CMG Writes

Nuther is NOT a word!

2012-02-04T18:37:00.000-08:00

I can't take it another minute! I've held my tongue long enough. If I have to listen to another newscaster give another badly phrased description of another anything, I may scream! These people are getting paid to speak. Can they not get it correct?

“A nuther” (emphasis on the 'A') is not anywhere near proper grammar. Nuther is NOT a word! Even more offensive is the tendency to insert another word into the middle for emphasis, as in “A whole nuther!” Are you kidding me?

The British claim Americans have adulterated the English language. I'm beginning to think the British have been watching our evening news.

I don't claim to speak perfectly. I often use words such as “cuz” and “yeah” and even the occasional “ain't.” In my defense, I am not getting paid to have people listen to me – not yet, anyway! I am considering it. Maybe I could git a whole nuther job jist yapping at a camera.

Raisinet Binge!

2012-01-17T14:21:00.000-08:00

I just ate a whole box of Raisinets all by myself. That is roughly 380 calories! I always knew I was a stress eater. Sad, though, I am still hungry. I could eat another box!

Do I Blog?

2012-01-11T21:04:00.000-08:00

I wish it would snow.

I don't know. It seems as if I can't remember the last time a wrote a blog post. It has been awhile. I'm still writing, but I have been focusing on my Examiner column. A friend recently gave me a piece of advice when I confessed that I feel as if I am getting away with something when I am writing. I said, "It is fun and I feel like I am playing."
Her counsel? "You need to think of your writing as your work."
I've been trying to be a bit more disciplined in that respect.
There have been other distractions - a couple of them quite significant, but then, there will always be distractions. The challenge is to work through the distractions, is it not?
So I write, and I run, and I redirect - and then I remember something I forgot to do. I repent and then I repeat it all over again!

Tender Mercies

2011-12-15T19:06:00.000-08:00

I've been attempting to find the blessings in everyday inconveniences. I am not known for my patience. I often see things as a nuisance, rather than noticing the blessing hidden inside. Let's see how I am doing ...

Ice sculpture courtesy of cold weather and my pond.

My pipes froze when the garage door was left open recently. I didn't have to attend a 7:00 am meeting because I was thawing my pipes. Water I had stored for emergency purposes was available for drinking and tooth brushing.
The same cold temperatures that froze my pipes created a beautiful ice sculpture in my pond.
My furnace has been making funny sounds. I was able to get it repaired before it quit and left us without heat.
The opportunity to attend the funeral services of an aged aunt brought me ever closer to my extended family.
My finicky computer has taught me to save online posts in a word file - just in case!

These are just a few. Like I said, I am working on it!

Parma's First Annual Turkey Trot

2011-11-29T07:11:00.000-08:00

Writing is like parenting. If you focus too heavily on one baby, the others get neglected. I have been attempting to be more consistent with my examiner.com work and I discovered my blog is not getting the attention it deserves. So much to write – so little time!

Really cool shirt

Parma's First Annual Turkey Trot was held Thanksgiving Day! The most official thing about it was the shirt … oh, and the distance – 5K.

Very tired shoes

We gathered before dinner in an attempt to burn some of the calories we were sure to consume. Clothed in our pretty red shirts, hats, gloves, and running shoes we followed a course on the edge of town. (Definition for those who live in the city: Town; a small residential cluster surrounding local businesses in a rural community.) Our group consisted of walkers, runners, and those who couldn't make up their mind. Run? Walk? Run/walk? It didn't matter, everyone got outside, breathed some fresh air, and burned off a few more calories than they would have had they remained inside watching the Thanksgiving Day Parade!

Yum!

Did I mentioned we ate cinnamon rolls and hot chocolate to celebrate? I also found that my Thanksgiving Dinner plate, loaded as usual, did not provide the usual anticipated guilt. Oh, I'm certain I consumed more calories than I needed for fuel that day, but I did offset it just a tad compared to years past. Besides, I got a really cool shirt!

Can't You Just Smell it?

2011-11-22T09:54:00.000-08:00

Ahh, the aromas of Thanksgiving! It has begun. I cut up bread for turkey stuffing this morning and it is drying in the oven, filling my home with a warm yeasty scent. I enjoy the smells of Thanksgiving almost as much as the flavors. Maybe more. After all, they don't leave me with the same over stuffed uncomfortable feeling as do the flavors!
Tomorrow I will bake pumpkin pies and prepare cranberry sauce filling my home with two very distinct and pleasant odors.
Thursday - aromatic awesomeness! I love the smell of turkey roasting with the savory scent of sage enticing me to sample stuffing long before it is time to dish it onto my dinner plate.
Fresh rolls! Apple Pie! Green beans!
It is fortunate one cannot gain weight simply by inhaling. I would be in some serious trouble!

Angel Walk - Part Two

2011-11-18T07:44:00.000-08:00

Part Two as promised ...

And we're off!

Wait. Let's back up just a bit. May 14 was a big race day in the Treasure Valley. Hundreds participated in the Famous Idaho Potato Marathon event running 5K, 10K, half marathon and marathon races. Others, myself included, ran in Homedale. We had no race clock nor bib numbers. Nobody strapped a chip timer to his or her ankle. There were no prizes or free stuff at the end of the race except for a paper cup full of water. Or was there a prize?

Homedale Band

The event, Angel Walk, was held in honor and support of Angel Rios-Salas, a second grader at Homedale Elementary suffering from Stage II Hodgkin's Lymphoma. Friends of the family organized the event. When I arrived about 45 minutes prior to the race to register and receive my “Angel Walk” t-shirt, I heard music and observed a small band. Children were cavorting and soon engaged in tug-of-war games with bragging rights going mostly to the young ladies! I am sure the boys were letting them win. Angel's second grade teacher emceed the event and his classmates sang The Star Spangled Banner. I cried when Angel and his parents were ushered on stage and smiled when Angel refused, with a grin and a shake of his head, to say anything to the crowd.

Then we ran, because we could. Others walked, because they could. Many of his friends rode their bikes three miles to support Angel, because they could. It was a beautiful day for a race and a wonderful way to celebrate life and to support a young man who is fighting for his.

Snake River in Homedale

When asked, “Why Idaho?” I often think of the mountain peaks, the lakes and rivers, and even the high desserts that form this land, but if I stop to truly reflect on Idaho, my answer ought to be, “Because angels walk here.”

Angel Walk - Part One

2011-11-17T08:47:00.000-08:00

This post was originally intended for another blog. It was never published. I am sharing it now. Part Two will follow.

Race Volunteers

The Treasure Valley is full of racing opportunities for everyone from the runner that prefers to “walk just a bit” to the serious athlete eager to take home top prize. Having determined that my best physical fitness trick is to always have a race to prepare for, I chose the Famous Idaho Potato event on May 14. My intent was to run the 10K. My training opportunities have not led me to that goal very effectively! I aborted the 10K mission and opted for a shorter race. Six miles is a bit daunting, but three miles is doable after training for a longer race. A 5K it is! I wanted to follow through on the date, so I found another race in Ontario, OR on the same day. My running partner found yet another race on May 14 and my plans changed once again!

Freedom to Serve

Although most races have a cause, such as “Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure” and “St. Luke's Women's Fitness Celebration,” the community of Homedale, ID is rallying around one of its own. A young boy is battling cancer and they have come together to support him. The Angel Walk is just one of their efforts. That is part of the beauty of rural Idaho. This state is dotted with small communities that come together like extended families. They know one another and when one of their own suffers, they all suffer – and then they take action!

The Angel Walk fits my needs perfectly. Homedale is a short drive away. I can feel good about my meager $15 registration fee because this cause will benefit someone directly. I don't have to fight crowds or park and ride a shuttle! If I really feel deserving after my race I can visit the Frosty Palace. If I'm too hot and tired when I get done, I can even jump in the Snake River to cool off. I probably won't - but I could! Best of all, I may even see the face of the young man I am there to support. I can participate in a bigger race another time. I've done it before and it was all about “Me.” Did I beat my time from last year? How much free chocolate milk can I have? How many people did I beat across the finish line?

This race is different. It isn't about me. Maybe this race is actually the “bigger” race.

Reality Check?

2011-11-12T11:19:00.000-08:00

I had to renew my driver's license this week. That's right - I am having a birthday. It's not a significant one. That happened last year.
I don't know why, but the driver's license renewal is just unappealing to me. It is especially bothersome since Idaho went to the eight year plan. Daily stuff like making my bed and brushing my teeth do not present themselves as nuisances. It's the annual things that get to me - taxes, vehicle registrations, and physical exams. I just don't seem to have time for those! Those things on an eight year rotation ... why bother?
The driver's license renewal is a bit of an honesty check, is it not? I'm really squeaking to pass the eye test! I forgot and left my distance glasses home. (I seldom use them!) The weight question always gets me.
"Is your weight still the same?"
"Well, no, it has gone down a bit, but actually it is closer to the weight listed. Just leave it." (I've been lying about my DL weight for years!)
Hair color? That changes all the time!
It is good, too, that they do the eye test prior to snapping the photo. I couldn't see a thing afterwards! I hope I recognize my signature.
Friends have been complaining about the "new" Idaho license design. I don't think it has anything to do with the new design. I think we just hate the whole experience. It's just too revealing.

Square Ice Cream

2011-11-08T14:06:00.000-08:00

Along the Snake River and through the mountains

To Grandma's house we went.

Always a stop

At the “Square Ice Cream Shop”

In Swan Valley our money we spent.

I didn't dare ask.

Just hoped not to pass.

Maybe Dad wanted a Maplenut treat.

Sometimes he drove past,

Then doubled back

To give us a scare. Such a tease!

Ice cream cone in hand

The true test began.

Could I keep it square to the end?

A lick up each side

And one 'cross the top,

I worked as swift as I could.

But, alas, my nose ached!

Melting cone he would take

And round off the edges and drips.

No more square ice cream passed my lips!

Another Reason to Run

2011-11-07T09:51:00.000-08:00

I intend to be an octogenarian. It isn't really a lofty goal. You see, I come from a long line of octogenarians. It's in my genes. I also have stroke, Type II Diabetes, and heart disease as hereditary risk factors. And so … I run.

They way I see it, if I am going to be eighty-something, or even ninety-something (let's stop there!) I would like to keep my faculties as long as I can. What good does it do to reach a goal if one can't enjoy it once she arrives? And so … I run.

I am running away from a stroke. Running lowers my blood pressure.

I am running away from diabetes. Running keeps my weight down, thus controlling my blood sugar.

I am running from heart disease. Lub dub, lub dub, lub dub.

Can I beat all the risk factors? Maybe not, but I figure my odds are better if I try to outrun them than if I open the door and invite them in!

And so … I run!

Voice Mail

2011-11-04T12:59:00.000-07:00

My brother left a message on my answering machine just days before he unexpectedly passed away. It has been nearly four months since we said goodbye. The messages have been piling up. I didn't want to delete his message, but I wasn't courageous enough to listen for it as I deleted the others. I have been waiting for the “right time.” I tend to do that a lot. I put things off in hopes that I will somehow be stronger or more emotionally prepared for the task. Many of those things are left undone. The answering machine wouldn't wait. With only seconds of recording time left, I knew it was time to do the listening – ready or not.

So I listened. It was as if he were phoning me anew. His voice was the same as I remembered – the same inflections, the same pauses, the same dry wit.

The time was right. The message, itself really of no import, brought joy rather than the anticipated pain.

Aren't we blessed to have the gift of time? It truly does heal all wounds. With time, pain lessens and memories become sweeter.

Blessed, too, are we to have the gift of technology. It can help us embrace our gift of time.

Refinement

2011-11-03T10:49:00.000-07:00

Rushing rumbling rivers rolling rocks to reservoir,

Roughened ridges rounded now rest upon the shore.

Remember roaming? Wrestling? Reeling to the core?

Refined. Renewed. Resolved. Reach now for your reward.

Another Reason to Love My Life

2011-11-01T12:55:00.000-07:00

Eagle Island State Park

I have a bowl of tomatoes on my counter- remnants of a bountiful garden. There is a pot of Butternut SquashSoup simmering on the stove top – my first attempt. The squash isalso part of the last of the harvest. A batch of cinnamon rolls isbaking in the oven – an overdue gift. As I look out the window,gold colored leaves scatter the green lawn, reminding me that thereis work to do outdoors. The swaying trees also remind me that thereis more work to come. The weatherman is promising snow for theweekend.

Scotch Pines Golf Course

I am trying to live in the moment. Inthe spring I can't wait for my newly planted garden to produce. Inthe fall I pray for a frost to slow the workload! Today, however, Iam enjoying the season with its beauty, its unpredictability, and itsever changing vistas. As I roam the country roads, I marvel that thegreen and gold fields so recently blocking my view have become beigecarpets neatly groomed and awaiting the interruption of spring. Thewind, tho it hinders my forward progression, cleanses the air andclarifies the horizon.

I know that the thundershowers and snowstormsare coming. They, too, will have a beauty of their own. Today, Iglory in the colors of the season.

Just Run, Write?

2011-10-27T09:32:00.000-07:00

I have raised a family of runners. Now one might think that because I run and my offspring run they must have taken after me. Not so. In this case the egg really did come before the chicken. The truth is these Greens run because we are not good at sports requiring a lot of equipment, especially balls. Baseball, basketball, football, volleyball, tennis, and golf just have too many parts to coordinate. So we run … and we do math.

“But in order to run 400 meters in a minute I will have to run every 100 meters in 15 seconds...”

“If my opponent runs his/her best time then I will have to run this time to beat him/her...”

“There are 10 hurdles in the race and I have to clear every hurdle...”

“If you run a 6 minute mile pace you will be way under 19 minutes on a 5k ...”

And so on …

My advice to my mathematician runners was always this, “Just run!”

If they would just stop fretting about the obstacles and run, they might clear all those obstacles in the process. They often did.

I don't heed my own advise.

I write because I enjoy it. I am better at writing than I am at crafting, scrapbooking, record keeping. So I write .. and I make excuses.

“If I take time to write and nobody ever reads it, then I have wasted my time ...”

“I have other things I should be doing, like housework ...”

I have writer's block!”

And so on …

What advice might I heed?

“Just write!”

The Eye of the Beholder

2011-10-11T11:20:00.000-07:00

Two weeks away from the wide open spaces of Idaho was most interesting. I can't do it all justice in one post, so I will begin with this ...

I landed in Pittsburgh and rented a very small economy car to drive to Erie, PA. Beautiful green trees with splashes of red were everywhere! Freeway exits in Idaho are spotted miles away, as are the various conveniences surrounding those exits. In woody Pennsylvania, if one isn't reading signs she may miss the exit entirely. At the very least, she will be unable to spot any of the conveniences surrounding that exit. (I did not miss exits. I avoided them.) The "ways" are not FREE. I encountered toll highways.

In Idaho, as in Utah, Colorado, Nevada, and most western states, mountains are clearly identified. Hills are not mountains! Apparently, the wooded hills I was traversing were mountains.

When I spotted the warning road sign "Falling Rocks" I naturally looked heavenwards. It's a normal reaction for a Westerner! We expect to see rocky cliffs threatening to loose small boulders sending them tumbling to smash our vehicles. There was nothing heavenwards. Rather, there was a raised median that was sloughing mud and a few small rocks into the barrow pit. Hence, the "Falling Rocks" warning!

Their lake is vast. I wanted to call the shoreline a coast.

It's all relative!

Pay Attention!

2011-09-22T21:43:00.000-07:00

Sinful colors and Sally Hansen

I have never been much into nail polish. I think it has something to do with my personality, or lack of patience! When I paint, smudging invariably occurs. On the few occasions I have had a successful polish application, I am soon disappointed as chipping and wear require removal and more tedium as I once again attempt the seemingly impossible. Don't get me wrong – I love the look of painted nails. I just don't have the patience for it.

Several months ago I determined to paint my toes for a trip to St. Thomas that never was. Ice storm in Dallas. Long story. I chose a color that I thought matched the waters of the Caribbean. Alas, we may never know. I discovered two things. (1) I liked my painted toes. (2) Polish on toes wears much longer than polish on fingernails. A plus for us impatient souls.

I have since kept my toes painted. I have discovered something else. Sinful Colors from Walgreens wears a very long time! I recommend it, especially for those of you cursed with an impatient nature.

