Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Sunday, December 11, 2005
When I Cry
I don't cry very often anymore. I tend to avoid things that might cause me to break down. I refuse to watch horse and dog movies, they're always tearjerkers. I don't listen to sad songs, and I really don't care much for books that don't have happy endings.
When I finally give in and cry, it's usually over some silly thing, the last drop in the bucket that finally makes the tears flow. I'm on the verge of it today, and, as usual, the reason is absurd.
I've been trying to find a good place nearby to get my hair done. I've had it cut a couple of times over the last 6 months, with poor results. And when you're hair looks crappy you feel crappy about yourself. Shallow but true.
When I finally give in and cry, it's usually over some silly thing, the last drop in the bucket that finally makes the tears flow. I'm on the verge of it today, and, as usual, the reason is absurd.
I've been trying to find a good place nearby to get my hair done. I've had it cut a couple of times over the last 6 months, with poor results. And when you're hair looks crappy you feel crappy about yourself. Shallow but true.
I stopped by a salon on Friday to make inquiries, and I ended up making an appointment for this afternoon. I was hopeful as I left the house today for the short drive there. I had planned just what I wanter to say (the ladies reading this know that you have to be very specific, or disaster will most always ensue), and I was reviewing it in my mind as I parked the car.
I walked into the salon on the dot of 1:30, the appointed time. This is a newer salon, and small - just one chair. My heart sank when I saw that the stylist was at the sink washing someone's hair. Time to wait. The stylist gave me a distracted smile and a brief hello, then turned away. I thought perhaps she had just done someone's color and only had to blow her hair out - maybe a 10 minute wait. Not to be.
As I sat waiting, not much interested in the reading material, and entertained by rap music (which I don't like), I started to feel annoyed and sad. At 1:45, the stylist had cut just a layer or two of the other client's hair, and had not yet taken the time to say, "I'm running late. Would you like to come back in half an hour, or reschedule?" I should note that she took my phone number when I made the appointment, so she could also have called to tell me she was behind schedule.
The stylist did not acknowledge me at all after that one brief smile when I walked through the door. She did interact with her daughter, who came out of the back room. She said to her, in an it's-OK-if-you-don't-want-to voice, "I don't like this song. Why don't you put some Christmas music on, just for today?" The child mumbled, " I don't know what station plays Christmas music." And that was that. So there I sat, now 20 minutes into my scheduled appointment time, listening to music I don't like, waiting to be acknowledged. I left. I didn't say a word, I just left.
And now I'm on the brink of tears. Every frustrating, sad, annoying thing that has happened to me over the past year wants to escape. I guess I'm typing this in an attempt to stop it by fighting it head on, so if this is too long and dull for general consumption, I apologize. I'm maudlin today.
I sometimes cry when I'm angry, but the real gut-wrenching sobs are almost always about loss. My nephew's spinal injury due to an auto accident last January is a source of loss. This October marked the 20th anniversary of my father's death, a loss relived. I have two aging dogs, and I watch the older of them slow down more and more each day. We got her less than a month after our wedding 15 years ago. She was 6 months old at the time.
Big changes at work mean that I will have a much longer drive to the office each day, and I won't be able to come home for lunch. This is a loss, too - a loss of time with my husband and my aging pets, and a loss of the quiet respite of lunch at home - the only thing that got me through some of the more difficult days over the last few years. I know that some of you already have a long commute to work, and I know that not many people get to go home for lunch. I don't feel entitled to these things, and I'm not complaining, I'm just sad about the change.
I guess more than anything I'm sad about the things that will never be again. Little M (my oldest dog) will never be energetic and sassy again. She doesn't see or hear too well, and she's slow and a bit confused. Mom and I will never shop the mall together again (something we loved to do in years past). She doesn't get around well enough to do so, and she has some health issues that keep her pretty close to home.
Some of the mall places Mom and I loved are gone, and some have changed forever, not for better. Wanamaker's was one such favorite place, now gone. The fountain with the Eagle at the entrance to the store is gona as well. I saw a picture of it recently, and I had an intense flashback. I could hear the water falling, and smell it too. I could feel the smooth, cool texture of the benches around the fountain. I could see the lights illuminating the water with the the copper glow at the bottom of the pennies thrown in for luck. Some of my pennies went into that fountain.
I could see myself walking through into Wanamakers, making my way to the Clinique counter with Mom the first time I bought grown-up makeup. I can almost taste the tea sandwiches they served in the Cranberry Room, with the world's best rice pudding for dessert. I can walk through each department in that store in my mind and see it fully stocked and decorated for the holidays.
Christmas will never be even close to what it was in my childhood. Most of the people who were part of it are gone, and the house where I grew up (scene of decades of holiday crimes) was sold long ago. I would host a holiday splash at my house, but no one would come: my family won't make the trip. So we'll have a deli tray, salads and meatballs at Mom's tiny place. I'm just plain tired of trying to cook a meal at home, transport it, and reheat it under adverse circumstances.
