Sorry About This ~ Early Evening Thoughts

I will be away until quite late this evening -- I will continue the story of the Shakespeare Experiment tomorrow ... But let me leave you with a picture that STILL causes me to laugh (probably because I have a Blackberry, and can relate!!!)




You can click the picture to enlarge it somewhat ....

---back tomorrow

O Wonderous Night ~ Early Evening Thoughts

'Tis Christmas Eve. It's been an interesting season, one of some sadness, much joy and continued exploration of what life holds. And so, on this Christmas Eve I offer to you one of my absolute favorite stories of all time, just as it was written.

Merry Christmas Everyone!!!! ~

THE GIFT OF THE MAGI

by O. Henry

One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty- seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.

There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.

While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad.

In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham Young."

The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good.

Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.

There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.

Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length.

Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.

So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet.

On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.

Where she stopped the sign read: "Mne. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie."

"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.

"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the looks of it."

Down rippled the brown cascade.

"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand.

"Give it to me quick," said Della.

Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.

She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value--the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.

When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends--a mammoth task.

Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.

"If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what could I do--oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty- seven cents?"

At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the stove hot and ready to cook the chops.

Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. She had a habit for saying little silent prayer about the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please God, make him think I am still pretty."

The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two--and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves.

Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face.

Della wriggled off the table and went for him.

"Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut off and sold because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without giving you a present. It'll grow out again--you won't mind, will you? I just had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say `Merry Christmas!' Jim, and let's be happy. You don't know what a nice-- what a beautiful, nice gift I've got for you."

"You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not arrived at that patent fact yet even after the hardest mental labor.

"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well, anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"

Jim looked about the room curiously.

"You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.

"You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you--sold and gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you. Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with sudden serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim?"

Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a year--what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them. This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.

Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.

"Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why you had me going a while at first."

White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting powers of the lord of the flat.

For there lay The Combs--the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims--just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.

But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"

And them Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"

Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.

"Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it."

Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under the back of his head and smiled.

"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."

The magi, as you know, were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house.

But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest.

O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest.

Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.

A Politically Correct ... Holiday ~ Early Evening Thoughts

The holiday season approaches, and the mail deadlines loom; yesterday was the last day to send regular mail to arrive for the holidays. While we sing of "Peace on Earth, Goodwill to non-gender specific personages," I thought it would be good time to look over somethings about what now has to be a politically correct holiday!

Here's something for that last minute gift:



Should you go a'caroling, I would be remiss if I didn't give you the correct version to sing:

Deck The Halls

Kristine Austin

This song uses the Spanish protocol endings on the refrain:
"Fa la la la la, la la la la-" Feminine
"Fo lo lo lo lo, lo lo lo lo-" Masculine

Deck the halls with boughs of non-endangered plant species
Fa la la la la, la la la la

'Tis the season to be self-actualizing
Fo lo lo lo lo, lo lo lo lo

Don we now our alternate-lifestyle apparel
Fa la la la la, la la la la

Toll the ancient non-sectarian-winter-solstice-equal opportunity holiday carol
Fo lo lo lo lo, lo lo lo lo

See the blazing log of non-sectarian-winter-solstice-holiday-non-endangered wood before us,
Fa la la la la, la la la la

Play the harp without unnecessary brutality and join the new paradigm chorus
Fo lo lo lo lo, lo lo lo lo

Sing we emotionally stable in a collective group effort,
Fa la la la la la la la la

Heedless of the weather patterns despite the effects of global warming,
Fo lo lo lo lo, lo lo lo lo

Fast away the mature year passes
Fa la la la la la la la la

Hail the new year without any implicit ageism, ye persons
Fo lo lo lo lo, lo lo lo lo

Dance in a non-hierarchical manner in merry esoteric measure,
Fa la la la la la la la la

While I tell of non-materialistic, non-sectarian-winter-solstice-holiday treasure,
Fo lo lo lo lo, lo lo lo lo

And hopefully, your cards will reflect the new found sense of the time of year.

A Politically Correct
Holiday (or no holiday) Greeting

Best wishes for an environmentally conscious, socially responsible, low stress, non-addictive, gender neutral, winter solstice holiday, practiced within the most joyous traditions of the religious persuasion of your choice, but with respect for the religious persuasion of others who choose to practice their own religion as well as those who choose not to practice a religion at all;

Additionally, a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling, and medically uncomplicated recognition of the generally accepted calendar year 2006, but not without due respect for the calendars of choice of other cultures whose contributions have helped make our society great, without regard to the race, creed, color, religious, or sexual preferences of the wishes.

(Disclaimer: This greeting is subject to clarification or withdrawal. It implies no promise by the wisher to actually implement any of the wishes for her/himself or others and no responsibility for any unintended emotional stress these greetings may bring to those not caught up in the holiday spirit.)


---this is a repeat, but bears repeating!!