The most amazing discovery of all came as I was removing my polish during my most recent pedicure. Here it is important for the reader to understand that I have a shameful addiction to diet soda. It can be so satisfying! The long wearing properties of Sinful Colors makes it extremely difficult to remove. I was enjoying my soda and working hard (tedium!) at removing polish when it became necessary to douse another cotton ball in polish remover. I expect the reader is thinking, “I know what happens here. She dumps either the soda or the remover all over the place!” Not so. I grabbed the polish remover and took a big swig! Burn! Burn! Burn! Fortunately, I like to savor the bubbly goodness of soda against my tongue before swallowing. Otherwise, I may not be alive to relate this sad story! I jumped from my seat carrying the open bottle of remover with me. I was making panicked mealing sounds - that would be a cross between moaning and squealing – as I raced to the kitchen sink to flush the vile fluid from my oral cavity! My concerned husband did not move from his recliner. He simply asked, “What are you doing?”

My discovery? Polish remover is not potable.

Is it Just Me?

2011-09-06T13:38:00.000-07:00

I've reached that time in my life where I don't know what to wear. I go to bed wearing an extra layer, then sometime during the night I kick off the covers. By morning I don't want to get out of bed because it is too cold. Before long I am perspiring again, changing out of the sweats and into lighter layers, or even a pair of shorts. I fight my urges to turn the thermostat up and then the air conditioner on!
I know what you are thinking, but it isn't menopause ...

It's Autumn!

What Does it Really Mean?

2011-08-30T20:58:00.000-07:00

You've heard the expression, “And then the wheels started coming off.” It is a metaphor most often referring to the falling apart of a plan. How about this one? “I'm going to drive it into the ground.” This is yet another metaphor for using something until there is nothing left to use, as in a car or a vacuum. (Spelled it correctly this time!)

Well, today I did both! As I was mowing our large and hilly lawn with my John Deere mower that has high miles and a rebuilt body, one wheel fell off! The drive wheel, however, was still engaged in its duty, continuing to propel the mower forward literally driving it into the ground! There is a lovely gouge in the hillside of my front lawn.

And I thought they were merely metaphors ...

Desktop

2011-08-29T22:11:00.000-07:00

Dirty dusty documents deepening daily on my desk.

Do I dust, ditch, or determine direct destinations

Diminishing droves of data and debris?

Daydreams delay decision and divert the dread of debt.

Dynamite? Decomposition? Does dropping in the dumpster

Do dire damage or dispense delight?

Getting Help!

2011-08-24T16:34:00.000-07:00

Three years after my first book publication, much hand wringing, and several (ok, lots) rejections on my novel, I have decided to join forces with other female writers. The result is ...

Doesn't this cover make you smile?

This book will be released by Freundship Press on September 15. You can expect reminders and event info to follow! I am excited for A) the opportunity to be published again and B) the friendships I am making along the way, albeit mostly through cyberspace at present!

Visit the Facebook page here

P.S. I am one of the "Carols" printed on the sunflower petals.

Dear Blog, I've missed you!

2011-08-23T15:13:00.000-07:00

I've been neglecting my blog a bit. I won't blame it on writer's block this time. I've just had other things on my mind as in:

How many hoops will Spence have to jump through to obtain his Utah Residency status and have out of state tuition waived to the tune of $6000 per semester?
How many times will I tell my married kids and granddaughter "Goodbye" before they actually leave for Pennsylvania?
How sad will it be?
How long before I hop a plane to Pennsylvania?
How am I going to get through another year with a high school senior?
How much money will it take to fix the pickup so the "Service Engine" light will go off and an emissions test can actually be performed?
How many pints of beans will I can this year?
Ditto for quarts of tomatoes.
When does An Eclectic Collage: Volume II (A collaborative work on relationships by female authors) come out so I can tell all my friends?
What's for dinner?

Well, I have some answers and they are all good!

As many as it takes. Residency Awarded! No more out of state tuition hanging over his head - nor mine!
About three.
Sad. Very sad.
Five and one half weeks until I make my first visit to Pennsylvania and welcome a new grandchild into the world.
Hang on! It's a wild ride! However, I am wiser and more seasoned than the first two times I rode this attraction.
$175
Between 50 and 60.
Who knows? They are just coming on.
September 15! I am one of the authors of this book. More info to come!
Whole wheat waffles - or maybe BLT's. After all, the tomatoes are ripening!

Another Running Lesson

2011-08-15T14:42:00.000-07:00

Non-runners often wonder what makes runners want to run. Why do we do it? There isn't just one answer, and frankly, runners don't always know why they run. They can, however, tell you many things that running teaches them. This is just one lesson:

Walking is not an option.

Running is and always will be hard. The farther one can run, the farther he must push himself. The greater his condition, the faster he goes. He often wants to stop. What a luxury it would be just to stop and walk for a minute. He could catch his breath, work out a kink or two, and then run again when he felt stronger. During every run, and especially during every race, the thought crosses his mind, “I would really like to walk.”

Sometimes he does. When he does indulge in this luxury, he finds he feels better – for a moment. Then he must run again, and picking up the pace is difficult. He also finds that he is tempted more frequently to take a breather and walk. It is better to continue to run.

I sometimes find myself there, not on the road or the track, but in life. So many times it would feel good to just walk a bit – to rest. Unfortunately, when I feel the most like resting are the times it is critical to keep moving forward. A breather could prove costly!

“I would really like to walk,” but walking is not an option. It is better to continue to run.

How to Make Your Own Tribal Tattoo

2011-08-10T19:56:00.000-07:00

Ever wanted to try one on for size, but were afraid of the pain and long term consequences of committing to the real thing? Well, try this instead.
A- Commit to joining some friends for a 22 mile hike.
B - Don a pair of capri length running pants, running shoes, and dorky crew socks.
C - Apply sunscreen.
D - Apply insect repellent.
E - Tromp around mountain trails for eight hours.
F - Remove shoes and socks.

Voila! You now have a custom, semi permanent, tribal tattoo. Yes, it washes off, but not without a fair amount of hot soapy water! The same guarantee does not exist for running shoes. I don't know if they will ever come clean!

Oops!

2011-08-06T18:34:00.000-07:00

Okay, how embarrassing! The last blog was much more than a photo - or at least I thought it was! I told all about how we were prepared or unprepared, etc. Then I decided to post a photo (from last year, no less) and apparently I erased the text! Too bad. Now I can't remember what fabulous words of insight I shared. Alas! I will have to do better next time!

Ready or Not!

2011-08-04T11:20:00.000-07:00

Y-Not 2009

And After

2011-07-22T19:29:00.000-07:00

After Brazil

And So it Ends ...

2011-07-20T16:34:00.000-07:00

Before Brazil

Two years ago I tracked a flight from Boise to Brazil. I lost track of it as it passed over the equator. My nineteen year-old son was on that flight.
Tonight I will begin tracking another flight from Brazil to Boise. My twenty-one year-old son will be on that flight.
So much has happened since he left ...
His truck has nearly worn out.
Little brother is now bigger brother by about five inches.
His baby niece walks, talks, and does somersaults without her hands.
He has another niece on the way.
Navy Seals eliminated Bin Laden.
BSU Broncos won a whole bunch of football games.
His parents have added Road Biking to their list of recreational activities.
Lots of people got married.
He speaks Portuguese.
We built a new gymnasium.
His uncle passed away.
Many things stayed the same ...
The economy still stinks.
Gas prices are still high.
The lawn still gets mowed on a regular basis.
We still speak English.
The Greens still ski.
I still bake when I'm feeling nervous.
We still love football.
Life still moves on.
This chapter is over and another begins.

I'm a Real Biker Gal Now!

2011-07-06T15:13:00.000-07:00

I've been a bit smug as of late. My husband has wrestled with many a flat tire since taking up his road bike hobby. I, on the other hand, have not - until a week ago! I ran right over that big sharp rock I had in my sights. I was attempting to avoid it! Funny thing about sighting in on something, I am always sure to connect! Just like a tree on a ski hill, I went right for that rock, and my tire went flat. Not so smug anymore.
That, however, pales in comparison to my Independence Day Ride! I've ridden 15 miles on occasion. I usually prefer about 9 to 11 miles, but we wanted to have a "Family Activity." We packed up the saddle bags with Gatorade and frozen water bottles, added a few granola bars, and spare bike tubes and off we pedaled!

My biking companions?

The funny thing about riding twenty miles out is that you have to ride that far back home. Our first stop was Wilder around mile nine. Down the hill and past the golf course to Homedale we flew only to discover all the ice cream shops were either closed for the holiday or opening later in the day. What? Nobody wants to sell ice cream at 9:00 am?
Homedale was quiet, as was the countryside meandering northwest towards Adrian. At least it was quiet until the guy with the pickup and stock trailer came barreling down a hill towards a corner. Same corner at which I would meet him! It was him or the gravel! I chose the gravel and the gravel won!

Now maybe I was a little scared and took the corner just a bit wide. Maybe he didn't see me in my bright yellow shirt as I trailed my husband (bright red shirt) and son (another bright yellow shirt).
Maybe he thought he owned the road and I had no right to share it. Maybe ... he thought if he slowed down to see if I was alive I would memorize his license plate and complain to the authorities!
Alas, my handlebar wrap is shredded, my chain came off and I had to repair it, and I have a nice case of road rash to brag about!

Road Rash!

Did I mention I had to ride another twenty miles home?

Very Tired!

I think I qualify as a real biker gal now!

Best Job Ever

2011-06-18T20:55:00.000-07:00

I've said it before and I'll say it again ... "Being a grandma is the best job I have ever had!"
I love my own children. I rejoice in their successes and mourn their sorrows. However, there is nothing like grandparenting. The pressure is off. If the grandchild isn't perfect, it isn't my fault. If she doesn't eat right today, I don't worry that she won't be healthy. She can make up for it tomorrow. If something gets broken, I now know that it isn't the first mishap nor is it the last.
The best thing about grandparenting is the unconditional love both given and received. It was illustrated this evening when my granddaughter took my face in her hands and giggling said, "I see me!"
"Where," I asked?
"There!"
She nearly poked my eye out! It took me a moment to realize she was seeing her reflection in my eyes!
"Do you know why you can see yourself in Grandma's eyes," I asked? "Because, I love you so much!"

Another giggle and then the sweetest hug was bestowed upon this grandma. Ya, I'm pretty sure that being a grandma is the best job ever!

A New Adventure!

2011-06-17T13:00:00.000-07:00

I'm diving in! I'm jumping on the band wagon! Nothing ventured - nothing gained! Everyone is doing it!
No, I'm not going to self publish the novel I have been trying to peddle to agents and publishers. Nor am I trying the latest fad diet for rapid weight loss. Coloring my hair? I already do that. Nope, none of the above. I'm going to get a Bountiful Basket tomorrow!

I am a little leery of the unknown. I don't know what I would do with Japanese radishes the size of sugar beets, and I am quite certain that artichokes will "go begging" at the Green house, but why not try? (Not to be confused with Y-Not Tri) My friends are all raving about the great produce, its longevity due to its freshness, and the fun of trying new things. It's those new things that could be an issue! I was dragging my feet, but the man of the house said, "Let's try it now, while we have company." That might mean that my company gets to eat the unknowns!
Wish me luck!

I'd Rather be Writing?

2011-06-16T12:14:00.000-07:00

Why is it sometimes so hard to write? When I don't have the time, all I can think about is writing. When I have the time, here is what I do ...

Turn on the computer and check my email.
Start a load of laundry.
View my checking account balance.
Look on facebook to see if I have any new friends.
Grab a snack.
Check my blog stats.
Check my other email account.
Look to see if I have written anything in the past worthy of posting today.
Google literary agents.
Read the blogs I follow.
Wonder how to get more followers on my blog.
Look for a cute photo to post with a blog I have not yet written.
Bake something.

And the list goes on ...

Good Works

2011-06-02T15:38:00.000-07:00

Okay, I know everyone is talking about it, and I know I don't have a clue how many people have pitched in, and I know some have done so much more than others ... but when the delivery truck loaded with roofing supplies showed up this afternoon, I cried again!

You've seen it happen on TV in a matter of days ... with professionals and a Television network driving the project, but have you seen a small community rebuild a house for someone in need in just over a week? That is what is happening in Parma this week, and it is inspiring.

Contractors who could be working on paying jobs are donating their time and resources. Housewives are providing nourishment AND tearing up old tile! Teenagers are tearing down, cleaning up, smoothing out, hauling off, and doing it all with a smile! The best part is, most of these people have never met the recipient of all this good will! They just know he is a member of the community who is in need.

I once read a quote that said, "There isn't much to see in a small town, but what you hear makes up for it." I'm here to tell you, there is much to see and hear in this small town!

Rats!

2011-05-27T13:26:00.001-07:00

Raging rains wreak ruin as rapidly rising rivers run rampant o'er rocks resting risking rafters' recreation rudely wrecking our reunion!

Just a little cerebral exercise when writer's block threatens.

I Remember Now ...

2011-05-24T16:14:00.000-07:00

I have this little job that I do and sometimes I wonder why. I am referring to my responsibility as school board trustee. There are times when it seems tedious (policy revisions) and times when it seems hopeless (student expulsions) ... and then there is May!

Here is what happens in May:

State Championships

To borrow a quote from The Wide World of Sports, "The thrill of victory. The agony of defeat."

Music Concerts

Whether choir or band, one has to appreciate the number of students involved in music programs in our little district.

Academic Awards

That is what we are all about - academic achievement.

Scholarships

Got a B average? You can go to college, thanks to the philanthropists in our little town.

Graduation

This is "Pay Day" for school board trustees. It is why we put up with the tedium, the frustrations, and the disciplinary hearings. It is why, when someone asks, "Are you still on the school board?" I answer, "Yes. Yes, I am!" Occasionally, a trustee gets a "Bonus" on "Pay Day." Occasionally, a trustee has the opportunity to present a diploma to his or her own offspring!

I am grateful for May!

Surely Shod

2011-05-20T13:35:00.000-07:00

I've been running now for close to four years. In that time I have worn and worn out four pairs of what I thought were running shoes. In that same time, my son with the large feet, has shredded twice as many as I. He has recently been suffering from a foot injury - tendonitis. It could be a stress fracture, but that is only determined by a bone scan or MRI. (That's kind of like saying, "The only diagnosis for Mad Cow Disease is a brain autopsy.") We are treating for tendonitis.

The treatment includes an anti-inflammatory drug, cold therapy (soak it in a bucket of icewater), taping for support, rest (he can begin resting as track season is over), and most recently, new shoes. For the first time in the history of Green Family Runners, we visited a bona fide running store. Amazing!

Here is what we learned:

He over-pronates. This means he strikes the pavement with the outside of his foot and "snaps" it inward, thus straining supporting tendons. Hence, the foot injury.
High definition video is awesome for diagnosing over-pronation!
Shoes make a difference. In this case, stability shoes.
Shoe shredding is a symptom of combined over-pronation and inferior shoes.
All athletic shoe manufacturers price all performance shoes from $90 - $109!
If the original price of a "running" shoe is under $90, expect shredding!
Over $109? Too much shoe. You're gonna get ripped off!
How much does it cost to find a good shoe? FREE!

The shop owner did not have the right shoe for us, but he directed us to a location that would, and guess what? We found them on sale! Original price - $99. Twenty dollars off? SOLD! I expect to see less shredding and improved tendons. I should also net a savings due to the decreased shredding!

Guess what else? I've told all my friends to go see "the guy at Pulse Running & Fitness" in Meridian. He took time to help us and didn't get the sale, but he will get more in the future. This guy knows how to pay it forward.

Happy running - or shredding! You pick!

I Cried for Angel

2011-05-14T14:32:00.000-07:00

The first time I ran a 5K race I cried - for myself. It was cold and wet. I was exhausted. I was stunned at my sense of accomplishment. Today as I ran another 5K race and I cried again. This time, not for myself, but for Angel and for all of the people supporting him.

Angel has cancer. The Angel Walk was organized in his behalf. His second grade teacher emceed the event. His classmates sang "The Star Spangled Banner." His elementary principal gave some thoughts. Friends of the family organized the event. Many in his community turned out to support him - runners, walkers, and kids on bicycles; young and old alike. Local law enforcement stopped traffic to ensure the safety of those participating.

When Angel accompanied his parents to the stage, he grinned - and I cried. When asked, repeatedly, if he would like to say anything, he shook his head, stunned and maybe a bit embarrassed over the attention.