The gathering planned with my husband's family comes with a sense of dread because of one crazy family memeber. I have been saying that I will not go this year, but I see that it hurts my husband when I say it, so I might have to bite my tongue once again and suffer through it.
When I feel the incredible yearning for things past and gone, I realize that the Beatles song, "In My Life," is probably one of the most powerful love songs ever written. I could not have recognized this when I was young and surrounded by all that was beloved and familiar. Here are the words:
There are places I remember all my life,
Though some have changed
Some forever, not for better
Some have gone and some remain.
All these places have their moments
Of lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I loved them all.
But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these mem'ries lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
And I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them.
In my life I loved you more.
And I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them.
In my life I loved you more
In my life I loved you more
These words are so poignant to me now, with this unbidden flood of memories. I could go on and on (I know, I have already!) about places gone and people loved, but I guess I'm ready to snap out of it now (until I look in the mirror at my crappy hair). And see, I didn't cry after all. I really do have a good life, and I am blessed in so many ways. I just indulged in a bit of counting my woes instead of my blessings today. Tomorrow, back to normal, I promise.
I walked into the salon on the dot of 1:30, the appointed time. This is a newer salon, and small - just one chair. My heart sank when I saw that the stylist was at the sink washing someone's hair. Time to wait. The stylist gave me a distracted smile and a brief hello, then turned away. I thought perhaps she had just done someone's color and only had to blow her hair out - maybe a 10 minute wait. Not to be.
As I sat waiting, not much interested in the reading material, and entertained by rap music (which I don't like), I started to feel annoyed and sad. At 1:45, the stylist had cut just a layer or two of the other client's hair, and had not yet taken the time to say, "I'm running late. Would you like to come back in half an hour, or reschedule?" I should note that she took my phone number when I made the appointment, so she could also have called to tell me she was behind schedule.
The stylist did not acknowledge me at all after that one brief smile when I walked through the door. She did interact with her daughter, who came out of the back room. She said to her, in an it's-OK-if-you-don't-want-to voice, "I don't like this song. Why don't you put some Christmas music on, just for today?" The child mumbled, " I don't know what station plays Christmas music." And that was that. So there I sat, now 20 minutes into my scheduled appointment time, listening to music I don't like, waiting to be acknowledged. I left. I didn't say a word, I just left.
And now I'm on the brink of tears. Every frustrating, sad, annoying thing that has happened to me over the past year wants to escape. I guess I'm typing this in an attempt to stop it by fighting it head on, so if this is too long and dull for general consumption, I apologize. I'm maudlin today.
I sometimes cry when I'm angry, but the real gut-wrenching sobs are almost always about loss. My nephew's spinal injury due to an auto accident last January is a source of loss. This October marked the 20th anniversary of my father's death, a loss relived. I have two aging dogs, and I watch the older of them slow down more and more each day. We got her less than a month after our wedding 15 years ago. She was 6 months old at the time.
Big changes at work mean that I will have a much longer drive to the office each day, and I won't be able to come home for lunch. This is a loss, too - a loss of time with my husband and my aging pets, and a loss of the quiet respite of lunch at home - the only thing that got me through some of the more difficult days over the last few years. I know that some of you already have a long commute to work, and I know that not many people get to go home for lunch. I don't feel entitled to these things, and I'm not complaining, I'm just sad about the change.
I guess more than anything I'm sad about the things that will never be again. Little M (my oldest dog) will never be energetic and sassy again. She doesn't see or hear too well, and she's slow and a bit confused. Mom and I will never shop the mall together again (something we loved to do in years past). She doesn't get around well enough to do so, and she has some health issues that keep her pretty close to home.
Some of the mall places Mom and I loved are gone, and some have changed forever, not for better. Wanamaker's was one such favorite place, now gone. The fountain with the Eagle at the entrance to the store is gona as well. I saw a picture of it recently, and I had an intense flashback. I could hear the water falling, and smell it too. I could feel the smooth, cool texture of the benches around the fountain. I could see the lights illuminating the water with the the copper glow at the bottom of the pennies thrown in for luck. Some of my pennies went into that fountain.
I could see myself walking through into Wanamakers, making my way to the Clinique counter with Mom the first time I bought grown-up makeup. I can almost taste the tea sandwiches they served in the Cranberry Room, with the world's best rice pudding for dessert. I can walk through each department in that store in my mind and see it fully stocked and decorated for the holidays.
Christmas will never be even close to what it was in my childhood. Most of the people who were part of it are gone, and the house where I grew up (scene of decades of holiday crimes) was sold long ago. I would host a holiday splash at my house, but no one would come: my family won't make the trip. So we'll have a deli tray, salads and meatballs at Mom's tiny place. I'm just plain tired of trying to cook a meal at home, transport it, and reheat it under adverse circumstances.
The gathering planned with my husband's family comes with a sense of dread because of one crazy family memeber. I have been saying that I will not go this year, but I see that it hurts my husband when I say it, so I might have to bite my tongue once again and suffer through it.