Blue, Blue - My Love Is Blue ~ Early Evening Thoughts

After having been away for a "few" weeks, I thought my return to the blog would be somewhat unnoticed. Two emails quickly settled that idea. So, as promised ~ an explanation of "blue" ice . . . And while I explain this, my vice-president is at an undisclosed secure location.

In the 80's I worked for a major airline. Which one is somewhat immaterial, but I will offer the hint that it was in bankruptcy at the time with the pilots doing very interesting things to let everyone know we were operating that way.

Those of us in reservations were an unusual group of people. Because we were not at the airport, we were considered somewhat apart from the rest of the world. Although, in our customers minds we were the ticket counter and as such should be able to see people who were there or, in one case find out if someone had left a briefcase on the floor. I was sitting next to the person who got that call, and hear him say: "OK, let me look - OMG someone just walked off with it . . . " When he finally got the person on the phone calmed down and got him convinced that indeed he really wasn't at the airport and wasn't able to check for the missing item - he'd earned a trip to his supervisor. . . and not a pleasant one either.

As reservation agents we had a fairly powerful reservation system to use. We had access to multiple "windows" which allowed us to look up various types of information and display them all on the same screen. We could look up flights in one, fares in another, airport weather in yet another and return flights in a fourth.

As reservation agents we were supposed to only work on screens that had to do with the business of reservations. Alas for the airline, that was NOT the case. It wasn't too long after I started working there that I was introduced to the "dark side" of the system. (cue theme from Jaws here. . . )

We were connected to the various airports, hotels and car companies who all had sites resident in the system. There was no Expedia/Travelocity connection that allowed someone to go directly to another reservation system. All entries involving cars, hotels or such involved requesting what you wanted and pushing enter. At that point an electronic message would be sent (as I told my travel academy students) to the Valhalla of all computer requests - Actually ARINC (Aeronautical Radio, Incorporated)located in Chicago who would, in their own sweet time, send back an answer.

That's a long way around to say that hotels and cars kept quite a bit of detailed information available - all on "pages." They were updated by that company or by the airline itself. What was discovered was that - with a specific entry - we as reservation agents could update them as well. And a completely immediate, unmanageable and totally private system of IM's were born.

One that was used a lot was XXX car company - page 100. That XXX would ever get to that page was pretty slim - as in none. The chance that the reservations office supervisors or later the travel academy people would discover what was going on - even less.

That was an amazing world - IM's before IM's had even been invented, conversations with people from all over who knew of the place and some very seedy, funny and downright erotic stories and such. The kind of talk that would get one banned from AOL ... but very few knew about it.

That, however, is for a later post -- especially how those private conversations came back to bite me in the butt and cost me a job.

Blue Ice - quoting from Wikipedia: "Blue ice in the context of aviation is the frozen material formed by leaks in commercial aircraft lavatory waste tanks, a mixture of human waste and liquid disinfectant that freezes at high altitude. The name comes from the blue color of the disinfectant, and is a sardonic reference to the Blue Ice line of products used for cooling ice chests and similar applications.

Airlines are not allowed to dump their waste tanks in mid-flight, and pilots have no mechanism by which to do so; however, leaks can occur. There were at least 27 documented incidents of blue ice impacts in the United States between 1979 and 2003. These incidents typically happen under airport landing paths as the mass warms sufficiently to detach from the plane during its descent. A rare incident of falling blue ice causing damage to the roof of a home was reported on October 20, 2006 in Chino, California.

On January 28, 2007 at the Timberlanes subdivision in Tampa, Florida, under the approach path to Tampa International Airport, a red Mustang automobile owned by Andres Javaze was struck by a large block of ice estimated at 50 pounds which crushed the rear of the vehicle. A neighbor named Raymond Rodriguez reported hearing a whistling or whizzing noise as the ice fell from the sky before impact and watched as it smashed the vehicle. However, the chunk of ice was not blue and is not thought to have fallen from an airplane. The incident is being investigated by the FAA.

Blue ice became known to many people from the last 2003 episode of the HBO series Six Feet Under, in which a foot-sized chunk drops on an innocent bystander. It is also the title of a 1992 film where Michael Caine's character describes the concept of blue ice,and it also described on the tv show MANswers ."

Now, as reservation agents we had access to a lot of information, but nothing that involved maintenance or inner workings of the airport. . . until someone discovered that (long before blogs) someone at the airport was writing the "Blue Ice Newsletter" in the computer. Whoever was writing this had an acid sense of humor, biting wit and a complete command of what was happening on the ground/tarmac and mechanics role in the controlled chaos.

Who knew that airplane parts were interchangeable from one type of airplane to another? Who knew that "tug" operators (those zippy little luggage and plane pushing/hauling carts) could do so much damage. Who knew that it was possible for a few mechanics to service more planes than they should have - and get them in the air. Who knew that by canceling a return flight of an overseas trip, they were cannibalizing the parts into other aircraft - sending them on their way and when they returned, the parts would be pulled and the return trip of the overseas flight would "continue."

