Baby Bump

When I was in my 20s, people often thought I was pregnant. Not really sure why, unless it was my tendency to wear tops and dresses that looked like maternity clothing, my weight, or that I have a perpetual glow. I suspect the first 2. Really, though - it's happened several times. Once from an old schoolmate's parent, once at a "greet your neighbor" handshake at church, and a few other times I don't remember so well. And to this day, of course, several times from small children who think a big tummy means an imminent baby. Hell, I thought the same when I was small - I'd see big beer bellies on men and think THEY were pregnant. Took a while for me to realize it was gender-specific.

But it's never offended me when someone has said with cheerful inquiry, "So, when's the baby due?" or when a kid has asked me if I have a baby in my tummy. It's a reasonable suspicion to have, with my gut! And in the instant it happens, I actually feel sorry for them, because the minute I say "But I'm not pregnant," they are going to feel absolutely dreadful.

But it's an honest mistake, made based on biology and what pregnant women look like. It's not their fault, it's mine. And my long history of putting MY foot in my mouth before I turned 30 (I still do sometimes) has made me compassionate, because I know that I always meant well, and so do they, probably. So I laugh and shake my head, and say "oh, no, it's ok! It's this blouse/dress I'm wearing!" with great amusement, and have to spend a few minutes consoling their horror at what they have said.

With kids, I can be as blunt as I want, because I feel it's my duty to teach them a small measure of discretion in their dealings with society (it takes a village...!) I usually say something like "No, I'm not going to have a baby... I'm just fat. But you should be careful about saying that to ladies, because you might hurt their feelings." And they go off with their mommy, who is murmuring apologies with a scarlet face.

But this is how I regard my appearance all the time. I honestly think that a calm, dispassionate appraisal of my weight and appearance would be a relief. I may say (as delicately as I can, because I know honesty about my weight makes people intensely uncomfortable) something about my ineligibility with a particular handsome young man because of my weight, and the usual response is one of embarrased refusal and "oh no! that's not true!" when we both know it is. People refuse to acknowledge my reality, because it makes them feel awkward and/or they fear hurting my feelings.

But the truth is the truth! I'm not saying I want people to be harsh or contemptuous of my appearance, but I adore honesty; sometimes, I think I love it more than anything.

I have no interest in taking it to the other extreme. You know what I mean - the Mo'nique-style aggressive plus-size woman, who is cleaving her way through society with a low-cut blouse, fashionable but tight pants, and an attitude of "I'm a sexy, sassy, big, beautiful woman," which they will stuff down the throat of anyone who looks at them sideways. Because I'm NOT happy looking like this, I don't find obesity attractive, so why would I expect anyone else to? I would LOOOOOOVE to be as thin as a supermodel, or even Renee Zellweger at her "outrageous" 140 pounds in Bridget Jones' Diary. (you think that was an amazing feat, putting on 30 pounds for a movie? Shuh!)

I have my own divine spark that I think is appealing, funny and honest, and it will have to be sufficient. Because I doubt at this stage of my life that I could ever turn into a Thin Woman and actually stay that way. And you know what? It makes my life so much easier. I never was considered very attractive (by worldly standards) so I have no delusions about recapturing or maintaining a beauty I never possessed. But I know so many women in their 30s and up, desperately working to try and keep their Prom Queen looks, and feeling so very very awful that they can't. The ones that were Pretty... were the cheerleaders... were prized for their looks... they know what they're missing as they age. But I have nothing to miss!

Microsoft Office 2007

Seen the new Microsoft Office 2007 yet?

Be prepared to be frustrated by it's bloated-ness. This guy puts it perfectly:

Fake Steve Jobs

Bru-tal

It was 100 today in middle Tennessee. It was yesterday, and will be tomorrow too. Mid to upper 90s through Monday, low in the upper 60s. Thick and muggy and so hazy it looks like smog.

Was it ever this hot when I was a child? I don't even remember knowing or caring much. I know I hated doing yard work when it was hot, but that was the only negativity I ever applied to the weather during the summer. It's funny how you start adapting your day to the weather - when you come home from work, parking next to the tree that will cast shade on your car in the morning... picking a restaurant for lunch based on whether or not they have covered parking... putting off shopping until after dark. Not that it's much better in weather like this; the Mugginess is so thick and pervasive, you debate whether or not you really NEED toilet paper.

But maybe this is part and parcel of my Discovering Life series... in a previous post I mentioned that I was noticing things in my thirties I had been oblivious to in my childhood and twenties, like green trees and bluebirds. [Note to zoologists... I have seen an average of 3-5 beavers a WEEK this summer. After 30+ years of never seeing any. What is the deal with all of the beavers this summer? Does it have anything to do with the drop in bee population?] Well, this year I finally noticed what a drought was like. First time I ever really cared, really. Now I find myself praying for each raincloud I spot to give us a good gully-washer.

Tired

I'm very tired this evening... tired of work, tired of websites, tired of trying to juggle so many different issues in so many different places, and make sure they're all done on time, tired of making just enough and no more.

It's my Seasonal Vacation Deficiency, rearing up again as it does every year. Each summer, I get very busy, and then when it all dies down in September/October, I can't afford to go anywhere. I haven't been on a proper, week-long vacation to the beach or some other sybaritic location in 2 years. My chiropractor, trying to fix a stiff neck problem I've been having ever since I fell down some stairs 2 months back, rather solemnly told me that I was suffering from a Fun Deficiency.

Sorry, I'm in the midst of a pity-party today... I've spent the last 3 months helping maintain an online campaign for a young man falsely imprisoned in Nicaragua, 10-15 hours a week, and although there have been significant strides forward, none of our work has yet led to his actual release. As tired and broke and burned out as I am, I still know it's nothing compared to what his parents are dealing with, so I don't feel I can complain. But it's pro bono work on top of my regular workload, and it's just frustrating.

I'm managing the bills and rent and my client list is enough to keep me busy, but I can't afford to just STOP and go away for a week. And this is the same lament I've been making for 2 years now. My close family and friends think I should increase my rates, but I just find that so incredibly hard to do because I know how difficult it would be for me to pay someone $50/hr to work on my computer! So I automatically assume it's a financial burden for everyone else.

Every time a client pulls out their checkbook and says, "so, how much?" I feel guilty for asking for anything over $40, even when I might have spent 3 hours on a job. Part of it is because I feel like if I was smarter/more experienced/did more research/took some classes, I would do the same task in half the time, and therefore I'm not deserving of more than $40/hr. This, despite the fact that my knowledge base has doubled and tripled since I started my business. I just feel like they are writing out my check, thinking, "boy, is she not worth this much!"

Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm a bargain.

How I Read Books

This is a topic I can discuss endlessly.

When I was growing up, reading books was the center of my universe. It was my primary source of entertainment, anodyne for boredom, solace in the midst of peer rejection, refuge from yard work. It was so primary in my life that my dad actually thought I read too much and wanted to limit my time with books. Fortunately the almost religious degree of respect society has for books made it impossible for him to restrict my reading, but he certainly tried to replace it with yard work and tennis lessons. I don't think he had any pleasure in reading, or he perceived it as a waste of time.

I can list my favorite series and authors ad infinitum, but that is only of interest to myself and other bibliophiles. What interests me at present is HOW people read. I am a skimmer; I read through fiction really quickly although I slow down somewhat for nonfiction since I am reading for detail. My favorite way to read fiction is to quickly get the gist - the basic outline - and then read my favorite portions a second and/or third time. This only applies to really enjoyable fiction, of course. If I'm not really interested, I won't read it again.

If you think about it, it's actually a very time-efficient method. If a book is boring, I have invested very little time in it. But if it's good - like a Harry Potter, or Anne McCaffrey, or Robin McKinley, a Colleen McCullough Rome book, or Stephen R. Lawhead's Avalon - then I can re-read it many times over the years and get to enjoy the experience all over again.

