Choosing Battles

It seems life continually presents me with occasions in which I need to "choose my battles."

In any situation, there are at least two sides, and more likely there are many more than that. In the midst of trying to figure out what's what, people can get the idea that you've chosen "their" side, whatever that is. And they want you to fight, tooth and nail, for their position - in every single way - from the most minor decisions to the big picture.

I consider myself to be a fair-minded individual, willing to gather the facts and sort through the fiction, and arrive - hopefully - at a reasonable solution for any situation. In the process, it's not uncommon for feathers to be ruffled and hackles to be raised (whatever hackles are). In the midst of that, it seems no one can accept that you cannot fight every battle - that you have to choose which ones you're going to take on.

Who can fight every battle that crosses their path?

I choose my battles - not only for myself, but for others involved, too. If you make an issue of every single tiny detail it's easy for people to blow you off - you're a trouble maker and not worth their time. If you make careful decisions about what really matters and keep the big picture in mind, it's better for everyone. At least that's what I think.

I have to choose my battles.
1. I have limited time.
2. I have limited energy.
3. It's the only smart thing to do.

Over the years I've had multiple opportunities to choose my battles. They seem to crop up when you least expect them and they keep on giving. At the end of the day someone's always unhappy, and you're left to figure out how you might have handled things differently. Sometimes there just isn't a win-win situation, but you owe it to everyone to search for it nonetheless.

Little Things and New Eyes

One of the many things I've rediscovered as I've been arranging things in the house is this jar filled with "little things" from my childhood.

If you look closely you can see a little troll in there, some cracker jack prizes, some doll furniture and an ear from Mr. Potato Head. I think the jar is an old glass tums jar. Remember when things were made of glass, before we decided to see how many petroleum products we could use up and made our society a totally plastic one?

I don't recall putting all these assembled things together - my mom probably did it as she ran across bits and pieces in the cabinet where this was. In my bedroom at home she built cabinets all along one wall and when I moved away from home I left tons of stuff there - naturally. Unlike many mothers, though, my mom just left them alone. She would organize things occasionally but she never threw anything away. When she died we found numerous boxes labeled, "Pat's stuff," and they were filled with things like this. That's one of the benefits of living in one place for many years, I suppose. Whatever the reason, I'm thankful to have these little bits of childhood. I guess if you don't have the benefit of that, in some ways that's freeing, because you're not burdened by "stuff." But, I'm very fond of things.

When I was young I can remember going to Mary Ann's mom's house and she brought out a jar of "little things" that had been Mary Ann's. I played with them at the dining room table for an afternoon. I can't imagine why I was there without my mom, but I was. There were some very cool things in that jar - little tiny scissors as I recall.

My jar of "little things" might hold the same fascination for a kid today. I guess we are always interested in things that are new to us.

I am a person who needs a lot of "new" in my life. I like to meet new people, go new places, see new things. There's something exhilerating about newness.

Part of the trick is to find - or at least recognize - the unusual in our daily lives. Even if it's not new, we can look at it with fresh eyes and see something new in it.

Tonight Greg and I went to the Airport Steakhouse. It's, as you might guess, a restaurant at the airport. The back of the restaurant is all windows, looking out onto the airstrip. Hutchinson is a small airport, but is used a lot by small, private aircraft.

As you eat you can watch the planes land and take off. Tonight a couple landed and came in and ate and then took off again. There's also a restaurant in Beaumont where you can do the same thing, although it's not as convenient as it is in Hutchinson.

Anyway, as we were looking at the plane out the window, I realized this was one of those moments. Sitting in a comfortable restaurant, eating a delicious cobb salad, and looking out the window at planes landing and taking off is not "the norm" for most people. So, I took the opportunity to see that with new eyes. And thought I'd share with you. This was taken from our table. I didn't even stand up to take it.



The walk from their plane to the restaurant door was maybe two blocks long. I must admit, it seems like a fun excursion for an afternoon. But I'm not sure how many places you can go where you can land and walk to a restaurant.

You see lots of people getting out of private planes with brief cases and/or with golf clubs. We have the famous Prairie Dunes golf course, and it attracts many golfers. I don't know squat about golf, but I know Prairie Dunes is a big deal.

Seeing with new eyes is my challenge for the moment.

Sign of the Times

Lets hope this is not a sign of the times.

I was getting gas this afternoon and they were messing with the sign. Being an optimist, I was hoping gas was going down from the $3.05 per gallon I was paying.

However, I didn't have time for them to finish doing whatever they were doing. So, I went ahead and pumped the gas.  Tonight I see it's still $3.05 so I guess they were just playing with the sign. For a few minutes I thought maybe it was going down to $2.99 but I didn't have the time to wait and see. But, I guess not.

Still related to cars...

Have I ever mentioned I love my mechanics? Well, today I do.

Today on my way to meet Trish - at noon - in the 90 degree plus heat - my car's fan decided it wasn't really interested in disbursing the cool air from the AC throughout the car, or even the few inches to me. Of course, I discovered this after the car had been superheated by sitting in the sun for hours.

A few weeks ago it stopped when I turned a corner and then was back to normal when I next started the car.

