Roux's home. The poor baby has staples in a six-inch line up her leg, and she's getting around in painful slowness, but she's home. The vet said that upon inspection of the injury it appears that her ACL injury occurred because it deteriorated because of natural causes. He said this sometimes happens in dogs and that in the next six months to a year it may happen again in her other leg. He said there's nothing that can be done to prevent it; apparently, it's a genetic issue. As I watch her limp from room to room, I pray that this is all for her. If her other leg goes, I'll do whatever I have to by way of surgery, but it will be so much better if she can recover from this and be healthy and happy.
Friday, while I was waiting to hear about Roux's surgery, I went with my parents to go see my uncle, and we wound up stopping on the way at a car dealership instead. Dad needed a new vehicle. With gas prices going up and the reliability of his 1991 truck going down, it was time. Although I don't think they intended the purpose of the trip to be purchasing a new car, Dad came home in an 07 Chrysler Pacifica. It's big enough for him to fit in and it gets really good gas mileage. We took it north today on the rescheduled trip to see my uncle, and it was very nice. I think he's excited about having it, and I think it's about time. It's the first "new" vehicle he's had since 1981. He was way overdue.
While he and Mom were conducting their business, I was somewhat left at loose ends, so I talked to some of the salesmen, roamed the lot, and drooled over the Chargers. I was standing and staring at their curving loveliness when all the headlights started flashing. I stepped back, a little startled, and one of the salemen stepped out with a handful of keys. He said, "Pick one." I started making noises saying no because I cannot trade cars right now, even though I want almost nothing in this whole world more than a big-HEMI Charger. I didn't want to be a test-drive tease. He just smiled, and said again, "Pick one. You want to drive the red one?"
The red one was a big HEMI R/T package, and it was fine in every way, but it was not the one that made my heart skip a beat. The one that made me want to cry was a big HEMI 08 in a color called Titanium. I smiled at him, and I swear I felt like a kid in a candy store when I pointed at it and I said, "That one. I want to drive that one." He handed me the key and told me to have fun and went back inside.
Oh BOY, did I have fun. I didn't trust myself to test drive it long. Otherwise, I'd still be driving it. That was the second one I've driven, but the other one didn't have a HEMI, and oh what a difference that makes. As soon as I got it around the block and out onto the open road, I just floored it to see what it would do. I swear, it felt like the thing stood up. There was no hesitation, no pause, no sickening moment of waiting for the rush, just pure power and a purring roar from the engine. The RPMs kicked high briefly to meet the immediate demand, and I was doing 85 before I could even blink. I was giggling like a fool and furtively looking around me for highway patrol before sanity returned and I slowed down to a speed less likely to get me arrested. There was almost no traffic on the road, so I slowed down to crawl so I could hit it again to hear it roar and feel it fly. It was so amazing. All I could think was, "I LOVE this car. I LOVE this car!!!!"
The day when I have one of these for my own is going to have to come soon. When I got back to the dealership and parked it, I felt a great loss at turning the ignition off and getting out. I just wanted to keep driving it, not at daredevil, lawbreaking speeds, but at every speed. Maybe the legislature will give us a 200% raise soon and I'll be able to afford one....
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Friday, June 27, 2008
Roux to the Vet
This morning, I got up early, got dressed, and took Roux for a long walk around the yard. She sniffed every blade of dew-wet grass, overturned every brown live-oak leaf, and followed every track left in the yard by nighttime animal visitor in the yard. Her poor back leg trembled with every step, but she was so excited to be outside in the cool morning air that her ears were perked up and she wasn't really paying attention. Yelldo, who'd come out with her, was dancing around, sniffing and exploring happily, getting ready to enjoy another morning of outdoor fun.
When I was sure she'd taken care of her bodily needs, I brought her back in, gathered up my purse and keys, and helped her into the car. She, as she always does, climbed right across the passenger side and into the driver's seat. Once I persuaded her that she couldn't drive, we hit the road. She is always such a good dog in the car, so peaceful and calm. She looks out the window at the passing cars, and she never seems nervous at all. She is always perfectly composed, stately almost.
Today, I just kept petting her and telling her over and over what I've been saying since Wednesday, telling her she'll feel so much better when this is all over and that I swear I'll be back for her as soon as I'm able. I don't know if dogs have memories for things like this, but I believe they do. I worry so much that she will flash back to her life as a shelter dog or to the time when she was in rescue before she had a permanent home, and that she'll think that I've given her up. I know the surgery will be painful for her during and after the procedure, but she's a pit, and a healthy one at that, so I'm not worried so much about her physically. Mostly, I don't want her great big loving pit bull heart to suffer even for one second thinking that I left her somewhere. That's happened to her before, after all.
Now, I'm just waiting by the phone to hear that she's okay after the surgery. Once I hear that, I can begin the countdown to her return to me tomorrow morning. I know all too well the pain of knee surgery, so I am ready to help her start on the road to recovery once she gets home. I just need her home. It's hard to have part of your heart away from you.
When I was sure she'd taken care of her bodily needs, I brought her back in, gathered up my purse and keys, and helped her into the car. She, as she always does, climbed right across the passenger side and into the driver's seat. Once I persuaded her that she couldn't drive, we hit the road. She is always such a good dog in the car, so peaceful and calm. She looks out the window at the passing cars, and she never seems nervous at all. She is always perfectly composed, stately almost.
Today, I just kept petting her and telling her over and over what I've been saying since Wednesday, telling her she'll feel so much better when this is all over and that I swear I'll be back for her as soon as I'm able. I don't know if dogs have memories for things like this, but I believe they do. I worry so much that she will flash back to her life as a shelter dog or to the time when she was in rescue before she had a permanent home, and that she'll think that I've given her up. I know the surgery will be painful for her during and after the procedure, but she's a pit, and a healthy one at that, so I'm not worried so much about her physically. Mostly, I don't want her great big loving pit bull heart to suffer even for one second thinking that I left her somewhere. That's happened to her before, after all.
Now, I'm just waiting by the phone to hear that she's okay after the surgery. Once I hear that, I can begin the countdown to her return to me tomorrow morning. I know all too well the pain of knee surgery, so I am ready to help her start on the road to recovery once she gets home. I just need her home. It's hard to have part of your heart away from you.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Quote on Political Correctness
While on my favorite BlackBerry site, CrackBerry.com, I found this gem as a signature file in one of the forum posts. I had to copy it and share it here....
Political Correctness is a doctrine, fostered by a delusional, illogical minority, and rabidly promoted by an unscrupulous mainstream media, which holds forth the proposition that it is entirely possible to pick up a turd by the clean end. - Texas A&M University Student
Political Correctness is a doctrine, fostered by a delusional, illogical minority, and rabidly promoted by an unscrupulous mainstream media, which holds forth the proposition that it is entirely possible to pick up a turd by the clean end. - Texas A&M University Student
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Twilight
Choke...
Part of me does NOT want to admit that I read these books..... Does it make me a mewling preteen to have read these books? Jeez....
Anyway, because of all the hoopla surrounding the upcoming release of the last volume of the series, I got curious about Stephanie Meyer's Twilight series. I ordered the first one off Amazon with a bunch of other stuff expecting to be underwhelmed but at least culturally literate. When you teach teenagers, you need to at least try to be marginally culturally literate. Most of the time I fail miserably, but this was at least something I could read, so I figured I'd try it.
The first book was not well-written at all. Every thirty-seven words or so, the characters either glared, rolled their eyes, or chuckled. I felt the desire to slap the main character (just can't call her a heroine, sorry) about every fourth page in the hopes that she'd grow a spine or brain in reaction. Yet, somehow, despite all that colossally-ill-written prose, I still wanted to see what happened next. Somehow, I had to know what happened with all the rainy gloom in Forks.