This is NOT a good thing when reading non-fiction. I am rather disinterested in fiction at present, having found nothing as good as the stuff I read when I was younger. (Harry Potter, again, is the exception.) So I've been on a history/biography/cultural history kick for several years now. Skimming is pointless when you're reading for content, so I've had to learn how to slow down and read almost every word.

So I read HP & The Deathly Hallows in about 5+ hours, which averages out to about 140 pages an hour. And yes, I brag about it as if it's a talent or skill! Which is ridiculous, because it's simply the way my brain processes text. I think it's how my subconscious seeks to stretch out its enjoyment of a story; if I really like the story, I want to re-experience it over and over again. Like eating fried chicken - you go over it once, get most of the meat, then go back for any bits left behind. Although I don't like fried chicken.

I miss the reading. Once my TV-watching was no longer restricted, I've spent much less time in books, and now I have fallen out of the habit. I have stacks of books around my apartment that I've been collecting and planning to read; enough to keep me occupied around the clock for a few years if I had no distractions or TV. I've gone from 5-7 books a week as a child to 1 or 2 a month. But thank goodness for iPods and audiobooks! I've gone through so many books on my long commutes that I would never have gotten to read, and it has forced me to learn to process at a slower speed, since you cannot "skim" an audiobook!

Criminal

OK, once again, I have TRIED the mish-mash that is Last Comic Standing, hoping that it might recapture some of the formula of the first 2 seasons.

It hasn't.

They picked their final 10, and the best comedienne on the stage didn't make it. Typical.

Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present Fiona O'Laughlin, of Alice Springs, Australia:

Completion

I finished the 7th and last Harry Potter book at 4:34 Saturday afternoon.

Next?

The Next Tom Hanks

Can I just say how much I enjoy seeing John Krasinski from The Office in interviews? I have rarely seen any actor so engaged and so entertaining in a one-on-one media setting. I have quite the crush on his TV character Jim Halpert, but in person he is actually funnier and seems to be having such a good time. Maybe because he hasn't done enough press junkets to be jaded and blase yet... ahhh, may that day be far off.

Here's one of his best interviews, from Conan:

Grandma's Cures

One of those Frequent Forwards, but I find these irresistable. I keep hoping they'll ultimately come up with a "to lose 100 pounds in 1 year, eat 4 ounces of Toblerone daily with a diet coke."

GRANDMA'S CURES
Keep This Handy On The Fridge

• Did You Know that drinking two glasses of Gatorade can relieve headache pain almost immediately -- without the unpleasant side effects caused by traditional "pain relievers."
• Did you know that Colgate toothpaste makes an excellent salve for burns.
• Before you head to the drugstore for a high-priced inhaler filled with mysterious chemicals, try chewing on a couple of curiously strong Altoids peppermints. They'll clear up your stuffed nose.
• Achy muscles from a bout of the flu? Mix 1 Tablespoon of horseradish in 1 cup of olive oil. Let the mixture sit for 30 minutes, then apply it as a massage oil, for instant relief for aching muscles.
• Sore throat? Just mix 1/4 cup of vinegar with 1/4 cup of honey and take 1 tablespoon six times a day. The vinegar kills the bacteria.
• Cure urinary tract infections with Alka-Seltzer. Just dissolve two tablets in a glass of water and drink it at the onset of the symptoms. Alka-Seltzer begins eliminating urinary tract infections almost instantly-- even though the product was never been advertised for this use.
• Honey remedy for skin blemishes... Cover the blemish with a dab of honey and place a Band-Aid over it. Honey kills the bacteria, keeps the skin sterile, and speeds healing. Works overnight.
• Listerine therapy for toenail fungus. Get rid of unsightly toenail fungus by soaking your toes in Listerine mouthwash. The powerful antiseptic leaves your toenails looking healthy again.
• Easy eyeglass protection... To prevent the screws in eyeglasses from loosening, apply a small drop of Maybelline Crystal Clear nail polish to the threads of the screws before tightening them.
• Cleaning liquid that doubles as bug killer .. If menacing bees, wasps, hornets, or yellow jackets get in your home and you can't find the insecticide, try a spray of Formula 409. Insects drop to the ground instantly.
• Smart splinter remover. just pour a drop of Elmer's Glue-All over the splinter, let dry, and peel the dried glue off the skin. The splinter sticks to the dried glue.
• Hunt's tomato paste boil cure... cover the boil with Hunt's tomato paste as a compress. The acids from the tomatoes soothe the pain and bring the boil to a head.
• Balm for broken blisters... To disinfect a broken blister, dab on a few drops of Listerine... a powerful antiseptic.
• Vinegar to heal bruises... Soak a cotton ball in white vinegar and apply it to the bruise for 1 hour. The vinegar reduces the blueness and speeds up the healing process.
• Kill fleas instantly... Dawn dish washing liquid does the trick. Add a few drops to your dog's bath and shampoo the animal thoroughly. Rinse well to avoid skin irritations. Good-bye fleas.
• Rainy day cure for dog odor. Next time your dog comes in from the rain, simply wipe down the animal with Bounce or any dryer sheet, instantly making your dog smell springtime fresh.
• Eliminate ear mites... All it takes is a few drops of Wesson corn oil in your cat's ear... Massage it in, then clean with a cotton ball. Repeat daily for 3 days. The oil soothes the cat's skin, smothers the mites, and accelerates healing.
• Quaker Oats for fast pain relief... It's not for breakfast any more! Mix 2 cups of Quaker Oats and 1 cup of water in a bowl and warm in the microwave for 1 minute, cool slightly, and apply the mixture to your hands for soothing relief from arthritis pain.

Recurring Dream, part 2

So last night I had my new nightmare - two times is a coincidence, three times is a pattern.

I loathe horror films. Don't ever, ever want to see one. Don't understand how anyone can get any enjoyment from them AT ALL. Don't understand how there can even be a market. And don't even get me started on the latest trend of Torture Porn that passes for horror nowadays.

But on occasion, if the trailer looks interesting, I will sometimes go on TheMovieSpoiler.com and read the storyline just to see how it ends. I made the mistake of reading the breakdown for Dawn of the Dead a few years ago when it came out, and have been haunted ever since. Now, my nightmares consist of zombies and people trying to escape from them, and my family is involved. It's exhausting, because there's no safety to be found anywhere. It's my old fear of societal breakdown/Armegeddon, kicked up a notch. Endless running, trying to rescue family members, trying to find a safe place...

I woke up with this in my mind at 4 am, and could not banish it, even with prayer, or trying to focus on more pleasant things. I finally took some GABA Complex [side note: amazing little amino acid that will let you go back to sleep when your mind won't stop spinning! no side effects] and dropped back off to sleep, but this morning a residual anxiety and melacholy still lingers. My daily Kitties and Bunnies aren't doing the trick either, so I thought I'd write this out.

So, if your dreams are a reflection of your inner conflicts, then what does this say about me?

I Dreamed...

...last night that I was re-hired to my old IT job at William Morris... and it was dreadful. It was in a new building, but we were packed into one long row of cubicles with an aisle down the center... and I couldn't get anyone to really look at me or talk to me. It was crowded with very little space, and there was this air of unhappiness and anxiety.

I remember thinking, "I am SO much better equipped for this job now; I know so much more, they'll be impressed..." but I kept thinking of my little part-time job at the AEA, where I was given so much freedom, and thinking "I don't want to give that job up!" and dreading having to go in and quit.

Amazing how the Dream Job can become the Dreaded Job!

Catbox

http://www.evilmadscientist.com/article.php/catvolume

Swamped

I am swamped with work at present, which should make me happy since it usually means an increase in income... but for some reason, it just frustrates and stresses me.

And yes, I do realize that I'm not really helping myself by taking time to blog about it... but I'm hoping that by journaling this out it will give me some sense of control over the chaos.

Most of my web-design clients want me to work on something for them this week. But I don't know how best to put them in order of importance/significance. Part of the problem is that I spent the entire weekend working on stuff; babysitting overnight for Elder Sister, then spending and afternoon and evening at a music gig with the band, then getting up early to run the baby room for both services at church, then making a birthday cake and celebrating a friend's birthday. All of them, good things I generally enjoy... but when every hour has some demand upon it, even enjoyable things become an ordeal to be "gotten through".