When I feel the incredible yearning for things past and gone, I realize that the Beatles song, "In My Life," is probably one of the most powerful love songs ever written. I could not have recognized this when I was young and surrounded by all that was beloved and familiar. Here are the words:
There are places I remember all my life,
Though some have changed
Some forever, not for better
Some have gone and some remain.
All these places have their moments
Of lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I loved them all.
But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these mem'ries lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
And I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them.
In my life I loved you more.
And I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them.
In my life I loved you more
In my life I loved you more
These words are so poignant to me now, with this unbidden flood of memories. I could go on and on (I know, I have already!) about places gone and people loved, but I guess I'm ready to snap out of it now (until I look in the mirror at my crappy hair). And see, I didn't cry after all. I really do have a good life, and I am blessed in so many ways. I just indulged in a bit of counting my woes instead of my blessings today. Tomorrow, back to normal, I promise.
Saturday, December 10, 2005
Silver Fairy Forest
Yesterday morning it rained at my house. Elsewhere in this area, there was snow, but near the coast there was rain. As the rainfall ended, it turned briefly to freezing rain. It did not coat the roads, but it put a fine glaze on the trees.
As soon as the rain stopped, the sun came out. All of the glaze spilled off of the trees, creating a silver shower backlit by the sun. It lasted for quite awhile, and it turned the woods into a magical place, a silver fairy forest.
These photos don't do it justice, but they're the best proof I have to offer!
Thursday, December 08, 2005
'Tis The Season...
...to feast with friends! Thought it might be fun to create a blogger virtual feast. We could each post a favorite recipe sometime over the next 7 days, or tell about a favorite purchased food. An example of the latter would be the cinnamon scones I like to buy at Acme. They come in two sizes; I prefer the big ones because the little ones are too sweet.
Joe T. over at Freudian Slips must have read my mind, because he has already posted a tempting recipe.
How 'bout it, folks? Here's one of my favorites to get you started:
How 'bout it, folks? Here's one of my favorites to get you started:
Pineapple Bread Casserole
1/2 cup butter or margarine
3/4 cup sugar
4 eggs
1 can (13.5 ounce) crushed pineapple
5 slices bread, cubed
Cream butter and sugar; add eggs and beat until well combined. Add pineapple (I drain the pineapple and reserve the liquid in case a little extra moisture is needed); fold in bread cubes. Turn into greased 1.5 quart casserole. Bake, uncovered, at 350 degrees for 25 minutes. Yield: 8 servings.
This recipe works as a side dish to serve with ham (skip the pineapple sauce) or as a dessert. We call it pineapple stuffing or pineapple bread pudding, depending on the use.
Just a note: a similar recipe from my mom calls for a 20 ounce can of crushed pineapple, well-drained.
Quick Post
Just a quick post. It's about 3 am. Haven't been up all night - fell asleep for several hours on the couch, and am on my way to bed.
Still looking for santa hats for the pooches so I can post a pic for Virginia Gal. I should have better access to shopping over the next couple of days, so we'll see what I can come up with!
I'm moving into a new position at work. I think the change will be a good thing, but making the change is taking a lot of my attention and energy right now, so there might be a little less blogging on weekdays for awhile.
Well, I'm off to catch a few last Zzz's !
Monday, December 05, 2005
Missing Monday
I'm a late poster for Missing Monday this month. Rather than posting stats for one missing person this time 'round, here are links for some sites with listings:
http://webdb.state.nj.us/cgi-bin/njsp/mplist.cgi
http://www.missingkids.com/
http://www.fbi.gov/mostwant/kidnap/kidmiss.htm
http://webdb.state.nj.us/cgi-bin/njsp/mplist.cgi
http://www.missingkids.com/
http://www.fbi.gov/mostwant/kidnap/kidmiss.htm
Thursday, December 01, 2005
OK, It's Not Christmas Decor, But...
...I'm a beginner at this! Think of this as a transitional look. I'm just learning how (with much cussing and spitting) to make changes to the template for my blog.
And if I can find a Santa hat small enough, I'll include a pic of one of the hounds in it, just for Virginia Gal!
And if I can find a Santa hat small enough, I'll include a pic of one of the hounds in it, just for Virginia Gal!
A New Look
I'm hoping to do a little holiday redecorating at the Room very soon. Until then, note the addition of the World AIDS Day button in the sidebar. Take a new look at AIDS by checking out one of sites listed on the Google page for World AIDS Day.
Monday, November 28, 2005
A Snowy Day Might Change My Mind
I think I've run out of holiday steam. Thanksgiving used it all up, and I'm pooped! And I think this just might be a good thing.
Still feeling the holiday momentum, we bought a Christmas tree over the weekend. Yes, it's fake. It's a pre-lit tree, and it's slim, so we'll be able to get it into the attic for storage. The tree is up, the lights are on, and there is a tree skirt at the bottom. And that's as far as we got. I'm seriously considering skipping the ornaments this year. Or maybe I'll just put candy canes and garland on it. I guess I'll have to put the star on top.
I started to get the wreaths out for the windows, when I realized that this year's home improvement project (we converted the garage to a family room) means that we need 4 more wreaths for the 4 new windows. Maybe I'll just put one wreath on the door, and leave it at that.