Then we ran, because we could. Others walked, because they could. Many of his young friends rode their bikes for three miles to support Angel, because they could.

It wasn't a huge event with chip timers and free chocolate milk at the end. Nor can I view my stats online. It wasn't even a true 5K (Much to my disappointment. My time was really fast!) but it was a wonderful way to celebrate life and to support a young man who is fighting for his.

Hats off to Homedale and all the friends of Angel Rios-Salas!

A Change of Course

2011-05-10T14:47:00.000-07:00

Sometimes the best path to follow is a change of course. Road construction is an obvious reason to divert ones path, however, there are a number of other circumstances which might give cause for correction ...

The path became dangerous.
Obstacles.
The initial goal was good, but a better one presented itself.
The path was not good to begin with.

So it was that my running buddy and I changed our plans to run a 10K race on May 14. We had a training schedule and were doing our best to follow it, but the path became dangerous when the spring weather refused to cooperate. The day we ran four miles in heavy wind was the beginning of the course change. How would we ever train for six miles in this weather?

Obstacles? She fought an ankle injury. I caught a cold. We kept training, however, less enthusiastically than we would have liked.

Our original plan to pay the $40 registration fee and run a six mile race with hundreds of other runners was a good one, but we found a better one. This race might not have a famous name, but the logistics are better. The registration fee is only $15, the race will be small, it is closer to home, and best of all it will benefit a young man fighting a serious illness.

So we've corrected our course. We are well prepared as the original path conditioned us for the one we will actually follow. Sometimes those little detours are the very things we need to prepare us for the journey ahead.

Singers and Stars

2011-04-26T12:45:00.000-07:00

I recently had the opportunity to chaperon the Parma High Singers on a trip to Seattle. It's quite a job. They are a pretty rough crowd - a bunch of country kids, athletes, and honor students. Just look at them!

After their performance the judge was doing her best to critique and display her knowledge. One number she chose to give pointers for was "And the Night." In an attempt to inspire the choir to catch the "feeling" of the song (the night is filled with music) she told them to imagine they were camping. "Look at the sky and see all the stars - not like when you are at home in the city." (Or something like that.)

Hey Lady! We can see the stars from our front step!!

Ya gotta love the country!

Gum Wall!

2011-04-22T09:41:00.000-07:00

“Good Grief, Girls!” Gilda gagged.

“Grimy gobs of gooey gum!”

Giggles gurgled as Green Guy gobbled

Gross gargantuan gum ball glob!

Grabbing gum with gusto glued

Greasy gob to growing gunk.

Ghastly gasps gave way to glee.

Gazers guffawed as Green Guy's gift

Glistened on Gum Gallery!

Channeling Shirley

2011-04-12T11:07:00.000-07:00

I've found my muse!

I'm going to forget about writing material that has any depth to it. I just need to write about junk. The kookier the better.

I caught snippets of Shirley Maclaine on the Oprah Show yesterday afternoon. (I'm not a regular Oprah viewer, but occasionally I indulge just a bit.) Now there's a woman with something to say! What she says is, well, out there!

I believe in allowing folks to follow their own path. If they truly believe in something, who am I to stand in their way? Let them follow what they may. And if it sells books ...

Does she really thinks all those goofy things, or does she just know how to sell books??? The woman is a a self-proclaimed expert on reincarnation and UFOs. I'm wondering what the purpose of UFOs are if the same souls just keep returning to this earth over and over again. Don't UFOs travel betwixt planets? Having seen them in Peru and other parts south of the equator, Shirley would certainly know how to identify an unidentified flying object, would she not? Because she lives in New Mexico where she claims there is a concentration of UFOs (apparently the Land of Enchantment is a conduit) her observational skills are well honed...

"UFO's look like clouds," she says. "But then they move."
Moving clouds? Incredible! Where can I buy her book?

I'm gonna give it a try.
I have aliens in my fruit room. They look like potatoes, but they have white antennae coming out of the top of their heads.

Anybody wanna buy a book?

Excuses?

2011-04-11T12:46:00.000-07:00

I'm feeling a bit dumpy - creatively speaking. It could be because I haven't recorded my thoughts in awhile. I usually blame not recording my thoughts on a creative slump. Which comes first?

These are my excuses ...
It's track season.
It's tax season.
Cutting down on carbs means I have to spend more time in the kitchen - and the grocery store.
I am training for a race and that means more time in my running clothes.
Someone needs to work the crossword puzzle.
Laundry.
I have to register for college (for my son who is currently out of the country) and I haven't jumped through those hoops in over two decades!
Discouragement. I got another rejection for my novel today.
Distractions. What are my friends doing on facebook? What are they blogging about? What can I find to eat?
... and so forth.

I Heart Track!

2011-03-02T18:44:00.000-08:00

That's right. I LOVE track season. Either you get it or you don't. For those who don't, I'll try to explain why.
* I get to hang out with friends that I haven't seen in awhile. They are fellow parents of tracksters who are busy cheering their offspring on in various other sports throughout the year.
* Although ski season is coming to an end, I get to don my ski gear just a bit longer as I weather the weather!
* Gatorade, granola bars, and string cheese.
* There is something for everyone. Fast, strong, or just persistent, track offers an event for everyone's strong suit.
* PR's (Personal Records) Every athlete can have a great day even if he does nothing more than improve upon his best performance.
* Excitement. Winners are determined in seconds, minutes, and by fractions of inches.
* Camaraderie. Track athletes cheer for the success of their fellow teammates, even when that success might cost them a spot on a relay team.
* The Unexpected. On any given day, the favored to win might false start, fall on a hurdle, miss his mark, or drop a baton, leaving the door wide open for an upset and ensuing elation for the surprise victor.
* Inspiration. I seldom cry at other sporting events. However, tears are routine at track meets and I don't even have to know the participants. When the 110 Meter Hurdler catches a toe and leaves skin on the track, I cry. When the last runner crosses the finish line of the 3200 Meter Run having been lapped twice by faster athletes, I cry. When my own child turns in a stellar performance, I cry. When that same child competes in his or her last high school track event, you can bet I cry! And when it snows, sometimes I want to cry!
I heart track!

Time to Repent

2011-02-22T14:25:00.000-08:00

Here is a little background ...

A few years ago we remodeled our kitchen. The process was "supposed" to take about six weeks max. Six months later we were finally putting the finishing touches on the kitchen. I will spare readers the tedium of the details. Suffice it to say that my "favorite store" became a slur in my vocabulary and I had a desire to inflict grave bodily harm on bystanders whenever I heard The Home Depot Jingle!

Of course, The Home Depot was not spared. I conveyed my displeasure in a lengthy account of the proceedings, missteps, and neglect. I even went so far as to fill out an online job application for their kitchen and cabinet design department because, "I was certain I could do a better job than the designers that had worked with me!"

The comedy of errors that was our remodel has yet to become completely comical to me. In the years since I have boycotted the store as often as possible. When the occasional need for DIY home repair occurs I frequent any and all facilities available prior to patronizing The Home Depot. Then I send my husband!

Our toilet seat broke. He went to The Home Depot and purchased a new seat.

"Hey, I had four different people offer to help me at The Home Depot today!"

"Really?"

"Ya, it was quite refreshing."

"Ya, well,I still hate that store." (I love my new kitchen. It's the store that causes me grief.)

A bracket on one of my cabinet drawers broke.

He - "Do you want to go to Home Depot with me?"

Me - "No."

He - "Well, I think I can get a part to fix it."

Me - "They should have some kind of lifetime guarantee!"

He went to Home Depot. I looked online. He brought back some generic hardware. I found "Available Exclusively at The Home Depot. Lifetime Warranty. Contact The Home Depot."

I had to go to The Home Depot.

The attractive blond in the design department called the cabinet manufacturer. She ordered 4 replacement parts that will be shipped to my home "at no charge." One part will replace the broken bracket while the other three are spares. You know what that means? I don't have to go to The Home Depot next time the plastic parts fail!

We needed a vacuum belt. An employee directed us to the vacuum belts and I found exactly the one I needed! We encountered two more offers of help before we left the store!

He - "Wasn't that refreshing?"

Me - "I'm kind of in shock!"

I'm still in shock. The Home Depot might be my new favorite store!

How to Snow Ski

2011-02-18T07:41:00.000-08:00

I know the temperatures flirted with 70 degrees this week, but I can assure you it isn't spring yet! I'm still hitting the slopes. For those of you who have thought about it, but are still a bit too timid to try, here is a tutorial to help you decide. For the avid skier, it's just fun to reminisce.

Step One: Find a Friend

The initial desire to snow ski most often occurs when one becomes acquainted with an avid skier. Just as yawning can be contagious, the excitement emitted by skiing enthusiasts promotes envy and curiosity not easily denied. Hopefully, the skiing friend is also blessed with good communication skills and abundant patience.

Step Two: Find a Mountain

Any mountain will do, as long as it comes equipped with snow and some form of mountain ascending apparatus such as a chair lift, gondola, tram, or even the ever eventful rope tow. Instructions will follow.

Step Three: Locate Equipment

A few items of protective gear are necessary to ensure fun and safety on his maiden voyage into the great white wonderland of downhill skiing. Clothing that is both warm and comfortable is most suitable. Style is underrated at this point in one’s skiing career. It is folly to don expensive clothing that will only call attention to one as he is careening out of control down a mountain slope! Something that screams, “I borrowed all these clothes because I really don’t know what I’m doing and don’t plan to invest in style until I have survived my first outing,” will gain the most tolerance and empathy from onlookers. Layers of clothing will provide the most warmth and cushion. Yes, cushion will be needed! Gloves, socks, and some kind of head wear will protect extremities from the cold and other occurrences. A helmet is recommended. Other necessary items are eye covering (sunglasses or goggles will do), ski boots, skis, poles, and Ibuprofen.

Step Four: Tap Savings Account

Skiing is not an inexpensive sport! After the obvious costs of equipment and ski passes, one must face the hidden costs associated with this winter sport.

Transportation to ski resort. Do you live in Vail, Colorado? Probably not. Then some sort of travel will be required, whether by train, plane, bus, or the ever affordable thumb. Yes, skiers do hitchhike.

Lunch money. It isn’t called a resort for nothing. Food is not cheap on the mountain. After paying the exorbitant lift ticket price, one will be determined to spend the entire day to “get his money’s worth.” Hunger will ensue. Depending on the notoriety of the resort, one may eat a sack lunch in the friendly local lodge, or he may pay as much as ten dollars for a bowl of soup and three dollars for the bottle of water required to wash down two Ibuprofen tablets.

Rental fees. Unless one is fortunate enough to have a friend with not-so-used equipment and the boots just happen to fit, he will be required to pay an average of $30 for rental equipment. This is not a year long lease. It only covers use for one day on the mountain!

Replacement gloves. See rope tow instructions.

Chiropractor or emergency room fees.

Step Five: Travel to Ski Area

Did you remember the Dramamine? The trip to the ski hill, unless originating in the mountains, will require some travel upward. If one is fortunate, a highway may deposit him at the base of the mountain. More often, several miles of sharp hairpin curves precede arrival at a ski area. One of the most notable is Bogus Basin Road. Located a mere sixteen miles from the busy metropolis of Boise, Idaho, Bogus Basin Ski Resort is a relatively well kept secret simply because the trip is not for wimps!

Step Six: Don Ski Gear

After piling layers of clothing onto a shivering body (the shivers may be due to slowed circulation promoted by nervousness) one must now insert feet into ski boots. This may take some time.

Ski boots, however expensive and attractive in color and design, are not typically user friendly, especially for the novice. Fortunately, the human ankle flexes! If one’s youth, agility, and multiple clothing layers permit, bend over and grasp top of boot with both hands, prying it open simultaneously balancing on one leg and inserting toe into top of boot. If one is still upright, transfer entire bulk of body weight onto leg sporting ski boot and attempt to force foot further into boot until sole rests on boot foot bed. If this method is unsuccessful, transfer entire bulk of body weight onto back of friend while said friend pries open ski boot. Insert toe as previously described. When foot is secure in boot foot bed, stand upright and suck in much needed breath. Take two if necessary. Bend over again and tighten buckle clasps, taking care to keep fingers, gloves, cute stocking cap tassels, and other significant items free of boot buckles.

Step Seven: Locate Ice Pack

Having closed boot buckle on index finger, one must quickly apply cold pack to reduce swelling and discoloration. Remember, you are on a mountain in winter. Locate nearest snow bank and plunge finger into the cold source.

Ask friend to buckle boots.

Step Eight: Repeat Step Six

Omit Step Seven if possible!

Step Nine: Click On Bindings

This is the process of attaching skis to boots. Once again, balance or the employment of a patient friend is necessary. Place skis parallel to each other on a flat snowy area. Flat is the operative word. Stand to the left and center of skis.

Ensure ski bindings are in the OPEN position. (You don’t really have time to learn the difference today so just ask your friend to check.)

Grasp a ski pole in each hand and plant firmly into snow on either side of skis.

Raise one foot in preparation to attach binding. This will be surprisingly difficult as ski boots are larger, heavier, and less comfortable than everyday footwear.

Insert right toe of ski boot into front binding of respective ski. In one smooth action, transfer entire body weight onto right leg and catch rear binding squarely with heal of boot. Anticipate loud click confirming binding is engaged.

No click? You missed, or you wimped out! Try again. This time, keep boot straight and actually transfer weight onto right leg rather than onto the security of ski poles.

Step Ten: Whoa!

I said “flat” snowy area. Skies will lie deceptively still until weight is applied, at which time they will travel in a downward direction – forward or backwards – depending on the slope of the snow they are resting upon!

If you maintained possession of your ski poles during your little ride, use them to help yourself to a standing position. Ski should still be attached to boot. If not, pick it up and repeat Step Nine.

Step Eleven: Locate Left Ski

Once you are upright, get a visual on your missing ski. Then get a visual on a nice looking stranger close to your ski and call to them, pleading for assistance. Your skier friend will be of no service as he is currently engulfed in tearful guffaws.

Step Twelve: Repeat Step Nine

Successfully. At this point your friend should have recovered from his belly busting bliss and is now ready to instruct you in mobility and control.

Step Thirteen: Mobility

Can you do the splits? Commonly known as a snow plow or piece of pizza, the wedge is the first ski technique (after apparel donning and equipment engagement) one must learn. Mastering the wedge allows for stopping and turning, two very important skills for an individual careening downhill on a tree lined slope.

This is accomplished by bringing the tips of ones skis almost in touching position while spreading feet and ends of skis far, FAR apart. When performed properly, the wedge feels as if one is attempting the Chinese Splits!

Step Fourteen: Quack, Quack!

Having perfected the “stop” skill of the wedge, it is now time to move. Maintaining wedge position, begin walking like a duck. This will allow you to move up or downhill, as well as apply brakes when necessary. Make your way to the rope tow.

Step Fifteen: Do the Shuffle

Failing to make skis move, tiring of the wedge, and desperately needing relief of wedge induced hip cramps, give up and do the shuffle. This is not an approved ski technique, rather an act of desperation. It is accomplished by attempting to walk in ones skis. Unfortunately, the forward motion of one foot forces the slick underside of the opposite snow ski in a backwards direction, resulting in one step forward – three-quarters step back.

Not to worry, skier friend will presently become frustrated and help you to the rope tow. This will involve holding on to his ski pole while he drags you forward, or having his gloved hands push you from behind. Either way, you get a much needed rest!

Step Sixteen: Encounter the Rope Tow

It’s not really a rope. It’s a cable! And you have to hold onto it while it drags you up the bunny (beginner) hill. You must now forget everything you have learned about skiing techniques to-date. In other words, “Don’t snow plow!”

Duck walk or shuffle your way to a position lateral (that means beside) the moving cable. Skis should be parallel to one another and parallel to the cable. Hopefully, the snowy surface beneath is flat!

Squat. That’s right, bend knees so that legs are flexed and springy! This may be difficult depending upon the time and energy exhausted while learning the wedge position!

Maintaining squatting stance and keeping skis straight, gently move hands into a position around the cable similar to that of a golfer’s grip. Patiently close hands around cable and allow it to pull you towards the top of the slope. Immediately the need for springy flexed legs will become apparent. Now the rope tow is in charge!