So...I sent away to Amazon for the other two books. When they came, I felt embarrassed as though the UPS driver could see inside the plain brown box and knew what sort of literary crap fiction was inside. I think I would have been less shamed if it had contained an illustrated Kama Sutra. I spent the remainder of the day with Bella, Edward, Jacob, and that terrible writing watching their world fall apart in impossible ways through the two books. I finished New Moon about dinner time and Eclipse about 2 a.m. The good thing about pulp fiction is that you can rip right through it, reading-wise.
When I finished the third book, I started thinking about all the screaming prepubescent hordes who lustfully adore Edward, the vampire love interest in the books. He certainly isn't like any of the fictional vamps I've read in the past. His main personality trait seems to be "control," not something I personally find appealing. His attraction to Bella is based on some prey-drive thing, but her attraction to him is never really explained other than by saying that he's really good-looking and sexy and in to her...and the author says that about every fifth sentence. Their conversations don't ever feel real to me. They are filled with mutual worship and angst instead of real speaking and listening.
Bella does have another love interest, a best friend who shares a lot with her, named Jacob. With Jacob, she does real things (sometimes) and has real conversations. Some of the best writing in the series, some of the most believable characterizations and conversations in the series come from their time together. She seems like she's on the verge of serious commitment to him a couple of times in the course of the series, but always she turns back to the dysfunctional Edward each time he crooks a finger. Of course, all this is tossed in with supernatural stuff like vampires and werewolves, so it does get a bit muddled at times....
I decided that Edward must fill that immature "star-crossed lover" desire that so many teenagers seem to have, that craving for the guy you just shouldn't have, the relationship that is as full of drama as you can possibly make it. I was never really into that, personally, but I saw it in full effect in the lives of some of my friends. They dated guys, I'm convinced, that they never would have given a second look to if the relationship had gone smoothly. As we get older, I think most of us lose that drama urge. Love is hard enough without looking for soap-opera complications on the side.
All in all, I guess this series is okay. It's not the worst thing I've ever read, for sure, and anything that gets people to read can't be all bad. I guess I'm just a little too old to get into a bother over cardboardy control characters. I'm curious enough and OCD enough to read the final book in the series when it comes out. I just don't intend to announce it loudly when I'm done.
Roux's Knee
Roux has been limping worse than usual the past two days, so today, I loaded her up and took her in to see the vet again. I was afraid that she'd reinjured or worsened the existing injury to her rear right ACL. She licked her lips in pain and only yelped a couple of times as the vet moved her leg, but I could tell it hurt her so much. The ultimate diagnosis didn't come as a surprise. She's going to need surgery to correct the torn ligament in her knee.
Roux was so sweet and good the whole time. Everyone always remarks on how beautiful she is, and I am always so proud to be able to tell people that she's a pit because I know that too many people have too many wrong attitudes about what pit bulls really are. The whole time we were traveling, the whole time we were sitting in the waiting room, and then while the vet was seeing her, she just kept looking up at me with that same loving trusting expression. Even when the vet had twisted her leg into a position that caused her pain, when he was done, she stuck her head into the crook of his arm as though he was a refuge for her. How could anyone look at that and see a dangerous animal?
She's going to have surgery Friday morning, and I'll need to crate her up for awhile. This, of course, doesn't mean that she wouldn't be perfectly capable of doing exactly what she's been doing and turn off all the pain to run full out after whatever she wanted if the opportunity presented itself, so I'm going to have to be very careful about keeping her on the leash and watching that she doesn't dash out the door for awhile. I hope that even after Friday's surgery she'll still be able to look up at me with that same love and trust. I know from personal experience how badly knee surgery hurts.
Roux was so sweet and good the whole time. Everyone always remarks on how beautiful she is, and I am always so proud to be able to tell people that she's a pit because I know that too many people have too many wrong attitudes about what pit bulls really are. The whole time we were traveling, the whole time we were sitting in the waiting room, and then while the vet was seeing her, she just kept looking up at me with that same loving trusting expression. Even when the vet had twisted her leg into a position that caused her pain, when he was done, she stuck her head into the crook of his arm as though he was a refuge for her. How could anyone look at that and see a dangerous animal?
She's going to have surgery Friday morning, and I'll need to crate her up for awhile. This, of course, doesn't mean that she wouldn't be perfectly capable of doing exactly what she's been doing and turn off all the pain to run full out after whatever she wanted if the opportunity presented itself, so I'm going to have to be very careful about keeping her on the leash and watching that she doesn't dash out the door for awhile. I hope that even after Friday's surgery she'll still be able to look up at me with that same love and trust. I know from personal experience how badly knee surgery hurts.
Easy Key Lime Pie Recipe
The pie is great. If you want the recipe, check here on the RealSimple recipe page for it. I will say that because I can't seem to find an 8 oz. container of heavy cream or a 6 oz. can of frozen limeade that I doubled the recipe instead by simply buying another pie crust and another can of sweetened condensed milk and making two pies instead of one. Now what will I do with that second pie?
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Elizabeth: The Golden Age
I watched this tonight with my faux Mexican, and I was reminded of why I am fascinated by the Tudors. I loved the first movie, Elizabeth, tremendously. I have it on DVD, and every time I watch it I am a little more impressed with it. I know it's not exactly accurate historically, but it's fairly close, and just to see the period come to life in that way and to gain a window in to how Elizabeth might have felt when the events of her life unfolded is powerful.
The Golden Age had many of the same qualities. The romance element from the first movie was largely absent, or at least highly sublimated, but the history was so rich. Mary, Queen of Scots made her fateful decision and lost her head, Philip II schemed his megalomaniac schemes, cloaked in religious zeal, and the Armada sailed. Just seeing the Armada being built and then the later battle with the fire ships was incredible. Seeing Elizabeth deliver her famous speech to the troops as the Armada approached was also very well-done.
I think, though, the very best moments of the film revolved around the conflict with Mary, Queen of Scots. The actress who played her played Jane Eyre in the BBC/A&E production. I can never remember her name, but she's very good. I never would have thought of casting her into that role, but now that I've seen her in it, I don't think I will ever be able to think of anyone else in it. She carried herself with such perfect composure and regal grace. She was a wonderful foil for Cate Blanchett's Elizabeth, and let's be honest, that wasn't going to be easy to do.
When Mary's plot to assassinate Elizabeth was discovered and she knew her life was basically forfeit, she still maintained her dignity. She went to the block like a queen.
Just as moving was the reaction of Elizabeth. It humanized that whole part of the story. Elizabeth was torn in making the decision to order Mary's execution for many reasons, and even when the decision was done, in the film, she could not watch it. Again, I'm not sure of the historical accuracy of any of it, but it was compellingly played on screen.
I'm glad I finally got to see it. All in all, I liked the first one better, I guess. It would have been hard to live up to it, too, all things considered. I will want this one to show bits and pieces of for the Armada scenes, especially, and I'll definitely want to watch it again.
The Golden Age had many of the same qualities. The romance element from the first movie was largely absent, or at least highly sublimated, but the history was so rich. Mary, Queen of Scots made her fateful decision and lost her head, Philip II schemed his megalomaniac schemes, cloaked in religious zeal, and the Armada sailed. Just seeing the Armada being built and then the later battle with the fire ships was incredible. Seeing Elizabeth deliver her famous speech to the troops as the Armada approached was also very well-done.
I think, though, the very best moments of the film revolved around the conflict with Mary, Queen of Scots. The actress who played her played Jane Eyre in the BBC/A&E production. I can never remember her name, but she's very good. I never would have thought of casting her into that role, but now that I've seen her in it, I don't think I will ever be able to think of anyone else in it. She carried herself with such perfect composure and regal grace. She was a wonderful foil for Cate Blanchett's Elizabeth, and let's be honest, that wasn't going to be easy to do.