I don't feel like looking for the Christmas bears (I collect bears) or the multiple little holiday tchotchkes I put out every year. I leave candles in the windows all year long, and I'm starting to think that they're good enough to double as Christmas decor, too. I'm not even sure about hanging the stockings or baking cookies. Think of the freedom in January: no grumpy clean-up day, putting away decorations and vacuuming away the last vestiges of glitter, no sense of nakedness in a house devoid of its colorful Christmas raiment.
I'm not saying all of this in the spirit of Scrooge. I just want a simple holiday this year. I want to enjoy the season, go for frosty walks and sip mugs of hot chocolate, drive around and look at everyone else's holiday displays. I want to forgo the madness and just enjoy a simple, pleasant day with the people I love.
One thing could change my mind about all of this. A snowy day off could catapult my latent winter genes into high holiday gear, sending me into a decorating-baking-gift shopping frenzy. So the question is this: will we have snow before Christmas Eve? What's your bet?
Thursday, November 24, 2005
The Cup Overflowing
The cleaning and the cooking are done. The leftovers have been wrapped and relegated to the fridge for the time when the impossible happens: we feel hungry and we want to eat. It's difficult to imagine that moment right now, but I know from years of experience that the time will come.
The good china has been placed back into the cupboard for its long winter's nap and the kitchen has returned to normal. Sadly, the guests have gone home, and the house has returned to its usual quiet state. Only the fancy tablecloth lingers as a reminder that this has been an unusual day. The tablecloth will soon be removed as well, exposing the everyday look of the wood table beneath.
Tonight my cup overflows. Good friends are more precious than gold, though I don't always take the time to let them know. My friends, if you read this, know how valuable you are to me: Zelda and Bubba, Pax, Aunt Bubby, and my blog friends, too!
I'm thankful for my family, as well, in spite of all of the usual quirks and such. Imperfect beasts, all of us! Pax's post about the Thanksgiving Day Drinking Game really struck home, and was quoted today at my little gathering. Luckily, no hangovers here, though I owe someone a Chocolate Martini! She knows who she is, and she must collect it soon!
I am most especially thankful for my husband, who was right by my side, helping in all things for the past two days (and always) as we prepared for the holiday meal. He is a rare treasure, but don't tell him I said so!
Somehow the day flew by. One holiday is fading into memory as we prepare to haul out the holly, deck the halls, and put up the tree for the next. There is a rough draft script for the coming holiday, but we don't have to pull it out and dust it off until tomorrow. Just for tonight, we can pause and reflect on the satisfying final curtain for Thanksgiving 2005.
The good china has been placed back into the cupboard for its long winter's nap and the kitchen has returned to normal. Sadly, the guests have gone home, and the house has returned to its usual quiet state. Only the fancy tablecloth lingers as a reminder that this has been an unusual day. The tablecloth will soon be removed as well, exposing the everyday look of the wood table beneath.
Tonight my cup overflows. Good friends are more precious than gold, though I don't always take the time to let them know. My friends, if you read this, know how valuable you are to me: Zelda and Bubba, Pax, Aunt Bubby, and my blog friends, too!
I'm thankful for my family, as well, in spite of all of the usual quirks and such. Imperfect beasts, all of us! Pax's post about the Thanksgiving Day Drinking Game really struck home, and was quoted today at my little gathering. Luckily, no hangovers here, though I owe someone a Chocolate Martini! She knows who she is, and she must collect it soon!
I am most especially thankful for my husband, who was right by my side, helping in all things for the past two days (and always) as we prepared for the holiday meal. He is a rare treasure, but don't tell him I said so!
Somehow the day flew by. One holiday is fading into memory as we prepare to haul out the holly, deck the halls, and put up the tree for the next. There is a rough draft script for the coming holiday, but we don't have to pull it out and dust it off until tomorrow. Just for tonight, we can pause and reflect on the satisfying final curtain for Thanksgiving 2005.
Monday, November 21, 2005
Credit Where It's Due
Mr. Bush sounded much more presidential today when he discussed the controversy over the lead up to the Iraq war. While I feel fairly certain that he has not read my blog ;-) it's as if he saw my post of a week ago, What Divides Us.
Mr. Bush used much more respectful words and intonation in his comments to the press today, and he retreated from the position that those who question his motives for the war are unpatriotic.
Mr. Bush used much more respectful words and intonation in his comments to the press today, and he retreated from the position that those who question his motives for the war are unpatriotic.
Frankly, the insinuation that to question the administration is to aid the enemy is one of the most frightening things I have heard in my entire life. If we cannot question our leaders, then we have lost everything that the founding fathers fought for more than 2 centuries ago.
So thank you, Mr. President, for showing some class today. Here's a toast to many more such occasions!
Saturday, November 19, 2005
My Mom
My mom has the Fickle Finger of Fate, which she inherited from her mother. I suppose there’s a pretty good chance that it was passed down the maternal line for several generations before it made its way into my home. And no, it’s not THAT finger!