If one is able to maintain his stance, the cable will bring him safely to top of slope where he must quickly let go of the cable, move skis into a slight wedge to allow them to turn away from the cable, and then form a stronger wedge to come to a complete stop.

Unfortunately, this is easier instructed than accomplished.

Step Seventeen: Damage Control

That little stance while holding onto cable wasn’t so easy, was it? Having moved several yards along the tow path before losing one’s balance and crashing to the ground, skier must now repeat Steps Ten, Nine, Sixteen and quite possibly Step Eleven. In that order! Skier friend will once again be doubled over in uncontrollable fits of laughter.

Repeat Step Sixteen successfully.

Step Seventeen: Ski!

Having made his way to the top of a small slope – remember, bunny hill is short for, “You really don’t have any business being here” – it is now time to careen down the slope. Maintain a wedge! Point skis downhill and let ‘em run! Do one’s best to avoid contact with any object not made of snow such as other skiers and/or their equipment. It would be good to cover some control and turning points; however, the skier and this writer are nearly exhausted. Skier will most assuredly be too excited or scared to recall any techniques other than the wedge; therefore, those points will not be covered at this time.

Step Eighteen: Do One or More of the Following.

Take four Ibuprofen, see your chiropractor, or … visit the emergency room of the nearest hospital.

Just what did I accomplish?

2011-02-16T09:59:00.000-08:00

I devoted a day to correspondence. I was not certain what I actually accomplished - a number of tasks fell under the "Correspond" category. Some would seem as though they had nothing to do with correspondence, yet their completion made it easier for me to correspond!

* I cleaned out a cabinet. I dumped outdated catalogs in the trash, dusted the cabinet, and restocked it with mailing labels, envelopes and copy paper. This simple act of de-cluttering freed some parts of my brain!

* I calendared some items and tossed the notes and reminders littering my desk. I have found that keeping an accurate calendar prevents missed deadlines and also frees up space in my brain.

* I deleted old and uninteresting email messages.

* I wrote and published a blog entry about my Christmas gifts.

* I put a new ink cartridge in my printer and plugged it in to my recently refurbished, not quite as good as new, laptop. It worked!

* I printed and filed several online receipts that have been in limbo while awaiting a functioning computer.

* I did the daily crossword puzzle in the newspaper to sharpen my word skills.

* I spent time on Facebook.

* I sent text messages to my daughter.

* I composed a scholarship renewal letter for my missionary son.

* I researched scholarship and application deadlines - also for the missionary son.

* I emailed my missionary son.

* I queried three literary agents about my manuscript "A Time to Heal" and I made a spreadsheet to track the queries. I netted three rejections!

* I recorded the correspondence tasks in a notebook and later shared them here!

Fourteen tasks. I suppose the day was fruitful after all.

What I learned?
Those days when you wonder, "Have I done any good?" Make a record of your tasks. You might surprise yourself.

It's All Uphill!

2011-02-07T11:32:00.000-08:00

I live in a hole.

I am not complaining that my life is the pits or that I am stuck in a rut, the statement is literal – not figurative. I live in a geographical hole.

I was reminded of this around 5:00 am when the rich aroma of a local polecat found its way into my home and interrupted my slumber! Burning leaves, smoldering grass piles, and skunk scents from around the neighborhood often creep down the streets and into my space. The heavier the air – the richer the aroma. It was foggy this morning!

Living in a hole offers a bit of privacy. The neighbors above us view our roof rather than gazing straight through our windows.

Although the aromas are annoying, they are few and far between. The inconvenience of hole dwelling becomes a greater issue when one desires to exercise providing, of course, that one is a runner or a biker … and we are.

“It's uphill in every direction.” A common complaint in the Green household. This is only partially true. There is another path that begins on a downhill slope, but it is less desirable as it encounters more traffic and population. It also requires a hill climb at the end of the workout to return home!

So we run and we ride and we whine … and we pray that the wind doesn't blow, because the only thing worse than running uphill is running uphill with a headwind!

When someone quotes, “There's no place to go but up,” we take it literally!

Privacy Protection

2011-02-04T07:57:00.000-08:00

My privacy is so well protected I can't hear myself think!

You know the instructions …

“Please reset your password. It must contain a minimum of eight characters with at least one upper case and one lower case letter and two numbers … and no special characters.”

“Please set three security questions. 1) What was the name of your first pet? (I was a kid. How should I know?) 2) The name of your college roommate. (I had lots of those.) 3) What is your grandfather's mother's maiden name? (Let me get out the family bible!)

My son is serving a two year proselyting mission in Brazil. He only calls outside the country on Christmas and Mothers' Day. He lost his debit card three months ago! I ordered a new one and he finally received it three weeks ago. In his weekly email he indicated he was having difficulty using it. I stepped in to the local bank ...

“Everything seems to be working. Did you give him the correct PIN?” I sent another email with the PIN once again. I assumed that was the problem. Another week went by and another email arrived - “Still having trouble with the card. Here is an 800 number for assistance.” I called the 800 number …

“Please give me the last four digits of your social security number to verify your identity.”

“Please give me the number on the card.”

“If you could just ask him if it gives him an error message when he tries to use the card ...”

Me: I cannot call him. I have to wait for an email. He needs access to this account!

“If you could just call him ...”

Me: I can't call him! It will take two weeks to get an answer by email!

“I can't view his account because you are not him.”

Me: I am a co-owner of that account! I have all his information. I have Power of Attorney for him! HE NEEDS ACCESS TO THIS ACCOUNT! It will take two months to order another card and get it to him. Can't you just check to see if it is authorized for international use?

“I am a mother, too, so I understand, but because his name is on the card I can't ...”

Me: My local bank was able to access it last week!

“I would hate to give information to the wrong person ...”

Me: WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO? HE NEEDS ACCESS TO THIS ACCOUNT!!

“Well you could step in to your local bank and they could VERIFY YOUR IDENTITY.”

Isn't that why I gave her the last four digits of my SSN?

I Could Have Been Sunbathing!

2011-02-03T09:59:00.000-08:00

I was supposed to be sitting on a beach in St. Thomas, Virgin Islands today, my skin softening from the humid tropical climate, toes wriggling in the sand, nails painted to match the waters of the Caribbean, lunching at one of the many restaurants at my all-inclusive hotel ...

Alas, here I sit at my computer, skin drying from the forced air, toes curling and uncurling as I work, fingers turning blue from the frigid northern air, wondering what I shall fix for lunch ...

Blame the weather. Blame the airlines. Blame poor luck.

I'm trying to keep a positive outlook. Maybe this is my lucky day? What about the other passengers of the 5500 flights that were canceled this week? Is it possible we could all be lucky?

I'm using the time to promote my writing. I rewrote my query letter. I searched out and contacted yet another agent for my novel. I'm blogging with a complete lack of humility (or is it in a complete act of desperation?) to gain followers that my writing might become popular and I may somehow hit the literary jackpot.

It is always a stab in the dark. This agent has an interesting name. This agent "says" she accepts historical fiction. This agent actually has an active website!

So I stab and then I wait. Then I scar! "Thank you for your submission, but ..."
"We don't feel we can effectively represent you in the current marketplace." Huh?
"Your manuscript does not fit our needs." But I only sent you a letter - you haven't read the mss.
"Your work has merit and your characters are well developed, but I represent writing set in North America, specifically, Maine." Doesn't that limit one just a bit?

More stabbing. More waiting.

Oh, to have been basking on the beach today!

Impressions

2011-01-25T12:42:00.000-08:00

There's nothing like a first impression … or a second, or third, or whatever it takes to make a good one!

I make retainers for peoples mouths. They need to fit. The problem is, no matter how talented I am or how meticulous I work, the quality of the final product cannot be better than the quality of the model provided. In other words, if someone else does inferior work, my work will inevitably be inferior and there is nothing I can do to fix it. Frustrating.

Okay, there are a few things that I can try to make the product a bit better, such as build a tooth where there wasn't one or whittle away a glob of plaster that doesn't belong, but I can only use my experience and imagination hoping that I am getting a “close” rendition of the actual mouth. It will, however, never be quite the same.

Here's what I think …

*First impressions might be poor, but it is worth the effort to try to rectify them.

*Others cannot fix our mistakes, however, they often pay for our errors and shortcomings.

*Even the best imitation is not as good as the original.

That's my sermon for today!

I built it. Now where is everybody?

2011-01-14T10:02:00.000-08:00

This day marks the 93^rd Anniversary of my father's birth. Dad, Wells, has been gone for a few years, but that doesn't mean we can't do some celebrating. Today, we eat cake.

“Why don't you build me a cake?”

I can't count how many times I heard that expression while growing up. The wonder is that Esther would usually do just that – build a cake.

Building a cake is different than opening a box and dumping a couple eggs and some oil in the mix. Building a cake requires much more effort, hence the term.

At the Green house, we have a favorite cake to build. We've dubbed it Chocolate Thud. However, on this day we consume Dad's favorite – Burnt Sugar Cake. It is quite an undertaking to build a Burnt Sugar Cake.

First, one must burn the sugar!

Patience is golden, as is the sugar once it is burnt.

Then, hot water must be added to thin the sugar into a caramel syrup. The syrup must cool.

Round cake pans are required because this isn't your run of the mill, leave it in the pan, Chocolate Thud. A Burnt Sugar Cake must be layered in frosting. ( It has been my experience that this is to moisten the actual cake. I'm still perfecting the process.)

Shortening, sugar, and egg yolks (yes, one must separate the eggs) are creamed together and caramel syrup added.

Add dry ingredients.

Egg whites are beaten until firm and then folded into the rest of the batter.

I suspect that this recipe contains too much leavening at the cakes nearly climb out of the pan and then, sadly, they fall in the middle. It might take some tweaking.

The cooled cakes require some remodeling as they are uneven. I put my sharpest knife to use and hide the repairs with a spackling of frosting that has been flavored with leftover caramel syrup. (Nelsons – I am sorry, but I couldn't retrieve the frosting recipe from Esther's memory.)

It isn't our favorite cake, but it was Dad's, so it is our favorite on January 14.

No More Excuses

2011-01-11T10:10:00.000-08:00

My family either believes I WANT to get in shape, or they believe I NEED to get in shape. How do I know this? Here is my Christmas list of items received ...

One Road Bike
One Indoor Trainer - see photo
One Sportline Watch
One Pair of Yaktrax

Whew! I'm tired just thinking about using all this stuff!

It was a pretty good haul. I have yet to try out the road bike due to the frigid temps. The wind chill factor created by added speed from such a fast set of wheels has kept me on my feet and off my bike. I am anxious for a warm day!

The Yaktrax are still in the box because the roads, although frigid, are dry and I have not needed extra traction the few times I have gone for a run since opening my Christmas gifts.

I am learning to use the Sportline watch, complete with Heart Rate Monitor, Calorie Burn Calculator, Timer, and Stopwatch. It takes some coordination and practice. I have found it useful as a motivator to push a little harder to run a second mile a little faster than the first. Learning about Heart Rate Target Zones has aided me as I begin using the other toy ...

The Indoor Trainer! It's harder than it looks. In order to keep the road bikes free and ready to hit the pavement the minute a warm day arrives, we mounted a mountain bike on the trainer. Those who know KNOW that riding a mountain bike requires a lot more effort than does a road bike. The trainer is in a cool room with a ceiling fan. Here is what I have learned ...

Five minutes - Getting warmed up. (14 mph. Heart Rate - 125 bpm) Music is a motivator.

Ten minutes - Sweat drips from my face. (16 mph. Heart Rate - 135 - 140 bpm) Important to have a towel handy. No wind chill factor here.

Fifteen minutes - Quads are burning. (18 mph. Heart Rate - 150 - 160 bpm) Try to hold steady for five more minutes.

Twenty minutes - The towel is wet. (16 mph. Heart Rate - still pretty high!) Five more minutes to cool down!

Twenty-five minutes - It takes two more minutes for my legs to stop their rotation!

The watch keeps me motivated. The speedometer on the bike gives me a target for my heart rate. An iPod helps pass the time, as does checking my heart rate occasionally. It's all in my house.

No more excuses!

Patience

2011-01-04T12:54:00.000-08:00

Hallelujah! Patience really can be learned!

Maybe my perspective has just changed. I pride myself on my sugar cookies - not so much their presentation, but their flavor and texture. They do take a bit more work than regular old drop cookies. And the mess! Sugar cookies, therefore, are not a staple at the Green Residence as are Chocolate Chip Cookies.

When my children were small I took complete control of the mixing, rolling, cutting out, and baking of sugar cookies. I left the decorating up to them. After all, if the cookie tastes good, who cares what color the icing?

Imagine the family's surprise when I pulled out the cookie making supplies, dragged a chair to the cabinet, wrapped my granddaughter in an adult sized apron, and let her help! Fortunately, she was patient and stayed with the process.

I slowed down, enjoying the journey. She peeked over the rim of the mixing bowl as the motor whirred. She was ever so happy to throw flour on the counter as we rolled the dough. I took time to let her choose the shapes. When she mashed her hand into the dough I traced the outline and made "hands" for Mommy, Daddy, and Bompa. I enjoyed the adventure so much that I joined in the decorating. Actually, I did most of the decorating as she was busy tasting the different colors of icing!

I'm wondering ... does patience come with age, or is it just another bonus for being a grandma?

Lucky Friday

2011-01-04T12:27:00.000-08:00

I was only trying to show my niece and her daughters a good time at Bogus Basin Ski Resort. The mountain I learned to ski upon. The mountain we frequent a dozen times every year. My Mountain!

Spring skiing is so great! The weather is enjoyable. Nobody cries to go indoors because they are freezing. You can get a suntan.

Never mind there was a plane to catch. Never mind there was a track meet to attend. Never mind the snow was rapidly turning to slush. It was Spring! Spring skiing is so great!

Never mind I’m pushing fifty. Never mind I decided to take an alternate route and six-year-old Shyan decided to go with me. Never mind my cell phone was losing its charge.

Never mind I misjudged my location! Never mind my brother-in-law is Director of Mountain Operations and would kill me if he had to send search and rescue! Never mind, never mind, never mind!

But mind I did when I realized we had two choices. We could take the path of least resistance and slide down into a gully that must come out somewhere. I minded that I had seen others in that gully and I knew I didn’t want to be stuck in there. Or … we could climb ever so slightly and come out on my favorite run. Or so I thought!

Never mind my favorite run was two crests away! Those crests were separated by ravines.

So up we climbed up … and down. Then up … and down. Shyan was beginning to show signs of panic. This apparent from the ascent up the music scale and increase in volume of her cries of “Aunt Carol, where are we?” and “Aunt Carol, are we lost?”

“No Shyan, we aren’t lost. We’re at Bogus Basin!” That was all I was certain of – we were at Bogus Basin and Shyan had a plane to catch to visit her father in Seattle. Oh, and I was also certain I didn’t know how I had led her to the place I had, nor how I would lead her out! I hoped Shyan couldn’t hear the panic rising in my own voice.

When things seem really bad, they usually find a way to get just a little bit worse. That’s how it was when I triggered a mini avalanche sliding fifteen feet down an extremely steep slope. I had been attempting to lead Shyan to safety, coaxing her to sing “Do as I’m Doing, Follow, Follow Me!” an old Sunday School song, in an attempt to keep her panic at a manageable level.

The effort required to climb while lugging six-foot-long skis and ski boots on my feet was beginning to exhaust me. I was hot, so I opened the zipper to my jacket, removed my gloves and hat, and made a fruitless attempt to use my cell phone. It probably would not have found a signal if the battery had been charged. We shall never know.

After my unfortunate slide, I could not see Shyan for she was positioned above me and behind a tree. My legs began to tremble and I feared that I was exhausted. Shyan was crying that her leg hurt. I did not know if she was safe or injured. I began to panic. We were alone in an area other skiers were unlikely to venture and I had no way to signal our location.

I could not call for help, and yet I did. I cried out loud, “Father! Help me!” There was no need to explain my predicament, for HE surely knew! Calmness came over me and my thoughts were clear. I knew what to do. I removed my skis and used them much as one would a tree limb hanging over a river bank. I jammed one into the side of the mountain and then the other pulling myself up and jamming the toes of my boots into the snow with each step – a little higher - slowly climbing to safety. I slipped a time or two, but never so far back as I had begun and I continued to progress.