When Mary's plot to assassinate Elizabeth was discovered and she knew her life was basically forfeit, she still maintained her dignity. She went to the block like a queen.
Just as moving was the reaction of Elizabeth. It humanized that whole part of the story. Elizabeth was torn in making the decision to order Mary's execution for many reasons, and even when the decision was done, in the film, she could not watch it. Again, I'm not sure of the historical accuracy of any of it, but it was compellingly played on screen.
I'm glad I finally got to see it. All in all, I liked the first one better, I guess. It would have been hard to live up to it, too, all things considered. I will want this one to show bits and pieces of for the Armada scenes, especially, and I'll definitely want to watch it again.
Reengineering Wireless and Key Lime Pie
After a long night of really bizarre dreams, there's nothing like checking your bank balance prior to going to the store and finding that you have $0.76. Really. Seventy-six cents. After I took care of that, I squelched my trepidation, kissed my dogs, and went to town for the first time since last Tuesday's robbery. I was out of practically everything.
My wireless network here at home has been spotty since I moved the router to the back of the house to get it out of the living room, so in an effort to continue yesterday's office cleaning and revamping, I decided I would fix the problem today. Nothing is ever as easy as it seems, though.
The room roughly in the center of my house has very high ceilings. It's the room that joins the two houses that make up the house as a whole. There is a display ledge that is formed by the ceiling of one of the rooms, and that is where I decided to put my router.
I got my ladder and climbed precariously up. I managed not get the router up and myself down without killing myself, a minor miracle, and then I fought with the cords for fifteen or twenty minutes. When I finally got them all hidden behind doors, under rugs and along crevices, I plugged everything in, turned it on, and was pleasantly surprised that, so far, everything works.
This was pleasing, but was by no means the best part of my day. The best part of my day was the easy key lime pie recipe I made with my Kitchen Aid. Mmmm-mmmm. I love key lime pie, but making the real thing is a pain. I love any pie you can dump the ingredients for into a mixer and then pour into a pie crust. I haven't had the actual end result yet as it's still chilling, but I did, um, "clean the bowl" before I washed it, and I have to say the prechilled mix was fine in every way.
I am now going to go make some faux Mexican food and watch a movie. It's been a good day.
My wireless network here at home has been spotty since I moved the router to the back of the house to get it out of the living room, so in an effort to continue yesterday's office cleaning and revamping, I decided I would fix the problem today. Nothing is ever as easy as it seems, though.
The room roughly in the center of my house has very high ceilings. It's the room that joins the two houses that make up the house as a whole. There is a display ledge that is formed by the ceiling of one of the rooms, and that is where I decided to put my router.
I got my ladder and climbed precariously up. I managed not get the router up and myself down without killing myself, a minor miracle, and then I fought with the cords for fifteen or twenty minutes. When I finally got them all hidden behind doors, under rugs and along crevices, I plugged everything in, turned it on, and was pleasantly surprised that, so far, everything works.
This was pleasing, but was by no means the best part of my day. The best part of my day was the easy key lime pie recipe I made with my Kitchen Aid. Mmmm-mmmm. I love key lime pie, but making the real thing is a pain. I love any pie you can dump the ingredients for into a mixer and then pour into a pie crust. I haven't had the actual end result yet as it's still chilling, but I did, um, "clean the bowl" before I washed it, and I have to say the prechilled mix was fine in every way.
I am now going to go make some faux Mexican food and watch a movie. It's been a good day.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Cleaning Up
I decided that today is a cleanup day. I am going to tackle the office today and see if I can't bring some order to the chaos. I want to have some people over for dinner one night, and I certainly need to clear stuff up if I'm going to reach that goal. It never ceases to amaze me how messy one person and five critters can make a house. I hope I can at least get this one room cleaned up today. Here's hoping.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Nothing to Say
I could have just as easily not posted this, I suppose. Since the robbery, life has been a bit of an emotional rollercoaster. I didn't sleep more than a few hours the first two nights after it happened, and I didn't want to leave the house at all. Gradually, I was able to get past that, and now, I can almost feel okay again about leaving the house. I still expect to come home and find the front door standing wide open every time I do, but I know it's going to take a long time for that to dissipate back to my usual level of livable "what-if" again.
Mostly, I haven't been writing because what I'd write would just be more of what I've been writing, and I see no reason to inflict that on everybody again. More and more, I want to be somewhere else. I don't even care where now. Out west somewhere maybe? That would be wildly different. Maybe up towards Seattle where L. is? I'd know somebody there. Back on a plane overseas? It's the midsummer doldrums which I know will go away, but I'm not blogging about it more than this one last entry because writing about it doesn't actually seem to help. I feel more and more like an actor waiting in the wings here for a cue that never comes, and I don't know exactly what to do to force my way onto stage to take part.
Anyway, I'm sure there's something more productive I can do that this, so I'm off to find it. If all else fails, there's always a house to clean and a yard that always needs mowing, clipping, pruning, and so forth.
Mostly, I haven't been writing because what I'd write would just be more of what I've been writing, and I see no reason to inflict that on everybody again. More and more, I want to be somewhere else. I don't even care where now. Out west somewhere maybe? That would be wildly different. Maybe up towards Seattle where L. is? I'd know somebody there. Back on a plane overseas? It's the midsummer doldrums which I know will go away, but I'm not blogging about it more than this one last entry because writing about it doesn't actually seem to help. I feel more and more like an actor waiting in the wings here for a cue that never comes, and I don't know exactly what to do to force my way onto stage to take part.
Anyway, I'm sure there's something more productive I can do that this, so I'm off to find it. If all else fails, there's always a house to clean and a yard that always needs mowing, clipping, pruning, and so forth.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Thief
There is nothing that destroys the sense of safety every person is entitled to in his or her own home like a robbery. Today, for the second time in my life, that sense of safety has been stolen.
Mom took her dog to the vet this morning, and she called me on the way. I was up, but not active yet, so although my dogs were out, I had all my doors closed to prevent the UPS man from sneaking up on me in my pajamas. She was calling to tell me that there was a strange vehicle in my yard, and in fact, I heard the dogs going crazy outside as she was talking, but I figured that either it was UPS running very early, or it was one of the utilities checking something, so I didn't worry about it because I heard the vehicle leaving. I got up, got dressed, and got ready to start my day. I don't know that this vehicle slowly cruising through my yard has anything to do with what happened next, but some gut feeling tells me that it does.
Mom called me again about an hour later on her way home to tell me something, and we chatted briefly. When the phone rang again moments later, I figured she'd forgotten something she wanted to tell me, but she was out of breath and upset. My first thought was that she'd been bitten or stung by something on her way into the house, but she told me that as she'd walked up to the house with her dog on the leash, she'd noticed that the front door was open just those few ominous inches that every heart fears to see. She paused long enough to take in that the hall closet doors were also wide open, something they should never be, and that the light in the hall had been switched on, and she grabbed her dog's leash and ran back to the van.
As soon as I could tell that she was okay and safe back in the van, I got off the phone with her and called the sheriff. One of my friends is actually the dispatcher, the joys of living in a very small area, and he calmed me down and sent the cavalry while I shut down my own house to go up to Mom and Dad's to wait with her.
I kept flashing back to that horrible afternoon in high school when we came home and the house had been broken into. The thieves had pulled everything out into the floor, torn things up, and taken things that could never be replaced. I didn't sleep well for months, and every time I left the house, I expected to come home and see that same horrifying three-inch gap in the door.
This time, though, we were really blessed. If a house had to be robbed, I guess this was the way you'd want it to be done. The thieves took a jewelry box of my mother's, but they didn't destroy the house. They didn't break things and make a mess. They didn't hurt the two cats who we finally managed to coax out of hiding places deep under and behind things where they'd apparently gone when the intruders started coming in.