You might know what I’m talking about; it’s the finger that wags in the air while some truth, ultimatum or homily is being delivered. With one finger, along with some precious one liners, Mom controlled my behavior very effectively.
When I struggled against eating the crust on the edges of the bread, Mom very seriously told me, finger in action, “Oh, you have to eat the crust; it makes your hair curly.” I took two messages from this:
1.Bread crust has magical, medicinal qualities
2.Curly hair is good
I soon began seeking out the end pieces to eat, looking for more crust. And to this day I long for curly hair. (Ironically, my sister, with her lovely natural curls, has always straightened her hair. Wonder if Mom was somehow behind that development?)
When mom suspected that a fib was in play, she’d whip out the finger and ask, "Now is that a true lie or a false lie?” Stymied, I’d give up and confess. OK, I admit it, I was an easy mark. I suppose deep down I just wanted to tell the truth.
As I got a little bit older and started to rebel a little bit against the true lie/false lie double bind, she added, “Tell the truth and spite the devil!” Our home was by no means a place of hellfire and brimstone, but I was an imaginative tot, so this was another very effective ploy. I saw myself as striking a blow for truth, justice and the American Way simply by being truthful. Little children everywhere were the front line against evil.
Mom reinforced truth-telling by making it clear that I’d always be better off if she found out about bad behavior directly from me rather than finding out on her own. I learned to confess quickly and get it over with. And I still tell on myself today, though not necessarily to Mom. In the long run, this trait not only kept me out of trouble as a kid, but has become the foundation for a good marriage. The Fickle Finger of Fate dealt me a good hand.
I’m not sure just how it happened, but the Fickle Finger of Fate seems to have skipped a generation in our family. Neither of my siblings has it, and I don’t have it either, but Mom continues to employ it regularly, so there is still the possibility that he next generation will take up the tradition.
You might know what I’m talking about; it’s the finger that wags in the air while some truth, ultimatum or homily is being delivered. With one finger, along with some precious one liners, Mom controlled my behavior very effectively.
When I struggled against eating the crust on the edges of the bread, Mom very seriously told me, finger in action, “Oh, you have to eat the crust; it makes your hair curly.” I took two messages from this:
1.Bread crust has magical, medicinal qualities
2.Curly hair is good
I soon began seeking out the end pieces to eat, looking for more crust. And to this day I long for curly hair. (Ironically, my sister, with her lovely natural curls, has always straightened her hair. Wonder if Mom was somehow behind that development?)
When mom suspected that a fib was in play, she’d whip out the finger and ask, "Now is that a true lie or a false lie?” Stymied, I’d give up and confess. OK, I admit it, I was an easy mark. I suppose deep down I just wanted to tell the truth.
As I got a little bit older and started to rebel a little bit against the true lie/false lie double bind, she added, “Tell the truth and spite the devil!” Our home was by no means a place of hellfire and brimstone, but I was an imaginative tot, so this was another very effective ploy. I saw myself as striking a blow for truth, justice and the American Way simply by being truthful. Little children everywhere were the front line against evil.
Mom reinforced truth-telling by making it clear that I’d always be better off if she found out about bad behavior directly from me rather than finding out on her own. I learned to confess quickly and get it over with. And I still tell on myself today, though not necessarily to Mom. In the long run, this trait not only kept me out of trouble as a kid, but has become the foundation for a good marriage. The Fickle Finger of Fate dealt me a good hand.
I’m not sure just how it happened, but the Fickle Finger of Fate seems to have skipped a generation in our family. Neither of my siblings has it, and I don’t have it either, but Mom continues to employ it regularly, so there is still the possibility that he next generation will take up the tradition.
Friday, November 18, 2005
Be Careful Out There!
I’d like to extend a very special thank you to all of the folks who left huge piles of leaves along the shoulder of the street where I live. They provided me with a challenging opportunity to display evasive driving maneuvers this evening when I had to yield to emergency vehicles, which were speeding to the scene of a very serious accident ahead.
How do I know this was a very serious accident? Because every fire truck for a ten mile radius showed up. I should point out that there was no visible fire when I passed the scene, but the trucks continued to stream in. More were arriving as I got off of the road and safely made it into my driveway (no thanks to the efforts of local emergency personnel, or to my husband, who had the driveway blocked when I got there). All of those fire trucks, a couple of ambulances and a police car or two, and NOBODY WAS DIRECTING TRAFFIC around this chaotic, poorly lit site.
All cynicism aside, this looked like a bad accident, and my thoughts are with the folks involved. There aren’t too many accidents on this road, but when they happen they are often deadly. People just go too fast, and they don’t show any consideration for those who are waiting to make turns. They seem to be annoyed when they have to slow down for a car turning into a driveway. This is totally asinine because it’s never a very long wait. It mostly requires a brief slow down. But heaven forbid that they would have to show courtesy to someone else.
