This really needs to be presented to you as a video. It came to me that way and I hope to be able to show it to you also, but not today.
Today, I just need to tell the world that kids of all ages can be good, creative and caring. I am taking the term kids to its extended limit because I am referring to college "kids" in this story. We seem to hear only about the drugs, the rapes, the car wrecks, the frat/sorority parties gone wrong, the fixation with clothes carrying certain labels or the drinking. These are realities, but do not pertain to all.
I just spent two weeks on a state university about 30 minutes from my home. One week was to prepare for the second week. The crowds from previous years were discribed, the tension caused by the high costs of the textbooks and the other teaching materials required, the anxiety of the students beginning a new semester and the 9 to 12 hour days required to handle all of that.
I worked in a textbook store where most of the texts are sold for the university's ever-increasing number of students both pre and post graduate. There may have been more strain this semester because of the economy. Many of these students came from homes both average and affluent where sacrifices had to be made for education. The cost of a backpack inspired creativity in book toting and I saw some clever renovations of purses and book bags and camping packs. No matter, the student is the important element.
This university's student union is the largest in the nation and will begin renovations very soon which will improve and update an already effective structure. It is big....really big. Students had trouble finding the right rooms or service areas or the post office or computer study areas. They did not, it seemed, have trouble finding the food areas. They asked for instructions to locate every conceivable room in that huge building, but there was never a questions, not one, about where to find food.
The energy level reached an almost visible point about mid-day each day. The students were excited and nervous and some were scared. They had expectations which allowed no time for negatives. They had a schedule and everything had to be made available to them so that schedule would be met. Please don't tell them that a book is unavailable or a class closed. Whatever their motives, they were ready to go and knew where they were going.
There was also an amazing lack of presence in their surroundings. They were on their phones either talking or texting; they were plugged into their pods; they were entering data into their notebooks and laptops. They needed to be brought into the physical world on occasion and looked surprised when their name was called or a request was made for ID or credit cards.
I thought some students were going to pass out when the register totalled their charges, some seemed about to cry, some looked at the parent with them to determine the parent's reaction before releasing their own and some were almost giddy with relief when the total was less than expected. However, not one student was rude, snotty, crude, flip, uncontrolled, etc. They were great! Each one was courteous, pleasant and helpful. They signed and checked whatever and whenever required. They walked away with bags equalling 25% of their own weight without complaint. They stood for 30 minutes or more without aggravation being noticeable. They smiled and made jokes and offered help to others and were patient almost without exception. Parents would have been very proud.
I came home the last day of campus work to see a video on NPR reflecting the same kindness and concern for others that I had just seen on our local campus. The video was from UCLA and involved an unknown number of students as only three played an active role.
The subjects were a mother squirrel and her adolescent-size child. She casually jumped a 4' solid concrete wall which was in their path. The child squirrel sat by the wall for a while seeming to estimate his chances of having the same success. He seemed to think they were....not so good. He tried, however. The wall gave him no way to get traction and no spot for taking a hold on anything. He tried again and slammed into the wall again. The mother jumped down and began coaxing quietly. She was obviously agitated, but refused to leave her offspring. He tried yet again and again. The mom jumped back up and called encouragement from the top of the wall. All of this was to no avail.
A tall male figure appeared from the edge of the video, slowly placed a backpack again the wall and then backed away off screen. It was an obvious effort at steps. The squirrel immediately began to evaluate its use and made an effort by running up the pack. The pack was, unfortunately, just short of the needed height so the young squirrel couldn't quite make the jump.
Another figure moved slowly toward the wall with a gigantic backpack which seemed to almost touch the top of the wall. The little squirrel needed no encouragement, took a run and scaled the pack straight to his mom. I didn't hear them, but I feel certain that there was applause and yelling from the unseen students.
We may be leaving this world in the hands of a generation of thoughtful, creative and caring people. They just may do a better job than we have.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Grandparents
Are you a grandparent yet? Have you only just become a parent so give you some time? Are you a parent who is so exhausted and stressed that you cannot believe you will live long enough to ever be a grandparent? Well, if you are already a grandparent, I cannot tell you anything because you already know how wonderful it is.....at least most of the time. If you are not yet, the best will just get better.
Grandparenting was always more of an age category than an experience to be anticipated when I was younger. To think of myself as being called a grandmother was just not reality to me. I had but one child and she waited until after 30 for children so most of my life "grandmother" was not a considered definition for me. I just didn't believe that I could fill the shoes of my grandmothers....not that I would ever wear the shoes my grandmothers wore.