So, today I called them from the restaurant and asked if they could look at it and any chance they could replace it by 3 when I had to leave for a meeting in a neighboring town. Did I mention it was over 90 degrees?

They very kindly told me to come in and they'd try, although they had a very busy afternoon. Well, the phone was just ringing off the hook when I walked in and Jason told me he'd have Steve look at it between appointments. He came up front and pulled it in and looked at it - it was nothing! Just a loose connection. He fixed it in less than five minutes.

I was so glad I had waited instead of taking off as I had thought about doing when they were so busy. They didn't even charge me. Jason said the paperwork would take longer than it was worth.

I was sooooo happy when I was cool while driving to Kingman an hour away this afternoon, directly into the baking hot sun.

I promised the guys more baked goods. I take them goodies every now and then, and they definitely deserve some more. Jason requested no peanut butter - other than that I think they're open.

Thank goodness Mama taught me to cook. It's amazing how much goodwill a bundt cake can buy. Of course, only homemade will do - not cake mix - from scratch. After all, these guys did me a big favor - they deserve something better than a boxed cake mix.

Maybe I'll make brownies... I do have the absolute best brownie recipe... it cooks up quickly. It's what I make when I have unexpected company.

Brownies (Patsy)

1/2 cup butter
1 cup sugar
2 eggs
2/3 cup flour
4 T cocoa
2/3 cup pecans (optional)

Bake in 8 by 8 pan at 350 degrees for approximately 15 minutes.

I double the recipe often and cook in a 9 by 13 pan. Don't overcook them. My mom was a fabulous cook but could not make cookies because she wanted them "done!" and "done!" with anything cookie-like means it's overdone. You'll have to cook them a little longer in a double batch but keep your eye on them.

In other news of the day - very important news - almost as important as me not roasting while driving to Kingman - Greg and I reserved a copy of the new Harry Potter Book. We will pick it up at midnight Friday and immediately begin reading. Greg is a night owl so the plan is he'll read at night and I'll read during the day. We'll have to work out how to get the book between his house and my house unless he just sleeps on my couch during the day. Then if he falls asleep reading it I can wrest it from him as soon as I wake up and come downstairs. We both want to get it read as soon as possible before some fool tells us something we don't want to know.

DO NOT TELL ME ANYTHING! I WANT TO KNOW NOTHING!

There will not be any spoilers here. I want to enjoy every last word of it and I won't deprive anyone else of that joy, either.

I guess my weekend is pretty much set.

Speaking of upstairs... I've decided I want to rearrange my bedroom - and I want to get a new mattress set. Of course, this is my life, so it's not simple.

1. will a queen sized mattress go up my stairs?
2. how do I convert my antique headboard and footrest to accommodate a queen? - it probably involves a frame, which I also don't have
3. oh... and they need some minor repairs, too
4. then there's getting the old ones out
5. and I want to rearrange how the bedroom is set up - orienting the bed a different way

At the moment I wouldn't let anyone see my bedroom - it looks more like a storage facility since I moved things around the last couple of days. I was thinking I'd address it this weekend, but... of course... there's Harry. Ah, Harry...

Cycles

"Everything's a cycle,
you've gotta let it come to you,
when it does you'll know what to do."

Those are the lyrics from Bright Eyes' song, Classic Cars. It really struck me tonight when I heard them performing it on the Late, Late Show repeat. I saw the show when it first aired. I can only hope what they say is true... that I'll know what to do. The other stuff is a cinch, but knowing what to do isn't always easy.

We all make decisions every day that affect other people's lives - sometimes in very major ways. Even when we don't realize we're doing that, we are.

Doctors tell people bad news every day. Stockbrokers give people bad advice every day. Mothers hurt their children without intending to every day. Do those people know what to do? I don't know. I've never been a doctor, stockbroker or mother. Maybe they possess some secret knowledge the rest of us don't have. But, my guess is they're no better prepared than the rest of us for the cycle that has come around again.

One thing is true - everything is a cycle. That's for sure. After awhile, the cycles are obvious, but they keep coming nonetheless. It's as if the gods of the universe don't even have the common decency to disguise cycles so we're the least bit surprised.

Logic and Appropriateness

What is appropriate? That is a question I ask myself every day, multiple times a day, about a multitude of situations.

I have a reputation of being very decisive, and I am. And yet, I find myself asking that question repeatedly. How those two things can coexist, I'm not sure, but they do. I often find I'm a study in contrasts. When people talk about wanting to find someone who can understand them I'm awed by that. I don't even understand myself a huge amount of the time so how can I expect someone else to understand me.

I am a person who hates rules and yet I have my own set of ten "Patsy's Rules for Living." I guess what that says is that I only like my own rules. I'm a person who's incredibly spontaneous, but I have things on my calendar into 2009. I am an incredibly loyal person, but I periodically go through my address file and delete people I no longer have a connection with.

The appropriateness question comes up all the time. Is it appropriate to call this person for lunch? Is it appropriate to say what I really think in this situation or do I need to play politics? Is it appropriate to ask the drywall guy hired by the contractor about a side job? Is it appropriate to send email about this topic? Is it appropriate to blog about this thing or that, or is it too personal? Is it appropriate to display this artwork in public areas of my home or is it best kept private? Is it appropriate to ask the question I really want answered? The "Is it appropriate..." questions seem to have no end.

