What's Love Got to Do With It?

I have been amazed at the rate of divorce in this country. I wonder if this happens in other countries at such a rate. Guess I will need to research it, but I was thinking about Love and marriage, partners, children and how different it often is. We are supposed to have unconditional love for our children. I was raised that your parents loved you, they might not always like you or your behavior, but they always loved you. I kind of thought that marriage was supposed to be that way. That you unconditionally loved your spouse, but there were times when you didn't necessarily like them. Well, I learned the hard way that unconditional love doesn't necessarily come with marriage. Guess that's why I have an ex. I have recently been taking an online class on the psychology of leadership. It talks about unconditional acceptance and the permission to be human. Our friends should be our "beautiful enemies", not just agreeing with everything we say, but they should give us permission to be human. I know that is one thing I can say about my present husband. He has given me unconditional acceptance since the day I met him, and 12 years later, that definitely hasn't changed. I have tried hard to follow his example, and for the most part, other than him leaving his dirty socks on the floor, it is pretty easy to do. I can burp, or fart around him(when it gets away from you) and know that he won't tease me, or berate me for doing it. I can get angry, or cry at a movie, or yell at the crazy drivers on the road, and he understands and allows me to be me--the good, the bad, and the ugly.

I have learned so much from him over the years--stuff I thought I knew, but obviously didn't practice. I have learned how to be a better leader by watching him. I have learned to be more giving, more understanding, and less judgmental. So, I think Love and being loving gives us the safety to be who we are, and I'm thankful every day.

Monday Morning Humor

Thanks to Tomas for this joke:
An old country preacher had a teenage son, and it was getting time the boy should give some thought to choosing a profession. Like many young men, the boy didn't really know what he wanted to do, and he didn't seem too concerned about it.

One day, while the boy was away at school, his father decided to try an experiment. He went into the boy's room and placed on his study table three objects:

* a Bible,
* a silver dollar, and
* a bottle of whiskey.

"I'll just hide behind the door," the old preacher said to himself, "and when he comes home from school this afternoon, I'll see which object he picks up. If it's the Bible, he's going to be a preacher like me, and what a blessing that would be! If he picks up the dollar, he's going to be a businessman, and that would be okay, too . But if he picks up the bottle, he's going to be a no-good drunkard, and, Lord, what a shame that would be."

The old man waited anxiously, and soon heard his son's footsteps as he entered the house whistling and headed for his ro om. He tossed his books on the bed, and as he turned to leave the room he spotted the objects on the table. With curiosity in his eye, he walked over to inspect them.

Finally, he picked up the Bible and placed it under his arm. He picked up the silver dollar and dropped it into his pocket. He uncorked the bottle and took a big drink.

"Lord have mercy," the old man whispered, "he's gonna be a Congressman!"

and one from my Mom

MY PHILOSOPHY OF HOUSECLEANING!

I don't do windows because ...
I love birds
and don't want one to run into a clean window
and get hurt.

I don't wax floors because ...
I am terrified a guest will slip and get hurt
then I'll feel terrible( plus they may sue me.)

I don't mind the dust bunnies because ...
They are very good company, I have named most of them,
and they agree with everything I say.

I don't disturb cobwebs because .
I want every creature to have a home of their own.

I don't Spring Clean because .
I love all the seasons and don't want the others
to get jealous

I don't pull weeds
in the garden because ..
I don't want to get in God's way,
HE is an excellent designer!

I don't put things away because ...
My husband will never be able to find them again.

I don't do gourmet meals
when I entertain because I don't want my guests
to stress out over what to make when they invite me
over for dinner.

I don't iron because ...
I choose to believe them
when they say "Permanent Press".

I don't stress much on anything because .
"A Type" personalities die young
and I want to stick around
and become a wrinkled up crusty ol' woman!!!!

Also from Tomas: Why Dogs Bite People:

I Can't Get No.... Satisfaction

It is so hard to buy anything these days. You can go online and research the product, but everywhere you go, there are reviews, most of which are terrible. Is it that all products produced these days are defective or are only the folks that are disgruntled are writing reviews. I had been looking for a new refrigerator for the house. My daughter lives with me with her four kids, so we have a world of juice boxes, applesauces, yoguarts, etc--and no place to put the pop, water, or even to fit all of the veggies--plus my frig had not crispers--it was one of my first purchases with my new husband 12 years ago.

So, we had been looking, thinking about a bottom-freezer type in stainless (for our redone kitchen that we have been planning for the last 7 years--and still planning). It was hard to find one that was going to be big enough, or didn't cost over 2000 dollars. So, after looking at several places, we went to Home Depot and got sucked in on the 10% off if you signed up for a credit card, and no tax--(tax free holiday in Georgia for appliances if they were energy star compliant). So, we found one, and it will be delivered on Friday. I had heard that LG was pretty good but, then I read the reviews, they were bad--I guess I can hope for the best, prepare for the worst. But, what is it these days, is construction so bad--does no one care about the job they do? Are things made in "America" worse than things made overseas with "slave labor" or "foreign labor"?