Truly, the only thing that wound up being irretrievably lost that matters is that sense of safety. How long will it be now before I leave the house again without being afraid to come home, even with a pit bull in the yard? I know that there is no deterrent against a thief, and that what they want they will take, but even before this happened, I was already coming home afraid of the open door. How much more will that fear be with me now, and how do I overcome it?
Even now, I'm pausing like a deer in the woods at every sound, listening for danger, trying to decide if the sound of the engine I hear is on the road or in the driveway. Is that somebody turning around, somebody pulling into my neighbor's drive, or somebody casing my house? Why are the dogs barking? Is it the full moon, is it distant coyotes, or is there somebody outside? I know it's irrational, I know I'm as safe as I can be behind very thick heavy deadbolted and chained doors with large dogs, but this is truly what the thieves take: confidence.
Somehow, I'm going to have to find the courage to go to sleep tonight without waking up every five minutes to twitch at every noise. After all, I'm sure the sheriffs are out and about. More importantly than that, though, somehow, I'm going to have to get the courage to leave the house, to lock the door, and leave it in the hands of God.
Mom took her dog to the vet this morning, and she called me on the way. I was up, but not active yet, so although my dogs were out, I had all my doors closed to prevent the UPS man from sneaking up on me in my pajamas. She was calling to tell me that there was a strange vehicle in my yard, and in fact, I heard the dogs going crazy outside as she was talking, but I figured that either it was UPS running very early, or it was one of the utilities checking something, so I didn't worry about it because I heard the vehicle leaving. I got up, got dressed, and got ready to start my day. I don't know that this vehicle slowly cruising through my yard has anything to do with what happened next, but some gut feeling tells me that it does.
Mom called me again about an hour later on her way home to tell me something, and we chatted briefly. When the phone rang again moments later, I figured she'd forgotten something she wanted to tell me, but she was out of breath and upset. My first thought was that she'd been bitten or stung by something on her way into the house, but she told me that as she'd walked up to the house with her dog on the leash, she'd noticed that the front door was open just those few ominous inches that every heart fears to see. She paused long enough to take in that the hall closet doors were also wide open, something they should never be, and that the light in the hall had been switched on, and she grabbed her dog's leash and ran back to the van.
As soon as I could tell that she was okay and safe back in the van, I got off the phone with her and called the sheriff. One of my friends is actually the dispatcher, the joys of living in a very small area, and he calmed me down and sent the cavalry while I shut down my own house to go up to Mom and Dad's to wait with her.
I kept flashing back to that horrible afternoon in high school when we came home and the house had been broken into. The thieves had pulled everything out into the floor, torn things up, and taken things that could never be replaced. I didn't sleep well for months, and every time I left the house, I expected to come home and see that same horrifying three-inch gap in the door.
This time, though, we were really blessed. If a house had to be robbed, I guess this was the way you'd want it to be done. The thieves took a jewelry box of my mother's, but they didn't destroy the house. They didn't break things and make a mess. They didn't hurt the two cats who we finally managed to coax out of hiding places deep under and behind things where they'd apparently gone when the intruders started coming in.
Truly, the only thing that wound up being irretrievably lost that matters is that sense of safety. How long will it be now before I leave the house again without being afraid to come home, even with a pit bull in the yard? I know that there is no deterrent against a thief, and that what they want they will take, but even before this happened, I was already coming home afraid of the open door. How much more will that fear be with me now, and how do I overcome it?
Even now, I'm pausing like a deer in the woods at every sound, listening for danger, trying to decide if the sound of the engine I hear is on the road or in the driveway. Is that somebody turning around, somebody pulling into my neighbor's drive, or somebody casing my house? Why are the dogs barking? Is it the full moon, is it distant coyotes, or is there somebody outside? I know it's irrational, I know I'm as safe as I can be behind very thick heavy deadbolted and chained doors with large dogs, but this is truly what the thieves take: confidence.
Somehow, I'm going to have to find the courage to go to sleep tonight without waking up every five minutes to twitch at every noise. After all, I'm sure the sheriffs are out and about. More importantly than that, though, somehow, I'm going to have to get the courage to leave the house, to lock the door, and leave it in the hands of God.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Thursday, June 12, 2008
That Trapped Feeling
The wanderlust is so strong in me today that I could throw a change of clothes and the rudimentary toiletries in a bag, point the PT Cruiser in a random direction, and drive until I found something...else. It's a strange restlessness that crops up in me every so often, a need to see something new, a change of scenery, a change of mind.
Podunk is starting to close in on me, and there's no hope of escape this summer. I am way too broke to go anywhere or do anything other than take mental vacations, so I keep having to pretend I don't notice the fact that that the walls are getting closer together, that the "sameness" of Podunk that I normally find so comforting and charming is becoming almost painful. I don't need a jumbo jet to another country, although that would be nice. I just need to get out of here for a few days, to see something that's not here. I got out my Mississippi: Off the Beaten Path guidebook two days ago when this nagging little ache began, and I found the perfect place to go, but since all my friends were eaten by their children and I'm flat-broke, I have no one to go with and no money to use, anyway. I wish I had somebody to travel with, somebody who enjoyed going and doing.
It's not that I hate living here. I love Podunk, otherwise I never would have come back home. Coming back was a choice I made, and I knew when I did it that there would be times like this, times when I'd miss the other life I had. I knew I was sort of giving up my wings to come back home. Sometimes, though, especially in the summer, I miss them so much it hurts. I guess it's because I'm not busy, so I actually have the time to think about it.
I'll find a way to break out of this, I guess, and everything will go back to normal, but for now, I so wish I could just get away from here for awhile.
Podunk is starting to close in on me, and there's no hope of escape this summer. I am way too broke to go anywhere or do anything other than take mental vacations, so I keep having to pretend I don't notice the fact that that the walls are getting closer together, that the "sameness" of Podunk that I normally find so comforting and charming is becoming almost painful. I don't need a jumbo jet to another country, although that would be nice. I just need to get out of here for a few days, to see something that's not here. I got out my Mississippi: Off the Beaten Path guidebook two days ago when this nagging little ache began, and I found the perfect place to go, but since all my friends were eaten by their children and I'm flat-broke, I have no one to go with and no money to use, anyway. I wish I had somebody to travel with, somebody who enjoyed going and doing.
It's not that I hate living here. I love Podunk, otherwise I never would have come back home. Coming back was a choice I made, and I knew when I did it that there would be times like this, times when I'd miss the other life I had. I knew I was sort of giving up my wings to come back home. Sometimes, though, especially in the summer, I miss them so much it hurts. I guess it's because I'm not busy, so I actually have the time to think about it.
I'll find a way to break out of this, I guess, and everything will go back to normal, but for now, I so wish I could just get away from here for awhile.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
That's the Smell of Fear
I was minding my own business, watching TV and contemplating tomorrow's errand run through town (something that, because of high gas prices, has become as precisely choreographed as any tactical military attack) when my mother called me on her way home from choir practice. It seems the ladies of the church have been conspiring against me. Well, that's inaccurate. It seems the ladies of the church have been conspiring for me, at least one of them. One of the ladies of my church believes she has found The Man for me, and she's given him my phone number. Yes, that odor that assaults you is the smell of fear....
From what I've been told so far, This Man sounds interesting, which is more than I can say for about 98% of the unmarried male population I run across in my day-to-day life. Granted, I have been given only the briefest of thumbnail sketches. For all I know, he's got a great big new axe, shiny and waiting to be used in the trunk/bed of his vehicle. You just don't ever know, do you? That's the horrifying part to me. You just don't know. I thought T. was normal, thought D. was normal, and look at how that all turned out. Fear, fear, fear...mind-numbing, house-cleaning fear.