What I've learned as I ponder that question each time is that I have absolutely no idea what "the norm" is. I've known this about myself for awhile, but it continues to crop up. If you know what "the norm" is, then you know when you're outside it. I have never had an idea of what the norm is, and I'm guessing I never will. I am probably well into the latter half of my life, and I don't know what the norm is now so I'm not likely to figure it out.

The first time I realized I had no concept of the norm was when I was telling my friend, Leah, about going with this man I met in Egypt to meet his aunt and her family outside of Luxor. I thought it was a great travel story of spontaneity and what wonderful things can happen when you leave yourself open to experience. As I watched Leah's mouth drop open I understood, for the first time, that "the norm" and I are not really acquainted. The norm is that you don't go off with someone you just met in a country where you don't speak or read the language to his relative's house on a dirt road where not even taxis can run. The norm tells you that very bad things could happen to you. Honest to goodness, it never occurred to me until I saw her face. The real kicker is that I'd do it again in a second, even if I now know it's not the norm, because I'm not going to live my life being afraid of what "might" happen. If I die doing something like that, I'll accept the risk - I'd rather live fewer days fully than live more days going through the motions.

I've always been more of the creative, somewhat flakey, type. But, I also live with a lot of logic ruling my daily life. And it puzzles me greatly when people who claim to be logical do things that make no logical sense at all. It's this sort of conundrum that causes me to have to ask if something is appropriate.

If you are a guy who wants a family, at some point you have to walk up to a girl and introduce yourself. Nothing else is logical to me. If you want a new job, you have to apply for it. It's not logical to just talk about how much you hate the current job and expect it to change. I don't understand how people benefiting from social service programs can ever vote for people who would discontinue them. If you're living in a house you got through a government loan, voting Republican is like shooting yourself in the face. I don't understand why people can't say what they think - kindly. I believe the truth can always be spoken. It can be spoken without harshness, but it can be spoken. If you don't say what you think/feel/believe, how can you expect others to know it? There is no logic in assuming people will divine that information.

In the news now is a prime example of something I cannot grasp the logic of. The Los Angeles Archdiocese will pay out $660 Million to victims in child abuse cases. This will bring the total the church has paid in such cases since 1950 to $2 Billion. Why is anyone still giving money to the Catholic Church? There is no logic in that to me. For years they have been shunting "problem" priests away, without dealing with the problem, and using contributions given to the church to do the church's work to pay off victims. It's not logical to me that you would give your money to do the church's work to a church who has determined that a large part of their work is paying off sexual abuse victims. Why would you not give your money to an organization like Habitat for Humanity that is truly doing the work that has been defined for almost every religion in the world - service to the poor? Logic says to me that giving your money to an organization that has been paying off child abuse victims for 57 years is giving tacit approval to that practice. Your money says you think this is all OK. I cannot believe that most people think it's OK for priests to abuse children. But, logically, if people did not approve of it, they would not support an organization that makes it possible for it to continue. But it's been going on for hundreds of years. The church first acknowledged the problem in 1741 when the pope published the four page long Sacramentum Poenitentiae. Of course, the Catholic church is not hurting. At all. That $2 billion dollars could do amazing things. Logic says to me that people would not support an organization that has this kind of a problem. But, that is not true.

Religions of all sorts do many things I can't see the logic of. And I'm not speaking about belief systems at all. That is about faith, and that has nothing to do with logic and I understand that. But it's not logical to me that if you are a gay man you would choose to be part of a congregation that preaches against homosexuality. I don't get that. If you want to do "God's work," you can certainly do it outside the structure of a church.

I don't understand why if you want to end abortion you don't want to end unwanted pregnancy. I'm not saying you should or should not want to end abortion. I'm saying if you do, then logically, what you really want to stop is unwanted pregnancy. No unwanted pregnancy = no abortion. Why focus on a consequence of the problem instead of the problem? The problem is unwanted pregnancy.

People often say they want honesty, and yet I find that's not really true. That's fine - but why say it's what you want if it's not? That's not logical to me. Women say they want to settle down with a nice guy and yet pick another "bad boy." That's not logical - if you want a nice guy you've got to pick a nice guy.

The world is a mystery to me in many ways. I guess that's part of the reason I find myself continually asking, "Is this appropriate."

Congratulations Jim and Martha

Today I was one of the honored guests at Jim and Martha's wedding.



Martha walked in with her brother, Doug. She and Jim asked everyone gathered there to give her away and Jim as well.



Martha's dress was just as beautiful from the back - just perfect.



Martha's brother, Rob, did a lot of the ceremony, with his son Ryan performing the actual marriage.



Rob told some marvelous stories, eliciting tears...



... and outbursts of laughter within the same few minutes.



Rob's wife, Shirley, was the matron of honor.



Rob mentioned their 31 year marriage during the ceremony. You may recall Rob and Shirley being on the blog a few weeks ago when I saw them in DC, where they now live.