First of all, my grandmothers were the old-fashioned stereotype grandmothers. They were not very tall, had hugely developed mammary glands, carried at least 50 pounds of extra weight and cooked so well and so often that the weight was understandable. They also dressed rather grandmotherly. They wore those Dexter-type shoes that tied, never wore jeans or pants of any type and you could smell them about 10 minutes before they arrived. It wasn't a bad smell, but just a strong essence. One grandmother would put sugar in her mashed potatoes and the other grandmother would let us eat peaches until our teeth hurt. She would make the world's best cobblers from whatever peaches remained. I loved my grandmothers dearly.
They spoiled us in every way possible, but there were unquestionable rules of behavior. We must do the Captain Kangaroo please and thank you without reminders, we used "inside" voices inside anything including park pavilions, beach umbrellas, stadiums (most of the time) or outdoor concert shelters. They did not participate in corporal punishment child control, but they could make your legs fold with their eyes. All and all I had only pleasant experiences of grandparents, but I was in no hurry to actually be one.
Remember, for me, it was an age category.
My sister became a grandmother first and warmed to it like a kitten to a dish of milk. She is a natural. It is difficult for her as a grandmother because her 4(four) grandchildren live about 5 states away from her. She makes geography less of an obstacle by constant use of the cell phone and texting. Fed-EX and UPS must have declared a dividend when she began her constant present shipping. She lives in Las Vegas where you can find anything so her shopping list is always rather long. She is a great role model as a grandmother and I planned to follow her lead......but there was no hurry.
My kids (daughter and son-in-law) had substitute grandkids for me to spoil in the form of 3 little dogs. They are bichon frissee which roughly translated are white, curly haired, little animals with tongues. They show affection by licking with special target being the face. They are well-trained and will respond to my requests without too much complaint or delay. In general, they are delightful and I have watched them grow up with pleasure. These were my grandchildren. There was no hurry for others.
You know what is coming, don't you? Well, almost. I have two grandsons, but, as his dad says, one is a lot quieter than the other. The only way to live with the physical loss of a grandson has been to accept that there is a reason for everything that happens in our lives. I would really appreciate being privy to the bigger picture. I have needed to know reasons. Pain becomes almost unbearable when in the eyes of your child.
My grandson was born 3 years and has been in perpetual motion most of that time. He had been pretty comfortable before birth and the outside world was a bit of an aggravation to him for a few months. His parents became aware of terms such as sleep deprivation and stress in an entirely new context. The entire world could be held in one receiving blanket. His early difficulties are far behind us and the present child is more than could have been imagined. OK, here goes the grandmother, but I speak only truth. He IS the smartest and most beautiful baby boy in this or any world. He counts almost to 20, knows his alphabet, can sing many little songs and plays air guitar. His energy level is so high he could power jets and his inquisitive mind makes everyone stay alert and, hopefully, prepared. He is SO beautiful. His lashes shade his cheeks and his smile makes the worst day a delight. We are so very grateful for him.
Is grandmothering still an age thing? Probably, but who cares.
.
My son-in-law calls grandparents " big old wrinkled bags of love." Guess you need to know my son-in-law, but that is intended to be an expression of great love. He was very close to his grandparents and still has his grandmothers for whom he has great love and appreciation. My daughter has grandfathers who think she is almost perfect as well as her husband's grandmothers who have always been very loving and accepting of her.
Guess I am one of those bags now. Well, I choose to emphasize the love part and overlook the big, old, wrinkled and bag parts. I have things todo to get ready for my grandson's next visit.
Grandparenting was always more of an age category than an experience to be anticipated when I was younger. To think of myself as being called a grandmother was just not reality to me. I had but one child and she waited until after 30 for children so most of my life "grandmother" was not a considered definition for me. I just didn't believe that I could fill the shoes of my grandmothers....not that I would ever wear the shoes my grandmothers wore.
First of all, my grandmothers were the old-fashioned stereotype grandmothers. They were not very tall, had hugely developed mammary glands, carried at least 50 pounds of extra weight and cooked so well and so often that the weight was understandable. They also dressed rather grandmotherly. They wore those Dexter-type shoes that tied, never wore jeans or pants of any type and you could smell them about 10 minutes before they arrived. It wasn't a bad smell, but just a strong essence. One grandmother would put sugar in her mashed potatoes and the other grandmother would let us eat peaches until our teeth hurt. She would make the world's best cobblers from whatever peaches remained. I loved my grandmothers dearly.