The author of "Blue Ice" knew, and it was written in black and white - well, more green - and was intended for airport personnel only. Don't ever put a members only sign on a site like that - at that time reservations would find out about it and pile in. And we did. We could find out about cancellations before anyone else and other interesting tidbits about what to fly and what might be best avoided.

Ever since then - "blue ice" has come to mean to me, something that simply continues to unfold in a highly dramatic and damaging way. Something that appears to be complete chaos - without form and void. Something that will simply not go away. Even when the tanks have been pumped. (OK, just how did you think those tanks on aircraft got emptied? By the blue ice elves?)

And since it's a mixture of excrement and disinfectant - the analogy is right there in plane plain sight.

--- more to come

And The Ice Continues To Flow ~ Early Evening Thoughts

I'll have more to say about all this over the next few days ~ I'm using the excuse that they need to play out a little more (my story and I'm sticking to it). I continue to watch the unfolding of the "sturm und drang" of the Illinois Governor. the auto hand-out . . . uh . . . bail-out, home foreclosures, the frothing at the mouth TV talking heads (with or without a grip on truth and/or reality), the money lost in "helping" the banks survive and such.

What started as a slight feeling in the back of my brain finally moved to the front (a sometimes arduous journey!) and I was reminded of one of the most famous and effective theater posters of ALL time.



Nothing like a little 'Liza crossing the ice to get things going!!!

--More on this later!!

P.S. I was going to title this And The (Blue) Ice Continues To Flow, but I'll explain that later as well . . . .

A Tardy Celebration ~ Early Evening Thoughts

In my last post (oh so many weeks ago) I teased about an important celebration that was coming up. That date ~ the 27th of August ~ is very important to me. Actually, all days are now important to me. On the 27th of August, last year, I began a journey back from the edge of having no edge at all.

So - the announcement? On the 27th of this month I will be celebrating one year and four months of sane(r) and sober life. As those who have followed this blog (through its ups and downs) will know that each of these dates represent a real milestone. I'm enjoying my life, considering I almost didn't have one ~ and waking each day with a sense of renewal and hope.

I'll be talking more about the recent journey, such as the fun of the knee replacements, the JOY of hurricanes and learning that no matter how young my mind is convinced I am - the body wants to tell me a very, very different story.

So, welcome back! To me and to you!! Pull up a chair, and we'll continue to talk about it all.

F.Y.I. ~ The Return ~ Early Evening Thoughts

I'm sorry that I have been "missing in action" for these last months. I would like to say upfront, everything is fine, I'm fine and what is now going on around me is fine as well!!
It was just important that I take some time off and solidify what's been happening with me, and to get to the point that I actually wanted to write something that wasn't in my journal.

So, even tho' I have NOT been:



And I certainly have not been under a storm of any kind:




















I am glad to say that in the next few days I shall be back, and be back to stay!!!

And The Non-Winner Is .... Early Evening Thoughts.

My apologies for not posting over the last few days. I really couldn't bring myself to post something humorous or trying to let you know part of the story when I myself didn't know how it was going to turn out. I wrote in the last point about my friend playing crash and burn with his body and mind. I think crash and burn won....

After he recovered from last Sunday ~ we had several l-o-n-g talks about what was happening and what he was not only doing to himself, but to those around him. I was trying to be careful not to be judgmental and/ or evangelical. It was becoming an extremely difficult task.

I finally got through with the sentence: "I can care unconditionally - but I don't have to accept the behaviors unconditionally." So, he agreed that getting to the counseling center and getting into therapy was the only way to go.

Yesterday, I got a phone call from him wanting to meet for lunch and talk. He was worried about what was going to happen and if he really had the strength to resist his addictions. We talked for a few moments and I hung up to get ready to go down the road and meet him for lunch. He arrived and seemed in good shape - looks and demeanor can be deceiving. I realized that when he took out a bottle of vodka during lunch and helped himself. Once again I'm thinking - "holy Crap now what!" (raging drunks for 1000 Alex.)

At this point I'm also thinking "This is a restaurant I will be unable to go back to...." But my deepest concern is for my friend. He's at this time beginning to spin out of control. I finally get him convinced to leave the restaurant ~ he wanted to buy a backpack and I thought the walk to the store might help. (foolish thoughts for 500 Alex.) And once again I was left shaking my head in disbelief.

I knew I could get him a ride ~ a friend of both of us was still willing to work with him. Several calls later he agreed to pick us both up - but particularly "Mouthwash".

He "earned" the nickname from the Crisis Residential Unit we were both in after my stay in the hospital. He actually managed to get alcohol and smuggle it into the unit. He wasn't selfish evidently ~ more than willing to share with others. Of course, the fact that everyone was on medication that might have a very negative (as in deadly) reaction to it never figured into his conscious. The alcohol? One that needs to be banned from drug store shelves. I'm not going to reveal the name - but the next time you are in a drug store look for a mouthwash that is more than 50 proof. The night at the unit was very interesting. He was turned in to the director and actually never denied the alcohol, merely blamed whoever turned him in as being at fault.

