed to want a better life for himself as I did. So I married him. But then he wasn't fun. He preferred drinking alcohol and doing drugs to socializing with the great new neighbors we met when we moved to a fabulous up-and-coming neighborhood. Then he started siphoning the money out of our bank account and then left me on the interstate five miles from home one cold, December night. He beat the tooty out of me for 17 minutes and burned me with his cigarettes and kicked me and tried to make me feel small. He was sick, and I was sick and tired of being maltreated. It was extremely unpleasant for several months. It took almost two years to undo that marriage, but I got to keep the house. That was my reward for that love affair.
Michael. OMG, how I loved him. He came into my life like a whirlwind. Just when I was ready to give up on love, he swept me off my feet and reminded me of how it feels to be loved unconditionally. We danced, we laughed, we sang, we camped, we travelled, we watched tv together and shared our fears and our failures. He won my mom's heart. We joked about commercials and saved dogs on the highway. But then he obsessed about physique. I was was thinner and more fit than I had ever been in my life, and he told me I was fat. He never knew the 190-pound me. I weighed 119 the day we married, and that wasn't good enough. I worked my ass off, literally, for him. And then, if that wasn't enough, I quit my job to be self-employed, he offended my neighbors, and he abused my credit cards when I was not paying attention. The clincher was Hurricane Isabel. My parents had a 10-ton tree land on their house, no power and enormous devastation to their home, and he refused to come help them. My brothers and I went to NN and when I returned five days later, Michael asked me to bring him ice - which I did. Then he told me I looked like hell. I hadn't had a hot shower in six days and he needed ice. I dumped the ice on the driveway, retrieved my dog and went home alone.
I don't regret loving these men. I learned a lot from them. Mostly, I became a stronger woman because of them - and for that, I can never thank them enough. I became self-reliant because of them - not despite them. I learned to love myself and my life unconditionally. Both of them taught me how conditional love is, and that conditions are unacceptable terms in a relationship. I hated that about them - and I think they know that now. But I can't say for sure.
Both of them have tried to reconnect with me since those days of long ago. I can't go back to unacceptable terms. I won't. They taught me how to love, but they also taught me how not to. For that, I am thankful, and I choose to love unconditionally anyway.
My terms? Love me because I am who I am. Don't tell me your terms. I don't want to hear them. Been there, done that.
What I love now is friends who accept me "warts and all"... and family members who don't put conditions on my love. There are only three of those: my mom, my dad, and my sister. And I have other family members who have stated conditions - well, you all can "bioya" because I don't accept the terms. There are no saints in this life. You can believe if you want to, but I don't - because I know you, I know who you are, what you've done, and you ain't no saints. And I am not one either - and I don't pretend to be.
What I want to be, and what I love the most about myself, is that I am true to who I am and what I am capable of. I love getting up every day and pushing myself to my limits. And God gives me the strength to be this person that I am.
I love that. So, Happy Valentine's Day, everybody. I love being me. So there.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Good news.
I love good news. Happy things.
Like today. I shipped the third issue of the paper to the printer. I never thought it would happen, but it did. A week and a day late, but it is at the printer. So, the good news is just that. Now, we'll see how it is perceived.
Like today. I shipped the third issue of the paper to the printer. I never thought it would happen, but it did. A week and a day late, but it is at the printer. So, the good news is just that. Now, we'll see how it is perceived.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Deadlines
One of the reasons I like the publishing world is there is an end. Deadlines make things real. Today is the day it is due. No ifs, ands or buts. Today is the day. It's a simple concept, really. If a story is due for the newspaper that publishes tomorrow, today is the day you must turn it in or it won't be in the paper. Likewise, if a page must be finished before it can be printed, that means all the words, pictures, headlines, captions, text, art, etc. must be there, or it won't be ready to print. Simple. Not rocket science.
Explain that to a high school student journalist. Worse: Explain that to their parents. "URGENT EMAIL: I forgot to submit my senior ad in November. I know it is February, but can you make room for my late tribute to my child." That would be a no. "HI, AGAIN. I know that underclass pictures were taken in Sept. and Oct., but can you put my cherub's picture in the yearbook?" People pages locked up in December. "IT'S FEBRUARY, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!!!!! What part of NOOOOOOO don't you understand?"