Worse yet, it's not like I'll get to email this person first, use words in writing where I might stand a chance of coming off like a person with some fragment of intelligence, grace, or wit. No, no, no. I have to use the PHONE, a medium in which I will undoubtedly sound like a vacuous sixteen-year-old in need of an IEP.
Who knows whether or not this person will even call me? Right now, I'm voting for no because I'm too scared to vote for yes. I have already scrubbed every pot and pan in the kitchen sink, and I'm going to sit down and fold all the laundry that's accumulated. Hopefully, by that point, I'll be something like a sane person again, or at least as close as I ever get. I wonder if there are any copies of that brochure "So, You Want to Date an English Teacher" laying around anywhere?
From what I've been told so far, This Man sounds interesting, which is more than I can say for about 98% of the unmarried male population I run across in my day-to-day life. Granted, I have been given only the briefest of thumbnail sketches. For all I know, he's got a great big new axe, shiny and waiting to be used in the trunk/bed of his vehicle. You just don't ever know, do you? That's the horrifying part to me. You just don't know. I thought T. was normal, thought D. was normal, and look at how that all turned out. Fear, fear, fear...mind-numbing, house-cleaning fear.
Worse yet, it's not like I'll get to email this person first, use words in writing where I might stand a chance of coming off like a person with some fragment of intelligence, grace, or wit. No, no, no. I have to use the PHONE, a medium in which I will undoubtedly sound like a vacuous sixteen-year-old in need of an IEP.
Who knows whether or not this person will even call me? Right now, I'm voting for no because I'm too scared to vote for yes. I have already scrubbed every pot and pan in the kitchen sink, and I'm going to sit down and fold all the laundry that's accumulated. Hopefully, by that point, I'll be something like a sane person again, or at least as close as I ever get. I wonder if there are any copies of that brochure "So, You Want to Date an English Teacher" laying around anywhere?
Bad Pet Parent
I took Roux to the vet today for her regularly scheduled shots, and while I was there, I asked the vet to look at her back leg. She's been limping again, and I figured she'd pulled something again. She leads an overly active life, and as you may know from previous posts, she comes in scratched up from too much dog play on a pretty regular basis.
He lay her down on the exam table and started probing her back leg pretty firmly. Anything done on a pit bull has to be done pretty firmly. They sort of ignore things that aren't. I've never, ever seen her show pain. Her greatest pain response ever has been to lick her lips repeatedly when something like a major cut was being probed. Whenever she had that deep wound that caused me to rush her to the doctor before, she only licked whenever she was moved. When he cranked on her leg and she actually yelped, I wanted to cry.
Apparently, at some point, Roux tore one of her ACLs. The vet told me that it's begun to stabilise itself and heal now, so he's not recommending surgery yet. He sent me home with a huge bottle of dog pain pills and orders to put her on chondroitin, but I still can't get over the shock of it. I didn't know. How is it possible? She's been running flat out like a beefed-up greyhound with a blown-out knee? How is that even possible? Except for favoring it slightly, she hasn't even lessened her activity level. She roams around, she runs, she chases, she jumps, she plays....every time I thought of her active life, I felt more and more guilt. I just kept stroking her head and trying not to cry.
The vet said that it was because she's a pit. Again, that pit pain tolerance kicks in, and when she decides that she wants to do something, she shuts down the pain and she just does it. Having torn my own ACL and been through this whole process myself, I cannot imagine having that kind of pain and just getting up to run again.
If she responds well to the treatment he prescribed, then she might not need corrective surgery, but she will have arthritis due to her injury. I am a bad pet parent, and I didn't take care of my baby when she was hurt, but I'll see to it that she's taken care of now, whatever it takes. All afternoon, I've been sneaking her extra treats and loving on her even more than usual. I know it's not enough to make up for not knowing, but maybe it's a start.
He lay her down on the exam table and started probing her back leg pretty firmly. Anything done on a pit bull has to be done pretty firmly. They sort of ignore things that aren't. I've never, ever seen her show pain. Her greatest pain response ever has been to lick her lips repeatedly when something like a major cut was being probed. Whenever she had that deep wound that caused me to rush her to the doctor before, she only licked whenever she was moved. When he cranked on her leg and she actually yelped, I wanted to cry.
Apparently, at some point, Roux tore one of her ACLs. The vet told me that it's begun to stabilise itself and heal now, so he's not recommending surgery yet. He sent me home with a huge bottle of dog pain pills and orders to put her on chondroitin, but I still can't get over the shock of it. I didn't know. How is it possible? She's been running flat out like a beefed-up greyhound with a blown-out knee? How is that even possible? Except for favoring it slightly, she hasn't even lessened her activity level. She roams around, she runs, she chases, she jumps, she plays....every time I thought of her active life, I felt more and more guilt. I just kept stroking her head and trying not to cry.
The vet said that it was because she's a pit. Again, that pit pain tolerance kicks in, and when she decides that she wants to do something, she shuts down the pain and she just does it. Having torn my own ACL and been through this whole process myself, I cannot imagine having that kind of pain and just getting up to run again.
If she responds well to the treatment he prescribed, then she might not need corrective surgery, but she will have arthritis due to her injury. I am a bad pet parent, and I didn't take care of my baby when she was hurt, but I'll see to it that she's taken care of now, whatever it takes. All afternoon, I've been sneaking her extra treats and loving on her even more than usual. I know it's not enough to make up for not knowing, but maybe it's a start.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Yard Work
Today was a day of little chores outside. All the birdfeeders were empty, so I cleaned them out and refilled them. The squirrels, or furred pigs as I've come to think of them, keep dumping all the seed from the feeders, so that has become a full-time job. There comes a point when squirrels stop being cute....
Several pots of caladiums had been sitting on my porch since their purchase last week, and I potted them up in their new home near the metal shed I keep my gardening supplies in. I put the petunias I got at the same time in the pots around front, and I sure hope they fill out some, because right now, they're horribly spindly and unpromising. I cleaned out the lantana bed near the garden shed, and watered everything in well. I also watered my porch plants and the two pots of tomatoes I am trying to grow. Right now I have four little green tomatoes on the two plants. They're not big enough to pluck yet, but I'm already dreaming of fried green ones. After that, I moved around front to tackle the rose bed.
It amazes me how fast stuff grows in that bed. It can't have been that long ago that I did a full weeding on it, but I pulled a huge double-armload of grass and weeds from it. It's a job that I have been putting off, but now that it's done, the roses look much happier. If I can just get some mulch down before it all grows back in, maybe that work won't be in vain.
Several pots of caladiums had been sitting on my porch since their purchase last week, and I potted them up in their new home near the metal shed I keep my gardening supplies in. I put the petunias I got at the same time in the pots around front, and I sure hope they fill out some, because right now, they're horribly spindly and unpromising. I cleaned out the lantana bed near the garden shed, and watered everything in well. I also watered my porch plants and the two pots of tomatoes I am trying to grow. Right now I have four little green tomatoes on the two plants. They're not big enough to pluck yet, but I'm already dreaming of fried green ones. After that, I moved around front to tackle the rose bed.
It amazes me how fast stuff grows in that bed. It can't have been that long ago that I did a full weeding on it, but I pulled a huge double-armload of grass and weeds from it. It's a job that I have been putting off, but now that it's done, the roses look much happier. If I can just get some mulch down before it all grows back in, maybe that work won't be in vain.
Sunday, June 08, 2008
Frosty Shake
I was seduced by the commercials for Wendy's Frosty Shakes, so I decided to go get one after church tonight. When I pulled through the drive-through, there was only one vehicle ahead of me, and I congratulated myself on what I was sure would be a quick trip. Ha-ha-ha-ha.....foolish, foolish assumption. Fifteen minutes later, I was still sitting behind the same white car waiting or my strawberry Frosty Shake.