My apartment continues its slow decline into entropy - now, besides the lock being hopelessly jammed on my front door (and 4 phone calls to get it fixed - we'll just see when I go home if they finally did something!), the tub faucet won't turn all the way off - the knob just keeps twisting around and around, resulting in a perpetual trickle. The paint is peeling off of everything outside, the carpet is spotted and stretched so there are speed bumps every few feet, and the medicine cabinet door is sagging. Oh, and my car door on the passenger side is making a rattling sound, and the lock for it seems unnaturally recessed, which makes me suspect that the body work last fall was poorly done.

I need a week where I can just get things fixed. I'm tired, I'm ill-tempered and impatient, and I don't know how it'll all get done. I don't like telling people that I can't do something they've requested; although get me worked up into a panic attack and I'll quit in seconds! Not panicking at present... just not happy.

I wish someone would just give me a lot of money and a plane ticket to London. But it never happens.

Quick Realization

In dealing with some minor personal frustrations with the cover band I'm singing with, I have finally realized something about myself; it's not that I am truly obnoxious or excessive in my attempts to fix small problems, polish a song, or make a suggestion... it's that I am usually the only one doing it. I'm a squeaky wheel, and instead of getting the grease, I will probably... be traded out for a less squeaky wheel.

People who don't feel compelled to "make a noise," (so to speak) aren't at fault in this; they're in the majority. But I wish sometimes that other people could take some of the negative focus off of me, and be the one to say "that's not working," or "can we do this instead" so that I don't feel like such a spoil-sport all the time.

Dire Necessity

We need a new series of hand signals for car drivers. Now that we no longer indicate direction by sticking our left hand out the window, we need to come up with some universally recognized signals that indicate:

• Thank you for letting me merge in front of you
• I am so stupid for cutting you off! I'm so sorry!

I am partial to the idea of punching myself in the head when I make a mistake in driving; it exhibits penitence, frustration with my error as well as an obvious understanding that I am the one responsible.

But when it comes to the thank-you gesture, I can't think of anything good. The fairly common "wave in the rear view mirror" feels too casual, too insufficiently grateful.

As to expressing frustation, I would also like a gesture that exhibits a feeling of "You were very stupid there, I am very mad, but I acknowledge that you might not have meant to be so careless." Honking or flipping someone off is too mean if it is a genuine oversight on their part; they drive on feeling very hurt and offended.

Ideas? Followed by, How on earth do you make a signal universally recognized?

Moving On

Here's how you know that you've moved on from a tragedy - you forget the anniversary.

I was fired from my job at William Morris 2 years ago on June 17th, and I completely forgot until today. This is in stark contrast to last year, when I was keenly aware of of the date.

So I've been working on my own for 2 years now, and it's another mark of my moving on that I am no longer in constant anxiety of not making enough to live on. Every month is still different, I never know how I'll manage, but month after month, the bills get paid, even when the numbers don't seem to add up. God provides, sparrow, lily of the field, etc.

Sorry, that sounds flippant - God really has provided all my needs. I give him all the credit for this.

Brian Bacon, Where Are You?

Brian is an old college friend who disappeared into the wilds of Ohio after graduation, and I can't find his current address.

I have the COOLEST political yard sign I've been holding onto for over 7 years for him... it says

BACON FOR ALDERMAN

How awesome is that?! So Brian, if you're out there, please get in touch!

My Brian story - I was the secretary for the Lit & Lang Department at Belmont in the odd 2 years after I finished my coursework (I hadn't finished my Honors Thesis. My years are all off-kilter) and one day Brian walked into my office wearing a 70s beige & brown double-knit polyester leisure suit and thick horn-rimmed glasses. This, from a guy who generally dressed in a fairly nondescript, Guy way. I didn't know him very well yet, and the whole 70s retro look hadn't come in yet (not even the 60s fashion revival was in play at this point), and I just stared at him with a "wha?" expression. I couldn't tell if he was doing it as a joke, or as a deliberate fashion statement. He acted as though there was nothing untoward about his wardrobe.

Now, of course, I think it was all a joke. A really awesome joke.

Thanks to Hakomike for giving me the idea for this blog entry.

Wierd Dream

Ok, from formerly regular dreams of "I-dreamt-I-was-pregnant-with-no-memory-of-the-father-and-had-to-give-the-baby-up-for-adoption," I have now moved on to bizarre wedding dreams.

I dreamt that I was getting married; but I had been so busy running my business and unrelated errands, that it's now 24 hours til the wedding and I haven't made any arrangements or plans - no dress, no reception space, the church has double-booked and now we're not sure where we'll have the ceremony, no reception or cake. Nor, apparently, am I in any way acquainted with the groom... he's nowhere around at this point, I don't know his name, but apparently I've decided to marry this unknown man.

I do have bridesmaids, though - I come upon them on the day of the wedding, frantic, because I have no dress, and one of them (Rachel, dressed in a purple satin dress which I would NEVER select for her or any other woman!) laughs and says "It's ok, it's over there - that red thing!" Apparently I asked her to get my dress for me, and she chose red. Which isn't entirely bad, since it IS a flattering color for me.

But I never get to see it because I am just rushing frantically everywhere; not accomplishing anything, but in each place and situation, discovering there is yet another thing that I haven't done. "How did I not do any of this stuff?" I keep thinking. And no sign of the groom. For a moment my dream goes lucid and I think "why don't I cancel the whole thing?" but the Dream Me keeps going about, panicking, fixing nothing. It's just a big old disaster.

I think I am always alone like this in these dream scenarios... I am at these big life-events like marriage or childbirth, and I am sans mate. Not that I am ever bothered by this in the dreams - it seems perfectly normal. But what is that saying about me?

Sorry For the Lag-time!

But I've been vewy busy.

This will have to tide you over at present. Got stuff ta do!

Operation Baby Bunny

After a day spent recovering from a spectacular case of food poisoning the night before, I went out for a couple of hours to try and perk up - an entire day in bed makes me feel even worse when I've been sick. So when I come home, I'm stopped in my tracks by the sight of a ball of fur stuffed in the corner where the doorframe and wall meet. Mouse? Baby Rabbit? Not sure which, nor whether or not it was even alive.

I went inside, got a yardstick, and went back out prepared to try and wedge it out. It was soft and yet would not budge; I managed to see a little ear - it was a bunny. Went back inside, got a pair of old garden gloves on, prayed for strength, and went out to try and pull him out. I assumed he'd just gotten stuck while playing... rabbits are often grazing in the yard behind my apartment when I come home at night. This year, they've been joined by a beaver.

So I went and tried to scoop him out, which he resisted and started crying. But he did shift somewhat so his head was now visible. His little eye closed and he took a mini-nap. I took a breather, and looked back out towards the yard, and there was mother rabbit in rather close proximity (they usually run off when I get too close). So I darted inside, hoping that mommy would go fetch baby and take him to safety.

I went back outside in a few minutes, and mommy was nibbling grass down the hill! Appalling maternal instincts. (But, I did read somewhere that rabbits let their young go off on their own and don't keep them in the nest once they're mobile.)

So I decided that I knew what was best for this bunny (soon to be proved wrong), and managed to catch a leg and pull him out, squealing pitifully and squirming like crazy. I managed to get him out to the yard and put him down (mommy had gone to hide in the woods) and the baby looked like he was going to make a run back towards his hidey-hole, but I shooed him down the hill and he made it into the thicket at the bottom... at which point a big-ass bird of prey (I suspect raven; very smooth and black) swooped to a tree overhead. I started clapping and yelling and he flew back off.

But that finally explained why the bunny was hiding under my apartment; he'd run to cover to escape becoming dinner! I looked back down the hill, and noticed a loose wad of fluff and dead grass; when I went closer, I could see that it was rabbit fur. The burrow had obviously been in the incline of the hill, and I found it a yard away, in a drainage pipe.