I hate them, the "deadline extension mongers." Not just an extension, but an abuse of dignity. How dare they. They will be the first ones to complain when a paper or a yearbook doesn't come out "on time" but yet they are the ones who want to drag it out, try to squeeze in their special something. I hate them. And they are rude about it. "I WANT TO KNOW WHEN THE DEADLINE WAS AND WHEN YOU DECIDED THAT MY CHILD WOULD BE LEFT BEHIND!!!"
Hello, mom. Hello, dad. You're child got left behind when you didn't turn in the freaking paperwork on time. Or you let your child miss school that day and he didn't get his ugly mug taken for the yearbook. Then, your child is so used to you jumping through his ass that he didn't show up to get his picture taken on make-up picture day. This is why his picture won't be in the yearbook. You don't get to write me a nasty email and accuse ME of something that YOU failed to do.
I can't wait until I get to tell them this to their face.
In the meantime, I'll just say "No. It is too late. Sorry!" and then I'll come home and write a 20-minute blog about it. I hate rude people who can't accept that they have failed at something and don't want to hear "no" as the answer to their request.
Whatever happened to grace and dignity? I guess some people would blame it on the Bill Clintons of the world and excuse themselves by saying "I did it because I could." Well, no, bubba, you can't. Some of us will be offended and stick by our deadlines. Even if we could fix this problem for you, we won't - because we can simply say "no."
A deadline is a deadline, and I stand by it. Because I can.
Explain that to a high school student journalist. Worse: Explain that to their parents. "URGENT EMAIL: I forgot to submit my senior ad in November. I know it is February, but can you make room for my late tribute to my child." That would be a no. "HI, AGAIN. I know that underclass pictures were taken in Sept. and Oct., but can you put my cherub's picture in the yearbook?" People pages locked up in December. "IT'S FEBRUARY, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!!!!! What part of NOOOOOOO don't you understand?"
I hate them, the "deadline extension mongers." Not just an extension, but an abuse of dignity. How dare they. They will be the first ones to complain when a paper or a yearbook doesn't come out "on time" but yet they are the ones who want to drag it out, try to squeeze in their special something. I hate them. And they are rude about it. "I WANT TO KNOW WHEN THE DEADLINE WAS AND WHEN YOU DECIDED THAT MY CHILD WOULD BE LEFT BEHIND!!!"
Hello, mom. Hello, dad. You're child got left behind when you didn't turn in the freaking paperwork on time. Or you let your child miss school that day and he didn't get his ugly mug taken for the yearbook. Then, your child is so used to you jumping through his ass that he didn't show up to get his picture taken on make-up picture day. This is why his picture won't be in the yearbook. You don't get to write me a nasty email and accuse ME of something that YOU failed to do.
I can't wait until I get to tell them this to their face.
In the meantime, I'll just say "No. It is too late. Sorry!" and then I'll come home and write a 20-minute blog about it. I hate rude people who can't accept that they have failed at something and don't want to hear "no" as the answer to their request.
Whatever happened to grace and dignity? I guess some people would blame it on the Bill Clintons of the world and excuse themselves by saying "I did it because I could." Well, no, bubba, you can't. Some of us will be offended and stick by our deadlines. Even if we could fix this problem for you, we won't - because we can simply say "no."
A deadline is a deadline, and I stand by it. Because I can.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Outrage and tears
It's a strange thing about how this concept works, but maybe not so much. Sometimes you just get so damn upset about something that the only thing to do about it is cry. Women are lucky that it's okay to cry - when you are happy, when you are sad, when you are just ready to throw in the towel on everything that really matters to you.
But then there's rage. Rage is such a powerful thing. Getting mad and "getting even" have never quite been my M.O. (modus operandi), but maybe I should adopt that philosophy and save the tears.
Without going into the specifics of the last several days, I've found myself in both modes and it really is exhausting. Trying to accomplish tasks is really hard when you are in this place - trust me. And the longer it lasts, the harder it is to dig yourself out from under the mood swings. Crying and getting over it works. Getting mad and getting over that works. But hovering between the two sucks. And sleepless nights just compounds the angst and anxiety that results from it all.