As the counseling center I was hoping to get him into was closed Friday/Saturday and Sunday. He had promised to call on Monday to get the intake appointment, and I agreed that I would go with him. All I could do was hope that he would be able to hold on until then. We finished getting the backpack and a really great pair of sunglasses for me and went outside to wait for our friend to come and take him away.Mouthwash decides that sitting on the sidewalk is the best option. So, now I'm sitting on the sidewalk (getting down there with my knees was a fun undertaking) ~ and he's sitting there taking alternate hits from a vodka bottle and soda bottle. All I could think was what a great picture we were - and how much we both looked like older homeless men sharing a moment. As we were not sharing the bottle that's all we would be sharing. He rambled on and on and I kept praying that no one I knew would show up.

That's when the rest of the story came out. Not only had he been imbibing alcohol this week - but he had been mixing codeine cough syrup and pills (Xantax specifically) ~ a sure-fire meltdown combination. Now I'm worrying about getting arrested simply becvause I'm sitting next to him . . . and I have begun to create a catastrophe out of the situation. I'm not going to share those with you at this point ~ but later they became quite funny.

Finally we had poured him into the car and he was being taken back to the center where he lives to sleep it off ...

The sleeping it off hope ended ~ evidently ~ when he passed out in his doorstep and awoke moments later cursing and threatening everyone in sight. . . including the friend that drove him home and was trying to get him into his room. Details are a little sketchy, but from what I found out ~ he checked himself out of the center and headed off to one of the most dangerous areas of town to add crack to the ingredients in his system. Today we learned that he was beaten up and arrested...no one knows for sure, but it sounds pretty likely to me.

Today when I contemplated what had gone on - I realized that my view of things/people/places and events has really changed. I know that there is nothing I can do to help this person directly and that worrying about it is neither productive nor helpful.

What does concern me is what this says about people I am around. There will be more on that soon.

Travelling ~ Morning Thoughts

This weekend I am heading out to the city of Galveston ~




The pictures are a little misleading ... The water (and sometimes the beach) in Galveston is anything but clean and blue ... however, where I will be be staying more than makes up for it!!!





Have a wonderful weekend everyone ~ I'll be back on-line Monday!!!!

More Of The Story ~ Late Afternoon Post

Friday, the 23rd my Mother slipped away at around 7:30 in the evening. She went as she wanted, at home looking out the window at Flathead Lake. She had been out of it most of Thursday ~ while I was making travel arrangements for myself and my "tribe" to get there. Alas, that was not to be. She passed away while most of us were in Salt Lake City awaiting the next leg of the trip. While I was saddened, it was NOT a time of mourning. She was 94 years young, and had been desiring to go home for some time.

She was walking the dog on (I believe) the 9th of November and because she had been told not to ~ she took some concrete steps to the house. As near as we can tell she lost her balance and fell down at least 8 of them, landing on her head on the concrete pad. Fortunately, she had an alert bracelet that she managed to press - in spite of a broken arm and a broken shoulder below the rotor cuff.

R & L were on their way down when the alert people called them and also told them they had dispatched an ambulance. Everyone arrived within about 10 minutes of the fall. R had called me and I actually got to talk to Mom on the stretcher. Of course, her reactions were very typical of my Mom. She was telling R to stop crying, and all she would say to me on the cell phone was "I can't talk right now!" All I told her was that I wanted to say I loved her.

While in the ER, she was ready to go home, they were not sure what they were going to do but she was one determined lady. They wrote a prescription for pain pills and she started to get up to leave. She decided that because she was dizzy and everything now had started to hurt, she would stay overnight. That was sadly, her last independent moment. While she was in the hospital that night, she had what they classified as a moderate stroke. So now, she was dealing with the pain and having a terrible time talking. Not a very good combination for those who were taking care of her, trust me on that one!

With a lot of negotiation (OK, some fits were thrown as well) they moved her on the 13th to an intensive rehabilitation center. Mom knew that this was the ONLY way she was going to be allowed to go home. However...again however, she was NOT prepared for 1) the work she was going to have to do or 2) the people that would be there. I had called Mom twice a day for over two years, and I even had to get into the act of getting her to 1) "play" nice and 2) cooperate with everyone. I can and always will understand her frustration, but I eventually began to realize where this was going ~ even if I didn't want to admit it!! (Who wants to admit anything like that?)