They spoiled us in every way possible, but there were unquestionable rules of behavior. We must do the Captain Kangaroo please and thank you without reminders, we used "inside" voices inside anything including park pavilions, beach umbrellas, stadiums (most of the time) or outdoor concert shelters. They did not participate in corporal punishment child control, but they could make your legs fold with their eyes. All and all I had only pleasant experiences of grandparents, but I was in no hurry to actually be one.
Remember, for me, it was an age category.
My sister became a grandmother first and warmed to it like a kitten to a dish of milk. She is a natural. It is difficult for her as a grandmother because her 4(four) grandchildren live about 5 states away from her. She makes geography less of an obstacle by constant use of the cell phone and texting. Fed-EX and UPS must have declared a dividend when she began her constant present shipping. She lives in Las Vegas where you can find anything so her shopping list is always rather long. She is a great role model as a grandmother and I planned to follow her lead......but there was no hurry.
My kids (daughter and son-in-law) had substitute grandkids for me to spoil in the form of 3 little dogs. They are bichon frissee which roughly translated are white, curly haired, little animals with tongues. They show affection by licking with special target being the face. They are well-trained and will respond to my requests without too much complaint or delay. In general, they are delightful and I have watched them grow up with pleasure. These were my grandchildren. There was no hurry for others.
You know what is coming, don't you? Well, almost. I have two grandsons, but, as his dad says, one is a lot quieter than the other. The only way to live with the physical loss of a grandson has been to accept that there is a reason for everything that happens in our lives. I would really appreciate being privy to the bigger picture. I have needed to know reasons. Pain becomes almost unbearable when in the eyes of your child.
My grandson was born 3 years and has been in perpetual motion most of that time. He had been pretty comfortable before birth and the outside world was a bit of an aggravation to him for a few months. His parents became aware of terms such as sleep deprivation and stress in an entirely new context. The entire world could be held in one receiving blanket. His early difficulties are far behind us and the present child is more than could have been imagined. OK, here goes the grandmother, but I speak only truth. He IS the smartest and most beautiful baby boy in this or any world. He counts almost to 20, knows his alphabet, can sing many little songs and plays air guitar. His energy level is so high he could power jets and his inquisitive mind makes everyone stay alert and, hopefully, prepared. He is SO beautiful. His lashes shade his cheeks and his smile makes the worst day a delight. We are so very grateful for him.
Is grandmothering still an age thing? Probably, but who cares.
.
My son-in-law calls grandparents " big old wrinkled bags of love." Guess you need to know my son-in-law, but that is intended to be an expression of great love. He was very close to his grandparents and still has his grandmothers for whom he has great love and appreciation. My daughter has grandfathers who think she is almost perfect as well as her husband's grandmothers who have always been very loving and accepting of her.
Guess I am one of those bags now. Well, I choose to emphasize the love part and overlook the big, old, wrinkled and bag parts. I have things todo to get ready for my grandson's next visit.
Position/Order
Does it really matter what birth position you hold? Were you an only child, firstborn, middle, or youngest? Does it matter? Does it influence the person you become as an adult?
I had always thought it did. I was firstborn and felt that position held responsibility which caused a person to grow-up faster. I considered myself an adult at age 12. That was also the year that I became a real member of my church and that seemed to me an adult behavior. I had a lot of psychology in college and there were strong views expressed that birth order was an indisputed influence. Our family heads, parents, both worked outside the home and my two sisters and I had a series of housekeepers or nannies or sitters or whatevers which was OK with all of us.
My just younger sister, however, felt that, as the middle child, she was fighting for a voice most of the time. Even experts seem to all feel that, if birth order does mean anything, it means the most to the middle child.
My sister grew into an extremely successful teacher with a great mind for facts and an ability to interact with just about anyone.
The youngest of us may be the most likely to prove the birth order influence. She was extremely opposed to authority when very young and continued to question authority throughout her life. She lives a unique life, but appears to be very satisfied with it.
I look back on the last few paragraphs and see that I do believe in the birth order influence. Isn't it interesting that just "talking" with you clarifies so much? Well, I suggest that you consider experts rather than my opinions. I have two with opposing views which, I hope, will help you to reach your own decision.
Mr. Frank Sulloway feels that your birth order influences as much as your gender. He wrote "Born to Rebel: Birth Order, Family Dynamics and Creative Lives". He briefly outlines the traits of the basic positions as: first born identifies with parents and are more conformist as adults. The younger are prone to challenge authority as a ploy to gain attention and this continues into adulthood.