What ever happened to pride in one's work? Is the almighty dollar the only incentive, and even if you make it, it doesn't mean you have to care? It amazes me to live in Atlanta, and see all of these people living in very expensive houses, driving very expensive cars, eating out all the time and wonder--what are they doing differently to be able to afford all of this stuff? How could this many people be making so much more money than me? What kind of jobs do they have? How could employers afford to pay so many people so much money?

Well, for those of us who have to work for a living, and don't make gobs of money, we should at least be able to buy something and have it work the first time, not after three replacements. We should be able to buy stuff that will last 10 years without feeling we need to buy an extended warranty, because you never know what you are going to get, you should be confident that what you spend your hard earned money on will be worth the price you pay.

We will see on this new refrigerator. If it doesn't work out, believe me, I am the first to write, complain, pitch a fit, you name it. But I hate having to do that, and we shouldn't have to. For anyone who reads this (no one does other than some family and a couple of folks at work that I've sent the link too)---let's all put our pride, our skills, and our word into the jobs we do. At least if a few of us make the commitment, we can be an example for the rest.

Another hot humid Sunday in Atlanta

Nancy

Riding the Roller Coaster

I am constantly amazed at how much life is like a roller coaster. You have the highs, the lows, the parts that scare you to death, the parts where you scream at the top of your lungs, and the part where you finally get to get off the ride and find a more level path to follow. I still don't seem to have found that more level path, or should I say the people I associate with, my family, my co-workers, my friends keep throwing me back on that ride--I think they think I enjoy it. Honestly, folks, I hate roller coasters-I love the level path, and one day, dang you guys, I'm gonna get there, if I have to take all of you with me kicking and screaming. I would like to think that I can have more than 2 days in a row of relative peace, quiet, and everybody on an even keel.

So the latest person to throw me back on the ride has been my second son. He has been living in Albuquerque, and for the most part doing a damn good job of being independent. He moved back to New Mexico about 16 months ago. I had given him my old Suzuki Sidekick (the cheapest 4WD you can get) when he moved. He sold the car , and flew home for a visit and hoping to find a used car in Atlanta to drive back with. Well, let's just say, people have some pretty crappy junk cars that they think are worth their weight in gold. It was pretty depressing, and since I had offered him my car, my cute little Suzuki wagon,(see picture in previous post), I felt compelled to go ahead and give it to him. Well, we had a little different on the agreed upon price, but we had come to an understanding(I understood that if we wanted the rest of his vacation to be peaceful, I needed to give a little, and so did he). So, we had come to a middle ground, and he was spending the day trying to get a stereo system installed in the car for the ride home. Well, in the midst of that, he got his debit card and cash that he had brought from New Mexico stolen. By the time we got the bank to cancel the card, they had run off with over 600 dollars in cash and 700 dollars in the account. I'm sorry, but I absolutely hate the fact that we can't trust anyone anymore. I hate the fact that people prey on others and take advantage of them. Fuck them all.(excuse my language) It is one of those times that if I could find the crooks, I honestly think that I could inflict bodily harm on them. How dare they hurt my son. He is one of those kids that have had enough tough knocks to take out an elephant. Why him? Why now when we were just getting to place of mutual understanding. I know life isn't fair, but it does seem that some folks get more than their share, and I'm tired of it. So, I can tell you, if you fit the description, you better keep your distance, a mother mad is a force to reckon with.

And, to top it off, my poor husband, having to work outside during this heat spell, with a heat index of 110, fell down a hill, hurt his back, ripped his pants, and will have to go back out there again tomorrow.

I sure hope tomorrow is a better day. I don't want to ride tomorrow.

And you wonder why this blog is called "Stranded in Atlanta"

Nancy

The Center of the Universe

When I lived on Hopi, I was told that the Hopi Reservation was the Center of the Universe. The story was that the Four Corners Area of the Southwest and the Himalayan Mountains have more land based lightening that anywhere else in the world, therefore setting up the flow of negative ions. The whole negative ion thing is pretty interesting. You find negative ions at the beach, the mountains, around waterfalls, and when lightening strikes. So, all those places that often makes me feel good are full of negative ions.(except you don't want to be too close to the lightning--I do love to watch it though)

I'm not sure I always felt good on Hopi--it is a challenging environment to move into, being a "bahana" on the Res. It was my first long term experience in living in a culture for which English is not the primary language, and I'm sure I was the brunt of many jokes that I never knew about while I was there.

It was also my first experience of not having all the things we take for granted. During our stay, I had to haul water for drinking and bathing(and flushing the toilet), haul coal for heating, and plan grocery shopping carefully since Winslow was the closest nontrading post grocery store.