So much conjecture... had the rabbits simply grown up and scampered out and taken their nest with them? Or that that damn bird been pulling out the nest to find some tender baby rabbits? I didn't see any others. I can only hope that baby and mommy found each other in the thicket.

Bears in our Midst

I wanted to post something about bears on the ColbertNation forum, and came across this absolutely hysterical post:

http://www.colboard.com/viewtopic.php?t=24347

OMG BUNNIEZZZZ! AND KITTEH!

News You Need to Know

OK, my little pharmacy saga...

I've been shopping at CVS for prescriptions for a couple of years now, because 1) they have one reasonably close that is NEVER crowded, and 2) they have a preferred members card thingy that gets me some super coupons every time I shop.

Despite these benefits, when I saw that a new Walgreens was being built 1 block from my complex, I could not WAIT til it was open; it would save lots of time. Well it opened a few weeks ago, and I went in to scope it out. I discovered that they didn't have one of those card dealies, but I thought, "oh well, it's still convenient..."

Yesterday I FINALLY took steps to switch a prescription over to the Walgreens, and went back later in the afternoon to pick it up. Imagine my dismay when they told me the generic that I was used to paying $15+ for at CVS would cost me over $29! I was livid. I didn't buy it, walked out, and called CVS to switch it back.

That evening when I went to pick it up, I talked with the pharmacist about how Walgreens' price was almost double, and he said he'd recently read a Consumer Reports article which had pretty much come to the same conclusion. And then he handed me my receipt with a $1 coupon off feminine products.

A Quote

A bore is someone who deprives you of solitude without providing you with company.

Staying and Leaving

I have noticed as the years pass by and I have remained in my hometown, that eventually, everyone leaves. We've become such a mobile society that for people to grow up and actually stay in the city of their birth is unusual. Especially here - I am constantly saying (in an effort to appear witty and well-informed) that in any public gathering in Nashville, you will be unlikely to find more than 5 natives. "Try it!" I suggest. Fortunately they are more than willing to take my word because who's gonna canvass an entire cocktail party or art show to find out where everyone is from?!

As a Perpetual Homebody, I am therefore required to suffer the constant disappointment of Those Who Leave. On the average of 2-4 a year, good friends will move on to different pastures. Paul, Teresa, Mike, Sarah, Renu, Shellee, Kara, Chandelle, Robyn, Brian, Heather, DJ, Frances, Matt, Joe, Ken. Tons more I've now forgotten. All of these people I considered to be close friends, and they left. A FEW have come back, but it's rarely as it was before.

It's been interesting to see how the Stayers and the Leavers deal with the break. Some are able to sustain a lasting friendship long-distance because both parties are determined to stay in contact, to write, to call, to work on projects together. But if even one of the parties has decided to move on, or repair the gap in their wall of friends, then all the efforts of the other person are to no avail. The neglect is never really meant in malice or disinterest, but it's so very, very hard to sustain a friendship long distance!

I used to try to stay in touch; back in the beginning, I would cling to addresses and phone numbers and send Christmas cards & letters. But as the years went by and people continued to leave, I grew resigned. Initially I might be hurt at their neglect or lack of response. But I eventually grew tired of trying to maintain one-sided relationships, and now I let go almost before they leave town!

There are exceptions. But I finally invented my own little zen saying: "If they're gonna leave, then they're gonna leave." Mind-blowing insight, no? I do my best to be the best possible friend up til the moment they leave - I do good-bye tokens, cards, parties, help pack, or at the least get their new address. And then they go, and depending on whether or not they contact me first, I usually let it drop. Barring the yearly Christmas Card.

I realized recently that this has been the story of my life. In kindergarten I had Missy as a best friend. We were inseperable, and at the end of the school year her family moved away. First grade was Betsy, and at the end of the school year her family moved away too. After that I had no best friends, and I don't even to this day. I've tried to "invent" them upon occasion, but inevitably I've realized that I was far more invested in the friendship than they were, or would ever be, and that you simply cannot make someone be best friends.

At this point one might think that I might look to my Mom and sisters as friends, but unfortunately that hasn't materialized. We talk comfortably together and we enjoy visiting each other... but it doesn't go much beyond that. They all left town too. Amy came back, but she's a mom and therefore in the class of The Busiest People on Earth. Mom came back, and has always had her own full life, so beyond phone calls, occasional lunches, computer tutorials from me, etc., we don't harass each other :) It's actually a very healthy arrangement!

I'm a Stayer. What are you?

The Coolest Thing Ever

Or at least, the coolest thing this week...

I have just been led to BookMooch, which for a bibliophile is an absolute GODSEND. I have dozens of books on my shelves that have either been listed on Half.com for years, or I have never read/will never read again. But on BookMooch, I can get rid of them, and earn points to get copies of books I do want!

For example, one of the most important books of my childhood was Celia Garth by Gwen Bristow - out of print, expensive even when available. It's a historical novel set in Charleston during the Revolutionary War, and I practically memorized portions of it. I have just obtained a copy through BookMooch from Canada. I'm able to track down favorite novels I've been meaning to pick up for years for my library, but never wanted to spend the money to actually purchase them.

You earn 1/10th of a point for each book you list in your give-away inventory, and a full point for each book that is requested from you and that you send out. I'm about to send out my 6th book, have listed almost 100 books in my inventory of give-aways, and have a long wishlist of books that I could go ahead and get now, or I'm waiting for someone else to offer - like, Darlene O'Steen's The Proper Stitch, which is wildly expensive but very, very desireable for stitchers such as myself.

Expanding Boundaries

I was asked to sing backup for a cover band called "Steamboat" in the next 2 weeks - just 5 songs, nothing very complicated. But I've only ever sung backup (or sung with a band, for that matter) 2 or 3 times in my life, but this is literally the easiest gig I could ever have - 4:30 on a Friday afternoon, as opposed to the usual hole-in-the-wall venue, on a weeknight at 9:30 pm-but-it-really-starts-at-10:45-because-everyone's-running-behind gig I am often invited to. I rarely go, as I am Exceedingly Lazy and also don't enjoy concerts unless I'm getting to sing. I get bored just sitting (or standing, which is worse) and listening to music. If they would let me sit and do cross-stitch during a concert, I'd be more willing to attend. Although the light is practically non-existent, so it's not really good for fine embroidery.

We're singing Proud Mary, Think (Aretha), Oh! Darling (Paul McCartney, I think), Chain of Fools... and they just added a Pink Floyd song. Me. Singing Pink Floyd. I don't even know any of their songs. Never heard The Wall. Don't really care to.

But this is a great expansion of my boundaries - I am singing backup in a rock band, and one of the songs is from Pink Floyd. Imagine!

Logic

OK, I came across a website debating (rather feebly) the possibility of Eric Volz's guilt in the murder of Doris Ivania in Nicaragua. I realized that we've been trying to prove his innocence the wrong way; rather, we should try and do a "What If", looking through the massive amount of exculpatory evidence as though he was guilty:

Eric would have needed to make a great deal of preparation to cover his tracks in this murder:

1) He would have needed to persuade 10 people to say that they had seen him during the time of the murder in Managua, and sign affidavits to that effect. Think about it - TEN people: Nicaraguan employees, a woman from a non-profit organization, a hair stylist, a respected Nicaraguan journalist, etc. Do you think YOU could get 10 un-related people to agree to provide a false alibi for you?

2) He would have needed someone to make numerous phone calls from his office to business associates throughout the day so that he would have a phone record proving he was in Managua, and they would have to be written to reflect a legitimate, business dialogue.

3) He would have had to have someone have an IM chat with his associate in Atlanta, time-stamped for the hours he claims he was in Managua.

That's a LOT of preparation and bribery/persuasion to cover up a so-called "jealous" murder. I mean, honestly, if he was the jealous type, do you think he would have amicably parted with her and moved over 2 hours away to the capital city for business?

It's just too improbable.

One forum writer's assertion that "I have no idea of his Internet habits but I find it hard to believe he spent all that time chatting with one person for four plus hours non-stop. It seems to be awfully convenient to be chatting online for many hours on end at the time of the murder." That's a matter of opinion; I have worked with agents who will have long, complex ongoing IM chats with their assistants for an entire workday while they are on the phone with buyers.