The wedding was held at the historic home built by Martha's grandparents. It's the same house where we hold Chicks. Doug, the current owner, is most generous with his home.



The marriage was performed in front of the same fireplace where Martha's parents were married. Her mother was there today, too. She was ushered in by her grandson, Michael, the son of Martha's sister, Marilyn.



After the wedding I had a chance to chat with Michael quite a bit and he was delightful fun.

Jim's best man was Stu, who is another one of the Prairie Rose Wranglers. Stu is responsible for Jim being in Kansas, where he and Martha met, so it seemed appropriate he be the best man.



Being a musician, Jim wrote a song for the wedding day. But, he recorded it instead of doing it live, which I think is wise because weddings are very emotional. He was going over details with John Eberly before the ceremony.



Music was a really important part of the ceremony and dramatically added to the event.



As you can tell, this was a real family affair. I loved getting this snapshot of Shirley and their son, Ryan, eating cake and talking quietly in the corner after the ceremony.



And speaking of cake... it was beautiful...



I helped a bit with the food, but Teresa and Andrea did the majority of it. It was lovely.



I think everyone had a wonderful time.





I know everyone there felt honored to be included. It felt wonderful to be in the presence of such genuine affection. Everyone in that room had love for Jim and Martha. I've become a huge fan today of smaller weddings, where everyone there has a real connection to the couple. It was a sacred experience.





Related Posts: Martha's Bridal Shower

6:03 a.m.

It's 6:03 a.m. and I have not been asleep. I guess this is why I don't sleep during the day very often.

I stayed in bed, trying to get myself to sleep. But, I couldn't. At various times I played solitaire on the phone, watched a show on serial killers on TV, and tried calling Greg who was in the car. Somehow, none of those things helped me sleep.

Finally, at 5:45, I got back up. Almost four hours of trying to sleep is agonizing in its own way.

I'm going to fix some breakfast, journal a bit and take a nice bath. Maybe I can at least sleep a couple of hours before Martha's wedding this afternoon. We'll see.

Not a Typical Saturday

This is one of my latest Goodwill purchases. It's not old and it's not nearly as cool or delicate as the older ones with the same sort of design, but it was cool enough for 79 cents. Yeah, I'm a big spender, what can I say?

I try to hit Goodwill every few days. I just picked up some Haviland china there a week or two again that matches some cups I got at a yard sale a few years ago. It's really beautiful. Of course, it can't go in the microwave because of the silver band around it. But it's so pretty I don't care. Today my take was a couple of trays - one wood and one metal.

I had a health fair this morning, so had to start the weekend working. That's not my favorite way to start a weekend, but it was valuable. I screened one person who thanked me profusely for being there and who needed treatment. It's rare anyone thanks you for doing your job - at least in my world - and it is always good to know you made a difference in someone's life. I realize it's an honor to do the work I do. But, of course, that comes with some responsibility, too.

Recently, someone I serve on a board with mentioned that I must answer my phone all the time. I assured him I did. I generally transfer the work phone to my cell phone when I'm out of the office. So, unless I'm in a meeting or otherwise engaged, I answer the phone - nights and weekend included. I don't answer it if it rings when I'm asleep but I keep odd hours so people sometimes get me when they don't expect to. Of course, I can turn it off if I choose, but I generally answer it. Most often it's just someone wanting some sort of information I know off the top of my head. But on rare occasions it's someone who's contemplating taking their life. I've had some training in how to handle such situations, but at three in the morning when you're in the midst of such a call, that training seems lacking. Fortunately, thankfully, blissfully, whenever it has happened, it has had a happy conclusion.

After the health fair this morning/afternoon, and a quick trip to Roy's, I went upstairs for a nap. I haven't been sleeping well at all lately. I've had a lot on my mind - working very, very hard to, "let it go, let it be, and let it lie." Unfortunately, that tends to make one's sleep fitful and one's waking hours pensive - neither of which is conducive to rest.

I got to bed about 3 this morning and got up before 7, after being awake multiple times, so I was tired. I slept about four hours this afternoon, but I obviously needed it. And it was good, deep sleep, which is difficult for me to get. So when I can sleep, I let myself - even if it's not a "normal" time to be asleep. I just can't sleep on some arbitrary schedule the world wants to run on.

However, one doesn't accomplish much when you're piled up in the bed napping, so I didn't get much done today. And tomorrow is a busy day, so I won't get to do much then, either. At some point I need to have time to concentrate for an extended period of time - to think, to listen, to ask, to hear.

Harry Potter

Greg and I went to see the new Harry Potter movie tonight. It was a spur of the moment decision. I have to say this is a dark one. It's not like there's a spoiler since the movies so closely follow the books, but this one was different than the others.

In all the others I think even if you hadn't read the books you could just drop into the movies and enjoy them. That's not true this time. You need some background to understand the story. Because I don't retain details of books or movies, I was on the verge of being lost a few times myself.

I have read all the books but I haven't seen all the movies. I saw the first one and it was so close to the book there wasn't much point in it. I didn't read any of them until I think the third book was out, then I read them in a nonstop orgy of late nights of being unable to put the book down. If you haven't read them, you're so lucky - you've got six great books waiting for you - soon to be seven.