The other side of this question is Mr. Dalton Conley who wrote "The Pecking Order" and says "birth order makes about as much sense as astrology, which is almost none." He feels that other factors such as a death in the family, financial difficulties, gender expectations, family roles and other random events are much more influential.
Ok, we have two authority figures if we want to go into a research situation. There are Many researchers available for both views, but, here are general traits of each birth position. You can decide for yourself.
The following are my summary of the generally accepted traits of each position.
Only children: Great deal like the first born, but on turbo. They are extremely responsible and like to do everything perfectly. They usually get along with people who are older. Some names we know who were only children are Robert de Niro, Elton John and Robin Williams.
First Born: These are goal setters, usually the most successful of the siblings, perfectionists and worriers. Some presidents were first born Truman, Johnson, Carter and George W. Bush. Several news anchors Walter Cronkite, Peter Jennings, Dan Rather and Ted Koppel.
Middle Children: Tend to rebel, be competitive, are flexible, peacemakers and highly social. We will recognize two rather prominent and successful middle children in David Letterman and Donald Trump.
Youngest: Feel they can do no wrong because they are usually spoiled by family, are risk takers , love attention, they are creative and usually have a good sense of humor. They can also be manipulative, persistent and frequently have problems with substance abuse and psychiatric disorders. Some well-known last borns are Ross Perot, Goldie Hawn, Jim Carrey, Jay Leno and Steve Martin.
The people who strongly feel birth order is key to personality analysis have some caveats they feel will alter order rules:
If there are several years between siblings, the birth order starts over.
A difference in gender causes the 1st born of the next gender to have traits of first born
Deaths of siblings, adoptions, step-siblings and divorce which causes siblings to live separately will influence order traits.
I cannot give much experience-driven information. I had one child and the attempt to help her grow with as few traits of the "only" is the hardest and most wonderful work I have ever done. It is work to raise a child.
It is exhausting, stressful, uncertain, thrilling and frequently indescribably frightening, but the rewards last a life time. Please enjoy your life....every day. It is what you make it!
I had always thought it did. I was firstborn and felt that position held responsibility which caused a person to grow-up faster. I considered myself an adult at age 12. That was also the year that I became a real member of my church and that seemed to me an adult behavior. I had a lot of psychology in college and there were strong views expressed that birth order was an indisputed influence. Our family heads, parents, both worked outside the home and my two sisters and I had a series of housekeepers or nannies or sitters or whatevers which was OK with all of us.
My just younger sister, however, felt that, as the middle child, she was fighting for a voice most of the time. Even experts seem to all feel that, if birth order does mean anything, it means the most to the middle child.
My sister grew into an extremely successful teacher with a great mind for facts and an ability to interact with just about anyone.
The youngest of us may be the most likely to prove the birth order influence. She was extremely opposed to authority when very young and continued to question authority throughout her life. She lives a unique life, but appears to be very satisfied with it.
I look back on the last few paragraphs and see that I do believe in the birth order influence. Isn't it interesting that just "talking" with you clarifies so much? Well, I suggest that you consider experts rather than my opinions. I have two with opposing views which, I hope, will help you to reach your own decision.
Mr. Frank Sulloway feels that your birth order influences as much as your gender. He wrote "Born to Rebel: Birth Order, Family Dynamics and Creative Lives". He briefly outlines the traits of the basic positions as: first born identifies with parents and are more conformist as adults. The younger are prone to challenge authority as a ploy to gain attention and this continues into adulthood.
The other side of this question is Mr. Dalton Conley who wrote "The Pecking Order" and says "birth order makes about as much sense as astrology, which is almost none." He feels that other factors such as a death in the family, financial difficulties, gender expectations, family roles and other random events are much more influential.
Ok, we have two authority figures if we want to go into a research situation. There are Many researchers available for both views, but, here are general traits of each birth position. You can decide for yourself.
The following are my summary of the generally accepted traits of each position.
Only children: Great deal like the first born, but on turbo. They are extremely responsible and like to do everything perfectly. They usually get along with people who are older. Some names we know who were only children are Robert de Niro, Elton John and Robin Williams.
First Born: These are goal setters, usually the most successful of the siblings, perfectionists and worriers. Some presidents were first born Truman, Johnson, Carter and George W. Bush. Several news anchors Walter Cronkite, Peter Jennings, Dan Rather and Ted Koppel.
Middle Children: Tend to rebel, be competitive, are flexible, peacemakers and highly social. We will recognize two rather prominent and successful middle children in David Letterman and Donald Trump.