Things seemed to be going well at the rehab center, when Mom had another mini-stroke. At that point rehab felt they had done all they could there and that Mom needed to be home with therapy coming to see her. Hospice took over on the 19th. At this point there was no longer any fantasy about her recovery. The hospital bed was in the living room so that she would be able to see her beloved Flathead Lake and perchance see the lights across the lake going up the mountain. On Wednesday the 21st, they awoke her to do one of the every two hour moves every early. They sat her up and cleaned her face with a washcloth and then R said: "look Barb, the lights across the lake!!" She had an enormous grin on her face and laid back down. I did get to talk "at" her that day. . . the last living conversation I was to have with her. She was awake occasionally that day, the mind was there ~ but all ability to talk was gone. On the 23rd she was awake only once. Her breathing was somewhat labored, and twice stopped. The at 7:30pm the 23rd of November, my Mother slipped out of her earthly shell and found herself at her new "home" where she had wanted to be for a long long time.

~ more later in the week

Thankful? Grateful? ~ Early Afternoon Thoughts

For those who have been following this blog (even during the unintended/intended) absence ~ I want to let you know that my Mother is slipping away. While this is not a totally joyful occasion, please be aware that I am totally at peace with what is going on. I have no unresolved issues with her, no excess baggage that has to be dealt with. I will, however, be flying to Montana tomorrow afternoon and will return to Texas late Wednesday night. Trust me - where my mother is there is NO computer connection (sorry Laurie!!!) so I will report on the trip next weekend.

Now, for the heart of this posting -- I was talking to a couple of friends this week, one is an addict and the other a really hard-core alcoholic. We were discussing being thankful and grateful ~ and the difference between them. Some of what I am posting relates directly to them, but thought about it, I realized the questions related to everyone.

Am I/you/we grateful?

Supposedly we are celebrating being thankful this week ~ but it appears that the Thanksgiving part has been shoved off the shelves for the next event in the calendar. But, has that spirit of being grateful vanished from the shelves of my life as well? Am I truly grateful?

Am I grateful for a place? For the shelter from more than just the elements of weather ~ but grateful for the shelter sometimes from others and sometimes even from myself?

Am I grateful for myself? for the who/what that I am? Am I grateful for the recovery from addiction(s) help me keep my life in balance? Am I grateful for the possible metal diagnosis that will keep me very aware of what is going on around me and within me ~ perhaps for the rest of my life?

Am I grateful for what I can do? Am I grateful for what I may be unable to do? And grateful for those who respect my limitations, but do not baby them either? And am I grateful for those who don't?

Am I grateful for my frustrations? Am I grateful for what I'm not being allowed to do? Am I grateful for the road-blocks in my way? Am I grateful for the mountains that seem insurmountable that I know I must go over as I unable to go around them ~ of under them?

Am I grateful for others? The ones who greet me on the way by? It's easy to be grateful for the ones I like, but what about the ones that I don't? Perhaps those are there to help me learn ~ such as patience, tolerance and long suffering (and they can make me suffer!) Perhaps by being grateful the annoyance will fade over time.

Am I grateful for what I have? While many of us have very little, there are those who have even less. Of course there will always be those who have even more, but am I able to be grateful for those as well?

Perhaps the universe will not trust me with more until I am truly grateful for all I have.

When I become grateful for all these things, then my heart will be at peace...my life can come back to manageability.

Desiderata

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

Max Ehrmann, Desiderata, Copyright 1952.

Being Thankful ~ A Small Early Evening Post

Over the next few posts, I'm going to share some of my personal journey over the last many weeks (it seems shorter than it actually was!!) and specifically, what I've been learning about being grateful/thankful. One of the many things I'm very thankful for is simply being alive...when at one point there was some doubt (in my mind anyway!) or course, there are some stories to tell - for instance, my problem caused the arrival of not only the ambulance but the police AND the fire department. It was as if an entire swat team had descended on the complex. The certainly was a lot of "thumping" around, which at one point reminded me of a performance of "Stomp." I think part of that was making me the stomp-ee....but more on that later.


The journey I've been on has been incredible, joyful, painful and sorrowful - sometimes all at the same time...but I am grateful!!

For those that have followed this blog, you also know that my Mother (age 94) suffers from TIA ... or mini-strokes. Two weeks ago, she fell down five concrete steps (the steps she knows she is not to use) and landed on her head on a concrete pad. She broke her shoulder below the socket, so there was no surgery they could do to "fix" it. Her arm was literally tied to her waist to keep it from moving. Unfortunately, she actually had a moderate stroke while in the hospital and spent last week in an intensive rehabilitation center - doing more in one day than she had done in probably the last 20 years.

She arrived back at her house on Saturday however, early this morning she had to be taken back to the hospital. I would appreciate thoughts/prayers for her at this time. I will know more about what is going on or not going on possibly as early as tomorrow.

It is good to be back with by blog - I have really missed sharing laughs, joys and even some of the sorrows.