When I arrived at the origination of my decent, I rested a moment, still unsure as to where we should go. We were lost at Bogus Basin. I continued to assure Shyan that we were inside Bogus and we couldn’t be lost because Uncle Steve would find us as long as we were still inside Bogus. I dreaded the moment I faced Uncle Steve!

As I stepped into my skis – a monumental task considering the degree of my fatigue – Shyan pointed to a small rise and asked “Aunt Carol, can we go up there?” There was a large outcropping of rock on a small knoll. It looked as good a place as any. I still had no idea how to get to the safety of the ski lift at the bottom of the hill. Only one problem, it required a little more climbing! The snow was very loose and the going precarious but we carefully made our way to the top of the knoll. I stopped to rest. My trembling legs welcomed the reprieve.

“Lucky Friday!” Shyan shouted.

“Huh?” I panted. I think it was a Thursday.

“Lucky Friday!” she repeated.

I followed the direction of her outstretched arm and beheld a black ski run sign that read “Lucky Friday.”

“Aunt Carol, can we go there?” This time she pleaded!

I laughed, relieved that we were indeed still at Bogus Basin and we had actually discovered a marked run. It was a run I dreaded because I knew its location, the black double diamond marker, and the condition of the snow combined to create a challenge I would not welcome even if my legs were fresh, but it was a marked run and it would eventually lead us to safety.

I could not keep up with Shyan as she sped as quickly as her short skis could carry her through the trees to where she knew her mother was surely waiting. I picked my way through the maze stopping often to rest and make a very ugly, very novice-like turn to avoid a tree.

Much laughter ensued when we emerged from the trees at the bottom of the hill. It was the nervous laughter of relief, followed by a few tears. Uncle Steve was nowhere to be seen, for which I was extremely grateful. The search and rescue had not yet been activated. I would live! My nephew, Nathan, Uncle Steve’s boy who grew up on the mountain asked, “Did you see Castle Greyskull?” Castle Greyskull was the name he and his brother had dubbed the outcropping of rock that Shyan had determined we should follow.

“Yeah, I guess we did. And we came out on Lucky Friday!” I added.

“Did you actually see the Lucky Friday marker?” he asked a little amazed.

“Yeah, we did,” I panted. “I didn’t know there was a run called Lucky Friday.”

Nathan shook his head and quietly stated, “I’ve never seen the Lucky Friday marker.”

How often do events occur that prove both comical and very earthshaking at the same time? The family had a lot of laughs about Aunt Carol getting Shyan lost at Bogus Basin. It is a story that will be told for years amongst the skiing and non-skiing relatives alike. What a joke! Carol got lost at Bogus and Shyan had to find the way out! Yes, we all make light of it. But for me, it was sobering. How quickly did I turn the wrong way when I felt certain I knew what I was doing? How scared did I get before I turned to the only source that could help me? And even after that, I continued to slip, never so far down as the first time, but it took increased effort and many attempts before I reached my goal. And what of the child? In the Book of Mormon it states, “The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid, and the calf and the young lion and fatling together; and a little child shall lead them.” (2 Nephi 21:6) How often does one overlook the faith, optimism, and humility of youth? I was fortunate. On that “Lucky Friday,” or Thursday, I was reminded of several lessons, most especially to remember to exercise the humility of a child.

Easy or not?

2010-12-10T16:03:00.000-08:00

Why is it that those things that are intended to make life easier often complicate things?
(I think I have asked this question before.)

Take, for instance, direct deposit. What could be more convenient than having the paycheck automatically entered into the checking account? It is especially nice if one happens to be out of town on payday! No running to the bank in inclement weather, either. It's great, except for the "cash back" issue. That's right, some of us - my dear husband included - still like to carry a little of the green stuff around. Sure, debit cards are convenient, but cash ... There is no "cash back" with direct deposit. Now, I either have to write him a check (I maintain possession of the check book) or I have to remember to get cash back at the grocery store, or worse yet, I have to run to the bank! I thought that was something I was avoiding by using direct deposit. Hmm.

That is how I wrecked the cookies! Up to my elbows in cookie dough, I answered the phone.

"How would you like to run to the bank and get me some cash?"

It was 3:30 pm Friday.

"Uh, okay, but I'm making some cookies for you right now."

"Are you making the good kind?"

"I'm making some good cookies." They were not his idea of the "good kind" - too much oatmeal and whole wheat flour.

I abandoned my task in order to round up some cash. Cash obtained, I returned to my baking. Somewhere between "run to the bank" and "some good cookies" the dough was not properly combined. The first three dozen cookies to emerge from the oven were flat and gooey. The last were more like homemade rocks.

So much for convenience.

Looks Like Fun, Right?

2010-12-06T11:53:00.000-08:00

I know, some of you think it is crazy to play in the snow, but what else are you going to do about it? Complain?
"I just don't like the cold."
"Winter lasts such a long time."
"I wish it would warm up and melt all this white stuff."
Complaining won't change the weather so you might as well learn to live with it. Here is a short tutorial on how to embrace the season!
Layers. I'm not talking about a new haircut. Never in the history of mankind have there been so many comfortable and convenient ways to brace against the cold. From affordable silky thermal underwear (Fruit of the Loom) to fleece outer clothing, warm stuff is available so go get some - or ask Santa for something warm. You don't have to resort to curling up in a Snuggie unless, of course, that is your thing!
Find a winter hobby - something you can only justify during the cold weather, such as skiing, snow shoeing, or reading everything ever written by Clive Cussler. (That should kill some time!) If you save the hobby for winter months, you'll find yourself looking forward to snow fall.
Find the sun - even if you have to drive. It is amazing the healing effects a few warm rays can have on ones emotions. Even if those rays can only find the tip of your nose because the rest of you is covered in fleece, they will warm your soul.
Finally - refrain from complaining! Negative self talk will only make you miserable, as well as those around you. After all, some of us are trying to enjoy ourselves!
Wanna play in the snow?

Ski Season

2010-12-03T13:16:00.000-08:00

The snow has fallen! I don't remember the last time my favorite ski resort was open in November! Here we are clear into the third day of December and the Greens have not yet hit the slopes. The boys are getting restless! The master of the house is beginning to twitch!

It creates a bit of a problem, this early season opening. I had not planned to commit my Saturdays to the ski hill until much closer to Christmas. After all, I am still a football junkie! The transition goes something like this ...

1 - Clothing. Rather than don a favorite team shirt and lounge pants, participants now must layer on warm and wicking base layers and waterproof outer layers. Gone are the fuzzy socks and slippers. It's time to cram ones foot into unyielding ski boots. Helmets, gloves, and goggles are also part of the required attire.

2 - Alarm Clock. Yes, I have to set it on Saturday.

3 - Food. No more various snacks and main courses dubbed "tailgate food," it is necessary that the meal now fit into the small crock pot (this I love!) that plugs into the dashboard lighter. Chips and sodas are allowed as the physical activity provides a bit of justification. In addition to regular breakfast, a cream filled Bismark is often consumed on the drive up the hill! Ironically, this meal is often consumed on an actual tailgate as opposed to the tailgate food that is consumed in front of a TV!

4 - Equipment. The remote control has been traded for skis, boots, poles, goggles, helmets, jackets, gloves, and ski passes.

5 - Recovery. Much the same with the addition of ibuprofen consumption.

And so it begins ...

Ouch!

2010-11-30T12:04:00.000-08:00

We knew it would happen someday. We just didn't believe it could happen this year! We have become so accustomed to winning, that we almost forgot how it feels to lose.

Is that what Oklahoma felt in 2007? Oregon in 2008 and 2009? TCU? Virginia Tech? Idaho? Every other team that the Broncos rolled over or squeaked past in the last few years?

One ESPN analyst recently said, "All the great teams have a hiccup." Too bad. Sometimes it hurts to hiccup. Let's quit licking our wounds and get back on the band wagon! How many other teams can claim the records, the exciting play, the blue turf, the class act that is the Broncos?

They will win again. I expect it will be the very next game. They will end the season with one loss teetering on, if not in, the top ten. How many teams does that put behind them? Oh yeah, over a hundred! They will go bowling and people all over the country will watch because whether the Broncos play in blue on blue or orange on blue, in orange pants or all white uniforms, they always entertain! And that, my friends, is why we love them.

Go BRONCOS!

College Football Junkie

2010-11-20T19:32:00.000-08:00

I have suddenly become a college football junkie. It is evidenced by my lack of direction this Saturday. Three key teams lay dormant today and I don't know what to do with myself! I mainline on Boise State Broncos, but I get quick fixes from the wins and losses of those teams above and below them in the polls whose fates play into the future of the Broncos.

These are the signs and symptoms of my disorder:

A - Schedule social calendar around Bronco football. As illness progresses, schedule social calendar around Alabama, TCU, Auburn, Oregon, Oregon State, Utah, and Virginia Tech football.
B - Root for Broncos to beat Virginia Tech, Oregon State, Hawaii, Fresno State, and Nevada.
C - Root for Broncos to annihilate all other opponents.
D - Root against Alabama and Oklahoma - always. Except on the occasion that Alabama plays Auburn - then root for Alabama.
E - Root for Virginia Tech, Oregon State, Hawaii, Fresno State, and Nevada to beat every other team they play.
F - Root against Oregon, Auburn, and TCU through out the season.
G - Panic if the Broncos do not score on their first drive.
H - Panic if the Broncos have a turnover - any turnover.
I - Become a fan of Kirk Herbstreit and Lou Holtz.
J - Call for Mark May's resignation.
K - Wonder what will become of your Saturday's when the college football season is over.
L - Hate the BCS. Love the BCS. Hate the BCS ...

I could go on, but there is a game on and I might need to help somebody win ... or lose. I may just have to yell at the commentators if they elaborate on the Broncos in the wrong fashion ...

Voice Mail

2010-11-02T15:54:00.000-07:00

I have a bit of a problem with voice mail - I forget to check it! The old answering machine system worked for me because the flashing light said to me "Emergency! You have a message!" I could push a button when I walked in the door and listen to the messages as I unloaded my groceries, hung up my coat, placed my keys in a safe place that I would eventually forget about, etc. Voice mail works differently and not so efficiently for me.

Voice mail on my home phone only alerts me when I pick up the phone. I only pick up the phone when I am answering a call or wish to make one. By the time I have completed my call, I have forgotten about the beeping voice mail notification.

I often go several days before feeling the need to check my voice mail. This was a blessing during the recent general election. Why? Thanks to Caller ID I ignored any number that I did not recognize. My reasoning: if it is important, the caller will call back. I checked my voice mail today on this election day. I had thirteen voice messages! Of those thirteen messages, two were legitimate messages, three were from telephone solicitors, and eight were recorded messages from various campaigns around the state. The phone has been very quiet today!

So ... if you really need to contact me - identify yourself! Or ... you can always call back or send me an email. I apologize, but ignoring my voice mail just kind of works for me.

Ice Rink Hi-jinks!

2010-10-27T19:35:00.000-07:00

My sister, Kaye, is nothing if not charitable. She is also very creative and crafty. If there is a useful item that can be crafted by hand, Kaye will attempt to reproduce it. So it was that seven-year-old Gary came upon his Clown Pants. They weren’t really clown pants they only appeared to be such. Bright colors and parachute fabric were not to become popular apparel materials for many years to come. Gary’s pants were definitely before their time.

The bitter winters in Eastern Idaho call for added protection from wind and weather, especially for recent Floridian transplants. Kaye, the Do-it-yourself-er, fashioned a pair of baby blue “warm-ups” to keep her offspring dry and comfortable as he trudged to and from school. Unfortunately, the bounteous yards of fabric she used gave one the impression Gary was wearing a pair of Princess Jasmine’s harem pants! He dutifully donned the voluminous pants and marched to and from school enduring the bitter teasing of his school mates – and his aunts!

Hoping to ease his transition from tropical Florida to near Arctic conditions, Gary’s aunts determined to teach him to embrace the cold. We took him ice-skating!

In addition to his clown pants, Gary wore several layers on his upper half and a fuzzy stocking cap. He was forced to wear a nice white pair of girls’ ice skates. When he took to the ice, it was as if a cartoon character had come to life. Rather than wait for instructions, Gary attacked the rink with gusto! He began at one end of the rink using the toe pick – the jagged teeth at the front of a figure skate blade – for traction. Running the length of the rink, his legs whirring like fan blades, the sharp length of the skate blade never making contact with the ice, Gary stopped with only a few yards left before running out of rink. He appeared suspended in air as his legs whirred past one another. Then Gary would suddenly flatten his feet. They promptly slid in front of him as his softer more cushioned parts dropped onto the ice. Most victims of skating falls take a moment to evaluate well being and examine for broken body parts. Not Gary! He bolted upright facing the direction from which he had just arrived, and repeated the activity – step by step – whir by whir – crash by crash!

His enthusiasm was enviable. We had not, however, the energy to join him as we were spent from chuckling.

At length, his doting mother could no longer contain her curiosity, or maybe it was her concern for his welfare, and she joined us. Few can emit a full bodied laugh as does my sister. Our entertainment was now twofold – Gary, whirring and splatting while his mother shook with glee.

We tried to teach. Our attempts to slow Gary’s efforts in hopes that he might gain some control over his movements were futile. He repeatedly attacked the ice with gusto. The silly looking pants added to the visual effect. He truly appeared as a cartoon character and his enthusiasm never waned.

How often do we quell a person’s zeal in an attempt to improve his skills? Would it be better to let them be that they might live in the moment? I don’t know the answers, but I do know that I will never lose the image in my mind of Gary on Ice!

New Again

2010-10-25T15:51:00.000-07:00

Several years ago I was suffering from a physical ailment. It came on so gradually that I did not know how poorly I felt until I began to recover. I felt a bit like these shoes … Let me introduce you to my running shoes. I put six miles on them last Saturday. I can't begin to imagine how many miles they must have covered in their career. I am a bit afraid to know. Running gurus would chastise me for keeping them for so long! Notice the gel heel inserts in the right shoe. They (yes, there are two of them) were placed there to lessen impact and alleviate the discomfort of an inflamed Achilles tendon. Closer inspection will reveal fabric wear at the top of the ankle and on the inside edge of the ankle as well. The first from sliding these shoes off after a run, and the second from rubbing the opposite tread against it on the run! The mesh on the outer toe is also beginning to break down.

Take a look at the tread. What tread? There should be much more pink, but it has worn away, especially on the outer edge of the heel. Why, one might ask, did I let them get so out of shape? Well, much like my health concerns of a few years ago, it came on gradually. After all, if they were good enough to wear on a run on Wednesday, then they should have been good enough to wear on my Saturday run. If they were good enough Saturday, wouldn't they still be good enough today or tomorrow? And so it goes. It is easy to delay change. Change, as we all know, is frightening. What if I purchased new shoes and discovered I didn't like them. What if the change was a mistake?

Look at my new shoes! Pretty, aren't they? I have yet to take them for a test run, but I love them already! No wear and tear! No gel inserts!

Check out that tread!

It wasn't until I brought them home that I realized how truly awful my old runners were. They even look faster! I can't wait to take them for a test run!

The moral of this story is:

Don't be afraid to try something new. That old comfort zone of yours may not be as nice as you might think!

A Snail's Pace

2010-10-23T14:45:00.000-07:00

Spotted in a rainforest in Puerto Rico, this little guy didn't seem at all disturbed as I invaded his space for a photo op. I thought, "How would I know if he was disturbed? It isn't like he can run away. He's a snail!" And a rather large one at that! His shell had nearly the same diameter as an Oreo cookie. (Pardon the food comparison, but it is effective, is it not? Everyone knows the size of an Oreo.)

I wonder if he knows he is slow, or ... does he consider his pace to be sufficient for his needs? Does a cheetah know he is fast, or does he simply use his speed to fulfill his needs? I know. I know! They probably don't have the capability to think about it at all, but what if they did? Would the snail competetively say, "Hey, I bet I can move slower than you!" Would the cheetah challenge, "Let's race!"

Is that what sets us apart from the rest of the Animal Kingdom? Our competetive natures? Our drive? Our need to always do more? Citius? Altius? Fortius?

Isn't a snail's pace enough at times?

Autumn!

2010-10-21T12:57:00.000-07:00

Amidst the business of Autumn (and around here it is busy!) it's nice to take a moment and enjoy the visual pleasures!

Cold enough to turn the leaves, yet warm enough to enjoy a Cross Country Meet in one's shirtsleeves. What a beautiful time of year!