I don't know how many thousand things that person ordered, but three large white sacks of food came out of the window, one at a time, several minutes apart. I also don't know why the employees didn't ask the driver to pull around and park for an order that large. I thought that was standard procedure. Instead, cars just kept stacking up behind me, and I could hear teeth gnashing.
By the time I finally got my shake, it was very melty. That was okay because I like soft ice cream, but it certainly wasn't the speedy trip I had imagined. Oh well. The best-laid plans of mice and men and all that.... It was really tasty for all that.
I don't know how many thousand things that person ordered, but three large white sacks of food came out of the window, one at a time, several minutes apart. I also don't know why the employees didn't ask the driver to pull around and park for an order that large. I thought that was standard procedure. Instead, cars just kept stacking up behind me, and I could hear teeth gnashing.
By the time I finally got my shake, it was very melty. That was okay because I like soft ice cream, but it certainly wasn't the speedy trip I had imagined. Oh well. The best-laid plans of mice and men and all that.... It was really tasty for all that.
Saturday, June 07, 2008
Quote Irony
As I was complaining about my inability to bend Moodle to my will, this was the quote of the day.....
Do not let what you cannot do interfere with what you can do.
John Wooden
Do not let what you cannot do interfere with what you can do.
John Wooden
Friday, June 06, 2008
Spoiled by a WYSIWYG World
Today I've been playing with Moodle. I think my school is going to get it, and I downloaded it to my machine here at home to start playing around with it to get a feel for it since it seems it can do everything but make coffee for you in the morning. I've been at it now for about eight straight hours, and my eyes feel grainy and hot, as though they might explode. It's been a long, long time since I've spent this long in front of a computer and accomplished this little.
I feel like I used to back in the old days when I built my very first webpage and I had to write the HTML by hand. It's been TOO long since I did that, and too much has changed. I am spoiled by WYSIWYG editors, and I desperately wish that some enterprising soul would craft one for Moodle. GOD, how I wish there were one out there for it. It took me the better part of two hours just to change the background color, the text color, and get a logo up on the test page I'm running here at home because I had to locate all the files, look up all the stupid codes for the colors, scan through the massive coding on the color file to find the fragment that codes for the background and text, resize, relabel, and relocate the logo, and rewrite the code that tells it where to look for the logo. When I finally loaded the main page and the background was a sort of turquoisish blue with the little reading cat in the corner, I wanted to cry with happiness. This is coming from someone who can put together an entire "web universe" on something like Google in an afternoon....
I don't see how people do this all day long. Don't they just want to fling themselves out windows? Granted, I know that people who do this professionally know how to do this much more efficiently than I, and they probably don't have to stumble around with the ineptitude that I did, but I very much missed the visual element of what I was trying to do. I think Moodle would become a great deal more user-friendly than it currently is if someone would just do that one little thing for it. Why can't someone help it be visually appealing? And I don't mean by that charging an arm and a leg for a professionally-made theme, BTW....
However, since it's a creature of open source, I'm sure nobody cares. It seems that open source stuff seldom gets the user-friendly touches. The people who craft it always rather seem to expect you to get "hard core" or get out, and making things visually appealing is always low on the agenda. Right now, I really don't know what to think about this experience. I don't really have the time to get "hard core," and apparently I'm not hard core enough right now to make it look the way I want to. I can make it do most of what I want to functionally, but it looks just awful.
I feel like I used to back in the old days when I built my very first webpage and I had to write the HTML by hand. It's been TOO long since I did that, and too much has changed. I am spoiled by WYSIWYG editors, and I desperately wish that some enterprising soul would craft one for Moodle. GOD, how I wish there were one out there for it. It took me the better part of two hours just to change the background color, the text color, and get a logo up on the test page I'm running here at home because I had to locate all the files, look up all the stupid codes for the colors, scan through the massive coding on the color file to find the fragment that codes for the background and text, resize, relabel, and relocate the logo, and rewrite the code that tells it where to look for the logo. When I finally loaded the main page and the background was a sort of turquoisish blue with the little reading cat in the corner, I wanted to cry with happiness. This is coming from someone who can put together an entire "web universe" on something like Google in an afternoon....
I don't see how people do this all day long. Don't they just want to fling themselves out windows? Granted, I know that people who do this professionally know how to do this much more efficiently than I, and they probably don't have to stumble around with the ineptitude that I did, but I very much missed the visual element of what I was trying to do. I think Moodle would become a great deal more user-friendly than it currently is if someone would just do that one little thing for it. Why can't someone help it be visually appealing? And I don't mean by that charging an arm and a leg for a professionally-made theme, BTW....
However, since it's a creature of open source, I'm sure nobody cares. It seems that open source stuff seldom gets the user-friendly touches. The people who craft it always rather seem to expect you to get "hard core" or get out, and making things visually appealing is always low on the agenda. Right now, I really don't know what to think about this experience. I don't really have the time to get "hard core," and apparently I'm not hard core enough right now to make it look the way I want to. I can make it do most of what I want to functionally, but it looks just awful.
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Coyote
Today, I got cabin fever very early. I wasn't in a mood to wander aimlessly around Wal-Mart or to go junking, and as I've said before, there is no place for me right now at school, so I grabbed a big bottle of water and The Count of Monte Cristo and headed to the Red Field. It was a typically-hot Mississippi summer day, but the smothering blanket of humidity hasn't descended yet, so it was still tolerable. A strong, dry wind blew all day long, and under the deep shade of the porch it was quite comfortable.
I was reading when I became aware of the sound of something moving in the edge of the field. I expected a deer or maybe even a stray dog to emerge, and I sat still to see what it would be. We have all kinds of wildlife up there; one Saturday my family and I were up picnicking and we saw a wild turkey tom come strutting out of the woods calling for his hens.
I wasn't expecting what I saw, however. A largish canine form came trotting across the clipped pasture in front of the porch, and I almost whistled to it before realizing that what I was seeing was no lost dog. It was a coyote. That was as close as I've ever been to one. I could have thrown my book at it and hit it.
It was alone, and it didn't ever seem to notice me. I must have been upwind of it, and I certainly wasn't making any noise sitting still in my chair reading. There is so seldom anyone at the Red Field that I suppose the animals no longer take any notice of the construction there. For them, it just is.
The coyote slipped through the grass and paused at the edge of the woods to look around, and my phone chimed three times, the noise it makes when I get new email. I saw the coyote prick up its ears and look around, but it never looked towards me. It continued into the woods and down the hill toward the stream that runs at the foot of it. A little later, I saw it through the trees on the other side of the stream and heading away.
It was a strange encounter, and the only time in my life that I've seen a coyote alone and that close. I've heard them in the distance at night more times than I can count, and seen packs of them several times crossing open fields, but this lone encounter was a first. I wasn't afraid of it, but I have to say that after that, I became more aware of the rustlings in the woods that I had always just assumed to be deer before. Who knows what else might slide out of those dark green depths into the edge of the pasture?
I was reading when I became aware of the sound of something moving in the edge of the field. I expected a deer or maybe even a stray dog to emerge, and I sat still to see what it would be. We have all kinds of wildlife up there; one Saturday my family and I were up picnicking and we saw a wild turkey tom come strutting out of the woods calling for his hens.
I wasn't expecting what I saw, however. A largish canine form came trotting across the clipped pasture in front of the porch, and I almost whistled to it before realizing that what I was seeing was no lost dog. It was a coyote. That was as close as I've ever been to one. I could have thrown my book at it and hit it.
It was alone, and it didn't ever seem to notice me. I must have been upwind of it, and I certainly wasn't making any noise sitting still in my chair reading. There is so seldom anyone at the Red Field that I suppose the animals no longer take any notice of the construction there. For them, it just is.