But, we also got to do things I never thought I would get to do, like barter for a mustang foal(horse not car) and raise him, attend night dances in a kiva, be the brunt of the Hopi clowns at a bean dance, and get to experience a very traditional intact culture. I learned to shoot a rifle at beer cans on the side of the mesa, ride horses out on the range, through the arroyos, explore ancient ruins and petroglyphs, and step outside of my comfort zone.

So, in some ways, I definitely understand for four years, I was at the center of the universe.

Our Guardian Angels

My Dad died unexpectedly last November. He was 88, had successfully gone through colon cancer surgery and had bright prospects for a full recovery, when the physicians in this small North Carolina hospital, didn't keep on top of his situation and he developed blood clots in both sides of his lungs. They transported him to Asheville, but it was too late. He died on November 5, 2005. It was a devastating blow for all of us. He and my Mom had been married for 60 years. They had celebrated their anniversary in July, his birthday in August, and no one had any thoughts other than he would recover with no problems. He still went to the gym 5 days a week, walked on the treadmill and lifted weights. He could have probably still out arm wrestled us all.

Needless to say our family was thrown into turmoil. Then, several things happened to make us realize that he was still with us, as our guardian angel. The first strange occurrence was when I was putting together a slide show for the funeral. The picture of him at his 88th birthday party at the gym was now my desktop wallpaper. My husband and I looked at each other--"Did you do that?" Not me, my husband said--I don't even know how to do that. So, every day when we get on the computer, there is my Dad.

Then, at Spring break, my daughter was driving back from Orlando when she took the kids to Disney World. She watched as this Lexus sedan with two young women went tearing around her, and then around a school bus. As the car cut back into it's lane, it lost control and when flipping across the median and on top of another car. My daughter-said it was like someone put their hands over her ears. She saw the wreck as if in slow motion, but she didn't hear one sound, not the crushing of metal, or collision. Not one piece of flying metal (and given that the car was going around 80 mph) flew towards her car. She pulled to the side of the road and called 911 to report the wreck. She called me a few minutes later, still shaking to tell me what had happened.

Then, a month or so later, my Mom was driving my uncle's car while her car was being repaired. She got T-boned by a car that came out of no where going about 60 mph. She was taken by ambulance to the Hospital, but other than soreness, she was unhurt.

I think God realized how much this family needed a guardian angel and took my Dad so he could help look after us. Not a day goes by that I don't think about him and miss him, but I know he is looking out for us.

Thanks Dad,

Nancy

Clinton Soup

From a show on Canadian TV. there was a black comedian who said he misses
Bill Clinton.
"Yep, that's right - I miss Bill Clinton! He was the closest thing we ever
got to having a black man as President.
Number 1 - He played the sax.
Number 2 - He smoked weed.
Number 3 - He had his way with ugly white women.
Even now? Look at him... his wife works, and he don't!
And, he gets a check from the government every month.

Manufacturers announced today that they will be stocking America's shelves
this week with "Clinton Soup," in honor of one of the nations' most
distinguished men. It consists primarily of a weenie in hot water.

Chrysler Corporation is adding a new car to its line to honor Bill
Clinton The Dodge Drafter will be built in Canada.

When asked what he thought about foreign affairs, Clinton replied, " I
don't know, I never had one."

The Clinton revised judicial oath: "I solemnly swear to tell the truth as I
know it, the whole truth as I believe it to be, and nothing but what I
think you need to know."

Clinton will be recorded in history as the only President to do Hanky Panky
between Bushes."

The Bigger Picture

I got another hint today on how to get people to read your blog--keep it short--people don't want to invest more than 10-15 seconds reading anything on someone else's blog. Bottom line--I've decided to stop caring about whether or not anyone reads what I have to write. I've gone on other blogs and read their stories, often longer than mine and left comments, but no, I guess we can't expect much from people outside of our own sphere to care about anything other than the "sex, lies and sales" from a previous post. I can leave it for what it is, and move on. This blog is for me, a place to record my thoughts, stories, etc. I honestly no longer care whether anyone reads it, because it is a place for me to tell my tale.

So, here is another part to the Hopi story.

So, we move into this "rock house" on the Hopi Reservation (this is back in the late 70's, early 80's. I work at the Hopi Tribe Health Department, and my ex--goes to back to school so he can start working with the education department. My daughter goes to Second Mesa Day School--one of the only bahana's (non-Indian) at the school, and my son goes to the Headstart. We get involves with cultural activities and try to be as culturally sensitive as possible.

Amazing things happen, and as I mentioned earlier, I wouldn't trade that time for anything, although my daughter would beg to differ with me. Many things that happened to her I never found out until she was much older.