Have you ever carried a heavy wooden box for several minutes on your shoulder? Are you an expert in that sort of forensic evidence? It has been proven by photographs from the funeral that the marks are on the very shoulder with which he carried the coffin. They were the only wounds on his body, whereas one of the other accused had multiple scratches on his torso and penis.

Please fully investigate the facts, see the evidence, before deciding whether or not you think he is guilty - the sheer mass of exculpatory evidence must make his conviction HIGHLY suspect, at the very least!

The most annoying phrase in the world is...

Follow your dreams.

How am I supposed to follow my dreams if I have no idea what they are?

Really - I'm not kidding. My dreams all tend to be rather vaccuous things, like

• losing weight
• getting married
• having a country house
  
• being a celebrity in some unknown field with a minimum of effort

Nothing I can really get worked up about. Nothing I want so bad that I'm actually willing to do the work to achieve them.

This is why I love lost comedian Mitch Hedburg: "I'm sick of following my dreams... I'm just gonna ask where they're going and hook up with them later."

Stupid Stereotype...

WHY WHY Whywhywhywhywhy must every heroine in a book or TV show be a shoe freak? And own dozens of pairs?

I like shoes, but I only ever have a few pairs in use at any one time. 4-5 pairs of sandals from March to October, and, like, 2 in the winter. Does this make me any less feminine? I think not. No, my insistence on picking up heavy computer equipment unaided as though it's no big deal, "I'm fine, I do this all the time!" -- THAT'S what makes me unfeminine.

One of my goals is finally realized...

... I have finally gotten something cute posted on CuteOverload!

Plus, it has engendered a flurry of comments, since Meg Frost, the site proprietress, said it was a consolation to watch bunnies hop around in the aftermath of Virginia Tech.

Taxes

So yesterday I went over to my Mom's to deal with finalizing my tax return; as you may remember, I hadn't taken into account that I should be saving money for my taxes now as a business owner, and I needed to come up with $XX2.00. I've been praying for a miracle.

Well, Mom had decided that instead of getting an installment plan, she'd pay and I could pay her back on a monthly schedule, so we finished it all out, printed it up, and then I said, (as I had said to her weeks before!) "Now, didn't I pay AHEAD for last year? You said I had to pay on a quarterly basis, and so we used my refund to pre-pay an estimated amount for 2005?" Apparently Mom FINALLY heard me, and her jaw dropped, and she said "yes, that's RIGHT!" and retrieved my 2005 return from the computer.

Wanna know how much I had paid ahead? $XX4.00.

I'm getting a $2 return from the IRS. I shall treat myself to a Diet Coke at Sonic.

Praise God!

In Case You Didn't Know...

I am attempting to write a story on Eric Volz and his parents for my church newsletter, and in digging through the various updates and postings on the friendsofericvolz.com website, I found this journal entry from Eric's father Jan Volz. This gives a very clear picture of how bad the situation has been... and how bad it could be again.

The events of Thursday, December 7, the date of Eric's hearing were so unbelievable it's taken me awhile to write about it in a fashion that makes any sense. I know at other times I've described this as a really bad dream or (if I may borrow part of a maternal phrase from one of Dane's updates) a pregnant state of anguishing mental limbo. It is the "not knowing" that is painful. The questions of; is he eating, is he getting any sleep due to the fact he's afraid someone will kill him, how is he holding up mentally and spiritually with no visitors except twice a week and then only one person for a maximum of 15 minutes. It's the "not knowing" that feels like a slow death. In order to write this I had to debrief myself a little bit first in order to find the reality in the midst of my shell shocked state of mind. As you surmise from the fact that I was still in Managua on Friday morning Eric didn't walk out of court with me on Thursday. I expected to return to the US Thursday evening but a Nicaraguan lynch mob outside of the courtroom changed all of that. The judge set a trial court date to try Eric for murder in late January.

All day long in Rivas the locals gathered in the streets outside the courthouse. We had received a report that a vehicle with blaring external loud speakers had been driving through the streets of San Juan telling the town's people that they had to fight for their rights, and stand up to the gringos. The "call to arms" invited them all to come to the Rivas court hearing in order to bring justice to the gringo. Earlier on Friday of last week the Rivas police went to San Juan to conduct a "town meeting" along with the mayor and about a hundred citizens to discuss the case against Eric. There was also a plea to rally around the case and come to Rivas for the hearing. They also gave instructions where to meet the trucks and buses which would transport the ready made mob. The attorney and I rode over to the hearing with the US Embassy RSO (Regional Security Officer) the US Legal Attaché' and one of their assistants. In the middle of the ride my phone rang and it was Eric. He was out of breath from running and told me that the local police paraded him on foot straight down through the middle of town, up the sidewalk from the jail to the courthouse with just a couple of cops. When they were a couple blocks away a mob of men with clubs, sticks and machetes attempted to ambush them and chased them for two blocks. The police fled. A few tried to stick with Eric but keeping up with him is nearly impossible, he's quite fast. Eric out ran the police and the mob and in that he was going to the courthouse he just out ran them straight into the relative safety there with the screaming mob in pursuit. He called me to warn me of the impending danger.

We pulled into Rivas and parked our car up on a side street away from the entrance of the courthouse. By the time we arrived the crowd had grown to about 75 people. Flanked by the Embassy personnel we all went inside where Eric, myself, the Embassy guys, my US attorney and Eric's Nica attorney sat and talked for a little while before the hearing began. It was good to hug him after a phone call like that.

The proceeding got underway an hour late when the judge finally arrived and after some deliberation by the prosecuting attorney the judge dismissed the charges on two of the other defendants, one of whom has already admitted he took part in her murder. On what basis of truthful evidence this dismissal was given we couldn't figure out. The judge only said he was dismissing the charges against this confessed defendant because there wasn't enough evidence to proceed against him. I was appalled because numerous times he admitted to being there when she was killed. Eric's attorney gave his defense of the present charges refuting each but held back some of the crucial information which the attorney said was probably wise because you don't want to shoot your entire arsenal at the preliminary hearing especially if you KNOW the proceeds are going to end in a trial which is exactly what the judge did. He then dropped the gavel stating his decision was to proceed to trial with Eric and one of the confessed killers.

The crowd outside continued to grow and we could hear their chanting even inside the courtroom. The courtroom was 10' by 16' and there were sixty people inside standing on top of one another. I sat in the back row next to my attorney who was taking ferocious notes.

The proceeding finished around 4:30 PM. The Embassy RSO was very concerned as to how the cops were going to get Eric back to the jail. The crowd jeered and shouted, "Come out, gringo, because here we are going to kill you," (a quote from La Prensa a national news publication)

The police assured the RSO they had Eric's security issue covered for his return to the jail but all of us knew better and didn't believe it for a second. It was quickly becoming apparent that the heightened state of frenzy was quickly escalating to the point that any gringo (North American specifically) was in the line of fire or "fair game."

Eric, the RSO and myself began to tell the police how we needed to get Eric out of the courthouse through a side door. The first thing we did was suggest they simply clear the street and move the crowd back but they claimed they couldn't do it. They too were afraid of the crowd. The RSO was also trying to get the police to bring in another 50 reinforcements. The police claimed they were working on that but reinforcements never came. Realizing the vigilantly mob seeking their own form of justice was becoming an ever increasing threat we had to come up with a plan to get Eric (and all of us for that matter) out of this courthouse very soon. Every second wasted gave them time to bring in more vigilantes with clubs, sticks and machetes. Thank God I didn't see any guns. We had a plan to take Eric out the back door which was plausible because at that time there were very few people in the back alley. The Embassy RSO changed clothes with Eric. He was bigger than Eric and struggled with Eric's T-shirt as he slipped it over his head. Eric put on the RSO's shirt, tie, and sport coat making him look a little bit like David Byrne of the Talking Heads from "Stop Making Sense" in his over sized suit. The RSO put on Eric's baseball cap and he was going to run out the front door with his face concealed and jump in the cop car to crate a diversion which would be the time the cops were suppose to take Eric out the back and jump inside of an unmarked car. All of a sudden the police grabbed Eric by both arms and forced him out the front door onto the front porch as if they were offering him to the mob. The two getaway cars they pulled up in front had parked at the far end of the block making the running dash to get there a sure death and as soon as they placed the other remaining defendant in the back of one of those cars they both sped away leaving Eric and the US Embassy RSO standing there facing the crowd. The mob immediately rushed toward them causing the police to scatter and run for their own lives. Eric and the RSO stood alone with no protection and only the split-second option to run for their lives.