Something Borrowed ~ Very Early Evening Thoughts

Forgive my silence over the last couple of days, but things have gotten a little out of hand over the last 72 hours. While not completely in a bad sense ... just in an exhausting sense. Of course, there will be some stories to tell about what happened, but for tonight ... I'm going to borrow from an article that really meant something to me the other day:

The Facebooking of America by Suzanne Fields:

Every generation is sure that its social and cultural trends are here to stay. When history moved slowly before the dawn of the electronic media, it might have seemed so. But with instant communication through cell phones, fax machines, e-mail and Internet meeting places, such as Facebook and YouTube, cultural trends accelerate dramatically. The future as imagined by Generations X, Y or Z is easily blown away by the high velocity winds of change.

You can read the entire article --->here<--- ~ I would have reprinted the article, but I couldn't get permission. I think you will enjoy it as much as I did being of ...ahem.... a certain age.


---more complex tales and thoughts tomorrow

Article trackback link: http://rss.townhall.com/trackback/www/f38cf657-27f9-4df0-9263-e5b4d12fb3ae/

The Evening In Question ~ Early Evening Thoughts

Even after the day today ~ I will put a few words down about my "evening out." In the previous post I made mention of the fact that I had to be told that the invitation was actually a date. At my age? You've got to be kidding...but it was not just getting together, it actually was a date.

This required some thought and planning. What does one wear on a date...not having been on one for quite sometime. What is planned for the evening, or not planned?

Finally, common sense took hold and I decided that I would continue to be myself and allow the evening to unfold as it wanted to unfold.

We met and started talking ~ and we shared, laughed, talked until finally we realized what time it was. We had been sharing and talking for almost five hours! It certainly didn't seem like that at all. Fortunately, I didn't have to get up in the morning to work. We parted ways ~ however ~ only for a bit. We are getting together for another date next week ~ and I will certainly have more to share on that one.

However ~ it's wonderful to find someone who is willing to share themselves and be open about life and living. It's delightful to find someone who has been at some of the crossroads I've been at and who knows what deep decision making is all about.

What the evening gave me was a deep appreciation of this person, a better understanding of them ~ and belief that no matter what, we will have a friendship that survives.

And yes ~ the evening ended with a very warm embrace...very warm.

F.Y.I. ~ Tired Early Evening Thoughts

I'm sorry but these last 48 hours have been very l o n g and almost overwhelming. Please excuse no post last night or tonight. I'll be back tomorrow - hopefully with a date story or two.

It Was A Dark And Stormy Night (2) ~ Early Evening Thoughts

As I mentioned that last time I posted about Bulwer-Lytton, it wasn't that he was a bad writer, he just wasn't very good at it. I think one of the expressions used to described his style might be purple prose (probably because it's been beaten into submission!).

"It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents--except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness."
--Edward George Bulwer-Lytton, Paul Clifford (1830)

It's not that Bulwer-Lytton wasn't a thinker, as he was very good at observations about life and people: "The true spirit of conversation consists in building on another man's observation, not overturning it."for example.

It's just that as a novelist he, as many of the writers of the time, wasn't very good. And to compound matters, Bulwer-Lytton kept inflicting his novels on the public: The Last Days of Pompeii, Eugene Aram, Rienzi, The Caxtons, The Coming Race, and--not least--Paul Clifford.

He also entered some great quotes into our daily use: "the pen is mightier than the sword," "the great unwashed,(my personal favorite)" and "the almighty dollar."

In 1982 The English Department at San Jose State University started sponsoring the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, a whimsical literary competition that challenges entrants to compose the opening sentence to the worst of all possible novels.

Over the years the contest has grown and the entries more fun. I understand that some people spend up to a year working on their sentences. I know that the year I entered I spent quite a bit of time on my entry ~ which obviously wasn't quite enough.

Here are some of this year's winners:
(this grand prize winner takes a little more concentration than most!)

Gerald began--but was interrupted by a piercing whistle which cost him ten percent of his hearing permanently, as it did everyone else in a ten-mile radius of the eruption, not that it mattered much because for them "permanently" meant the next ten minutes or so until buried by searing lava or suffocated by choking ash--to pee.
---Jim Gleeson Madison, WI ~ the 25th

Runner-Up
The Barents sea heaved and churned like a tortured animal in pain, the howling wind tearing packets of icy green water from the shuddering crests of the waves, atomizing it into mist that was again laid flat by the growing fury of the storm as Kevin Tucker switched off the bedside light in his Tuba City, Arizona, single-wide trailer and by the time the phone woke him at 7:38, had pretty much blown itself out with no damage.
---Scott Palmer, Klamath Falls, OR

This one would have made Bulwer-Lytton exceptionally proud:
Grand Panjandrum's Award

LaVerne was undeniably underdressed for this frigid weather; her black, rain-soaked tank top offered no protection and seemed to cling to her torso out of sheer rage, while her tie-dyed boa scarf hung lifeless around her neck like a giant, exhausted, pipe cleaner recently discarded after near-criminal overuse by an obviously sadistic (and rather flamboyant) plumber.
---Andrew Cavallari, Northfield, IL