I will want to read the new one as soon as it comes out. I don't want anyone to tell me something pivotal about it before I have a chance to read it for myself. And all I can say regarding the ending of the last one is, "no way... it can't be true... I simply will not accept it." I'm assuming book seven will resolve that ugliness and put all to right.

Well, I'm off to bed. I have to work Saturday at a health fair so I do need to get some sleep. Considering I need to be there in less than seven hours I guess it will be a short night. Again. Those seem to be my standard.

Guard Toad

Tonight I went out to mail the tea postcards and discovered my "guard toad" at the front door. I hadn't seen him in a few days. Greg took this photo in early June while I was in DC. I had seen him before that.

He appears to have taken up permanent residence in and around my front flower bed, on the porch and sidewalk. As you can tell from this photo, he is completely unconcerned with the annoying habits of humans.

When I opened the front door tonight he hopped onto the step below the surface of the porch. When I returned from the PO he was still there, in the place I would normally walk to enter my home. Of course, I used the other side of the steps so as not to disturb him, although that seems unlikely given his general disinterest in people.

I've decided I like Mr. Toad (or Ms. Toad - I'm afraid I don't know how to tell the difference). I believe my affection for him started to grow about the time Greg told me he probably eats his weight in bugs every couple of days.

I've seen toads in the backyard this year, too - little ones, big ones and medium ones. Maybe because we've had so much rain they are plentiful. Hopefully it's not because there are more bugs.

Fresh Produce

In my quest to buy locally grown food, I went to the farmer's market today. Here's what my $7 got me - two huge, juicy tomatoes ripened on the vine instead of in a truck travelling across country, new potatoes dug yesterday, a sweet onion and three squash.

Lunch tomorrow is going to be quite wonderful. Early in the morning I'm going to go pick some basil and pour some olive oil over it and let it sit for a bit. Then I'll fix myself a salad of fresh mozzarella and tomatoes with that drizzled over it to start lunch off.

At our farmer's market there is one gentleman who always has truly fresh veggies that his family grows on their farm near Partridge. Partridge has a large Amish contingent, as does Yoder. We're fortunate to have people growing food who haven't forgotten how to do it.

I wish there had been some fresh green beans to go with the new potatoes, but it was not to be today. I'm not sure how I'm going to cook the potatoes yet, but I'm sure something wonderful will occur to me.

I'm so glad I can cook. I don't know how people manage that can't fend for themselves in the kitchen. One of my former boyfriends was amazed that I could take some flour, shortening, fruit and a few other things and come out with a homemade pie.

And speaking of fruit - did you like that segue? Later in the day I went to Smith's Market and bought some Rainer cherries. I am not a big fan of cherries - the flavor reminds me of the gallons of cough syrup poured down me in my childhood. But, I make an exception for Rainer cherries, which are so sweet they don't even seem like cherries to me.



Of course, these were not grown locally. I'm sure they were grown in Washington, where this cherry was developed a few decades ago, and which still produces the majority of Rainer cherries. Regardless, they were mighty tasty.

We were at Smith's at closing time and they were packing away all the soft fruit, storing it in the cooler overnight to help keep it fresh. They've also expanded the store, taking over what used to be an antique store next door. It's even cooler now, with the tin ceiling and the wood floor in that section.

They've also added bins of all sorts of things - from flax seed to rolled oats to some delicious blueberry granola I've already fallen in love with. I also bought some Crimson Jewel popcorn and some other goodies.



I have had Ropps Sandhill Plum Jelly before and it's delicious. I went and picked Sandhill Plums with Teresa once and she brought me some jelly when it was made. To tell you the truth, I still don't really know what Sandhill Plums are, but they're very good as jelly. I'm going to hazard a guess they're some sort of plum. (See, college wasn't wasted on me.) They grow in the Sandhills (not suprising), on bushes, and they're good for jelly - that's all I know. I guess after 20 years in Kansas I should try to learn something more about them, but what's more important than they make good jelly?

I should try to pick some again this year - maybe even make jelly myself. That would be major. We'll see how things develop.

I've not tried Tuckerbee's Honey before, but thought I'd try it out. I have never heard of Niotaze, Kansas, but discovered it's near the Oklahoma border, in the eastern third of Kansas. I figured it was a good chance to try something sort of local. I'm sure it's more than 100 miles the locavores encourage, but in Kansas we drive 50 miles to go to dinner sometimes, so you gotta cut us a little slack.

Well, I'm off to bed. No doubt I'll be dreaming of fresh produce all night.

Get Your Magazines

A Magazine Rebate is being offered by Amazon. Order during July and get $5 off any of the magazines listed. You can see what's available at http://www.amazon.com/gp/feature.html?ie=UTF8&docId=1000101891. I got another two years on one of my favorites... so check it out. And, this is not one of those deals where I'm getting a cut - this is just a link to the spot on Amazon where you can see what's offered.

Locally Grown

Today I've had my first "harvest" from the garden - two grape tomatoes. They were tasty.

I've been gone a week and my eggplants have gone from being about 10 inches tall to over two and a half feet. The same with the cucumber. That doesn't seem possible and yet it is. I'm not sure what happened while I was gone, but they suddenly got very happy.