We had one of the only phones on the mesa, so we were often the stopping off place for people who needed to get in touch with somebody. One time, the family came to use the phone because their family member had gotten drunk in Winslow, fallen asleep on the train track, and had their legs cut off by a train. One time, one of the fathers of a traditional family stopped by, talked for about 10 minutes before he told me that our horse had gotten out of the corral and was running down the highway.

There were times when the dancers came to the sacred spring and we had to stay inside and not bother them. There were times when we attended the dances and were expected to visit the homes of our co-workers and "eat". Over all, I felt I had found something that touched a place deep inside of me. I never had a culture that I really felt a part of. I grew up as a military brat, moving around from town to town. Then, married another military brat who felt that if you weren't happy one place-move until you found a place you were happy. (Don't think he ever found it--but he's the ex-so it doesn't matter.) Living on a Reservation with a very culturally intact tribe makes you realize how much that can mean, and also make you realize how hard it is for those who leave that culture behind to become part of the mainstream.

I read a blog that talked about the danger of nostalgia--I'm not nostalgic, just wish that there were more places in the world to feel connected to something larger than oneself--to belong and feel a part of the bigger picture.

Summer Time Blues

It's almost the end of July, and I still have three weeks before I get to take some vacation time. I guess it is the price you pay for trying to be organized, frugal, and deal with multiple scheduling issues. And, no matter how you try to schedule, someone is always throwing a wrench into the works. I started planning my vacation in February, because that is when the tickets to Alaska go on sale--(can't imagine why no one would want to go to Alaska in February). For some reason you can get a great deal on a flight to Anchorage in February, and then you wait-and wait-and wait until that day finally comes. Plus, in Alaska, things book up quickly, so you also have to reserve your rental car, your motel/hotel/cabins early in the year because otherwise you will be up the creek with no room at the inn. And, many of the places require a 50% deposit, so you also obligate your funds long before the vacation ever comes. So, we have our flights, our reservations in Homer, Seward, and Denali, and the B&B in Anchorage for our last night, we have our car, my husband has his halibut trip all reserved. But here is the hitch. We get into Anchorage late in the evening, and have a 40 minute connect time in Chicago. We are also traveling with my Mom (my Dad died last November) who gets around really well for 78, but can't run to the next terminal. So, I called Travelocity to see if there was an earlier flight out of Hotlanta that we could take--I would rather have plenty of time to make a connecting flight, but no, as long as the connection time was more than 30 minutes--no deal---yes, they say they will make your flight "right"--I'm not so sure. If we miss our connecting flight to Anchorage, the next flight would take us to LA with an overnight, and get us into Anchorage the next afternoon.--give me a break, I don't get enough vacation time as it is--I don't want to miss a minute of it on stupid connecting flights because Travelocity can't see that there could be a problem. Also, it means I can't reserve a hotel for the first night because of the cancellation policies--if we don't make it, I still get charged. Well, I'm cheap enough that I don't like paying for something I don't use. So, I have to hope for the best--prepare for the worst, and try to convince Travelocity that making it right means giving us more than 40 minutes, given that Atlanta is notorius for backups.

My frustration for the day

Still Hot in Hotlanta

What the Hell in "Hell's Kitchen"

"Hell's Kitchen" has certainly been fiery this year. Seems like there is a fire on every episode these days. I can't believe I watch the show, but I guess I am just amazed at what the people say about each other, and how much Heineken they can drink (skunky beer if you ask me-don't they have any other choices?) And, how much abuse are people willing to take knowing that only one of them will get to be a chef at the new restaurant--can you imagine going through weeks of being called a "f... b...." and then not win? That is the part that always amazes me. Most of these folks know that they don't have a chance in hell of winning, but they put up with the crap for weeks, like on Survivor or Big Brother. We pretty much knew that the prison cook wasn't going to win. We pretty much knew that the guy who kept sweating into the food wasn't going to win. I am not sure who is going to make it to the end, but if the big guy with the pants that won't stay up makes it, I sure wouldn't want to eat there--can they not get him a belt? And "Sara"--give me a break, somebody needs to give her a clue-she hasn't cooked meat in years and then suggest lamb chops? How ridiculous is she? And Heather--can you get some original lines--the claw stuff, has gotten really tiring. Please anyone who reads this (of course no one does), but please if you go on a reality tv show, show some originality, show some pride--if you are a chef--what the hell are you doing smoking? I certainly wouldn't want a chef preparing my food that had just been out smoking. And, even if they are your competitors, treat people with some courtesy. You can be a leader and still be a human. You can compete without trying to sabotage others. If you are talented enough to be a chef with a large restaurant, you don't do it by sabotage, you do it by talent.