I guess I’m especially annoyed by this because my nephew had a very serious accident last winter on his way to work. He had started a new job several months before, and he loved it, but he can’t do that job anymore. He was waiting to make a turn that morning, not two weeks after Christmas, when someone rear-ended him and pushed his vehicle into oncoming traffic. Sadly, tragically, he was not in his new F-350 pickup, which was in for service. He was in an older, smaller Toyota pickup. 12 hours of surgery, 4 months of in-patient rehab (wearing a clamshell), and 1 new wheelchair later, he is still fighting to regain the ability to walk.
I’m sure that the person who hit him didn’t mean to do it, and he has to live with the knowledge that he caused this much harm to another human being. That thought would drive me crazy, and I mean that quite literally. Not one of us can say that we haven’t had a momentary lapse while driving that had the potential to be disastrous. But the long term impact can be so very serious, so life-altering, that we need to take care, both with our own lives and with the lives of others. So be careful out there, OK?
How do I know this was a very serious accident? Because every fire truck for a ten mile radius showed up. I should point out that there was no visible fire when I passed the scene, but the trucks continued to stream in. More were arriving as I got off of the road and safely made it into my driveway (no thanks to the efforts of local emergency personnel, or to my husband, who had the driveway blocked when I got there). All of those fire trucks, a couple of ambulances and a police car or two, and NOBODY WAS DIRECTING TRAFFIC around this chaotic, poorly lit site.
All cynicism aside, this looked like a bad accident, and my thoughts are with the folks involved. There aren’t too many accidents on this road, but when they happen they are often deadly. People just go too fast, and they don’t show any consideration for those who are waiting to make turns. They seem to be annoyed when they have to slow down for a car turning into a driveway. This is totally asinine because it’s never a very long wait. It mostly requires a brief slow down. But heaven forbid that they would have to show courtesy to someone else.
I guess I’m especially annoyed by this because my nephew had a very serious accident last winter on his way to work. He had started a new job several months before, and he loved it, but he can’t do that job anymore. He was waiting to make a turn that morning, not two weeks after Christmas, when someone rear-ended him and pushed his vehicle into oncoming traffic. Sadly, tragically, he was not in his new F-350 pickup, which was in for service. He was in an older, smaller Toyota pickup. 12 hours of surgery, 4 months of in-patient rehab (wearing a clamshell), and 1 new wheelchair later, he is still fighting to regain the ability to walk.
I’m sure that the person who hit him didn’t mean to do it, and he has to live with the knowledge that he caused this much harm to another human being. That thought would drive me crazy, and I mean that quite literally. Not one of us can say that we haven’t had a momentary lapse while driving that had the potential to be disastrous. But the long term impact can be so very serious, so life-altering, that we need to take care, both with our own lives and with the lives of others. So be careful out there, OK?
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Moonstruck
Last evening, I found myself compelled to gaze at the full moon. It was beautiful, surrounded as it was by a colorful ring of light, and with clouds passing across its face. I took some woefully inadequate pictures with my digicam - this is just about the best of them:
Later, my husband, moved by the same compulsion to gaze at the moon, pulled the telescope out of its dusty corner and set it up. The following pics were taken with the digicam through the telescope in my back yard.
I'll have to get some batteries for my 35 mm SLR. I'd love to see what it can do with this kind of a shot!
Monday, November 14, 2005
What Divides Us
I was just about to start writing about the things that unite us as Americans. I'm so very tired of the Great Divide between left-leaning and right-leaning Americans. Even those of us who tend to be centrist have found ourselves being shoved rudely toward one or another of the political poles by the hatred and invective expressed by our so-called leaders.
I sat down to type, planning to consider how we might go about healing the animosity, how we might begin to open up the dialogue between the two sides. It was in my mind that we must start with the things that we agree about. Surely there is far more to agree upon than there is to quarrel about. Surely?
As I began to log on to Blogger, the president came onto the TV screen, broadcast live from Alaska. With his face beet red, tension in its every line, he began a tirade, a veritable diatribe, attacking the Democratic party and accusing them of,"playing politics," with the issues surrounding the Iraq war.
The president used the Rovian technique of calling my party "The Democrat Party," with the practiced sneer in his voice that always accompanies the words. The not-so-subtle implication is that Democrats can't possibly be Democratic. The extreme right wing says Democrat like they want to say Democrap. I'm fighting the desire right now to start calling them Repulsicans. Name-calling only feeds the fire of hatred in the long run. The reason for an argument may long be forgotten, but an unfortunate name hurled during the fray can hurt forever. Unfortunately, this seems to be the point of the technique for the White House, not just a sorry by-product. They seem to want to cause long-term, irreparable harm.
My stomach turned as the president spoke, and I could no longer see the things that unite us. The rift is too great right now, and the things that divide us are looming too large too see past them.
I don't expect everyone to share my values and my political views. I don't expect a president I didn't vote for to represent my position. But I long to return to a day when we Americans showed some basic courtesy to one another. I want to feel pride in my president's bearing. I would like to respect my president, but, Mr. President, I cannot respect you. You are what divides us. You are the trouble with the United States of America today. When you sneer at the Democrats you sneer at me. In fact, you sneer at close to half of the country. I feel that I am personally insulted by my president on a regular basis.