Winner: Children's Literature

Danny, the little Grizzly cub, frolicked in the tall grass on this sunny Spring morning, his mother keeping a watchful eye as she chewed on a piece of a hiker they had encountered the day before.
---Dave McKenzie, Federal Way, WA

Runner-Up
Mary had a little lamb; its fleece was Polartec 200 (thanks to gene splicing, a diet of force-fed petrochemical supplements, and regular dips in an advanced surface fusion polymer), which had the fortunate side effect of rendering it inedible, unlike that other Mary's organic lamb which misbehaved at school and wound up in a lovely Moroccan stew with dried apricots and couscous.
---Julie Jensen, Lodi, CA

Dishonorable Mention
Out of a hole in the ground popped a bunny rabbit which had a long thick orange carrot between its teeth and a big splotch of mud on its back that had dried into a dirt clump the size of a tumor.
---Veronica Perez. Palm Springs, FL

Winner: Detective Stories

I'd been tailing this guy for over an hour while he tried every trick in the book to lose me: going down side streets, doubling back, suddenly veering into shop doorways, jumping out again, crossing the street, looking for somewhere to make the drop, and I was going to be there when he did it because his disguise as a postman didn't have me fooled for a minute.
---Bob Millar, Hässelby, Sweden

Runner-Up
She'd been strangled with a rosary-not a run-of-the-mill rosary like you might get at a Catholic bookstore where Hail Marys are two for a quarter and indulgences are included on the back flap of the May issue of "Nuns and Roses" magazine, but a fancy heirloom rosary with pearls, rubies, and a solid gold cross, a rosary with attitude, the kind of rosary that said, "Get your Jehovah's Witness butt off my front porch."
---Mark Schweizer, Hopkinsville, KY

Dishonorable Mention
What shocked Juliette as she entered the room was not that there was
an escaped convict under her coverlet snuggling with her best teddy bear, but that there was a knife through his back, "And who," she wondered out loud, steadying herself against the faux-taffeta wallpaper, "would stab a teddy bear?"
---Katie Alender, Studio City, CA

Hopefully, you will enjoy one more ~ my personal favorite of ALL time. This is the 1983 Grand Prize Winner:

The camel died quite suddenly on the second day, and Selena fretted sulkily and, buffing her already impeccable nails--not for the first time since the journey began--pondered snidely if this would dissolve into a vignette of minor inconveniences like all the other holidays spent with Basil.
--Gail Cain, San Francisco, California

All entries from http://www.bulwer-lytton.com/ --
Complete rules for entering are at the site as well.

---more on the date tomorrow

Lightning May Strike ~ Early Evening Thoughts

I have been invited out for the evening. As one of my friends put it when the invitation was made: "Uh, WD ~ that's a date." So, I am attempting to get ready for a ... um, uh ... date. Do they really call it that at my age? I will provide details later ~ possibly MUCH later. (So Bodhi, you might have to wait!!)

Was it out of the blue? Yes. Was it a delightful surprise? Yes. Am I prepared? No. Will I have a good time? Who knows ~ but knowing me, there will be some stories to go with it.

In the mean time, I am prepared for a delightful evening ~ with someone I know, and have known as an acquaintance for some time now.

What will we do? It's not my evening to plan. Will I let you know all the details? That depends.

---more tomorrow

Sigh! ~ Early Evening Thoughts

Once again, I will be unable to post this evening. I'll be back tomorrow. SIGH!

Some Thoughts On Thoughts ~ Early Evening Thoughts

It was still dark when I awoke. There was nothing but the normal sounds of the area around where I live. What woke me? I realized that my mind hadn't really calmed down from yesterday and was still "working over" things of the day...and was trying to borrow trouble from the day that was about to start.

Of course, things at that time of night/day for me become even more magnified...When I finally did get up ~ I was still tired. And my mind was still "yapping" about what had to get done, what hadn't gotten done and what wasn't GOING to get done. I couldn't even begin to enjoy the light of day with all I had accepted (key word: accepted) as being on my plate. In all honesty, I was discouraged.

This post is not a "poor me" post ~ but is part of the continuing journey that I share here. It colored my entire morning and much of the afternoon. It was difficult not to become irritated at things that were completely out of my control, and to lose control over what WAS in my control.

Often in situations such as this, I like to turn sometimes to what others have to say on a subject ... hopefully, you will find these helpful ~ as I did.

Take These Thoughts With You
On Your Journey To Your Dreams

Don't ever forget that you are unique. Be your best self and not an imitation of someone else.

Find your strength and use them in a positive way. Don't listen to those who ridicule the choices you make.

Travel the road that you have chosen and don't look back with regret. You have to take chances to make your dreams happen.

Remember that there is plenty of time to travel another road - and still another - in your journey through life.

Take the time to find the route that is right for you. You will learn something valuable from every trip you take, so don't be afraid to make mistakes.

Tell yourself that you're okay just the way you are. Make friends who respect your true self.

Take the time to be alone, too, so you can know just how terrific your own company can be.