Yes, I know that doesn't make for interesting TV, or does it? Could people like Dilana on Rock Star SuperNova show a new way of getting ahead--being honest, helpful, and human? Are we so screwed up in our TV world that all we find entertaining is people trashing each other? I think the networks would be surprised if they tried something different. I personally am tired of the sitcoms where the teens are supposedly so "smart", and the adults are so "stupid". Give me a break, I've raised four teens--they are not as smart as they think they are. Maybe that's why I have resorted to watching reality tv. At least sometimes the young folks get taught a lesson or too.

So, tonight is Rockstar--we'll see if Dilana continues to be my new role model.
/

The Eye of the Beholder

Getting Movie recommendations from others is aways slightly risky at best. Unless the person watches movies the way you do, or experiences life the way you do, you are never sure what you are going to get, like Forrest Gump's "box of chocolates". I have realized that I watch movies very differently than many of my family members. When I read a book, watch a movie, or even a show, I become part of the story, I'm there with the family through the trials and tribulations. My ex-husband(see previous posts) watched movies very differently than I do. He was a spectator, watching for the sheer voyarism of watching someone else do something. I will never forget when my youngest son was coming down with chickenpox (from his kindergarten teacher). He was running a high fever, and my ex and I were watching "Dances with Wolves". It was too emotional, and I totally identified with the female main character. That, on top of a sick child, I just couldn't watch the show. He was mad because I wasn't paying attention to the movie. I couldn't, it hurt too much.

My present husband is much better at understanding my plight (and why I always ask for a comedy if anyone is picking up a movie at the video store). He has even been known to get a little teary at times, and has been a great sport about watching the "chick flicks" and not making me watch too many historic battle-field movies. As I always tell him, all of the soldiers are someone's son--the mother in me gets too empathetic.

So, it was interesting to see what my daughter would pick out for me yesterday when she went to the video store. She got "The Family Stone". (If you haven't seen it yet, stop reading here, because I will talk about the ending).

She thought it was funny and entertaining. And it was, until it comes out that the Mom is dying of breast cancer. She has all of her children and their accompanying players at her home for Christmas. Her children are about as diverse and full of angst as mine, and I identified with her and her wish that her children find happiness. So, when the next Christmas comes, and they all come back together, many of their foes vanquished, she is not there to be with them. I couldn't help but cry to the point of red eyes and a stuffy nose.

I told my daughter the next morning how sad I thought the movie was. She didn't see it that way. She saw that the family came together, resolved their differences, and were happy--therefore a happy ending. I was still hung up on "The Mom Died!"-what more could I see.

So, hence the title. We are all on very different wavelenghts, different places in our lives, trying to keep it all sane. I have figured out for me, in general, I like keeping it simple, happy, and funny even in my movie watching--it can have a little moment, where maybe a single tear gets swept away surriptitiously, but no cloudburst movies for me. Guess I need to pick out my own movies next time.

Still Hot in Atlanta

Nancy

And Now for the Rest of the Story

First you have to read the Celestine Prophesy Post before reading this one--I don't know how to move things around on my blog.

Well, we moved into this great sandstone house with wood floors, beam ceilings. It was two bedrooms, one bath, but beggers can't be choosy, and rent was only $50.00 a month. (long time ago). Well, it turned out the house was a duplex, and the other side of the house was the alcohol halfway house for the Res. The guys were all very nice, we were just warned not to give them cough medicine, alcohol wipes, or mouthwash if they asked, but other than that, they were cool.

The house we had been moved into had been the residence of the half-way house manager. He and a couple of his staff had gone to a conference in San Diego and "got lost", so while he was AWOL, they moved his furniture out of the house and moved us in. About two months later, he shows up at the door. I told him that all his stuff had been taken to his mom's house, and he left without a comment. Never saw him again.

Lots more stories about this house, but I will save them for another post.

My Version of the Celestine Prophesy
I don't know how many of you guys have ever read any of the Celestine Prophesy Books, but I wanted to share one of those moments that afterward makes you think "hmm".

My first major job in Public Health was working for the San Bernardino County Health Department in California. I didn't stay long (culture shock of moving from a small southern town got to me quickly). However, while we were there, we kept visiting Arizona. We made a trip to the Grand Canyon and travelled through the Hopi Reservation. Now my experience with American Indians prior to that was a couple of trips to Cherokee, North Carolina. My exhusband (see previous post) and I were somehow drawn to the desolation and drama of the area. After growing up on the East Coast, Arizona is like an alien planet.

Well, when we had decided that we didn't belong in that West Coast Rat Race, I started scanning the LA Sunday times for jobs, when what should catch my eye? There was a job listing for a Health Educator for the Hopi Tribe, in Kyokotsmovi, Arizona. I sent my application in, not expecting to hear back. Yet, a couple of weeks later, I got a call asking if I could come out for an interview. So, we packed up the kids (just 2 at that time), jumped in our old VW Bug and drove to the "Res". The interview went well, and the health educator from Keams Canyon took us on a tour of the reservation.