Youngest: Feel they can do no wrong because they are usually spoiled by family, are risk takers , love attention, they are creative and usually have a good sense of humor. They can also be manipulative, persistent and frequently have problems with substance abuse and psychiatric disorders. Some well-known last borns are Ross Perot, Goldie Hawn, Jim Carrey, Jay Leno and Steve Martin.
The people who strongly feel birth order is key to personality analysis have some caveats they feel will alter order rules:
If there are several years between siblings, the birth order starts over.
A difference in gender causes the 1st born of the next gender to have traits of first born
Deaths of siblings, adoptions, step-siblings and divorce which causes siblings to live separately will influence order traits.
I cannot give much experience-driven information. I had one child and the attempt to help her grow with as few traits of the "only" is the hardest and most wonderful work I have ever done. It is work to raise a child.
It is exhausting, stressful, uncertain, thrilling and frequently indescribably frightening, but the rewards last a life time. Please enjoy your life....every day. It is what you make it!
Friday, August 28, 2009
An Optimistic Mind, Big Nerdy Heart
My husband is a goof. He's beautiful and adorable and smart and goofy. Often he creates words, he exaggerates at every opportunity, and he has a dream world in that cranium of his that sounds glorious and highly improbably.
Lately we have been looking at properties, so that we can escape the city and get a bit rural, get a little dirty and see how it feels. I just hope I don't see a snake, but that's an entirely different topic.
Anyway, when I've searched for homes with the realtors while my husband is working I must consider carefully if I could see myself living in the home. Is it really worthy of a return trip with my hubby, Oliver, to show him the place? Because if it isn't, I'm in trouble.
Oliver sees a home and envisions himself living there within the time it takes the realtor to walk to the lockbox on the door. My dear sweet Oliver is inspecting the landscape and mentally building a new brick mailbox before he steps over the threshold.
I think he could be at home in an igloo if it could just have a fireplace inside. A mud hut would be as attractive to him as a mansion because no matter the situation, in his mind everything is doable. Oh, a hole in the ceiling from a previous rainstorm? That's what tarps are for. Soft floors underneath the carpet? Fine. He doesn't like carpet, and isn't the dirt under the subfloor much less maintenance? I mean, it's dirt! Entirely liveable because he doesn't even know if we own a vacuum cleaner, much less in which closet it could be kept.
The last piece of acreage that we inspected we visited initially together. This is a dangerous proposition because if it is entirely horrible I have to think of ways for him to see that. Subtlety always works best with men of course. And in this case I was right to be nervous.
We couldn't go inside, as the owner was out of town, and needed to "straighten up" the place. Which left us the option of leaving or window shopping. We chose the latter.
The home was infested with animals who had been left to their own devices -- feces everywhere, the smell of cat urine floating out through the glass of the windows -- and we're terribly allergic to animals. The bathroom plumbing runs to a lagoon, which is a big puddle of crap, to put it bluntly. (And here we had thought, "Oh, what a pretty little pond!! (Long pause as smiles fade) Hmm. Do you smell something?") The kitchen was indescribable, literally, because every horizontal space was covered over with something moldy or gooey, probably permanently adhered.
But then I walked in the back yard, and saw the view from the hill. I'll take it!
And the kicker: Oliver loved everything about the place, pustules and all, except the color of the rotting hardi-board. "I can't live in a pink house. I'll paint it first thing."
He's never painted in his life.
And I feel tired.
Lately we have been looking at properties, so that we can escape the city and get a bit rural, get a little dirty and see how it feels. I just hope I don't see a snake, but that's an entirely different topic.
Anyway, when I've searched for homes with the realtors while my husband is working I must consider carefully if I could see myself living in the home. Is it really worthy of a return trip with my hubby, Oliver, to show him the place? Because if it isn't, I'm in trouble.
Oliver sees a home and envisions himself living there within the time it takes the realtor to walk to the lockbox on the door. My dear sweet Oliver is inspecting the landscape and mentally building a new brick mailbox before he steps over the threshold.
I think he could be at home in an igloo if it could just have a fireplace inside. A mud hut would be as attractive to him as a mansion because no matter the situation, in his mind everything is doable. Oh, a hole in the ceiling from a previous rainstorm? That's what tarps are for. Soft floors underneath the carpet? Fine. He doesn't like carpet, and isn't the dirt under the subfloor much less maintenance? I mean, it's dirt! Entirely liveable because he doesn't even know if we own a vacuum cleaner, much less in which closet it could be kept.