The coyote slipped through the grass and paused at the edge of the woods to look around, and my phone chimed three times, the noise it makes when I get new email. I saw the coyote prick up its ears and look around, but it never looked towards me. It continued into the woods and down the hill toward the stream that runs at the foot of it. A little later, I saw it through the trees on the other side of the stream and heading away.
It was a strange encounter, and the only time in my life that I've seen a coyote alone and that close. I've heard them in the distance at night more times than I can count, and seen packs of them several times crossing open fields, but this lone encounter was a first. I wasn't afraid of it, but I have to say that after that, I became more aware of the rustlings in the woods that I had always just assumed to be deer before. Who knows what else might slide out of those dark green depths into the edge of the pasture?
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Chesterton Quote
This is taken from the Anchoress' wonderful blog, but it's something to think about as Election '08 and the inevitable circus o' crap start warming up.
“Idolatry is committed, not merely by setting up false gods, but also by setting up false devils; by making men afraid of war or alcohol, or economic law, when they should be afraid of spiritual corruption and cowardice.” - G. K. Chesterton, Illustrated London News 9/11/09
“Idolatry is committed, not merely by setting up false gods, but also by setting up false devils; by making men afraid of war or alcohol, or economic law, when they should be afraid of spiritual corruption and cowardice.” - G. K. Chesterton, Illustrated London News 9/11/09
Chaos
I went to school today to take care of some business, and I went by my room for few minutes while I was there. I really shouldn't have. It's so depressing to open the door and see the chaos of all my stuff everywhere. The walls are bare, all the little personal touches that I've put up over the last four years are down, and there's nothing anywhere but boxes, crates, and mass confusion. It's horrible. I had planned to box up a few more things or pull down an old bulletin board, but all the drive I had was completely sapped, and I wound up simply sitting behind my desk staring at the piles and piles of boxes.
Adding to the mess are the boxes and furniture of the teacher who is supposed to be moving into my room. He's gone ahead and moved his stuff in so his room would be open for the person shifting into his old space. I feel really bad for him, too. He can't set up anything or finalize his move until I get out. He's stuck in the same limbo as I am. I had told him to go ahead and bring his things in because there was no reason for everybody to be stuck waiting on me, but I know just bringing his things in and dumping them in the middle of the room probably wasn't his ideal solution. Fortunately, he's a very easy-going person who doesn't seem to have a lot of personal doodads the way I do, so there's room for both of us in the space, just barely, but we've managed it.
I still don't know exactly when I'm going to be able to get in my new classroom, maybe some time next week. I know it's going to take me several days just to get everything back out of boxes and on shelves again once I get it from the old room to the new room, but maybe I won't feel so sad and frustrated once that process begins. Right now, I can't even think about anything related to school without a feeling of deep futility. I'm trying to focus on good things about the move, like the decorating (getting new shower curtains to cover the tall shelves) and finally being able to have space enough to have a student computer station instead of having that set up on a corner of my own teacher's desk, but whenever I go in my current classroom, all the things that are to come fade in the face of horrid mess of what is. I guess I'll just keep telling myself the old cliche, "Patience is a virtue."
Adding to the mess are the boxes and furniture of the teacher who is supposed to be moving into my room. He's gone ahead and moved his stuff in so his room would be open for the person shifting into his old space. I feel really bad for him, too. He can't set up anything or finalize his move until I get out. He's stuck in the same limbo as I am. I had told him to go ahead and bring his things in because there was no reason for everybody to be stuck waiting on me, but I know just bringing his things in and dumping them in the middle of the room probably wasn't his ideal solution. Fortunately, he's a very easy-going person who doesn't seem to have a lot of personal doodads the way I do, so there's room for both of us in the space, just barely, but we've managed it.
I still don't know exactly when I'm going to be able to get in my new classroom, maybe some time next week. I know it's going to take me several days just to get everything back out of boxes and on shelves again once I get it from the old room to the new room, but maybe I won't feel so sad and frustrated once that process begins. Right now, I can't even think about anything related to school without a feeling of deep futility. I'm trying to focus on good things about the move, like the decorating (getting new shower curtains to cover the tall shelves) and finally being able to have space enough to have a student computer station instead of having that set up on a corner of my own teacher's desk, but whenever I go in my current classroom, all the things that are to come fade in the face of horrid mess of what is. I guess I'll just keep telling myself the old cliche, "Patience is a virtue."
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
The Dragon Painter
I just saw a 1919 silent film on TCM called The Dragon Painter. It was from Japan and only an hour long. It was altogether lovely. The story reminded me of many of the folktales I've read from Japan, and it might in fact be an adaptation of one of them. I'll have to go back and look. I wish they'd do a later showing of it so I could go back and watch it again.
Of course it made me wish for Japan again. It never takes much, but the gardens, the houses the characters lived in, and the Meiji costuming really pushed all the buttons. It's summer to boot, and I always feel the need to take a plane then a train in this weather loaded only with a Nikon and a guidebook.
I won't dwell on it. I won't dwell on incense-filled temples, leaf-shaded fox statues, bright cotton yukata, and summer fireworks. I won't dwell on oppressive summer heat, the smell of bus exhaust, or crowds in the train station. I won't dwell on any of the thousand little details that I miss, the thousand little shards of daily living that make the whole. Instead, I'll just dust my pottery cats, have a bowl of instant miso, and pretend the discovery of this beautiful film didn't just rouse up my sleeping need to see Japan like a careless kick to an anthill.
Of course it made me wish for Japan again. It never takes much, but the gardens, the houses the characters lived in, and the Meiji costuming really pushed all the buttons. It's summer to boot, and I always feel the need to take a plane then a train in this weather loaded only with a Nikon and a guidebook.
I won't dwell on it. I won't dwell on incense-filled temples, leaf-shaded fox statues, bright cotton yukata, and summer fireworks. I won't dwell on oppressive summer heat, the smell of bus exhaust, or crowds in the train station. I won't dwell on any of the thousand little details that I miss, the thousand little shards of daily living that make the whole. Instead, I'll just dust my pottery cats, have a bowl of instant miso, and pretend the discovery of this beautiful film didn't just rouse up my sleeping need to see Japan like a careless kick to an anthill.
Nothing Days
It's amazing how much nothing one can cram into a summer day. I forced myself to get up about 9:00 this morning because I'm expecting a delivery just any day now, and I hate for the UPS driver to find me in my pajamas. I know they neither notice nor care, but there's just something about going to the door in my robe that bothers me. It makes me feel decadent and scuzzy at the same time. Whenever I know UPS is supposed to be coming by, I always want to be up, dressed, and doing something productive. It's an OCD thing. I try not to examine it too closely.
Today, however, after I got dressed, I just ran out of go juice. I wound up here in my office cruising eBay looking at old tablecloths. After that, I started reading a new book. I talked to a couple of my friends on the phone about various things. A little brown and white dog strayed into my yard and was a distraction for a couple of hours. Midday melted into afternoon. I had chicken salad with my parents. Afternoon dissolved into evening. I paid my bills online and almost had a heart attack at what my new BlackBerry and its first month activation fee had done to my mobile bill. Evening disappeared into night. I find myself here, and none of the grand plans I had for today have been done. I've checked nothing off the master list of indoor or outdoor "To Do." Hmm.
Oh well. As Scarlett says, "Tomorrow is another day." Maybe I'll get more done tomorrow. Then again....
Today, however, after I got dressed, I just ran out of go juice. I wound up here in my office cruising eBay looking at old tablecloths. After that, I started reading a new book. I talked to a couple of my friends on the phone about various things. A little brown and white dog strayed into my yard and was a distraction for a couple of hours. Midday melted into afternoon. I had chicken salad with my parents. Afternoon dissolved into evening. I paid my bills online and almost had a heart attack at what my new BlackBerry and its first month activation fee had done to my mobile bill. Evening disappeared into night. I find myself here, and none of the grand plans I had for today have been done. I've checked nothing off the master list of indoor or outdoor "To Do." Hmm.