Well, there aren't many trees out there, so as we were driving down Second Mesa, there were a few Cottonwoods by this old warehouse building, with a sandstone building across the street. We were informed that there was also a sacred spring, and right up the road were the "Corn Rocks".

I told my ex at the time--if I got the job and we moved to Hopi, I wanted to live in the stone building-with the trees.

Well, at the end of the interview they asked if I could bring a mobile home out with me if I got the job, because housing was very scarce. Me, just out of grad school, up to my neck in student loans--nah, if you don't have housing, I couldn't take the job.

So, we returned to California and figured that was that--

Well, two weeks later, I got a phone call--We have a house, will you take the job? My only question was "Indoor plumbing?", Yes it was, and I was moving to Arizona.

Well, they told me that they would have someone meet me at the Second Mesa Trading Post to take us to our new house. It was July--crossing the desert in a U-Haul pulling a volkswagon with two kids was loads of fun. As we pulled into Flagstaff, a thunderstorm came up and the temperature probably dropped 20 degrees.

We make it on over to the trading post and waited. Up on the top of the mesa, you could hear the Home Dance with the tortoise shell rattles echoing down to the folks pumping gas and buying grocieries. It was an amazing introduction to our new home.

A pick up truck pulls up and the couple inside motion for us to follow them. We started up the mesa, right up the same road that went by the trees, the sacred spring and the sandstone house. They pull into the driveway and indicate that this would be our home. The house I had seen during the interview, the one place with a few tall trees, and a sacred spring, just down from the Corn Rocks.

We lived there for 4 1/2 years. I have never been more aware of my ties with Mother Earth than my time on Hopi. It wasn't always easy, but some of my best memories still take me back in my mind's eye to that day and that house in the trees.

Wishful Thinking
One of my wishful thoughts has been to get into the publishing world. I have what I think would be great ideas for books, and sometimes when I'm traveling, I make a mental note of the scenery and how I would make that part of my book.

I have had this one idea for the last ten years or so. It came from some of the scenes out west, when you are driving through New Mexico and Arizona. My plan was to drive to some of the old pueblo buildings that were still standing in different states of disrepair and take pictures of them. The Title of the book would be "Return to the Mother", but in Spanish (obviously I don't speak Spanish, or I would have translated it already). The story would be the development and use of adobe around the world, so of course I would have to travel to other countries that used adobe and take pictures there as well. I saw it as a coffee table book, big, glossy and heavy. But, somehow getting bills paid has to come first.

My other book idea would develop into a series. It would be a travelogue, again with lots of pictures. It would basically be the travels along the coastline of the United States, taking pictures of the little fishing towns, beaches and characters that reside there. I would start in Maine at Eastport, and travel down, around, and across to the West Coast, and then up to Washington. Once this one made it big, I would take the coast of South America, etc, etc.

I figure it would be the best of both worlds, I love to travel, I love the ocean, and I love "money". So, I guess one day, I will just have to find someone to pay me to travel, take pictures, and publish my books. Any takers?

Far From the City of Brotherly Love


I got to make a quick trip to Philadelphia this week, the "City of Brotherly Love". I had been once before in the fall, and being in Philadelphia during a heat wave is an interesting proposition. Luckily, if you are downtown, you can walk through buildings sometimes to get to the next street, so I spent very little time outdoors. It was the news that was so disconcerting in Philadelphia. There have been 10 murders in the last 3-4 days, one being a taxi driver with four children. My taxi driver told of another story where the driver was held at gun point, but luckily wasn't shot.

There was an elderly woman who died in her house because she didn't want to turn on the fans or air conditioners because she was afraid she couldn't pay the electric bill. There were loads of people trying to sit outside because their row homes acted like convection ovens. Everyone seemed to be blaming everyone else. The mayor wanted to bring in more police and state troopers, the police chief wanted the city to raise the pay for the police so they could keep the policemen they have and possibly get more. All in all, a desperate situation, luckily with a short term end in site--a thunderstorm coming down from the north.

Not so for Atlanta, I got back to hear it had been 100 degrees today. I guess in the South we suppose that poor folks, and elderly folks have air conditioners and fans (as we sit in our air conditioned houses).

It's a sad world, not so full of "brotherly love". And then, I got an email from a friend of mine, who is in Sri Lanka working at an elephant orphanage. I want to include her story here because I think it says something that sometimes we forget. We are all in this together. Easy to say, hard to act on. Here is one example of selfless devotion to this thought.

Hope for rain and cooler temperatures.

I have now switched orphanages and I am now at an elephant orphanage for a week. What do I exactly do? The first thing in the morning I clean up, no lie, after 67 elephants who just ate---so yes, I scoop their poop for two hours! Thank God they are vegetarians; their dung is not so bad. Then I feed the baby elephants their bottle with human powder milk and later in the day give them their bath in the river. It is a sight to see 67 elephants stroll down through the bookshops and gift stores as they journey through town to get to the river.