I am mad and sad that my Mom has Alzheimers, that my Dad has to do so much for her and she's just mean about it all - I guess I would be mean too if my mind weren't working the way it's supposed to (like now). I am mad that there's no cure for the common cold and that my sister cannot convey her specific ailments so that my dad can call a doctor and say "here's the deal." Trying to help him from 90 minutes away is killing me.
The longer this goes on, the harder it is to dig out from under it all. The stress in my neck and back, the pressure in my eye sockets, the cravings for compassion and understanding - then getting it makes me cry even harder. Days are beginning and ending with the same conundrums.
I think it's time to take a sleeping pill - or two. Maybe that will stop the mind from twisting and turning. Ya think?
But then there's rage. Rage is such a powerful thing. Getting mad and "getting even" have never quite been my M.O. (modus operandi), but maybe I should adopt that philosophy and save the tears.
Without going into the specifics of the last several days, I've found myself in both modes and it really is exhausting. Trying to accomplish tasks is really hard when you are in this place - trust me. And the longer it lasts, the harder it is to dig yourself out from under the mood swings. Crying and getting over it works. Getting mad and getting over that works. But hovering between the two sucks. And sleepless nights just compounds the angst and anxiety that results from it all.
I am mad and sad that my Mom has Alzheimers, that my Dad has to do so much for her and she's just mean about it all - I guess I would be mean too if my mind weren't working the way it's supposed to (like now). I am mad that there's no cure for the common cold and that my sister cannot convey her specific ailments so that my dad can call a doctor and say "here's the deal." Trying to help him from 90 minutes away is killing me.
The longer this goes on, the harder it is to dig out from under it all. The stress in my neck and back, the pressure in my eye sockets, the cravings for compassion and understanding - then getting it makes me cry even harder. Days are beginning and ending with the same conundrums.
I think it's time to take a sleeping pill - or two. Maybe that will stop the mind from twisting and turning. Ya think?
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Acceptance
There are certain things in this life that one must just suck up to and accept them for what they are.
Sometimes, those things can be wonderful, simple realities that should be considered life's gifts - that each day is a new day, that there is air to breathe and often the sun is shining or it rains when we need rain. In my world, that includes the smell of coffee brewing, the loving expressions on my dogs' faces when I awaken or my cat's mellow meow reminding me to feed him; and at this time in my life, enough money in my checking account to cover all of my bills and extra for dining out when I want to. Those are good things.
Then there are the sucky realities: that a cold is going to last 5-10 days, that you can't control the weather, that family doesn't mean much unless you do the right thing(s) by them, that a job is sometimes just a paycheck, and that the people who you think you can depend on - well, you just can't. Some of this can be controlled, some not so much or not at all. Some you can pursue to effect improvement, some you just have to suck it up and accept that people or circumstances aren't going to change, no matter what you do or say.
More importantly, one has to learn "when to hold 'em, and when to fold 'em; when to walk away, know when to run."
There was a time in my life that I thought I could do something to change the way things were - and sometimes I still feel that my actions can have a positive result. I pursue these times vigorously on a regular basis. Calling certain friends and my parents, my sister are among those times, and doing things for them make me feel good, that I am contributing to their quality of life and letting them know how much I care about them. Likewise, opportunities arise that I can do something just because I can make someone's day better, put a smile on their face, or just remind them that someone else noticed or cared enough to say something kind.
I've also attempted in my life to remind people when their actions were deplorable and perhaps they should consider another point of view or plan of action. I've written many a note, letter, email or blog about the inequities and downright unacceptable behaviors of people who should know better. I finally drew a line in the sand with certain significant people in my life (husbands, brothers, employers, neighbors, friends, politicians, colleagues) when their actions didn't match up - and had to walk away.
I accept that they disagree and aren't the people I thought they were. However, it still bugs me that certain people think they are "saints" or even just "caring people" when clearly their actions prove they are not. I am NOT a saint, I am NOT noble, and I am certainly NOT perfect by any means.