Running directly into the oncoming rush of frenzied men with clubs and machetes raised they miraculously passed through them and ran up the street and then disappeared from view as they turned right heading down a side street. That was the last image I had of Eric. That is the last visual burn into my mind was that of my son literally running for his very life. Later the RSO told me what took place next. Eric somehow had slipped the handcuffs off from one hand giving him both hands free with the cuff dangling from one arm. He and Eric ran down the street then entered a Casino. They ran across the casino floor and into the back office area hoping to avoid detection finding refuge in one of the back offices. They locked the door and waited for a moment to see if the murderous mob would pass them over. As it turned out that was only wishful thinking. All of a sudden the door into this tiny sanctuary began to give way as the crowd pounded on the door then started to try breaking it down. Eric and the RSO realized they were cornered and going to die at the hands of these men if they didn't get out of this room. They immediately broke through the side wall of this office breaking them into the adjacent room. This room had a back doorway which led to a small gymnasium. Once they were in the gymnasium they secured all the doors and hoped they would hold until help arrived. The crowd very quickly starting working on those doors as well and it seemed that once again they were moments away from sudden death. Why they grabbed Eric and forced him out the front door into the middle of the lynch mob is incomprehensible.

While this was going on around the corner from where we were in the courthouse we were attempting to plot our own escape there in the darkened lobby area of the courthouse near the only door which opened to the street. It still remained that stepping through that door meant offering ourselves into the arms of the remaining screaming mob. Our Legal Attaché was on his cell phone with our driver trying to get our vehicle brought up as close to the door as we could. We were expecting our car to pull up any moment so we were standing close to the front exit door in order to make a mad dash to the car when it arrived. A woman outside caught a glimpse of me and I suppose my curly hair (a physical attribute which Eric and I share) she began to yell and scream like a banshee. She was inciting those mobsters who remained outside the courthouse to once again, "Kill the gringo!" This time she was talking about me and anybody else that looked like they were with me or connected to anyone on Eric's team. They began to rush the building with us standing there desperately needing our car.

All of a sudden the car sped up to the curb, both doors flew open, and we made a fast dash from the front door to the car, diving into the back seat and then the car sped up the street filled with mob frenzy laden vigilantes. Those in front of us hoping we'd stop rather than run over them because they stood directly in front of the oncoming car received a surprise when the Embassy driver stomped her foot to the floor with no intention of stopping but rather showing our intent to run them over if they faltered in diving out of the way. Had we been stopped they would have busted the windows out of the car, dragged us into the street and killed every one of us. After getting lost because we were running back streets trying to find the police station we reluctantly stopped to ask directions. The Attaché rolled the window down which to me was frightening because I didn't know who might be friend and who might be foe. Finally we made it back to the police station about three quarters of an hour after this fiasco at the courthouse began only to find that Eric and the RSO weren't there yet. We tried to call the RSO's cell phone with no luck so needless to say my heart sank picturing Eric lying on the dirty street face down, beaten and hacked to death in a pool of crimson, never again able to feel his firm tender hug with his face nuzzled in the cup of my neck. I stepped away from my attorney, the Attaché, and the Chief of Police finding some solace in the distant darkness of the courtyard area where I fell to my knees and cried out to God.

For about 15 minutes I stumbled around in the outer darkness of that courtyard, struggling to see with my eyes full of tears when my sense of doom was interrupted by policemen yelling at the front gate. In a flash the gate was thrown open as a blue and white Police pickup truck came wildly through the entrance into the inner courtyard. I was at quite a distance but I could see the passengers riding in the back were bouncing around like toy dolls as the truck came to an abrupt halt. It was dark except for some distant yard lights inside the police courtyard and I didn't see that Eric was in the back of that truck with the RSO. I'm sure he was quite a sight still wearing handcuffs on one arm with the oversized suit and tie belonging to the RSO. The police scrambled out of the truck running toward the cell blocks with somebody in hand. At the time I didn't realize it was Eric.

I saw the RSO coming across the courtyard walking toward my attorney, the Attaché and the Chief. He immediately pulled the Chief aside and began to climb all over his case. His adrenalin level after such and ordeal was so high he was expressing / venting his level of anger which was spilling from his near death experience. I thought we were going have to pull him off the Chief of Police. He wasn't mad; he was beyond that mild reaction. He had almost been killed due to the stupidity and incompetence of the police force and at that moment he wasn't timid about expressing it. Its funny how even though the screaming and yelling he was doing was in Spanish the explicative were apparent and sometimes came out in English as the expression of his terror came out on that Chief. I can only imagine Eric's level of adrenalin rush if he went through a wall to save his life.

The newspaper the next morning said that both men (Eric and the RSO) in the run for their lives were hit by the mob a few times but the RSO who had some bruises on his arm said he thought Eric was fine and passed through without being touched. He went in to where they were holding Eric and they changed clothes again. Needless to say had they caught any of us we wouldn't have lived to tell about it.

I had a rough sleepless night as the last image of Eric which was etched on my mind was a picture of him running from a frenzied mob of men with sticks and machetes chasing him down the street wearing tennis shoes with no laces…

Though I couldn't see them with my own eyes I can picture angels deflecting the deadly blows of clubs and machetes as that courageous young man ran headlong into the oncoming mob seeking refuge, safety, and ultimately his freedom.

Whatever your spiritual persuasion don't stop what you have been doing. Thursday evening I saw the results of miraculous intervention spare his life. I've seen the invisible hand that closed the mouths of those lions as Daniel stood courageously in their midst.

Blessing and courage to all of you,

Jan

The headline in Friday's copy of the La Prensa Newspaper read "Intentan linchar a gringo" which translates to: [Mob] Attempts to Lynch the American

What The...?

It was raining this morning as I drove to church... Rain, mixed with SNOW!

Not a record - apparently in 1910 it snowed on April 25. But still! I was wearing SANDALS last month, people! I pride myself on being able to wear sandals from March through October. But I have been forced to resort back to shoes and socks. My feet are NOT happy about it, either.

Have You Ever Noticed...

It's said that children are the ones with "a sense of wonder." Poppycock.

I had no interest in things like weather, trees, the color of the sky, flowers, looking out the window as I drove down the road, anything... when I was little. Even into my 20s, I was oblivious. But now, in my thirties, it seems like that's all I CAN do! I marvel at flowers and trees and blue skies and green rolling hills and little stone cottages and old white clapboard farmhouses.

This is nothing special or unique to me; everyone probably appreciates such things. But what I'm trying to say is that my appreciation of and attention to such things is intensifying year by year. For example, I never had any interest in a blooming Bradford Pear until about 8 years ago... now I notice them all over the place and they're just so beautiful.

So what was I thinking about when I was younger? I mean, I knew the trees and hills were there; but why did I never think "wow, that's beautiful!" I do remember driving the endless 3.5 hours between Nashville and Memphis as a child, and looking out the windows at green hills and wishing we could just stop the car so I could get out and start walking, but it wasn't from any appreciation of beauty or wilderness, etc.

Now I still feel that way; that I'd like to stop the car on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere and just start walking into some random valley... but that's partly because it's so GREEN. Now I notice Spring, and Fall, and as I drive around town I'm thinking of particular routes I could take that have lovely trees or views.

I was OBLIVIOUS as a child. I'm much more aware as an adult.