I've been thinking a lot lately about the "locally grown food" concept and how important that is. It stands to reason that something grown down the road from you, or in your backyard like these tomatoes,  is likely to be fresher and better-tasting than something grown 3000 miles away, picked green, and shipped to your grocery store.

Estimates are that our food now travels an average of 1,500 miles before it gets to the dinner table. The benefit to this is that we enjoy fresh fruit and vegetables year round because they can be grown in places with temperate climates and shipped to us. The downside of this is that we're not getting the freshest things and that there are some costs to this that we're not paying for at the register - namely we're adding to air pollution with all that shipping, which is not helping the global warming issue any. It's ironic that even in places where food is grown, it's often shipped to distribution centers, then back to the area where it was grown in the first place.

Another issue is that we've lost family farms and have moved more toward a corporate farming culture. Those family farms not only provided a livelihood for the farmers, but they also kept money local, whereas that may no longer be true with corporate farming.

For me, the big issue is that we have lost touch with how food is "manufactured." I think many kids - and adults - have no sense of how food is actually grown. The more distance is involved in delivering our food, the more distance there is between us and the knowledge of how it comes to be. Do kids know what pigs eat? Do they know how we get milk? Do they know potatoes grow under the ground? I won't even ask if they know things that grow underground need to be planted in the dark of the moon and those above ground should be planted in the light of the moon.

Some have suggested we should all try to eat locally grown food. I think that's more of a challenge for some than others. If you limit "local" to 100 miles, as some have done, that's a very different thing in Kansas than it is in California.

However, I think we can all try to be aware of where our food is coming from. Is it coming from a place within a hundred miles? From within your state? From within your country? We can all try to be aware of this, even if we're not at the point where we can make significant changes. I think it's valid to consider the sources of our food nonetheless.

Home

I am home safely, after some harrowing moments on the road.

Greg wasn't feeling well today so we delayed our start from Joplin. We stopped in Fredonia to get gas, only to discover they didn't have any due to last week's flooding. Well, we needed gas and found some at the other station in town. They were out of regular, but had some premium at Casey's General Store. I have to give them credit - they were charging the same price for both although they could have been gouging customers. As we were turning the corner leaving town, we saw the Casey's gas truck turning toward the station.

We could tell we were driving into a storm by the look of the sky. Eventually the rain started but it wasn't too heavy.

Then, somewhere along the way we spotted emergency vehicles ahead. While we were trying to figure out why they had traffic stopped on the other side of the road, but not on our side we found ourselves approaching a low place covered with water - lots of water. I was going highway speeds - too fast to slow down by that point - so I plowed through it. Fortunately, no harm done.

I stopped to ask the patrol woman if it was safe ahead. She asked how we got through the water. I told her I didn't see it in time. She asked how deep it was and I had no idea - it had been a bit of a surprise - obviously. If you're going to stop traffic, you need to do it BOTH directions.

So, we kept going and a few miles down the road saw an even larger amount of water across the road. There were no emergency vehicles - we noticed it when we saw the wall of water being thrown up on either side by the oncoming traffic that also wasn't expecting it.

I got stopped before we got to it and watched a couple more vehicles come through. There was an SUV on the shoulder on our side across the water. We watched a big truck come through throwing water 20-30 feet in the air.

I said to Greg, "I'm scared." We were discussing what to do when I looked over to the left and saw the water literally rising by the moment. I mean it was barely at the edge of the road and in the blink of an eye a foot of the roadway was covered and in another blink it was three feet over it.

We saw the guy on the other side turn around and head our way so we watched his approach and then another car coming from the other direction.

I looked to the edge again and realized the water was now over more than half the road. We certainly couldn't stay where we were. So, without waiting for the ripples to subside from the last vehicle we went through.

Fortunately, we were OK. But the experience took a little bit off my life. It was scary. But I didn't know what else to do. We couldn't stay where we were and I knew that a short way behind us it was already impassable - and we had watched people go through this, so we did. And we were OK. But it was not a fun experience.

If we had delayed another 10 minutes anywhere we'd be sitting on the highway now, or washed off into the field or creek.

By the way... it's NOT normal for it to be flooding in Kansas in July.

Kitty With No Name

I'm in Joplin tonight and Miss Joy has a new kitty, which we've been playing with. The kitty does not yet have a name. I have suggested Cleopatra, a nod to the Egyptians who first domesticated cats and honored them in multiple ways, including mummifying them. While being killed and mummified might not seem like an honor, lets remember they did it to their beloved leaders. And their cats. Of course, "Cleo" would be the name used on a daily basis, which I think has some possibilities.

I've also suggested Toffee, given her coloring. Mia pointed out she is a calico but with tabby striping in the calico. She suggested Callie, which I also like.

The Kitty With No Name is a big hit. She likes to play, so we have played with her until she literally had to lay down and rest. She has a variety of toys, but my hair proved to be a favorite.

I will return home in the morning and go back to my daily working life. I want to continue to be on vacation. I guess everyone feels that way.

However, it seems very weird to be living a life that I want to escape from by going on vacation. Shouldn't we all be living a life we are thrilled to be living, instead of one we want to get away from?