The last piece of acreage that we inspected we visited initially together. This is a dangerous proposition because if it is entirely horrible I have to think of ways for him to see that. Subtlety always works best with men of course. And in this case I was right to be nervous.
We couldn't go inside, as the owner was out of town, and needed to "straighten up" the place. Which left us the option of leaving or window shopping. We chose the latter.
The home was infested with animals who had been left to their own devices -- feces everywhere, the smell of cat urine floating out through the glass of the windows -- and we're terribly allergic to animals. The bathroom plumbing runs to a lagoon, which is a big puddle of crap, to put it bluntly. (And here we had thought, "Oh, what a pretty little pond!! (Long pause as smiles fade) Hmm. Do you smell something?") The kitchen was indescribable, literally, because every horizontal space was covered over with something moldy or gooey, probably permanently adhered.
But then I walked in the back yard, and saw the view from the hill. I'll take it!
And the kicker: Oliver loved everything about the place, pustules and all, except the color of the rotting hardi-board. "I can't live in a pink house. I'll paint it first thing."
He's never painted in his life.
And I feel tired.
A Treatise on a Woman's Wings
It's been joked about so often that people don't listen anymore: upper arm fat on women. It appears seemingly overnight. One day you're tight as a drum and the next day you're brushing your hair and think you may be having a sudden epileptic seizure because your arm won't stop moving.
My arms jiggle more than the first waterbed, the one created before they decided to include a baffle to squelch the waves.
I often think of my triceps as sails, beautiful billowing sails, aloft in the slightest breeze. Then reality comes back and I want to wash the sail with a soft cloth and fabric cleaner and tack that bad boy back to the boom. I've thought Velcro would work, just attach the fuzzy end to the lower flap and the sticky end up around the deltoid somewhere -- if I flip both of my arms forward at once I think I can create enough velocity that the skin will swing up and automatically reattach. Kind of like loading up my weapons, a new kind of "gun show!" It's that ripping sound that seems most disturbing, so I probably wouldn't take them down and let them air out often enough.
I briefly thought of a hook-and-eye contraption, but attaching the actual "eye" would require stitches of some sort and I'm desperately afraid of needles. Besides, it might rust should I perspire or get caught in a rain storm. (If my arms are securely positioned I might reconsider sleeveless tops and therefore be caught out in any sudden moisture. Gotta think of every angle, you see.)
Then there is the button and buttonhole thought, and I could even change the buttons to match latest trends! A simple pearl button for evenings out or a little wooden number for casual picnics with the family. But the buttonhole, the buttonhole is the catch, pardon the pun. A hole in my arm? That just sounds so unsightly.
When I'm at the newsracks I read all the latest magazines attesting to the idea that they have finally figured out the cure for bat flaps, but every single one of the exercises seems to boil down to tricep kick-backs and dips. (Check any of the latest women's fitness issues if you don't have the visual of these exercises. Trust me, they're printed in there somewhere.)
I've wrenched both elbows and broken the legs of two chairs trying those little exercise wonders. I'm done now. My furniture can't hack it any more.
I need to sign off now. I keep my elbows pinned to my sides whenever I write, type, drive, virtually anything, and sweat is starting to roll. It's not ideal, but at least with my arms pinned down I'm not going to flap myself off of the chair. Be glad you're not here, it's ugly.
My arms jiggle more than the first waterbed, the one created before they decided to include a baffle to squelch the waves.
I often think of my triceps as sails, beautiful billowing sails, aloft in the slightest breeze. Then reality comes back and I want to wash the sail with a soft cloth and fabric cleaner and tack that bad boy back to the boom. I've thought Velcro would work, just attach the fuzzy end to the lower flap and the sticky end up around the deltoid somewhere -- if I flip both of my arms forward at once I think I can create enough velocity that the skin will swing up and automatically reattach. Kind of like loading up my weapons, a new kind of "gun show!" It's that ripping sound that seems most disturbing, so I probably wouldn't take them down and let them air out often enough.
I briefly thought of a hook-and-eye contraption, but attaching the actual "eye" would require stitches of some sort and I'm desperately afraid of needles. Besides, it might rust should I perspire or get caught in a rain storm. (If my arms are securely positioned I might reconsider sleeveless tops and therefore be caught out in any sudden moisture. Gotta think of every angle, you see.)
Then there is the button and buttonhole thought, and I could even change the buttons to match latest trends! A simple pearl button for evenings out or a little wooden number for casual picnics with the family. But the buttonhole, the buttonhole is the catch, pardon the pun. A hole in my arm? That just sounds so unsightly.