But I am consistent and not a hypocrite. I own up to my flaws and do the right thing when I am supposed to. I can sleep at night knowing I have done all in one day that I am capable of doing. I don't make excuses for myself when I have let someone down. And I don't show up somewhere expecting someone to wait on me when it's all they can do to take care of their own needs.
I could go into a huge rant right now but I won't. Sufficeth to say, my dad does not need to feel guilty that he hasn't prepared a meal for guests who invited themselves. It's all he can do to take care of my mother and my sister by himself. I know that certain people would like to THINK they are doing somebody a favor by visiting their parents or other family members, but sometimes it is just not convenient. And how dare you. Nobody benefited from that visit.
Okay, so I went into a little rant anyway. I'll stop.
If you (whoever you are) think that you need to drop in on someone, take them something to HELP them. A meal would be good. Think about the time of day that you are dropping by. If it's mealtime, take a meal. If it's hors d'ouevres, take that. And prepare it for serving, for god's sake.
I'm done. I'm getting mad now. Some people can't think beyond the nose on their face.
Sometimes, those things can be wonderful, simple realities that should be considered life's gifts - that each day is a new day, that there is air to breathe and often the sun is shining or it rains when we need rain. In my world, that includes the smell of coffee brewing, the loving expressions on my dogs' faces when I awaken or my cat's mellow meow reminding me to feed him; and at this time in my life, enough money in my checking account to cover all of my bills and extra for dining out when I want to. Those are good things.
Then there are the sucky realities: that a cold is going to last 5-10 days, that you can't control the weather, that family doesn't mean much unless you do the right thing(s) by them, that a job is sometimes just a paycheck, and that the people who you think you can depend on - well, you just can't. Some of this can be controlled, some not so much or not at all. Some you can pursue to effect improvement, some you just have to suck it up and accept that people or circumstances aren't going to change, no matter what you do or say.
More importantly, one has to learn "when to hold 'em, and when to fold 'em; when to walk away, know when to run."
There was a time in my life that I thought I could do something to change the way things were - and sometimes I still feel that my actions can have a positive result. I pursue these times vigorously on a regular basis. Calling certain friends and my parents, my sister are among those times, and doing things for them make me feel good, that I am contributing to their quality of life and letting them know how much I care about them. Likewise, opportunities arise that I can do something just because I can make someone's day better, put a smile on their face, or just remind them that someone else noticed or cared enough to say something kind.
I've also attempted in my life to remind people when their actions were deplorable and perhaps they should consider another point of view or plan of action. I've written many a note, letter, email or blog about the inequities and downright unacceptable behaviors of people who should know better. I finally drew a line in the sand with certain significant people in my life (husbands, brothers, employers, neighbors, friends, politicians, colleagues) when their actions didn't match up - and had to walk away.
I accept that they disagree and aren't the people I thought they were. However, it still bugs me that certain people think they are "saints" or even just "caring people" when clearly their actions prove they are not. I am NOT a saint, I am NOT noble, and I am certainly NOT perfect by any means.
But I am consistent and not a hypocrite. I own up to my flaws and do the right thing when I am supposed to. I can sleep at night knowing I have done all in one day that I am capable of doing. I don't make excuses for myself when I have let someone down. And I don't show up somewhere expecting someone to wait on me when it's all they can do to take care of their own needs.
I could go into a huge rant right now but I won't. Sufficeth to say, my dad does not need to feel guilty that he hasn't prepared a meal for guests who invited themselves. It's all he can do to take care of my mother and my sister by himself. I know that certain people would like to THINK they are doing somebody a favor by visiting their parents or other family members, but sometimes it is just not convenient. And how dare you. Nobody benefited from that visit.
Okay, so I went into a little rant anyway. I'll stop.
If you (whoever you are) think that you need to drop in on someone, take them something to HELP them. A meal would be good. Think about the time of day that you are dropping by. If it's mealtime, take a meal. If it's hors d'ouevres, take that. And prepare it for serving, for god's sake.
I'm done. I'm getting mad now. Some people can't think beyond the nose on their face.
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