It doesn't last for long. Soon, all of those leaves will be on the ground. Then - someone will clear them away and we'll have to wait another year to behold the brilliant colors of fall.

Blue skies! Appreciate it while it lasts!

I'm glad I was enjoying the scenery instead of running the race this time! So long Cross Country Season - until next year....

Speedwork

2010-10-13T13:18:00.000-07:00

My running partner and I committed to the 2010 YMCA Christmas Run. It's a little longer (6.1 miles) than our usual races, so I downloaded a training plan from the SMARTCoach program on runnersworld.com. It is individualized - recent race times, how hard do you want to train, what day do you want to do a long run, etc. are entered and then it spits out a plan just for you ... or so it says.

Today's workout was "Speedwork." Speedwork is similar to interval training in that the total run of 5 miles is broken into a warm up, timed portions, jogs, and a cool down. It's those timed portions that got to me! I had to run a half mile three different times in a specified length of time. I remember the days when my goal was just to run a half mile without stopping! SMARTCoach spit out a pretty fast half mile pace - fast, that is, for me! The good news is that although my first two timed portions were a bit over the target pace, my third was several seconds under. I'm sure it helped that I was finally warmed up (35 degrees outside this morning) and that the only hill was a short incline.

I'm really hoping this Speedwork will pay off because my legs are really tired now! I have to go now - I have a Cross Country race to watch. Those crazy kids! Why do they like to run 3.1 miles?

Change is in the Air!

2010-10-11T13:35:00.000-07:00

I thought, perhaps, the sky was falling last night at bedtime! The metal roof over my bedroom magnifies the sound of rain. A light drizzle to some sounds like a down pour to me. It was heightened, I am sure, by the fact that I haven't heard that patter in quite some time.

It is a bit like indulging in a treat one has avoided for some time. The satisfaction is greater due to the anticipation. I can't say that I anticipate rain storms with the same excitement as a hot fudge sundae, but the sensations are increased just the same.

Something else the patter reminded me about it the pending snow ski season! It's on its way!

Leaves

2010-10-07T09:06:00.000-07:00

Leaves landing lightly
Looking forlorn lying low.

Listen. Larks are lilting
Lofting lines of longing.

Longer looms the low light
Leaving life a little lonely.

Lovely leisure lingers
Lounging lushly in the loam.

Just a Formality!

2010-09-30T13:45:00.000-07:00

While I was busy doing my best to get a PR (Personal Record for all you non-running fans)my sisters and company were making the most of their journey. Notice the tuxedos? That's right, the Nelson girls managed to get a formal escort across the finish line! Maybe we SHOULD have gone for Gofer Girls, cuz we always go fer boys!

We Did It!

2010-09-27T13:58:00.000-07:00

I'm having technical difficulties. My photos aren't uploading well. This one only tells part of the story, so I'll narrate the rest.

Two years ago I ran my first 5K at the St. Luke's Women's Fitness Celebration in Boise, ID. It was an overcast, rainy day and proved to be a very difficult challenge for me. I was hysterical at the finish line, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. We made a hasty get away to avoid the onset of hypothermia.

Last year I ran again. I beat my previous time by two hundredths of a second! I'm not sure that even counts. I was running injured as my Achilles tendon had been giving me fits for several weeks. My right leg was taped from knee to arch. This time I convinced my daughter and my niece to join me. They both had young babies. They both finished well ahead of me. We made a hasty get away to feed the infants.

This year was a bit different. My daughter and leg taper could not attend. My niece ran ahead of me again. (Those youngsters are fast!) We both beat our times from last year. I cut nearly two minutes off my time! I'm pretty sure that counts! We had a leisurely day at the park enjoying our complimentary breakfast and frozen dairy products. No hasty get away this year!

Two friends from Parma joined in the walk, as well as, four of my sisters, another niece, my niece's mother-in-law, and several of the Jefferies clan. I am certain the Jefferies had a wonderful time. Sadly, we never found each other. It's easy to get lost amongst 13,000 women!

Here are some highlights of the day ...

1 - I beat my time.
2 - Nobody took the short cut.
3 - Creamsicles.
4 - Guys in tuxedos.
5 - Barb tried to cheat.
6 - Barb didn't know she was trying to cheat.
7 - More creamsicles.
8 - Sarah crossing the finish line.
9 - Melanie's quotes.
10 - Finish line photo (see above)
11 - Clear blue skies.
12 - Did I mention creamsicles?

Have I Lost My Touch?

2010-09-15T18:30:00.000-07:00

Maybe I should reconsider baking. As noted in my seldom read and less often purchased book, "Gold Pans and Iron Skillets," I believe baking serves as therapeutic activity for many ailments not the least of which is hunger. Let's just name a few - boredom, frustration, aggravation, depression, and a down turned economy! However, I've been having a little trouble lately.

My zucchini bread was squishy inside. That was weird since I added five minutes to the timer and then another five. Hmm. The tomatoes I was bottling at the same time proved to be very well-done. As it turns out, I had my timers confused. The bread needed another ten minutes. The tomatoes, on the other hand, should be very safe to eat.

Zucchini is plentiful so I baked more bread a few days later. This time I was cautious to use only one timer. That would have worked out fabulously if I had been in the house at the moment it buzzed! I believe I made up the ten minutes that I shorted the previous batch. This bread did not want to come out of the pans. I suppose it had been there so long it thought it was supposed to stay.

Unleavened bread happens by mistake. At least that's how it happens at my house. The focaccia bread I stirred up to go with the tomato bruschetta sauce that I made from my garden produce smelled delicious. It looked like a cracker. It chewed like leather. It tasted fine, but I am now wondering what is happening on my insides as it was difficult for the sink disposal to chew it up!

I'm wondering if I've lost my touch.

It's Really About Love

2010-09-09T13:30:00.000-07:00

My husband can seldom pop the top on a soda can without sharing “just a sip” with me. The same goes for chocolate cake, cookies, dessert at a restaurant, etc. It’s not that I really want a soda. If I wanted one, I would have one. I think it’s deeper than that. What I really want is to know if he loves me enough to share his soda with me.

Think about it. How many times have you seen a woman take “just a taste” of her sweetheart’s dessert? She doesn’t really want a dessert, for if she did, she would want the whole serving … and she wouldn’t be all that willing to share.

It is a test. Maybe it is a ritual or a well choreographed dance. Hubby orders dessert. Wife declines, “I couldn’t eat another bite.” Hubby gets his dessert. Wife helps herself to Hubby’s dessert - just a bite! Hubby never complains, because … he loves her, and he expects to share … and he knows the game rules.

Overheard recently after a wife helped herself to her husband’s sports drink:

Husband #1 “They always want to share.”
Husband #2 “Ya, until it’s theirs. They don’t ever want to share with us!”

That’s right, because if we really wanted a treat, we would want it all to ourselves. We’re just testing them. Isn’t it grand that they know the rules?

How to be a Football Fan

2010-08-19T15:01:00.000-07:00

As summer winds down and fall gears up, it is time for a short primer on FAN-aticism!

There are any number of programs, coaches, camps, and playbooks existing for the sole purpose of teaching athletes to become football players. There are not, however, so many aides for football fans. The requirements to develop one’s football fan-ness, I have observed, are myriad and often complicated. One might argue that a football fan exercises more discipline and talent than does the average football player. Let us examine.

In order to become a fan, one must have something to adore. Thus, a football fan must first adopt a team for which he will pledge undying devotion. Pick any team – Little League, High School, NCAA, or NFL. It matters not what team, rather the level of devotion is key.

Learn the game – or not! Remember the level of devotion is key, not one’s ability to understand the game. This will become clear as further instructions are revealed.

Adopt team colors as your favorite wardrobe guide. Purple and green, brown and gold, or blue and orange are lovely combinations. Neither fit nor style matters much. It’s all about the color scheme.

Take the color scheme to a new level and purchase team colored Mardi Gras beads and earrings. These are worn by male fans as well as female fans. One might consider painting a paw print or mascot head on the right side of his face. Diving full into the spirit of fan-ship, he may also ad his favorite player’s jersey number on the left side of his face. Better yet, paint the whole face! Half purple and half green works well, or one might opt for the simpler yet just as effective entire face blue effect.

Spend a bunch of money! Team jerseys and caps, stadium blankets with team logos embroidered on them, license plate holders indicating for whom the driver has pledged his loyalty, coffee mugs, oversized foam fingers displaying the team’s superiority, and logo emblazoned golf shirts are excellent avenues for which to dispose of one’s personal funds. Buy concessions! Spend all of one’s weekly food allowance on concessions! Three dollar bottled water, five dollar hot dogs, and four dollar boxes of candy present a rapid drain on one’s cash flow, not to mention the five dollar hamburger with petrified bun!

Track the team stats. One needn’t understand the game to have access to data containing team and individual numbers that, when rattled off with the appropriate inflection, indicate one’s devotion and intelligence. Bigger numbers translate to more success. Right? Unless, of course, one truly does understand the game and those numbers are in the Interceptions, Penalties, or Turnovers columns. One might also begin referring to players by their first names, as if he knows them personally.

Throw a tailgate party – even if you have no tailgate! A folding table in the family room will do if one does not have access to a stadium parking spot and season tickets. Although the location of the tailgate party is not pertinent, the consumption of high fat/low nutritional value foods is imperative! Bratwurst, chili dogs, bar-b-cue ribs, nachos, fried potatoes, and cheese dip are recommended. These foods are best enhanced if the chef is sporting a team jersey that is small enough to allow his lower abdomen to be viewed peeking between the jersey and his belt.

Rearrange schedules to accommodate ballgames. A novice can accomplish this by simply rearranging conflicting dinner dates and social engagements. However, the seasoned fan will postpone or skip important business meetings and medical appointments. Social engagements do not enter into the equation as he has no social life unrelated to football.

Attend the ballgame in the stadium wearing headphones tuned to one’s favorite radio announcer. This allows for audio/visual overload. Neither a play nor a commentary shall be missed!

Yell at the referees. Call them by name – or by some other name such as Stripes, Zebra, or You *&^(#@(! Complain when they make a bad call. Offer to do the job for them. Offer them your glasses. Complain when they make any call against your team. Shake fist and stomp feet in their general direction.

Mourn and celebrate. Levels of joy and sorrow are myriad depending on the successes or failures of the favorite team. Take for example the devoted Vandal fan. (The university will remain nameless to protect the devoted fan. Clue: There aren’t many universities in Idaho.) He’s still clinging to a win streak from long ago, overshadowed by his current losing streak. A first down, any first down, is a reason for celebration! His rival, whom he holds the win streak over, has moved on to greater foes, however, the fan still finds rejoicing in the beauty of his school colors. Much prettier than that ugly blue and orange! On the other hand, a fan whose team is rolling successfully along may become discouraged if they are leading the opponent by only twenty-one points. It’s all in one’s perspective.

Finally, a true fan will push his oxygen tank supporting walker into the stadium, through the crowds, to the concession stand, and down the bleachers, all the while wearing any or all of the apparel cited previously complete with matching hair coloring – preferably, half and half.

It was really that hot!

2010-08-12T15:14:00.000-07:00

What do you do in the summertime when it's one hundred degrees outside?
If you are as crazy as me and my friends, you squeeze your head into color coded swim caps and swim in a pond for one quarter mile taking care not to ingest the fuzzy green pond water.

Then you hop on a bike and ride like mad for six miles, all the while smiling for the camera just in case someone is snapping a shot.

After the bike ride, jump off your bike and run for two miles (or maybe walk just a bit) while volunteers offer cups of water to splash or drink - or both - until you reach the finish line. Then you can consume pizza and fruit and all the water you can hold.

Go home. Sleep it off. In the morning, you can hunt for another race to run!

Butt Flars

2010-07-28T20:12:00.000-07:00

I've been sitting on this one for awhile. It's not that I don't like horses, or rodeos, or people that ride horses and participate in rodeos. I just don't like STUPID. A recent visit to the Snake River Stampede, which I completely enjoyed, reminded me of this passage. I suppose it's time to share.
I am not unfamiliar to horsemanship. My father led pack trains through Glacier National Park. My sister is a horsewoman from her earliest years. I’ve ridden a horse bareback -- in shorts! I’ve ridden with only a halter – on the horse, of course. No bridle. I’ve saddled horses. I can put a bridle on a horse. I had a horse step on my foot once. I know what a flank is, as well as, a cinch. Hey, I even cried because none of the neighborhood kids would be horses in our make believe parade so that I could be the street cleaner! One of my best friends had horses and we used to ride together – I on my own horse. I know the difference between a mule and a horse, even the difference between a pinto pony and a buckskin. There is a difference between trotting and galloping, and I’ve done both on a horse. But I never heard tell of Butt Flars!

Until recently. We recently attended the Grand Marshall activities for a small town rodeo. The festivities included a banquet and a parade through the small (2000 strong) town. A banquet facilitated a portion of the Rodeo Queen contest. That is where the fun began.

Miss Outgoing Rodeo Queen emceed the evening. Throughout the event she inserted personal vignettes of her year of royal reign. She was an attractive young thing with a distinct country drawl. I believe she worked hard to cultivate the drawl! Maybe that is why the volunteer responsible for typing the program had trouble with “Marshall.” It was consistently, however phonetically, misspelled – Marshel.

It is important to understand that though a dairy farmer from birth, my husband never considered himself a cowboy. Cowboys ride horses and wear tight jeans with boots. Kevin prefers jeans he can breathe in and sneakers. He has, however, been known to ride and even own a horse in his day. It was with great concentration that the two of us listened to Miss Outgoing Rodeo Queen’s narrative. We followed when she told of the time her Daddy “Caught the clutch on far,” imagining the roadside as it burst into flames from contact with the burning clutch. We felt her pain when she recalled the time her horse trailer had a flat and the truck “ran over the spare tar.” I haven’t yet figured out how that tire got in front of the truck. When she handed her Small Town Rodeo Queen counterparts a single long stemmed rose and said “I’d like to thenk ‘er,” we felt her unique gratitude, all six times.

Personally, I struggled a bit when it was time to play “Stump the Queen” with the reigning cowgirls and current candidates. If they couldn’t answer correctly, the questioner would win a prize! I received a “don’t you dare” look from my husband. I had to sit on my hands, for I wanted so badly to raise my arm and ask, “How do you spell Marshall?”

The highlight of the evening, for me at least, was when Miss Outgoing Rodeo Queen told about leaving her “Lahm grain butt flars on Grandpa’s grave.”

Huh? I didn’t know what she was talking about, nor did my husband. I could tell this by the look on his face.

“What are butt flars?” He whispered.

I shrugged. Neither of us had a clue. We had seen the large flower arrangements displayed on the rodeo queen’s table as we arrived at the much celebrated “Grand Marshell and Rodeo Queen Banquet.” They were there along with her scrapbook photos and colorful sashes and blankets (Otherwise known as serapes. I learned this through much research on the part of myself and my horsewoman sister.)

“Does she mean butt flowers? Is that what those big bouquets behind the saddle are called? Butt Flowers?”

Kevin tried to shush me. My mirth had been building since the mention of the clutch far.

“Lahm grain? Does she mean lime green?”

“People are listening,” he warned through clenched teeth.

It took a heroic attempt, but I subdued my hysteria to a manageable level – until we left! When I was certain we were safely inside our farming pickup (this would be a pickup used in the production of produce rather than the hauling of rodeo queen paraphernalia) I let loose. Giggles erupted. Then I guffawed!

“Lahm grain butt flars! Are you kidding me! I have to call Judy!”

“Hey, what are those flowers on the back of rodeo queen horses called?” Judy and I love to exchange loaded questions.

“I don’t know. Why?”

“Well …” I recalled my banquet experience.

“No self-respecting horse would be caught dead wearing flowers or glitter on its butt!” This statement came from the lips of a true horsewoman. “I know a rodeo gal. I’ll ask her and get back to you.”

I waited.

“Sash? My friend said she thinks it is sash.”

“I think that is the fancy blanket beneath the flowers,” I replied. “You know, with the Miss Small Town Rodeo stuff embroidered on it?”

I looked on the internet. I found nothing but hairdo advice and waving instructions. Oh, and a little something about cross dressers. Eew!

Judy called back. “Butt Blossoms?” We were on a roll from there.

“Backside Bouquets?” “Butt Blooms?” “Rump Roses?” “Parade Posies?” “Butt Buds?”