This is what I ask: please assume the mantle of a true leader. Please stop the hatred. Yes, I know that both sides have to back off, but YOU FIRST. You're the president: act like it. And send Karl Rove back to the sandbox to kick sand in the faces of the other kids. That behavior doesn't belong in the White House.
I sat down to type, planning to consider how we might go about healing the animosity, how we might begin to open up the dialogue between the two sides. It was in my mind that we must start with the things that we agree about. Surely there is far more to agree upon than there is to quarrel about. Surely?
As I began to log on to Blogger, the president came onto the TV screen, broadcast live from Alaska. With his face beet red, tension in its every line, he began a tirade, a veritable diatribe, attacking the Democratic party and accusing them of,"playing politics," with the issues surrounding the Iraq war.
The president used the Rovian technique of calling my party "The Democrat Party," with the practiced sneer in his voice that always accompanies the words. The not-so-subtle implication is that Democrats can't possibly be Democratic. The extreme right wing says Democrat like they want to say Democrap. I'm fighting the desire right now to start calling them Repulsicans. Name-calling only feeds the fire of hatred in the long run. The reason for an argument may long be forgotten, but an unfortunate name hurled during the fray can hurt forever. Unfortunately, this seems to be the point of the technique for the White House, not just a sorry by-product. They seem to want to cause long-term, irreparable harm.
My stomach turned as the president spoke, and I could no longer see the things that unite us. The rift is too great right now, and the things that divide us are looming too large too see past them.
I don't expect everyone to share my values and my political views. I don't expect a president I didn't vote for to represent my position. But I long to return to a day when we Americans showed some basic courtesy to one another. I want to feel pride in my president's bearing. I would like to respect my president, but, Mr. President, I cannot respect you. You are what divides us. You are the trouble with the United States of America today. When you sneer at the Democrats you sneer at me. In fact, you sneer at close to half of the country. I feel that I am personally insulted by my president on a regular basis.
This is what I ask: please assume the mantle of a true leader. Please stop the hatred. Yes, I know that both sides have to back off, but YOU FIRST. You're the president: act like it. And send Karl Rove back to the sandbox to kick sand in the faces of the other kids. That behavior doesn't belong in the White House.
Friday, November 11, 2005
Unposted
Some of my best thoughts never make it to paper, real or virtual. Last weekend we had beautiful fall weather and I had all sorts of ethereal flights of fancy of posting about, “A Room With a View.” I’ll probably use that title for a post someday, maybe over the winter, when we have our first snowfall.
As I looked out the windows at the flaming colors and, “saw red,” I was ready to compose all sorts of prose about leaves drifting to the ground one at a time, “as if being dropped by an unseen prop master, to create a perfect autumn scene.” By the end of the day, I wanted to say, “My lawn looks as if fall has fallen.”
Well, this week, I’m not feeling quite so romantic. My lawn looks like fall has fallen and it can’t get up. All of our oak trees seem to have dropped their leaves at once. The pine trees have dropped needles all over, too. I see work ahead, a whole lot of work, lots and lots and lots of work.
I must confess that the luxury of seeing autumn through a poet’s eyes was mine alone in our household. While I sat back and mused last weekend about the splendid fall, my husband was already busy, cleaning gutters and installing shields in an attempt to keep any further detritus from getting into them. Yet even he, wonderful human being that he is (I’m planning to have him read this, can’t you tell?), commented on the amazing colors and the pleasure of the cooler temperatures.
All of this unwanted ground cover did provide one moment of comic relief for me late this week. One of my hounds, while snuffling amongst the leaves in the back yard, brought her head up with a pair of pine needles pinched onto the end of her nose, just like a clothes pin. She missed the humor that I found in the moment. I wish I had a photo to share, a picture being worth a thousand words, but this is one of those images that must exist in memory alone. Unposted.
Well, this week, I’m not feeling quite so romantic. My lawn looks like fall has fallen and it can’t get up. All of our oak trees seem to have dropped their leaves at once. The pine trees have dropped needles all over, too. I see work ahead, a whole lot of work, lots and lots and lots of work.
I must confess that the luxury of seeing autumn through a poet’s eyes was mine alone in our household. While I sat back and mused last weekend about the splendid fall, my husband was already busy, cleaning gutters and installing shields in an attempt to keep any further detritus from getting into them. Yet even he, wonderful human being that he is (I’m planning to have him read this, can’t you tell?), commented on the amazing colors and the pleasure of the cooler temperatures.
All of this unwanted ground cover did provide one moment of comic relief for me late this week. One of my hounds, while snuffling amongst the leaves in the back yard, brought her head up with a pair of pine needles pinched onto the end of her nose, just like a clothes pin. She missed the humor that I found in the moment. I wish I had a photo to share, a picture being worth a thousand words, but this is one of those images that must exist in memory alone. Unposted.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
What's on your desktop?
What's on your desktop background? Here's mine right now:
I change my background frequently. I often use my own photos. I came across this image tonight, and I had to use it for a little while. Anyone who knows dachshunds knows that this is quite an apt portrayal!