Parades

This morning was the parade in Barlow, Kentucky for Vacation Bible School at First Baptist Church where Jackie and Mary Ann go. Jackie drove the tractor and wagon he made in this morning's parade. His passengers are Lori Ann Oldham and daughter, Jenna.

This was the tractor's fourth appearance in parades. During LaCenter's Do Wop days a few weeks ago, my other brother, Jim drove it. Passengers that day were Jackie and Jim's grandson, Alex.



This morning Mary Ann rode in the parade, too. That's her friend, Janice in the back.



No parade is complete without a firetruck, and today's was no exception.



I may not have ever mentioned before, but my brother, Jackie, is very handy. He invents many things. He builds many things. He has lots of cool toys.

Today I got to experiment with a nail gun - actually, two nail guns. I didn't let them take photos because my glee was unearthly. I love power tools of all sorts.

Happy 50th Anniversary Clyde and Anne

Today was the 50th Anniversary celebration for Clyde and Anne Stevens.

July 6, 1957



July 6, 2007



I stopped by the car dealership this afternoon to say hello and wish them well. Jackie and Kim and Kent and Lisa had celebrated with them today with a lunch and they had lots of well wishers dropping by.

Anne was showing me their wedding album, her book where she noted various things about the engagement and wedding.



I think my favorite part of the book was where she noted all the gifts they received and in true southern girl fashion, the date she sent the thank you note.



I even found my own name on its pages. There was another Patsy Terrell who was a classmate of theirs. I don't run across a lot of other Patsys, much less Patsy Terrells, so it jumped out at me.



They also had the 1957 Ballard Memorial Annual, The Bomb. (We're "The Bombers," a reference to a nearby plant that made - you're ahead of me, right - bombs.) Appropriately enough, tonight was a class reunion celebration, too, so they had a very full day.



I happend across Patsy's photo in it.



Anne was kind enough to give me permission to share some of their photos. I just took digital pix of their wedding album, so they're not the best, but you can get the idea. I think my favorite was this one of her cousins and her - it's just such a nice moment.



Anne's mother made her wedding gown, which was beautiful.





She joked that in this one it looks like she's pulling on his arm. But, as I pointed out, he doesn't look at all unhappy about it.



Clyde and Anne already celebrated by taking the whole family to Las Vegas. That's what they wanted to do and so they all went a few weeks ago. But, today was THE actual day and it looks like they had a fabulous time.

They are wonderful folks. The kind of folks you're proud to call family.

Congratulations Clyde and Anne!!!

Poking At Old Lives

I've been poking around at old lives. My old lives.

My life seems to be divided into distinct segments. One of those was lived, ever so briefly, but seemingly neverendingly, at Murray State University. I left for college when I was 17 and moved an hour away to Murray.

I lived in White Hall, my one and only dorm experience. I never wanted another one. And, for the record, I even had a private room. (Thank you, Mama.) My roomie, Helen, who I'd been friends with in high school,  moved in with someone else who's roommate didn't show up, because she had sense enough to realize we were not going to remain friends if we continued to live together in that small space. Helen and I later lived together in Lexington in a one bedroom apartment for a year and made it fine. But that's another life - a long life, even though it was compressed into one year - a lot happened that year. But, that's a tale for another time.

Keeping the room at Murray private was some ridiculously small amount of money - well under $100 for the semester then - and Mama thought it would be best. Thank goodness she was looking out for me because I don't think I could live with anyone in that small of a space and come out liking them or me after a few days.

I can remember which room I had at White Hall - it was next to the last one on the front - on the left side - but I can't remember which floor. I am pretty sure it was 6th floor, but maybe it was 8th. Funny how things that can seem so important at the time have absolutely no significance later. I remember wanting to take the plaque that denoted the room number. Now I can't even remember what floor it was, although I'm 98% sure it was 6th floor. I think it was room 618 - maybe that's where I'm getting the "8."



Some important things happened in that room - probably most important was that I decided to leave it and go to the University of Kentucky. That was the place for me to go in state, and I'll be forever grateful to my mother for just accepting that statement when it came out of my mouth - surprising even me a little bit. I did not belong at Murray. It was not for me. I went there because it was close and it's where my friends were going and it was safe. I was 17 for heaven's sake, 16 when I was making the decision, and too young to be even be living an hour away from home. It was a transition time for me.

I became friends with Evelyn in that room. She lived on the other end of the hall and would make the walk down to my room every morning and we'd go to class together. We talked about music and her home in Florida and what we wanted from life. She already knew. I had no clue, but I knew what I was finding at Murray wasn't it.

I got to know Carla there. She was an art major who lived down the hall. Carla was very studious and very gracious. I was not so learned in being kind as Carla was. I went to Carla's home in Elizabethtown one weekend and auditioned for a show at Bardstown. I didn't get the part and looking back I wonder how things would have changed if I had - you never know. Odd how life works in circles. Some years after I had left Murray I ran into Carla's sister, Nancy, at the Kentucky Derby while we were both in line for the ladies' room. I had only met Nancy that weekend in E-town, but she recognized me. It was a weird moment.