I searched further. It turns out it isn’t sash, nor is the proper term Butt Flars. It is Parade Flower Pack. Of course, Parade Flower Pack is quite a mouthful. It stands to reason those pretty young gals with their bright colored shirts and perfect hairdos would opt for Butt Flars!

Look Who's Whining Now

2010-07-19T16:03:00.001-07:00

I'm the one that taught this kid to ski when he was whining that he just preferred to kneeboard - he didn't want to learn to ski. Now, he's the first one in the water every time. We started that practice when he was little, because he was the baby. It helped to minimize the whining!

Now - he just likes to show off. Wonder where he got that? Last week he graduated to his dad's ski. Look out! There's no living with him now!

I have never been able to get that low to the water. Fear? Maybe. Not tough enough? Maybe. Too old? Maybe. Guess I'll just have to play the "Grandma" card. Or, there is always the "I brought you into this world" card. Whatever. He's been a great student. Taught him everything I know!

Warning Signs?

2010-07-03T15:12:00.000-07:00

We embarked on a long awaited bike ride through the country. We estimated the route to be about 20 miles - a nice Saturday morning ride. The route had been planned for weeks. The weather was nice. Nothing would keep us from our goal, not even the Fourth of July flag raising ceremony others were attending. This was our chance!

"Detour Ahead" only means detour if you don't live in the area, are afraid of gravel, or believe road construction truely means men will be working, right? It was a Saturday. There would be no workers, after all, this is a government job. Gravel is a fact of life in a farming community. If you don't believe it, just take a look at my windshield. Bikes can weave their way through any construction barricade. Right?

We turned left.

Someone must be reinforcing a bridge up ahead. It's Saturday. We'll just pedal across.

We would definitely need to weave through some barricades. We might even need to carry the bikes if the terrain was too rough, but it shouldn't be very far ...

Hmm. A barricade ... and a truck.

Yet another warning sign. "You have exactly 500 feet to turn back!" We had already come seven miles, surely we wouldn't have to turn back now!

The bridge must be beyond that truck. Time to get off the bikes and walk around the big truck blocking the bridge.

More construction equipment. It's called a track hoe. It's often used for clearing debris from irrigation canals in early Spring. Why would it be needed to reinforce a bridge?

What bridge!

If we just carry the bikes along the cement retaining wall, lift them over the rail and onto the metal beam, walk them across the beam, lift them down onto the cement retaining wall on the other side of the canal ....

Then maybe we could finish our long awaited twenty mile (22.9 to be exact) bike ride. And so we did!

(Note to self: In the future carry a camera on all adventures. This photo would have been oh so much more exciting with him in his bike shorts, helmet, and gloves actually lifting the bike!)

Is there a moral to this story? You pick.

"Ignoring warning signs and promptings is foolish and will only lead to trouble."

"Don't let anything discourage or detour you from your goal."

"Always be prepared, ie. carry a camera!"

"When someone says 'I think it is 20 miles,' expect it to be longer and know that there will be obstacles to overcome."

Huh?

2010-07-01T14:57:00.000-07:00

A sign on the drive up window at my bank reads:

Non-customers must come inside.
Use rock or bar.

I thought about taking a photo, but I was afraid I would be mistaken for a non-customer trying to enter the bank with my camera instead of using a rock or bar as instructed.

Who is Bravest of Them All?

2010-06-29T13:34:00.000-07:00

When fourteen and fifteen year old girls descend a cliff on ropes because they believe they have to do it to fulfill a Girls' Camp requirement courage manifests itself.

The Question: Who is most courageous?

It is important to note that none of the girls had rappelled previously. One young lady asked, "Can I go Aussie my first time?" "Aussie" a term apparently coined after Australian rappellers, is the act of descending the rope face first while eyeing the fast approaching ground beneath. This is opposed to the other option, "seat first." This is done while staring at the rock face, only viewing the ground below when one chooses to look down. Miss Aussie took her chances and reappeared later atop the cliff smiling from ear to ear. She loved the experience!

Another young lady never mentioned how afraid she felt. She dutifully strapped on her gear and just as dutifully descended the cliff - very slowly. Tears poured from her terrified eyes as she continued her descent. When she returned atop the cliff later, tears still streamed. She said very little.

Others went through the motions and declared, "I am never doing that again!" Some stated, "That was fun, but I think I want to go Aussie next time." Still others could take the sport or leave it. They felt neither a rush of adrenaline nor paralyzing fear.

So, who is bravest? She who embraces the danger head on, or is it she who faces the danger despite an overwhelming fear? Have you ever descended a rope in such a manner? I think they are all brave!

Hoorah for Level Four!!

I Believe in Angels

2010-06-16T19:40:00.000-07:00

While I was running errands, an angel visited my house and left me the most beautiful strawberries I have ever seen. They were from her garden and she chose to share them with me!

They were too pretty to smash up into jam. Considering my recent shortcake mishap, I was reluctant to pursue that project. When I reported the lovely gift to the man of the house, I was certain he would say, “You could make me a little shortcake!” That’s what I thought! Rather, he offered, “I guess you could burn the house down trying to make another cake!” Harrumph. I determined to show him!

I can still bake shortcake from scratch!
Guess who ate all the shortcake?

Guess who showed whom?

Harrumph!

Back to the subject of angels … I don’t know if she is an actual angel, not yet anyway, but I am pretty sure she is a saint. How blessed I am to have people in my life who make good days great, who make my life better just by being a part of it, and who make me want to be more like them. Thank you, my lovely angels!

For the recipe, Click Here.

I Miss My Cat

2010-06-10T15:55:00.000-07:00

I had to put my cat to sleep. I cried. He was so old he had arthritis and his kidneys were failing. He lost half his weight and was having trouble just being a cat. Roger had been a good cat – stuck up and aloof – killing mice for food and birds for fun. He was easy to have around. Roger could come in the house or stay out, and he didn’t really need people for company. I miss him.

I doubt I would miss a dog. Dogs need people. They can’t feed themselves nor are they much good at creating their own entertainment. Dogs need someone to throw a stick or a ball for fetching. They slobber and they don’t catch mice! Dogs sniff stuff.

Some dogs are barely even dogs. Smaller than cats, they have to wear bells around their necks to signal their presence otherwise one might step on them! If a dog has to be carried around in one’s arms, I don’t see how he can qualify as a dog. A canine should be able to scare away intruders or in the least alarm a passing pedestrian. Ironically, it’s those little dogs that make the most noise, an action that never ceases to make me laugh. “What? You think you’re a dog?” I ask. I am answered with more yipping, the effort causing the animal to bounce up and down as if blowing that much air out of his lungs actually made him weightless for a moment.

Big dogs smell bad. Maybe it’s because they roll in manure or eat their own vomit. It could be from their obnoxious habit of sniffing things that are rotten. Dogs don’t possess the same personal hygiene skills as do cats; therefore, their people have to groom them. Yuck! The only thing that smells worse than a big dog is a wet dog!

Canines can’t be very bright. Unlike felines that soon tire of one’s efforts to trick or entertain, a dog will fall for the same game over and over and over! Just throw a ball or a stick a few times. Rover will bound happily after the item and return it for yet another throw. Pretend to throw it and Rover will bound stupidly after it then return anticipating another throw – over and over and over! A cat would get bored and saunter away.

Dogs are tramps. They crave affection so fiercely that they lavish theirs on anyone willing to return it – and frequently on those who don’t. A cat is more choosy, remaining distant to allow time to study her companion to determine whether his attention is worthy of her notice.

Dogs, and cats, are lazy. However, while a cat will nap the day through, she’ll find a quiet spot in a corner so as not to be disturbed. A dog, on the other hand, will park his smelly frame in front of whatever door is used most, often one with steps, thus creating a hazardous situation for anyone attempting to enter or exit said door.

Dogs bark. Cats purr. Dogs jump. Cats leap. Dogs sniff. Cats hiss.

Dogs don’t even look intelligent what with their ears flopping and tails wagging as they go. A cat carries herself in a dignified manner, head still, tail erect, confident and sure. A cat is patient and stealthily rids her home of rodents. A dog couldn’t sneak up on a turtle! Which reminds me, I’ve got to go set a trap. I miss my cat!

The Way We Are

2010-06-09T14:50:00.000-07:00

Yesterday’s lunch with two “old” (and I use that word loosely) friends was both enjoyable and enlightening. It has been many years since we all sat around the same table. In fact, the last table we sat around may have been a used McDonald’s table in the foyer of our high school. Having graduated children of our own from various high schools, it was time to sit down together once again and catch up. Here is what we discovered…
Although we have all taken different routes to get where we are, those roads occasionally lead us to the same place. Yesterday, for instance, three of us arrived at the same place - by design. We discovered that despite our many differences, we are very much the same. We laugh at the same things. We love the people in our lives for the same reasons. We are plagued by the same effects of aging. We even enjoy the same foods and beverages. In many ways, we have arrived at the same place. Most importantly, we still love one another.

Relationships are our greatest treasures. We should take them out of their storage boxes and polish them off more frequently.

Mine's a Boy!

2010-06-03T16:05:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time an odd plant hung in Grandma Nelson's front entryway in Driggs. The Wells Nelson kids knew this plant as Grandma Nelson's Hoya. I discovered the real story behind the Hoya at Grandma's house. When Wells and Esther lived in Montana, Esther received the plant from a friend. When they moved back to Driggs, Esther took the Hoya to town and hung it at Grandma's house. There it remained until after Grandma had passed away. Then Esther took the Hoya to Idaho Falls and began making starts from it.

Occasionally, and in some cases rarely, and in my case never, the Hoya will bloom clusters of tiny pink stars that appear plastic and artificial. I have a Hoya that is the grandchild of Esther’s original plant. He’s a boy.

Kaye claims there is no such thing as a boy Hoya. I disagree. Kaye claims my boy Hoya was a girl Hoya until I stole it from her. It bloomed at Kaye’s house. That was ten years ago! It hasn’t bloomed since. Mine’s a boy.

The sad thing is … I made a start from my boy Hoya for my niece. Hers blooms. It’s a girl!

Kaye tired of my complaining and gave me a girl Hoya. I think she can’t tell them apart. No blooms. It’s a boy!

I stole a start from a Hoya hanging in a restaurant. Guess what? It’s a boy! No blooms – not in six years!

Skeptics will argue that my plants aren’t getting the proper light and hydration. Wrong – O! I’ve tried scorching them by the window and hiding them in the dark. I’ve drenched them and dehydrated them – all to no avail. They’re boys and they aren’t going to flower!

My sisters, all successful Hoya bloomers, continue to give me advice.
“Put it in a window.”
“Don’t water it.”
“Water it a lot!”
“Put it in an East window.”
“Fertilize it.”
“Put it in a South window.”
“Let it dry out.”

Yeah, I’ve tried all that. I used to search for blossoms, signs of blossoms, or little nodes where blossoms might appear. Every new leaf bud was scrutinized as I watched with anticipation until it produced exactly what it intended to produce – another leaf. I’ve given the poor thing haircuts, trimming it back to stimulate growth and with luck, flowering.

There are other indications of gender – for instance, my Hoya is happy sitting by the recliner, looking out the window. He isn’t sentimental – after all, he did come from Conrad, the place of my birth. That ought to be motivation enough to produce lovely blossoms. But, alas, he is a boy. He cares not for ornamentation or sappy foolishness. I’ve talked to him. He doesn’t listen!
I’ve given up hope. I’ve simply come to the realization that my Hoya is a boy and I’m not going to change him!

What a Pain!

2010-05-28T15:49:00.001-07:00

Someday I’m going to write another book entirely about pain. In the meantime, I’ll share a few thoughts about the subject. I do not believe that life should be lived pain free. Rather, the goal is to live life in spite of pain.
I am a runner. This is a relatively new definition of me. I began running two and a half years ago. I don’t especially love running. Running loves me.
Why I run …
It is a cheap form of exercise. The only equipment needed is a good pair of shoes. No membership fees, no fuel expenses, nor any special gear is required. A few cute running shirts and pants are fun, but they are not critical to participation.
It is convenient. Just step out the front door.
It improves other parts of my life. I have greater endurance during other activities such as waterskiing and snow skiing. It makes me sweat and that has to be good. I have a great blood pressure reading.
I am afraid of age onset diabetes.
What I have learned …
Running hurts. As a non-runner I often supposed that running was easy for runners. It is not. If running were easy it would be called walking.
Injuries happen. They are mostly of the strain and tendonitis type, but injuries do happen.
RICE. Rest. Ice. Compression. Elevation.
Vitamin I. (Ibuprofen)
Pain does not always mean “Stop!”
Pain sometimes means “STOP!”
Where the fun is …
Racing.
5Ks and 10Ks.
Sprint Triathlons.
It’s not about them (those real runners passing me) it’s about me.
Talking about the races. Wearing the goofy race t-shirts. Thinking about the next race. Cheering on fellow racers. Looking around and seeing how far you’ve come.
Mostly, the fun is, knowing you are doing something painful today that will help you stick around longer tomorrow.

That's What I Thought

2010-05-24T15:03:00.000-07:00

All he wanted was one little cake. What was so difficult about that, I thought. Throw together a shortcake from scratch, just like I often do, I thought. So that’s what I did, I thought. I opened the oven. What is that, I thought!

The shortcake had risen two inches above the sides of the pan and began spilling over. It’s a soufflé, I thought. But it’s too fluid to be a soufflé, I thought. Shut the door and cook it a little more, I thought.

Recheck the recipe, I thought. I scanned the ingredients. Too much baking powder, I thought. No, it checked out fine. Too much milk? It measured correctly. Not enough flour? Check. Check. Check.

Check the cake, I thought. I opened the door and discovered it was definitely a short cake! One half inch of goo covered the bottom of the pan. Globs of goo spotted the floor of the oven. Oops, I thought! Gotta clean the oven, I thought!

Review the recipe again, I thought. I’m losing my mind, I thought! Two eggs. One cup of sugar. One teaspoon of vanilla. Wait! ONE cup of sugar? I distinctly remembered using TWO. Dummy, I thought.

Is There a Support Group?

2010-05-21T07:29:00.000-07:00

My name is Carol and I am a hoarder. This is evidenced by the number of bath towels I recently placed in a trash bag, tied neatly in a knot, still residing near the back door, thinking about making its way to the garbage cans outside. One might wonder at my actual hoarder status as I have taken steps to discard my old towels. I repeat, they are still residing near the back door.
It is difficult to part with said towels as some of them were acquired when I married – twenty-four years ago! It was a year for towels. Some brides receive blenders. Others are blessed with five or six irons. I received neither of those. There must have been a terrycloth liquidation that year. The volume of towel gifts I received might explain why they are still in my closet, except for the fact that several of them have been in use since week one of my blissful marriage.
How many bath towels are needed by a household of three? Three? Six? Forty? As many as you can stuff into one closet? Of course, there is always the possibility of company. It would be a crime to run out of towels when guests are about. However, the twenty-four year-old towels are simply unfit for guests.
As I emptied the closet, I wondered, “Why do I hang onto things so long?” Could it be I have a primal fear that if I discard them they may never be replaced? What if I come upon a rainy day and I have no storage of bath towels? This might be a valid concern but for the drawer full of new bath towels in the spare room. They belong to my son – graduation gifts! How many bath towels does one college student need? Five? Ten? As many as he can store at his mother’s house?
I think I’ll tackle shoes next.

Sticky Situation

2010-05-15T21:12:00.000-07:00

Sitting sweating in the sun
Seeing sprinters swishing by
Sipping soda seems so silly
Still some sugar satisfies.

Sitting sweating in the sun
Screaming, “Stride! Swifter! Stride!”
Someone steps and screens my vista.
Seething springing I soar high.

Standing sweating in the sun
Soda sticky down my side
Sinner says, “So sorry, Sister!”
Surely doesn’t she seem snide?

Sweating sticky in the sun
Sobbing softly sans my pride
Sort of sad I spilled some soda
Still sugar would sasitfy!

Balanced Man Triathlon

2010-05-03T12:59:00.000-07:00

And so it began ....

Our names were changed for a few hours. My daughter became 176. I became 166, as in, "Good job, One Sixty-six!" Thank you, SigEp Frat Boys, for your enthusiastic encouragement!