Remember that being alone doesn't always mean being lonely; it can be a beautiful experience of finding your creativity, your heartfelt feelings, and the calm and quiet peace deep inside you.

Don't ever forget that you are special and you have within you the ability to make your dreams come true.
---Jacqueline Schiff

Today's Dreams Are
Tomorrow's Successes

Don't be afraid of high hopes or plans that seem to be out of reach.
Life is meant to be experienced, and every situation allows for learning and growth.

Motivation is a positive starting point, and action places you on a forward path.
A dream is a blueprint of a goal not yet achieved; the only difference between the two is the effort involved in attaining what you hope to accomplish.

Let your mind and heart urge you on; allow the power of your will to lead you to your destination.

Don't count the steps ahead; just add up the total of steps already covered, and multiply it by faith, confidence, and endurance.

Always remember that for those who persist, today's dreams are transformed into tomorrow's successes.
---Kelly D. Caron

This is my all time favorite quote (I'm sorry I don't know where it's from): Any problem worthy of attack will prove it's worth by hitting back.

Where Is The Song Writer When You Need Him ~ Early Evening Thoughts

It's just now the end of another exhausting day. A lot was accomplished, but a lot is still on my plate. One of the areas that made it so exhausting was trying to make a schedule work ~ that was totally dependent on other people. I had a wonderful couple that wanted to move into the complex...people I've known for a long time. Unfortunately, the apartment they wanted was still occupied by someone who I had gotten an eviction judgement against and have been waiting for the constable to serve the "get 'otta' Dodge" papers to complete the process.

Yesterday, another apartment became available ~ however ~ it needed cleaning, making ready and getting the furniture into it. The couple I know were ready to move today, and with numerous phone calls, it appeared it was going to happen.

Now, I'm totally relying on other people to get it ready and someone bringing the truck with furniture for their apartment and one other - so I don't have to go through this again.

The couple (I'll tell more of their story in another post) arrive at 1:30pm and start moving into the apartment. No sign of furniture. 2:30pm, couple has almost completely moved their things into the apartment. Still no sign of furniture. I have no nails left from biting them.

3:15pm, truck arrives. The Mrs. of the couple is happy because she can go and pick her furniture "off the truck." I resisted ANY comments about buying fruit/vegetables or shrimp the same way.

3:30pm, somewhat burly help arrives to move the furniture and get it somewhat set up.

4:30pm, the move is now complete. In the process I've handled 15 phone calls and 3 people dropping by inquiring about apartments. (The saga of shifting locks around will remain for yet another story...just suffice to say, I'm not a locksmith I've decided.) I still have paperwork to complete and more phone calls to make.

It was at this point, a wonderful poem came to mind. With a little searching I found a copy of it, and I'm giving it as my evening meditation and thought for the day.

ERE sleep comes down to soothe the weary
eyes,
Which all the day with ceaseless care have
sought
The magic gold which from the seeker flies;
Ere dreams put on the gown and cap of
thought,
And make the waking world a world of lies,--
Of lies most palpable, uncouth, forlorn,
That say life's full of aches and tears and sighs,--
Oh, how with more than dreams the soul is
torn,
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes.

Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes,
How all the griefs and heartaches we have
known
Come up like pois'nous vapors that arise
From some base witch's caldron, when the
crone,
To work some potent spell, her magic plies.
The past which held its share of bitter pain,
Whose ghost we prayed that Time might
exorcise,
Comes up, is lived and suffered o'er again,
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes.

Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes,
What phantoms fill the dimly lighted room;
What ghostly shades in awe-creating guise
Are bodied forth within the teeming gloom.
What echoes faint of sad and soul-sick cries,
And pangs of vague inexplicable pain
That pay the spirit's ceaseless enterprise,
Come thronging through the chambers of the
brain,
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes.

Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes,
Where ranges forth the spirit far and free?
Through what strange realms and unfamiliar
skies
Tends her far course to lands of mystery?
To lands unspeakable--beyond surmise,
Where shapes unknowable to being spring
Till, faint of wing, the Fancy fails and dies
Much wearied with the spirit's journeying,
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes.

Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes,
How questioneth the soul that other soul,--
The inner sense which neither cheats nor lies,
But self exposes unto self, a scroll
Full writ with all life's acts unwise or wise,
In characters indelible and known;
So, trembling with the shock of sad surprise,
The soul doth view its awful self alone,
Ere sleep comes down to soothe the weary eyes.

When sleep comes down to seal the weary eyes,
The last dear sleep whose soft embrace is balm,
And whom sad sorrow teaches us to prize
For kissing all our passions into calm,
Ah, then, no more we heed the sad world's cries,
Or seek to probe th' eternal mystery,
Or fret our souls at long-withheld replies,
At glooms through which our visions cannot see,
When sleep comes down to seal the weary eyes.
---Paul Laurence Dunbar ~ 1872-1906
-->digital collection here<---