When I'm at the newsracks I read all the latest magazines attesting to the idea that they have finally figured out the cure for bat flaps, but every single one of the exercises seems to boil down to tricep kick-backs and dips. (Check any of the latest women's fitness issues if you don't have the visual of these exercises. Trust me, they're printed in there somewhere.)
I've wrenched both elbows and broken the legs of two chairs trying those little exercise wonders. I'm done now. My furniture can't hack it any more.
I need to sign off now. I keep my elbows pinned to my sides whenever I write, type, drive, virtually anything, and sweat is starting to roll. It's not ideal, but at least with my arms pinned down I'm not going to flap myself off of the chair. Be glad you're not here, it's ugly.
Goodbye "Rainbow"
We assume that all things have a "life" expectancy; ourselves, our loved ones, our pets, our flowers...everything. It is often most difficult to say goodbye when we had not seriously considered the loss or the life time of something valuable to us. We were told today that a "goodbye" is necessary to the NPR program "Reading Rainbow". It has been a popular childrens' show for 26 years, hosted by LeVar Burton, famous for this gig as well as the role of Jordy in "Star Trek, The Next Generation." (I believe that's the proper Star Trek format, I need to refer to my geeky husband for confirmation.)
Facebook carried the NPR story about 1:00 CST today. In less than an hour 936 comments of protest appeared on the site. Each comment related the value of the show to their childhood and to their accomplishments as adults. A good point was made by many of those who were upset by the loss of this program. They felt that anyone can do or learn just about anything if there is a real drive or desire created for it, and Rainbow gave them that urge to learn.
The key to learning is creating the desire to learn. There are already hundreds of instruction sites, schools, videos, books, tutors, et cetera to teach a child to read, but all those learning sources will be limited in success if the student doesn't really want to read.
LeVar Burton and Reading Rainbow made children want to learn to read. He made them see how they could use reading to be a part of the world, to travel anywhere they want at any time with just a book, to escape whatever is negative at that moment and make that moment one of discovery and fun. NPR is cancelling the show because they want shows that teach kids to read rather than shows that teach kids to want to read.
This sounds like a cyclical logic concocted to rid themselves of a program they no longer find relevant, no matter the public opinion. Someone wants funds to go elsewhere, and this is a quick fix. Otherwise, this move makes no sense. My son literally runs into the living room when he hears Burton's voice. He's even gone so far as to respond when he hears Burton playing Jordy as my husband flips the television channels searching for something decent to watch. Burton has created an excitement in my son -- he's shown my kid new worlds, new societies, new adventures every day. He has spoken of genealogy, Indian culture, oceanic life, as well as desert secrets in the Saguaro cactus.
I have gone to the library and deliberately found many of the books that Burton and the kids on the show introduce to viewers, and we've enjoyed every one. My son remembers the pictures on the covers of the books as the ones LeVar showed him.
This is a shame. It is reminiscent of the effort to make Dora the Explorer a Tweener. Whether canceling a show or suddenly changing it up, neither one is the right thing to do.
Facebook carried the NPR story about 1:00 CST today. In less than an hour 936 comments of protest appeared on the site. Each comment related the value of the show to their childhood and to their accomplishments as adults. A good point was made by many of those who were upset by the loss of this program. They felt that anyone can do or learn just about anything if there is a real drive or desire created for it, and Rainbow gave them that urge to learn.
The key to learning is creating the desire to learn. There are already hundreds of instruction sites, schools, videos, books, tutors, et cetera to teach a child to read, but all those learning sources will be limited in success if the student doesn't really want to read.
LeVar Burton and Reading Rainbow made children want to learn to read. He made them see how they could use reading to be a part of the world, to travel anywhere they want at any time with just a book, to escape whatever is negative at that moment and make that moment one of discovery and fun. NPR is cancelling the show because they want shows that teach kids to read rather than shows that teach kids to want to read.
This sounds like a cyclical logic concocted to rid themselves of a program they no longer find relevant, no matter the public opinion. Someone wants funds to go elsewhere, and this is a quick fix. Otherwise, this move makes no sense. My son literally runs into the living room when he hears Burton's voice. He's even gone so far as to respond when he hears Burton playing Jordy as my husband flips the television channels searching for something decent to watch. Burton has created an excitement in my son -- he's shown my kid new worlds, new societies, new adventures every day. He has spoken of genealogy, Indian culture, oceanic life, as well as desert secrets in the Saguaro cactus.