Oh well. As Scarlett says, "Tomorrow is another day." Maybe I'll get more done tomorrow. Then again....
Sunday, June 01, 2008
The Collectors
I had a moment of epiphany recently thinking about some guys I have known. There is a certain type of guy who lives to collect women. Not in the icky, "girls I've made out with" chart-on-the-wall way two guys I knew and studiously avoided in high school did, mind you. Not in the "Women of the World I've Wooed into Bed" way that my devious ex, T., did, either. What I mean is that there are certain guys who seem to need an entire fleet of women around them all the time to survive, so they studiously collect different types in different places to make sure they have the complete set.
I'm still not sure about the exact driving force behind this particular type of guy. I'm pretty sure it's not a libido-driven thing. Maybe for some of them it comes from growing up with lots of sisters. Or does it come from not having any? I feel like I need to do field research and find out. I've only known two confirmed Collectors in my time, and I don't think that's a broad enough research base to make any firm conclusions with.
All I know is that I keep winding up as a collectible for this type of guy. I guess I'm enough of an oddity that I'm like a limited-edition trading card or something that has a flaw in it and became collectible for that reason. I'd love to know what label I allow them to check off the big mental list, maybe it's something like Traveling Teacher Geek or Chick Who Likes Science Fiction, Old Movies, and Reading. Maybe it's She Who Might Edit My Writing.
I think that coming to this current working thesis about Collectors is going to be a good thing. I think that knowing they're out there, gathering up huge numbers of women to surround themselves with is useful. It doesn't really mean that you're not a friend to them; it just means that you are only a certain type of friend to them in a certain type of situation. As long as you remember that you are only one of the "village that it takes to take care of a Collector", then you should be okay. The trouble I got into before with D. was that I didn't know this about him, didn't understand that I was only one of the shiny objects in his showcase rather than someone he felt that he could love. I knew he didn't love me, knew I couldn't ever make him love me, but I never could figure out why he was around me. I think the Collector theory might just cover it.
Of course, this might all just be a lot of crap...
I'm still not sure about the exact driving force behind this particular type of guy. I'm pretty sure it's not a libido-driven thing. Maybe for some of them it comes from growing up with lots of sisters. Or does it come from not having any? I feel like I need to do field research and find out. I've only known two confirmed Collectors in my time, and I don't think that's a broad enough research base to make any firm conclusions with.
All I know is that I keep winding up as a collectible for this type of guy. I guess I'm enough of an oddity that I'm like a limited-edition trading card or something that has a flaw in it and became collectible for that reason. I'd love to know what label I allow them to check off the big mental list, maybe it's something like Traveling Teacher Geek or Chick Who Likes Science Fiction, Old Movies, and Reading. Maybe it's She Who Might Edit My Writing.
I think that coming to this current working thesis about Collectors is going to be a good thing. I think that knowing they're out there, gathering up huge numbers of women to surround themselves with is useful. It doesn't really mean that you're not a friend to them; it just means that you are only a certain type of friend to them in a certain type of situation. As long as you remember that you are only one of the "village that it takes to take care of a Collector", then you should be okay. The trouble I got into before with D. was that I didn't know this about him, didn't understand that I was only one of the shiny objects in his showcase rather than someone he felt that he could love. I knew he didn't love me, knew I couldn't ever make him love me, but I never could figure out why he was around me. I think the Collector theory might just cover it.
Of course, this might all just be a lot of crap...
Lightning Storm
Tonight after church I had the craving for fast food, so I took the drive down the two-lane highway to the only place with a burger joint some eight miles away. As I drove, I saw the storm that had passed through Podunk earlier in the distance. It was one of the most amazing things I've ever seen. The lightning was in constant motion, dancing from cloud to cloud in flashes of hot pink and pale orange against the flat dull blue of the darkening evening sky. Jagged little spears of it would flicker in and out of the clouds like needles trying to sew the tears back together again. I wanted to just pull the car over to the side of the road and watch it gather and roil. It was the kind of weather and night that made me feel like something surreal was going to walk out of the deep gloaming of the wet green-black Mississippi woods and onto the cracked and pitted blacktop. Eventually, I accomplished my fast food mission and drove home drinking the milkshake I decided to splurge on while watching the sky simmer and explode. It was wonderful.
My Fair Lady
I'm watching My Fair Lady on TCM, and the scene where Eliza sweeps down the stairs in that unbelievably wonderful white ballgown has just come on. Every time I see it, some innately female part of my heart just sighs with envy. God, I wish I could look like that once in my life. I guess probably every woman who's ever seen this movie has had that thought. Audrey Hepburn is always so lovely and chic, but to me, that moment, that dress, is the ultimate princess fantasy. Of course, what follows not long after isn't very princessy....
I have very mixed feelings about MFL. I always have. I love old movies, and I really enjoy some of the older musicals, even though they are full of cheese, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers being a prime example of this. In MFL, though, I have to say that I absolutely loathe Higgins. I know you're supposed to dislike him or at least find his exterior gruff, but I find the ending, Eliza's return to him, totally unwarranted. After all, she's the one who has changed herself. She's the one who has been declared worthy of being a Hungarian princess. Why does the woman who is capable of walking down those stairs in such radiant loveliness that generations of little girls and grown women wish to be her wind up shackled to a man who makes his own mother shudder in public situations?
I know love is blind, but the story has always been so one-sided to me. It ends with Rex Harrison sitting in the big leather armchair asking for his slippers and Hepburn standing in the doorway staring in adoringly. Yes, he's been caught listening to her voice on the cylinder, for him an admission of emotion, but honestly, after everything else, is that really enough? After his repeated verbal cruelty, has anything he's done balanced that out? I've never thought the movie adequately showed that he redeemed himself enough to deserve her or even make her feelings for him credible. When was he ever kind to her except for actually taking her in off the streets?
I know, I know, it's only a movie. Let it go. Focus on the lovely dress and the songs that get stuck in the mind for days. (Even now, I am mentally humming "I could have daaanced all niiight....") But I have to say that as I'm adding DVDs to my collection, I pass up MFL again and again and will continue to do so. Something about my twenty-first century sensibilities can't quite let the dress and sparklies blind me to the jackass in the tweed standing in the wings.
I have very mixed feelings about MFL. I always have. I love old movies, and I really enjoy some of the older musicals, even though they are full of cheese, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers being a prime example of this. In MFL, though, I have to say that I absolutely loathe Higgins. I know you're supposed to dislike him or at least find his exterior gruff, but I find the ending, Eliza's return to him, totally unwarranted. After all, she's the one who has changed herself. She's the one who has been declared worthy of being a Hungarian princess. Why does the woman who is capable of walking down those stairs in such radiant loveliness that generations of little girls and grown women wish to be her wind up shackled to a man who makes his own mother shudder in public situations?
I know love is blind, but the story has always been so one-sided to me. It ends with Rex Harrison sitting in the big leather armchair asking for his slippers and Hepburn standing in the doorway staring in adoringly. Yes, he's been caught listening to her voice on the cylinder, for him an admission of emotion, but honestly, after everything else, is that really enough? After his repeated verbal cruelty, has anything he's done balanced that out? I've never thought the movie adequately showed that he redeemed himself enough to deserve her or even make her feelings for him credible. When was he ever kind to her except for actually taking her in off the streets?
I know, I know, it's only a movie. Let it go. Focus on the lovely dress and the songs that get stuck in the mind for days. (Even now, I am mentally humming "I could have daaanced all niiight....") But I have to say that as I'm adding DVDs to my collection, I pass up MFL again and again and will continue to do so. Something about my twenty-first century sensibilities can't quite let the dress and sparklies blind me to the jackass in the tweed standing in the wings.
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