Eric Volz Update

Below is a letter from Eric to friends and family... There's has been a LOT of growing media and online exposure about this dreadful situation, especially since the YouTube Video, and 2 Today Show features. Lest anyone think I am just parroting back the family's assertions of Eric's innocence, here are links to some of the larger media investigative stories:

Today Show - initial story / interview w/ Eric
Wall Street Journal
San Francisco Chronicle
Channel 10 News – San Diego
The Sacramento Bee

of course, there's a much longer list of media coverage at the MySpace page

Eric Update: Day # 134 in prison

4.4.07
A letter from Eric

It has been some time since I have been able to get word out to tell everyone supporting me how I am doing and what is happening from my perspective.

I'm in a maximum-security prison about 20 minutes outside of the capitol city of Managua called "La Modelo." My mother has established a good relationship with the warden and he has been very kind, allowing me to visit with her and my step-father on a regular basis. As you can imagine, these visits have been invaluable in terms of being brought up to speed on all that is taking place as a result of my conviction. I have received a complete update on what is happening around the globe on my behalf. The amount of support and energy going into freeing me from this injustice is simply incredible. From a grass roots My Space campaign, letters to senators, international media, people praying and fasting, You Tube video, and all the awesome letters of encouragement and support, my sprits are greatly lifted and my strength has been miraculously restored. Your all are breathing for me! THANK YOU ALL FOR GETTING MY BACK ON THIS ONE!!! I'm eternally grateful and feel like the richest man on earth!

I have worn a small thread necklace with 2 small square ornaments for the last 5 years without every taking it off. In a very mystical experience, a priest in Jalisco, Mexico, gave it to me. He told me as long as I took care of the necklace it would protect me. I grew superstitious of the piece and felt like it provided me with some sort of divine protection. I know it might sound silly to some, but I figured it was a harmless fantasy. It has survived 5 years of doing what guys do and the thing is still there as strong as ever. Needless to say, it really freaked me out when on my third day in prison after my arrest I noticed that one of the ornaments had fallen off. It was a sure sign that what lay ahead was not going to be pretty. After over 130 days in prison my necklace has taken a beating like never before. The water we have to bathe in seems to have somehow discolored the thread.

Last week after I was told about all that was being done on my behalf, I came back to my cell glowing, and decided I would restore the necklace. I utilized a combination of candle wax, the tag from my Nike gym shorts, some yellow thread and needle. It is not as 'stylee' as before, but it has taken on a new life, as have I, and symbolizes my life force in the face of this new chapter.

The best analogy I have come across for being locked up here is that it's like being buried alive. It is like having a cave collapse around you leaving just enough room to breathe and touch your toes. At first you are shocked and terrified. Time and space come to mean something totally different than before. You sleep a lot in the beginning. It is almost like a body function similar to hibernation that activates to deal with the extreme trauma. When you are asleep, you're not imprisoned.

The physical and mental claustrophobia sets in hard and never lets up. I reached a point where I had no choice but to turn and face it, let it cut deeply, let if ferment, and then I was able to transcend the new references of time and space. At this point it becomes a state of mind called "doing time."

I have buried myself in books, I meditate and pray, I live in my head and feel very centered. My spirits rise and fall. I refuse to join a gang. I maintain my independence and only socialize when I exercise and play soccer in the gallery. Despite the hardship and loss of freedom, I am developing. I'm developing in ways that would not be possible unless I was walking this path. I see this as a test; a rite of passage. I will not be defeated and I will see each and every one of you on the free side.

A friend asked in a letter, "Where are you pulling your strength from?" The answer is - all of you are my strength. The prayers, the campaigns, the letters, the movement - without you I would be lost.

I send my deepest and purest love to every person that reads these lines.

Eric V.
Tipitapa, Nicaragua

I Feel BETRAYED, Mr. Gore!

And it's TRUE!
http://www.snopes.com/politics//bush/house.asp

LOOK OVER THE DESCRIPTIONS OF THE FOLLOWING TWO HOUSES AND SEE IF YOU CAN TELL WHICH BELONGS TO AN ENVIRONMENTALIST.

HOUSE # 1: A 20-room mansion (not including 8 bathrooms) heated by natural gas. Add on a pool (and a pool house) and a separate guest house all heated by gas. In ONE MONTH ALONE this mansion consumes more energy than the average American household in an ENTIRE YEAR. The average bill for electricity and natural gas runs over $2,400.00 per month. In natural gas alone (which last time we checked was a fossil fuel), this property consumes more than 20 times the national average for an American home. This house is not in a northern or Midwestern "snow belt," either. It's in the South.

HOUSE # 2: Designed by an architecture professor at a leading national university, this house incorporates every "green" feature current home construction can provide. The house contains only 4,000 square feet (4 bedrooms) and is nestled on arid high prairie in the American southwest. A central closet in the house holds geothermal heat pumps drawing ground water through pipes sunk 300 feet into the ground. The water (usually 67°F) heats the house in winter and cools it in summer. The system uses no fossil fuels such as oil or natural gas, and it consumes 25% of the electricity required for a conventional heating/cooling system. Rainwater from the roof is collected and funneled into a 25,000 gallon underground cistern. Wastewater from showers, sinks and toilets goes into underground purifying tanks and then into the cistern. The collected water then irrigates the land surrounding the house. Flowers and shrubs native to the area blend the property into the surrounding rural landscape.

HOUSE # 1 (20 room energy guzzling mansion) is outside of Nashville, Tennessee. It is the abode of that renowned environmentalist (and filmmaker) Al Gore.

HOUSE # 2 (model eco-friendly house) is on a ranch near Crawford, Texas. Also known as "the Texas White House," it is the private residence of the President of the United States, George W. Bush.

Anybody wanna kitten?

Friend Rachel has sadly realized that her new, adorable kitten Atari (isn't that just the coolest name?!) is giving her bad allergies, and must part with her, now that she's been housetrained and doctored and everything... please read if interested!

See? People Agree With Me!

Long-time readers of my vicissitudes may recall my theory on Experiential Age as opposed to Chronological Age. The basic equation is this: Since the majority of women my age are married with children, I am therefore lacking those significant maturing experiences a woman of my age should have.

So;

Subtract 3 years for the husband I don't have, and

Subtract 4 years for the children I don't have.

So I'm only 31. Yay!

So today I stumbled across this strip by one of my favorite (relatively unknown) cartoonists:

Theoretical Validation!

Eric Volz's story on The Today Show!

Please read/watch: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/17796324/

My Apartment Complex Needs Work

It's been driving me nuts, but as essentially lazy person who can barely manage to keep her own apartment clean, I've not made a big fuss about it beyond a phone call. But my apartment complex, and my building in particular, is looking decidedly seedy. I live in the back on ground level, and the condition of the siding is appalling, to say the least; the paint is peeling off in great strips and looks positively leprous. I think they've let it go because it's hidden from view; better to spend funds on upkeep where new tenants can see it!

The thing that annoys me the most at present is the carelessness of the grounds crew. They ripped up all of the drainage around the building and buried plastic flexible drain pipes... but tossed the old concrete basins upside down and left them. They've been there almost 2 years now.

At the front center breezeway, they have some monkey grass and 2 hosta beds, one on each side of the walkway. But they have allowed tree seedlings to sprout in the beds, and have made no effort to uproot them.

Figure 1: Hosta bed with small tree sprouting.

In my annoyance with said seedling, I decided that perhaps it needed to draw attention to itself: "excuse me... I don't think I'm supposed to be here...!" So I crocheted a shawl for it. Pehaps the grounds crew would uproot it now...

Figure 2: Unidentified tree with Shawl

As you can see, it's growing quite fast!

Figure 3: Wide view of Tree with Shawl

This past week, the shawl disappeared. Perhaps someone was as frustrated with the lax grounds crew as I, but did not realize this was an effort to draw attention to the need for uprooting. Perhaps they thought it no longer needed a shawl with the bright, sunny spring weather we've been having.

So, the volunteer tree still stands. I now watch it to see how long the grounds crew will continue to show complete indifference.