Out of the 67 elephants, 3 of them are disabled. Raja the blind elephant, shot by poachers who also tore his eyes out and he still survived; Punjab with one ear that a hunter tore off; and Sama who accidentally stepped on a land mine and lost a whole foot. So when Sama journeys down the town threw the bookstores, you see her limp and hop to catch up with the rest. I washed Raja several times and he already knows me by my elephant dung smell and because I accidentally scrubbed his eyes (it's hard to tell where they are!). I have a special place in my heart for Sama; even though she is disabled, she feeds the baby elephants with her trunk. I have no problem cleaning her dung.


So yes, my main job description: elephant dung cleaner!

Sex Lies and Sales
Blogging has been an interesting experience. Sometimes I delete things I've written, because once I have written it and gotten the emotion out of my system, I don't seem to need it there anymore.

I have been trying to look at other blogs to see what people are writing, and it is an amazing jumble of sex, lies, and people selling stuff. I am sure there must be a better way of finding blogs that you can relate to, but obviously not by clicking on "next blog". Some blogs need an X rating, stuff I would rather not see pop up on my screen. Some blogs take away all the navigation, and you have to click back, then click next blog to make your way to something else.

I've left some comments on other people's blogs, but other than one person, no one seems to reciprocate. Maybe I need to write about sex, lies, or I need to sell something.

Another reason I have deleted a few things from my blog is that I have shown a couple of my friends at work, and I'm afraid that next thing you know, somebody that I've been complaining about will end up on my blog, so I will try to stay more positive, find some jokes to report, make up some lies (just kidding), and yes, I do have a bunch of junk in my garage that maybe I should sell.

So, after another hot one in Atlanta, may your sex be fulfilling, your lies be carefully constructed, and your sales skyrocket.

I did find an interesting joke:

The Old Poodle

A wealthy old lady decides to go on a photo safari in Africa, taking her faithful aged poodle named Cuddles, along for the company.

One day the poodle starts chasing butterflies and before long, Cuddles discovers that she's lost. Wandering about, she notices a leopard heading rapidly in her direction with the intention of having lunch.
The old poodle thinks, "Oh, oh! I'm in deep shit now!" Noticing some bones on the ground close by, she immediately settles down to chew on the bones with her back to the approaching cat. Just as the leopard is about to leap, the old poodle exclaims loudly, "Boy, that was one delicious leopard! I wonder if there are any more around here?" Hearing this, the young leopard halts his attack in mid-strike, a look of terror comes over him and he slinks away into the trees. "Whew!", says the leopard, "That was close! That old poodle nearly had me!"

Meanwhile, a monkey who had been watching the whole scene from a nearby tree, figures he can put this knowledge to good use and trade it for
protection from the leopard. So off he goes, but the old poodle sees
him heading after the leopard with great speed, and figures that something must be up. The monkey soon catches up with the leopard, spills the beans and strikes a deal for himself with the leopard.

The young leopard is furious at being made a fool of and says, "Here, monkey, hop on my back and see what's going to happen to that conniving canine!"

Now, the old poodle sees the leopard coming with the monkey on his back and thinks, "What am I going to do now?", but instead of running, the dog sits down with her back to her attackers, pretending she hasn't seen them yet, and just when they get close enough to hear, the old poodle
says: "Where's that damn monkey? I sent him off an hour ago to bring me another leopard!"

Moral of this story..

Don't mess with old farts...age and treachery will always overcome youth and skill! Bullshit and brilliance only come with age and experience!
Nancy

Spring In Atlanta

 

Ah for another few days like these

Spring in Atlanta is an amazing time. It is a constant panorama of color, changing week to week. It starts with the camelias,bradford pears,ornamental cherries, daffodils, tulips, iris,azaleas, the assortment of roses, and on into summer. I love the multiple shades of green of the budding trees, the blue sky much like out west before the haze turns it grey, and the temperatures that welcome you outside. Out west, we spent a great deal of time outside, even in the winter with cross-country skiing, etc. In Atlanta, we get spring and fall to be outside. Winter is often rainy and grey, and summer is hot, humid, and buggy. But I have got to say, the colors here are amazing. 

Where Have All the Flowers Gone


 


The funny thing about flowers is that I never grew flowers until I met my present husband. Before that time, I was totally into growing vegetables, useful things that I could feed my family with. I thought that flowers were for the weak, the rich (who had money for flowers), and not for me. I was the practical one, who canned, and picked, and stewed, and jellied. I'm not sure where that came from, because my Grandmother had a wonderful vegetable garden, but had tons of flowers, which she would allow me to pick to bring into the house. We still had to pick beans, compost the tomatoes, pick off the horn worms etc, but she always had the roses, gladiolas, petunias, hollyhocks, and several others, including mint growing right outside the patio door. I spent a year living with my grandmother when my Dad was overseas, so I got really into the gardening scene.