We bravely hung our bikes on a rack and looked around to see what other more seasoned athletes were doing in preparation for the big race. We should have had a hand towel to dry our feet before donning our shoes and socks. We opted for our large bath towels. They actually came in handy as we were able to cover our shoes and socks from the inclement weather threatening from the north ... and south ... and east ...and yes, west! It seemed more important at the time than a dry towel for showering after the race.

Then a "safety" discussion and overview of the course. Proceeding to the pool I discovered my seldom used swim cap was older than I thought. It began to tear from the back. The advantage of being a strong swimmer, but not an extremely swift swimmer is that one is quick enough to avoid the first heat (these swimmers begin at the sound of a horn) yet slow enough to ensure additional heats behind him. The timer begins timing when the swimmer chooses to push off. The faster heats to follow give one the impression that she is actually ahead of other races when she transitions to the bike leg of the race - a much needed emotional boost.

Biking. All I can say is some people are really fast! And ... I am grateful for the use of my husband's road bike. Oh ... and there really was a killer hill!

A little hail fell during the bike leg, however, we did not!

Running. Difficult. It felt slow - really slow. However, our times were good. I can think of a couple explanations. Either, it wasn't a true 5K, or cross training and Jelly Belly Sport Beans really work, as well as, the sound advice I've always given my children before a competition, "Prepare. Hydrate. Carbo load. Pray. Do your best."

Was it my best? I don't know. I'm going to have to try again to find out, because, you see, I'm hooked!

Check out our results here.

Windy Weather

2010-04-23T13:40:00.000-07:00

I would really like to whine about the wind some more, but I just don't think it is doing any good.

When windy weather wafts its way

While weary walkers wish it weaker

Wouldn't one wise woman wonder

Who would worry whilst she wanders

Where willows wallop whirling waters?

Whatever.

I Am Woman!

2010-03-11T19:22:00.001-08:00

I got tired of looking at the dried and discolored old caulk around my bathtub; more tired yet of scrubbing the stuff. I decided to replace it. I am woman!

The problem with replacing old caulk is - it has to be removed. I purchased some "caulk remover." Just spray on, wait a few minutes, and wipe off. Yeah, right! After some futile minutes with the spray on remover and lots of elbow grease, I applied my lab knife. Now that's an instrument I know how to use! Slicing and scraping, I eventually had enough of the old goo removed to justify applying new goo. I am woman!

I banned the teenager from his bathroom for a couple days. The problem with banning a teenager from his own bathroom is - I had to share mine. This increased my sense of urgency to apply new goo. Armed with fancy silicone based bathroom caulk, caulk gun, paper towels, and a wet rag, I began application. I am woman!

Amazing! Freshly placed white caulk transforms even the oldest bathtubs from "What might be lurking there?" to "I think I'll have a soak!" Hiding and sealing up flaws in tile placement and flooring, new caulk is a wonder drug! I caulked the sink. I caulked the bathtub faucet. I caulked the laminate flooring where it abuts the tub. I'm considering caulking the light fixtures, toilet paper holder, and towel rack - just for fun. I am woman!

I wonder ... what might silicone caulk do for under eye bags, crow's feet, and other bodily flaws brought on by age? Can't blame me for wondering. I am woman!

Ugh! What was I thinking?

2010-02-13T07:42:00.000-08:00

Well, I did it again. Is there something wrong in my brain that makes me do difficult things just for the fun of it?

My very young daughter (she’s young to me) wanted company as she competed in her first mini triathlon. What could I say? After all, she’s my daughter. I could have said any number of things such as, “Are you nuts?” or “I’m a grandma!” or “It’s at five thousand feet!” Hey, I think I said all of those.

I drug my feet. No training for the 300 meter swim. Swimming is my strong suit. I hadn’t been on a bike in months. It’s too wet outside. Two miles wouldn’t be too difficult, I reasoned. One mile run. One mile is just a warm up, right? Sure, but not after the swim and bike ride, and especially not at five thousand feet!

I touched the pool wall at the same moment as my very young daughter. We were both feeling confident as two swimmers were still splashing away in the pool. Here’s the tricky part – we pulled on tight running pants and shirts over wet swim suits. Slipped into our shoes, sped out of the pool door, around the building, and across the street to another facility containing bikes and an indoor track. Did I mention it was January?

Did I mention we were in Utah?

Five thousand feet?

I’m certain I mentioned that!

Sliding my wet bottom onto the slick bike seat, I began to pedal as fast as my burning lungs would allow. I also began to slip behind. I also began to slide off the bike seat! My very young daughter hit the track about a minute and a half ahead of me.

Then the five thousand feet came into play.

I hit the track and in about a minute and a half I also hit a wall!

I reside and train at a comfortable two thousand feet, my lungs happily filled with dense air. The air at five thousand feet is not so dense! I managed to finish my race, lungs bursting in an attempt to absorb enough oxygen to keep me conscious.

I finished five minutes behind my very young daughter. After all, running is her strong suit.

I ingested about a gallon of water and passed on the bagel and cream cheese. I surveyed my competition.

College students - all of them.

I could be their mother! Oh, except for the old guy. He won the whole thing!

Yay for old guys!

Nothing like playing it safe!

2010-02-13T07:30:00.000-08:00

Whoever heard of getting searched at an airport for being righteous? That’s what I was attempting to do when I packed my scriptures for my trip to Puerto Rico. My traveling companion expected to be strip searched. He carries a card requesting such. It’s not weird, just a medical requirement due to his battery operated heart. I, on the other hand, confidently cruise through security, exercising what little patience I have while waiting on my Energizer Bunny traveling companion.

Not so today! Imagine my surprise when a very polite airport security lady asked, “Whose bag is this? I am going to have to search it. Please come with me.” It wasn’t a request. I began a mental checklist of all items, some of them quite personal, packed in my carry on. What liquid or gel might be hiding in that bag? I purposely packed all hair care products, toothpaste, and liquid makeup in the checked bag. In recent years I have modified my travel routine from, “Pack everything you might need in case you get stuck overnight or your baggage is lost,” to “Don’t carry on anything that might interfere with the ease and swiftness of the security check.” I’ve decided if I don’t have it I don’t need it or I can purchase it if necessary. I could think of nothing in my bag that would flag a search.

“Stand right here and don’t reach inside the bag.” A definite command.

Please don’t riffle through everything right here in public!

“Is there anything fragile in here?”

“Just my camera,” I answered. I hoped. What could I be hiding?

Very quickly she located the culprit. Reaching for my very small, very compact set of scriptures, she announced, “I bet this is it! Too dense to scan through. That’s some heavy reading!"

“My scriptures!” Now that was funny. The discovery did not stop her from running a magnet around the inside of the bag, in and around each zippered pocket, and rescanning the entire bag sans scriptures. It passed.

Phew! I am not a terrorist!

Teeny Little Triathlon?

2010-01-25T13:12:00.001-08:00

My daughter is nagging me to accompany her on another physical adventure. I guess it's only fair since I nagged her into running her first 5K - but a triathlon? I don't know. I've talked about it - someday. It really is teeny. Only a 300 yd swim; I could do that without training. It's indoors, so the biking and running will be on gym equipment. Bike 2 miles. Run 1 mile. That's definitely easier than a road race. Hmm ...

Here's the problem: If I commit to this race, I am almost certain I will commit to a less "teeny little triathlon" in the future. Bigger. Outdoors. Half mile swim. Twelve mile ride. 5K run. Now that would take some preparation! Ugh! Racing is difficult enough, but the training commitment is a killer!

I'm afraid I'm going to get tricked into it!

Do I Have It?

2010-01-13T18:58:00.000-08:00

I must have it. What I mean is, I think I have Writer's Block. Maybe not. It could just be arthritis. Either way, putting pen to paper, or rather fingers to keyboard, just hasn't been happening. It's not like I'm out of material, I just don't know where to start .., or go .., or end. It's much easier to fold a load of laundry or clean out a drawer. Those things can been "seen" and measured when completed. Today's written word can be erased with the slip of a pinky or the touch of a button. If I'm writing it on a computer, is it really happening? What if my printer is out of ink? If I send it can I ever take it back? If I hit post, will I change the world or just the world's perception of me?

Myabe I'll just fold the laundry ...

The Verdict is In!

2009-12-19T19:21:00.000-08:00

Yes! Nuts! However, I was far from alone. I was also underdressed, at least in the costume category. Cousin Eddy from Christmas Vacation was there in his short bathrobe, Elmer Fudd hat, Budweiser can and cigar, and hose to drain the RV holding tank! Also present were several elves, lots of Santa's, and a few men in red longhandled underwear! My favorite was the guy dressed up as Winter. He had the best hairdo!

About the run ...

a) The weather was about right. I had to shed the headband and gloves along the way. This didn't help my hairdo, but who cares at the end of 6.1 miles?

b) Choirs, cheerleaders, and water stations were a bit sparse!

c) Thank goodness for running buddies!

d) Thank goodness for country music on the iPod.

e) I really wanted to turn right with the 2.5 milers!

f) The hill. Bad. Really bad! I thought I died and went to Hell, but then they must have had a change of heart. When I hit the downhill it felt like Heaven!

I'll probably do it again next year. Maybe I'll wear a costume. I wonder where one can find a really big Planter's Peanuts can?

Am I Nuts?

2009-12-18T14:39:00.000-08:00

Red and white striped gloves? Check.
Fleece headband? Check.
Green running shirt? Check.
Running playlist? Check.
One point five mile warm up run? Check.
Ibuprofen? Check!
Fluids? Check!
Carbo loaded? Working on it.
Nuts? Yes, I am!

Who talked me into running in the YMCA 10K Christmas Run, anyway? Oh right, that was me! This race isn't even called a "fun" run. It's just a run. Just over six miles, one and a half miles of which are uphill, it's what everyone wants to be doing the last Saturday before Christmas - right?

I hear there is a costume contest. I'm pretty sure I can't run in a costume. My green shirt and candycane gloves will have to suffice. Too bad I couldn't just enter the costume contest and forget the run!

I'm thinking there is going to be mud. What goes up, must come down, and the reverse of 1.5 miles uphill is a half mile downhill trail. Maybe I can slide.

There are bagels, hot soup, and hot chocolate at the end of the run. Ever tried eating after a six mile run? I suppose I could stash the bagel and eat it later. I may have to pass on the soup! But I'm pretty sure I paid for it with my registration. Yes, I actually paid to get up early to go do something painful and often nauseating on the last Saturday before Christmas! Hey, I'm getting a new T-shirt out of the deal. At least, I am not the only one. There are a few hundred other "nuts" who will be joining me, ages ranging from 13 - 69. Both genders. I guess you could say we're a bunch of mixed nuts.

Wish me luck!

Brrr!

2009-12-09T07:53:00.000-08:00

What was I thinking? I heard the forcast. I listened to the counsel. I remembered the last time the pipes froze. It isn't that difficult to leave a faucet dripping!

Alas, I ignored the weatherman and woke up to frozen pipes! Ugh! So now I wait. Space heater pointed at the suspected area of icy blockage, I wait. I also had to fuss with the breaker box! (See previous posts.) My plans have been changed because I failed to follow one simple instruction. "Leave a faucet dripping!" When I heard the anchorman offering his wisdom, I thought, "I remember the last time our pipes froze. Somebody left the garage door open all night. Well, the garage door is shut. I'm not going to mess with a dripping faucet." Turns out six degrees below zero goes right through the garage door!

My husband is out of town. He spent the night in a warm hotel room. I'm sure he had running water this morning. My teenager is at school. One bottle of spring water (Yes, I purchase bottled water. Just because my name is Green doesn't mean I am green.) and he had his teeth brushed and was out the door. Another son is in Brazil. It's 75 degrees there! Me? I'm just waiting. I intended to make a mad dash to town this morning, however, I dare not leave. The space heater could burn down the house. I have every faucet open - there could be a flood!

What does this experience teach me? I don't know. I'm beginning to think I'm not very teachable!

I think I'll go bang on the pipes!

Power Gremlin Strikes Again!

2009-12-03T13:50:00.000-08:00

Phone rings ... "So Carol, remember when you were having problems with your power last year?" Boy do I! Only, it wasn't just last year, it was last month as well.

"Well, some of my house has power and some of it doesn't." Sounds familiar.

"None of the breakers have tripped." Neither had mine.

"The part of my house without power is the part with all the major appliances - LIKE THE FURNACE." This through chattering teeth. It's 25 degress outside.

Of course it was the part with the major appliances. That's how this game works!

"You better call the power company," I counseled. "It sounds like my power problem a few weeks ago." (See October 28 Post - Power? No Power?)

Sure enough! The little power man had to climb a pole outside and fix a wire that apparently hadn't been tended to in, oh ... maybe FIFTY YEARS! But hey, he did it for free. After all, it is the power company's responsibility to maintain that line ... and it has been their responsibility for the past FIFTY YEARS!

Turkey Trickery

2009-12-01T12:23:00.000-08:00

Well, we survived it! Not without mishap, mind you. I have learned over the years not to put too much weight on the success of the holiday. Too many Thanksgivings have been fraught with personal trials to anticipate perfection, but do you think the turkey could have been done? I thawed the bird early. I used a bag. The oven was hot before the bird entered. I timed it longer than the directions suggested. To no avail! Late for dinner, I stuffed the bird inside another bag, shoved it back in the oven, set the timer to turn the oven off in another 30 minutes, and traveled 20 miles East to dinner - no turkey in hand! After dinner, we traveled 20 miles West in an attempt to salvage our bird. We then made a 48 mile journey East to eat a piece of pie and returned 48 miles West to sleep. I think I'll stay home next year!

Note: The well-done turkey that stayed inside a bag while cooling was undoubtedly the best turkey I have ever roasted! And ... I had it all to myself. Leftovers anyone?

Why I Don't Eat Oysters

2009-11-17T07:11:00.000-08:00

My husband took me to dinner for my birthday. For those interested, I'm still in my forties - barely! The waitress greeted us warmly and announced the special of the evening, "Fried Oysters." I looked her in the eye and announced, "I grew up and I don't have to eat those anymore!" I'm still wondering why I ever ate them in the first place.

Fear? Of what was I afraid? Would the precious and expensive oysters go to waste if I didn't eat them? Surely not! My parents loved fried oysters. They would have readily consumed my portion. At my house the parents (that's me and my husband) rejoice when the shrimp, mushrooms, and avocadoes go untouched. More for us! We grieve the day the children develop a taste for such delicacies. Less for us!

Duty? To be a true Nelson must one eat the strangest of foods? Maybe it was duty.

Isolation? Would I have missed out on the party that sprouted around a meal of fried oysters? Probably.

I'm pretty sure that the fried oyster meal was an impending coronary catastrophy! Dipped in egg and cracker crumbs, the oysters were fried in leftover drippings - most likely, bacon grease. They were then dipped in homemade sauce - a Miracle Whip and catsup mixture. It required equal parts sauce and oysters for me to ingest the slimy, greasy, creatures. That's a lot of saturated fat!

So ... I don't have to eat them and here is why.

#1 - I am not afraid!
#2 - I am a Nelson!
#3 - I enjoy my own company!
#4 - I am taking care of my heart!

And most importantly ...

#5 - I DON'T LIKE FRIED OYSTERS!

Puzzled

2009-11-11T19:37:00.000-08:00

I am not much of a numbers girl. I prefer words. Words give me control - I know where I am going and where I want the reader to end up. Numbers have a way of controlling me. Numbers on the clock control what time I rise each morning. Numbers in my checkbook control how I shop or don't shop. Numbers on the bathroom scale, well ...

Maybe I was bored, or maybe I wanted a challenge. Whatever the reason, I tackled my first Sudoku puzzle. Pure luck helped me find the first number I could fill in. I soon determined that I had the key to the puzzle figured out and hastily filled in digits from one to nine horizontally and vertically. Things were going good until I viewed the puzzle from another angle. I had duplicated digits in several of the nine 9-square boxes! I didn't feel so smart any longer.

Sudoku is restricting. There is an exact answer to each puzzle. One digit out of place and the whole puzzle is a mess!

Not so with words. One can "write around" a problem. If it doesn't work one way - try another. Freedom of speech, or in this case freedom of the written word, truly is freedom! One is not limited by boundaries set forth by another; she sets her own boundaries and then writes to explain them. So I say to you would be poets, writers, authors, all commanders of the English language, "Write on!"

Please excuse me now, I have a number puzzle to work!