Eric Volz Update

From the family:

Eric Update – 3/21/07 -- Day # 119
With great excitement and hope we share with all of you the recent media developments surrounding Eric’s case:

Wall Street Journal – Front page

The Tennessean article

San Antonio Express article

WSMV-Channel 4, Nashville video

10news.com, San Diego video

New YouTube video – send this to everyone you know!

Wilderness Experience

Work dried up a couple of weeks ago, as I was sort of expecting it to do; I mean, after 3 months of intense activity, it was due to slow down... but I hadn't anticipated such a complete drop-off. I wish I'd made an effort to save more money to get through this lean patch (I don't know how successful that would have been!) but I didn't, and now I'm dealing with minimal cash and way more free time than I like.

What makes it worse is the fact that I'm forced to be more alone than usual. I'm an introvert by nature, but without contact with other people throughout the day, I don't enjoy my down time very much. Other people help keep me from focusing too much on myself. So, no clients, no company, no conversation. I have my part-time job in the morning (Thank GOD) and can talk with people there, but since I usually am toodling along in my office on the computer, there's not a lot of conversation.

So I feel like I'm in a big empty desert. In the desert, there are no tools, no distractions, no resources to help you cope... it's just you and the big emptiness. I generally take this as an opportunity, to try and reconnect with God, to become aware of what he might want to teach me right now... but I don't like it. I always come out on the other side stronger, but the trip across sucks.

Especially when you've got continual drainage from allergies. All my usual treatments and solutions are failing to have the desired effect. I'm so doped up on benadryl and other allergy-related meds that I'm quite mellow right now, but my throat is so swollen and sore after a week of drainage, that my tonsils have swelled up to the size of golfballs and I can feel them rubbing against each other. It's unnerving.

What makes it worse is that I can't afford to go to the doctor. I'm now part of the great Whatever% without healthcare in this country, although I do have a cushion for emergencies through Christian Healthcare Ministries so if anything big happens I'm ok... but I have to pay for little things. So a visit to the doctor isn't in the budget this month.

Pity poor poor Susan!

When Herds of Bunnies Roamed The Land...

OMG! BUNNEEEEEEEEEZ!

Dear Mr. Gore:

Dear Al,

I have just watched An Inconvenient Truth. I believe you are telling the truth. But I feel an almost overwhelming sense of hopelessness despite my understanding; that of a person trying to empty the ocean with a teaspoon.

I learned, years back, that if I do very well when I am given one specific task; one seemingly innocuous but neccessary component of a bigger picture. My parents remodeled an old house, and I took on the job of finding new plates for every single electrical switch and port in the house. I measured, I counted, I picked colors, I downloaded catalogs of available styles... it was my one task, and I did all of it - I bought them, I installed them, and it's my one small piece of ownership in that house.

Can you please suggest to me one small but necessary task that will actually make a difference in turning the tide of global warming? Something with an actual result that I can look at and know it's doing some good?

You came and spoke at my high school back in the 80s, and you were the only politician to do so who didn't talk down to us, who gave sensible answers to unpleasant questions, and who actually said something interesting. I have been a Conservative, I am now a Moderate, and I wish to work with my supposed enemy to fix this.

You know, if you had succeeded to the presidency, this film would not have been made, and the Republican House and Senate would have shot down all your efforts to make significant environmental changes. I think God had a better idea in mind.

Yours sincerely,

Sampler Update

Making good progress on my Tennessee sampler... Still have a verse, 3 bands and various bits to fill in, but I'd say I'm almost 2/3 done with it. I occasionally have to step away from it and work on something small that I can finish quickly, because to work month after month on something and never finish is discouraging. Plus I keep seeing things I'd like to work on! Right now I'm doing a miniature sampler on 32-count cream linen that will only be about 2 x 2.5 inches when finished. Bit of a contrast.

Offensensitivity

OK, my friend Mike in MI already mentioned this in his blog, but it begs further discussion.

Everyone's offended by something, somewhere; last time it was South America being offended by Apocalypto because it painted the human sacrifice-loving Mayans as BAD. I'm sure the guy having his heart cut out as he lay on an altar was comforted by all their wonderful advances in science and the arts!

This time, it's Iranians being offended by 300, because it makes the Persians out to be pillaging monsters. Granted, this was back in the BC, but apparently it's still very much a part of their modern society. "Why, back when we were invading Greece..."

Here's one - someone should make a point of being offended by Ivanhoe, because it puts the Norman invaders of England (1066 AD) in a bad light.

In a lesser but no less newsworthy incident, the CEO of Fox News made a joke about Bush mistaking Obama with Osama (he was implying Bush was so dumb that he didn't know the difference between the two! This, from Fox News!); can you imagine the glee with which people jumped on the Offended Bandwagon? "He's equating Obama with Osama! He's anti-Democrat! Let's get him!" There's been brisk sales of pitchforks and torches at the Home Depot.

"She's implying that Home Depot is a haven for mobs... Get her!"

Berke Breathed of Bloom County did a great Sunday strip about taking offense at every little thing - he called it "Offensensitivity." It's a good word for the world we now live in.

History... Teaches Everything

Just read this on James Lileks' site, and it goes a long way towards articulating the way I've been feeling the last few years...

I drove home listening to Bob Davis on KSTP; he was revisiting one of his favorite topics, one that mirrors exactly something I’ve felt for some time: the lack of any prominent cultural direction, and the strange incoherent sense of anticipation that lack produces. It’s as if the culture is treading water, with nothing truly new to give it focus and purpose. That’s not exactly a good thing when you’re competing with cultures that have both, in large quantities, and a sense of historical momentum the West has lost. I grapple with this from time to time, usually in the morning; it’s the odd suspicion that the West is exhausted. Not done or over or dead or resigned, but simply exhausted. We live in the end stages of the application of the Enlightenment, at least as applied to our own culture; what now? If you’ve ended debate on the great issues, you’re left with smaller ones, like 720 vs. 1080i; you concern yourself with indistinct dreads and assign to them a moral component; you luxuriate in the hot springs of partisan politics and redefine the issues so the gap between left and right looks like Gog v. Magog territory.

We're due for a societal upheaval, based on the rise and fall of world history - some catastrophic event, some crucible like the French Revolution or the Great Depression/WWII to remake our flabby, selfish, bored society. We're due for a revolution; what shape or form it will take I cannot guess, although terrorism looks to be a likely player. I almost wish it would hurry up and be done soon... I'm tired of such abject cynicism. It's an ugly world and I'd like for some sense of hope or joy to return. (Why do I think this? Read The Fourth Turning by Strauss & Howe. Plus my beloved Dean Simmons and my history degree. I think about this stuff a lot.)

In a related topic: I've been re-watching the A History of Britain series, written & hosted by Simon Schama, and reading History in English Words by Owen Barfield, and had an epiphany. England has been overrun by various conquering societies so many times that the actual "Britains" are long, long gone. Romans, Scots, Picts, Goths, Visigoths, Vandals, Vikings, Saxons, Normans, and various others. They come in, they steal and/or settle, and a hundred years later another group does the same thing.

But is modern British society upset about it? No, it's pretty much been forgotten. No-one knows where they're from beyond a few hundred years; they have no real clue if they are Saxon or Celt; the historical memory has pretty much been diluted. So nobody's angry at the descendants of the invading Normans for having taken away their properties and rights ("The Normans are keeping us down!"); after all, they as Saxons had done the same thing themselves to the Angles, and so forth and so on. Slavery? pretty much everywhere. Your village got raided by the Invading Group du Jour, you were captured and sold into slavery.

So what might this mean for America? To me, it means that someday the sins of our forefathers will no longer be applied to us. In the far distant future, the dreadful years of slavery and the white man's theft of this land will simply be a fact of history, and not an ever-present reality. I'm not saying we'll forget or it will diminish in the force of its horrors, but new things will happen, and old crimes will slowly recede into the background of history. We're still so young; everything is still so fresh. Give it 500-1000 years, and we'll have new prejudices and new outrages to be angry/guilty about.