My best garden was in Nevada. Our back yard was big enough to be a small used car lot, so my ex-husband borrowed a tractor, tilled it up, and we planted corn, beans, melons, tomatoes, squash, and even eggplant (which no one would eat). We did have sunflowers which grew to be over 13 feet tall. We had so many squash-butternut, acorn and spagetti, that we couldn't even give them away. I even grew enough pumpkins for each kid (4) to have their own pumpkin to decorate for Halloween.

But it wasn't until I got remarried, and we got our first house together that I started my adventure into flowers, and now, my kids call me a "plantaholic". I have my veggies in the back of the yard, but I've got flowers everywhere else. I've also tried to tie it together to flowers/plants that I have gotten from other people, not just bought ones. I have althea and cannas from my uncle's house who has passed, day lillies and irises from old homesteads that were out in the middle of nowhere(my husband is an archeologist), and several other plants that came from somewhere, so bring their history with them. We also have a wonderful botanical garden in Atlanta so I can go hang out there whenever I can't get enough flowers and plants at home.

Hope you like this small albumn

Happy Wednesday 

  

Those Moments that Stop Your Heart

Today was one of those moments that you absolutely hate, the phone call of disaster. I had been at work a couple of hours when my daughter (the one with the blog) called. She was taking my grandson (along with her other three kids) to the ER. A telivision in the bedroom had fallen on top of him, and he couldn't seem to stand up.

My heart was in my throat, and all I could say was, "I'm on my way". So, I jumped in my car and made the fastest trip up to the ER that I have ever made. I got there to see my grandaughter (almost 9 going on 15) and my grandson (5, going on 5) in the waiting room. The clerk indicated where my daughter was with my grandson(17 months) and his sister (17 months). My granddaughter had just had a bad trip to the doctor(blood tests, etc), so she was in the exam room crying and my grandson was just sitting there looking like no big deal.

I took my granddaughter out to the waiting room with the other two, and we waited about 40 minutes before they took him for X-rays. And, then as usual, another 40 minutes or so (luckily the ER was not busy at all) before the doctor called me back in, to let us all know that it looked like bruising but no breaks. What a relief.

My daughter and her kids have been living with me for the last 15 months. You remember how crazy you were about your kids when they were small (as adults, ah, not so much--just kidding), but I was there with my daughter when the twins were born. I had gone in to be there with my daughter, but after they wrapped the firstborn (the boy) up, they handed him to me (my daughter had a c-section, so was not holding anything at the time) and then, after the girl was born, and wrapped, they handed her to me too. I was sitting there saying, "Heh, I'm here for my daughter". The nurse's response was, "Heh, get used to it Grandma". And ever since that time, I have been enamored of the two. (Of course I love my other two grandchildren-and I was in the delivery room with my daughter when her first son was born), but somehow, having them so close by, watching them grow, being a part of their lives has been magnificent. Even if my house seems small with all these folks, it has been worth it.

So, the week that I was going to start with a WOW, started with a POW.

Happy Monday.

The Power of Words
I should have gotten up and written my thoughts last night when I couldn't go to sleep, but I figured maybe I should sleep on them or not sleep on them as it turned out. Here was the situation. My daughter has a blog, and she is an excellent writer, and she wanted me to read one of her posts. Well, let's just say her posts are much more provocative than mine-heh, somethings are better forgotten. And, some of her posts are things that happened to her as a teenager (I don't know where I was, because I sure didn't know about a lot of the stuff she writes about). Well, one of them made me uncomfortable, and words were said (I hate that it is so much easier to say stupid things when you are upset or angry-why doesn't something just make your mouth stay closed).

Then, because I was upset, mostly with myself, I started in on my husband, who has the same disease of the mouth that I do, and he said some things, and I said some things, and for one of the first times ever, we went to bed somewhat mad at each other. All because of a few words, written on a blog.

Well, I'm learning, gotta realize the past is the past-there is nothing I can do to change it but learn from it, and learn to be the supportive person I want to be. There are just so many buttons that people can push.

One of my other buttons is that when something uncomfortable happens, I want it done with, and go on, FIDO (Forget about it, Drive On). A couple of members of my family seen to want to drag things out, keep dealing with the situation, it drives me crazy. I've been reading some stuff about Tom Peters, and he said at 61 he went to Canyon Ranch and finally really learned to breathe. I guess that's what I need, to stop holding my breath, waiting for the other shoe to fall, stop thinking life is a roller coaster, and just breathe.

So, my goal for this next week is to Breathe, put some WOW in my life, and have some fun. (too bad I have to go to work!)

Nancy