Anderson Cooper, News on the Move!
CNN has replaced NewsNight with Aaron Brown with Anderson Cooper 360. I miss Aaron already. I like Anderson Cooper, and his show was fine in the 7 pm I’m-not-into-jeopardy-tonight time slot. At 10 pm, I want a serious look at the day’s news with a mature journalist. Sorry Anderson, that’s not you. While it may be pithy to compare the premature graying of your hair to premature ejaculation (in an article titled, Going Gray), it doesn’t create the reliable newsperson image that imbues confidence in your reporting. Why is a self-indulgent article about Anderson Cooper’s gray hair important enough to warrant a link on the homepage of a major journalism outlet? Especially given the fact that this outlet recently cleaned house at its morning show (American Morning) because they wanted to do away with the fluff in their line up in order to provide more hard news.
Anderson’s style of journalism is participatory – he is part of the story. How many times have we seen Anderson, eyes half closed against wind-born debris (hope he has a good ophthalmologist) and hunkered down next to a cement wall as the maelstrom of the latest hurricane threatens to carry him away? I guess this is effective with some viewers, but I find it to be something of an annoying gimmick. The execs seem to be saying, “Let’s get viewers by sending a reporter out to be hammered by Charlie, or Dennis, or Katrina. If it’s too soon to get the story from the soon-to-be-battered residents of the area, then we will be the story.” Viewers get hours of coverage of (not from, but of) soggy correspondents who are hoarse from yelling over the wind. I especially love it when the networks preempt other programs so that we can watch this coverage without interruption.
With frequent trips to remote locations, Anderson Cooper keeps the news on the move. Even in the studio, he keeps the visual stimulation quotient high by having backgrounds that constantly swirl and flash with colorful impressionistic images. This is often accompanied by sound effects and driving music. Again, OK at 7 pm, not so OK at 10 pm.
As I said earlier, I like Anderson Cooper. I just miss the thoughtful look at the news that I could depend on Aaron Brown to provide. It seems like an era in journalism has passed. Peter Jennings is gone, Ted Koppel is about to retire, and now Aaron Brown is gone from CNN. I know that there are still some good journalists out there, but most of them seem to have gone over to the once a week news magazine format. So I guess for the time being I’ll have to choose between MSNBC, Fox, and Anderson Cooper: News on the Move.
Anderson’s style of journalism is participatory – he is part of the story. How many times have we seen Anderson, eyes half closed against wind-born debris (hope he has a good ophthalmologist) and hunkered down next to a cement wall as the maelstrom of the latest hurricane threatens to carry him away? I guess this is effective with some viewers, but I find it to be something of an annoying gimmick. The execs seem to be saying, “Let’s get viewers by sending a reporter out to be hammered by Charlie, or Dennis, or Katrina. If it’s too soon to get the story from the soon-to-be-battered residents of the area, then we will be the story.” Viewers get hours of coverage of (not from, but of) soggy correspondents who are hoarse from yelling over the wind. I especially love it when the networks preempt other programs so that we can watch this coverage without interruption.
With frequent trips to remote locations, Anderson Cooper keeps the news on the move. Even in the studio, he keeps the visual stimulation quotient high by having backgrounds that constantly swirl and flash with colorful impressionistic images. This is often accompanied by sound effects and driving music. Again, OK at 7 pm, not so OK at 10 pm.
As I said earlier, I like Anderson Cooper. I just miss the thoughtful look at the news that I could depend on Aaron Brown to provide. It seems like an era in journalism has passed. Peter Jennings is gone, Ted Koppel is about to retire, and now Aaron Brown is gone from CNN. I know that there are still some good journalists out there, but most of them seem to have gone over to the once a week news magazine format. So I guess for the time being I’ll have to choose between MSNBC, Fox, and Anderson Cooper: News on the Move.
Monday, November 07, 2005
Missing Monday
SHEENA LEE COTTO
Case Type: Endangered Runaway
DOB: Mar 1, 1988
Sex: Female
Missing Date: Aug 24, 2005
Race: White/Hisp
Age Now: 17
Height: 5'4" (163 cm)
Missing City: SOUTH BRUNSWICK TOWNSHIP
Weight: 120 lbs (54 kg)
Missing State: NJ
Hair Color: Brown
Missing Country: United States
Eye Color: Brown
Case Number: NCMC1030857
Circumstances:
Sheena was last seen on August 24, 2005. She may be in the company of an adult male. They may still be in the local area or they may have traveled to Elizabeth, New Jersey. Sheena's nickname is Nini.
Case Handled By:
National Center for Missing & Exploited Children
Saturday, November 05, 2005
YO!
We're trying to plan an overnight in Philly - take in a Sixers game, do Philly things the next day. Does anybody know the best way to get from Center City to the Wachovia Center without taking the car? It would be nice to park the car at the hotel and not move it until we leave.
The Septa website trip planner isn't giving me great results, but it looks like we could take the Orange Line, if it's running at that time of day. Is it safe? Should we just take a cab? Suggestions appreciated!
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