I have gone to the library and deliberately found many of the books that Burton and the kids on the show introduce to viewers, and we've enjoyed every one. My son remembers the pictures on the covers of the books as the ones LeVar showed him.
This is a shame. It is reminiscent of the effort to make Dora the Explorer a Tweener. Whether canceling a show or suddenly changing it up, neither one is the right thing to do.
Canning is more than being fired
I find it serendipitous that the very same week I go to my cousin Fern's house to learn the fine art of pickling my favorite blog on the net features a story about canning strawberry jam (www.thepioneerwoman.com ) with complete descriptions and beautiful photography. She even referenced the same Ball book of canning that I had used only days ago.
This Ball book must be a jillion years old, more or less. Who knows how many printings this manuscript has undergone? It seems to be in every farm kitchen on the planet, replete with its own photos of the Olden Tymes. (My mother will reel when she sees that reference!!) I would have sworn I saw a few cows moseying into a few frames of film, a delightful backdrop to the steaming jars and studious, gingham-kerchiefed farm woman faces. Cows "moseyed" back then, you know, because they could go where they wanted without cars hitting them. It was a covered wagon fiesta! (Again, just kidding, Mom!)
The copy Fern uses is worn, tattered, splattered, and different shades of weathered oatmeal, handed down from her aunt. Actually Fern isn't sure that the book was a gift, or was it a loan, but she has assumed custody until something is said... And this crazy old book is still relevant! It is its own Bible of information about how to get started with preserving food, which foods may be put into jars and steamed or pressurized into the long wait for consumption, the concepts behind the procedures, why it's so important for every element of the process to be sterile and dust-free, and even how many years food can stay safely tucked into its own Mason jar. My mother-in-law seemed to think the shelf life was more than 25 years for some jars of peaches she had "preserved" in high school. She had to actually tell me that those nasty gelatinous blobs were peaches. Eew.
I'm sure one of my grandparents somewhere has their own copy. I should ask. I want to see just how "loved" -- I use that term facetiously, because of course canning wasn't about fun and trend, it was the way of life -- and worn their copy is. That would tell me volumes about how they lived their nutritional lives, and it would tell me a bit about their childhoods. I'm sure that the storing of food was not done solely by the matriarch of the family. That's what kids are for! Free labor. I'm sure some Saturday morning the children were lazily, stubbornly dragging their unwilling butts into the kitchen, dreading the day of hot steamy kitchen air rather than the numerous other glorious wide-open places kids would rather be. And if my grandparent tells it right, they'll give me lots of descriptors to really make me feel that heat and steam and anger and despair that lingered around the kids' heads...it'll be a great story.
This Ball book must be a jillion years old, more or less. Who knows how many printings this manuscript has undergone? It seems to be in every farm kitchen on the planet, replete with its own photos of the Olden Tymes. (My mother will reel when she sees that reference!!) I would have sworn I saw a few cows moseying into a few frames of film, a delightful backdrop to the steaming jars and studious, gingham-kerchiefed farm woman faces. Cows "moseyed" back then, you know, because they could go where they wanted without cars hitting them. It was a covered wagon fiesta! (Again, just kidding, Mom!)
The copy Fern uses is worn, tattered, splattered, and different shades of weathered oatmeal, handed down from her aunt. Actually Fern isn't sure that the book was a gift, or was it a loan, but she has assumed custody until something is said... And this crazy old book is still relevant! It is its own Bible of information about how to get started with preserving food, which foods may be put into jars and steamed or pressurized into the long wait for consumption, the concepts behind the procedures, why it's so important for every element of the process to be sterile and dust-free, and even how many years food can stay safely tucked into its own Mason jar. My mother-in-law seemed to think the shelf life was more than 25 years for some jars of peaches she had "preserved" in high school. She had to actually tell me that those nasty gelatinous blobs were peaches. Eew.
I'm sure one of my grandparents somewhere has their own copy. I should ask. I want to see just how "loved" -- I use that term facetiously, because of course canning wasn't about fun and trend, it was the way of life -- and worn their copy is. That would tell me volumes about how they lived their nutritional lives, and it would tell me a bit about their childhoods. I'm sure that the storing of food was not done solely by the matriarch of the family. That's what kids are for! Free labor. I'm sure some Saturday morning the children were lazily, stubbornly dragging their unwilling butts into the kitchen, dreading the day of hot steamy kitchen air rather than the numerous other glorious wide-open places kids would rather be. And if my grandparent tells it right, they'll give me lots of descriptors to really make me feel that heat and steam and anger and despair that lingered around the kids' heads...it'll be a great story.
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