I curled up on a twin bed in that White Hall room with another girl friend, who's identity I will still protect, who cried all night thinking she might be pregnant. We spent a fitful night huddled together on one of those beds, me rubbing her back, and saying the things friends do in such circumstances - "I'm sure you're not pregnant" - all the while thinking about what I was going to say when it was confirmed. She wasn't pregnant, however, so I never had to press those thoughts into service. The next day all was magically resolved. She learned her lesson and got birth control. I suppose you could say the lesson was abstinence, but as we all know, that hasn't been working well for a few thousand years.

I got to know "the Debbie's" across the hall from that room. They were both named Debbie and had been best friends since second grade. They were from Marion, Illinois and their fathers both worked at the Federal prison there. I went to the wedding of one of them a couple of years later. She married a man from Iran. It wasn't a happy marriage, I hear. But before she was past it she died of a rare blood disease. It was sudden. I got the call late at night from a mutual friend. I had moved on and lost touch with many people from Murray, but someone did call me. For years I had a black umbrella in my car that someone had left there the night of Debbie's wedding in Marion. Everytime I would see it I would think I should get it back to her family. Instead I sent a sympathy card. It was all surreal. Whenever I hear "Supertramp" playing I think of the Debbies because they played that one song over and over and over again. Funny... I can't even remember their last names now.

In that room I got to know my sweet-mates - Christy and Susie. Susie was a pretty little brunette with girl next door looks and the nicest disposition you could imagine. Christy was a very tall, thin girl who was a Mormon. It was my first "cross cultural" experience and to say it wasn't smooth would be an understatement. Christy went on a lot of dates because, as best I could understand it, that was part of the mission of college - to find a husband. But, she saw no point in dating anyone who wasn't Mormon because they were not marriage material. There aren't a lot of Mormons in Murray, Kentucky. I would ask that question now, but I didn't then. Needless to say, her stint at Murray was brief.

After I left Murray I had some photos I'd taken of her and Susie and mailed them to Christy in - was it really Utah - I think maybe it was. Anyway, I mailed her photos and they came back with "refused" stamped on the envelope. That was the first time I had any clue that she didn't think much of me. Suddenly I didn't think much of her, either.

Fortunately, many pleasant experiences with LDS members since then have made me not write off an entire religion as jerks, but I came close. Maybe Christy wasn't any more able to make wise decisions than I was. I just put the photos in another envelope without a return address and a little note inside with my address so I'd know if they went to the dead letter office, and sent them back. Obviously, she got them, and found they were not the devil in an envelope, or whatever the Mormon version of the devil is, but just innocent pictures of college roommates.

In that room of White Hall, I kissed a boy named Tom. He was a sweet boy, one of those guys from "a good family" as your parents would say, but he didn't excite me - not even when he kissed me. Fortunately, even at 17 I had the good sense not to tell him that. That's just not something any man of any age wants to hear, particularly not at 19, which is what he was at the time. Tom was looking for a wife and I was looking for some freedom. It wasn't a good mix. Pity he wasn't a Mormon - I could have introduced him to Christy. But he wasn't. He was a good Baptist boy.

Tom wanted to settle down and have babies. He wanted to work in his father's bank and make a life in the community where he had grown up. It's not that that's a bad life. It's a wonderful life. I just wasn't ready for that life then - I'm not sure I'm ready for it now. But then I knew I wasn't. I hadn't seen anything, I hadn't done anything, I hadn't been anywhere. I wanted to. I needed to.

So... when I left for UK it was a logical break, not that we were serious or anything. We exchanged a few letters, a phone call or two, but happily drifted our own separate ways. But I would send a Christmas card every year, and get one back off and on, so Tom has been on the periphery of my life all these years.

A few years ago, I called Tom when I was headed to Kentucky for a visit. We met in Paducah and had dinner at Ruby Tuesday's in the mall. It was nice to see him, but if I'd had any doubt at all I made the right decision it was squelched somewhere between stories about business trips to Hopkinsville and being a Boy Scout leader for his sons' troop. I hadn't seen him in 22 years so I expected more. I'm not sure what, but more. Again - it's not a bad life, but I don't want 20 plus years to pass for me with a Hopkinsville business trip being a highlight.

Yes, that room at White Hall was where I lived a whole life in two semesters. It was a really important time in my life, but looking back I realize I was so incredibly miserable there. I was out of my element - not only in music, but in the people I was around. I had bided my time in high school thinking, "I just have to get to college, there must be other people like me in the world." But they weren't at Murray - at least not large numbers of them, although there were some. By and large it was just a bigger number of the same clicques that existed in high school - they just all moved to college and mixed with others of their kind there.

That year was one of the saddest of my life. I knew it should be a happy time and it wasn't, which made it all the more difficult.  I was sad practically every day - no wonder I didn't want to get up and go to class. Not only did I not enjoy the music program, now I realize I was probably clinically depressed. It's a wonder I managed to make good grades - I guess just because I had to - there was no other choice in my world. There were certainly good times, but I needed others "of my tribe." I couldn't define what the was, and I'm not sure I can even now, but I knew I wasn't meeting them there.

The biggest and best part of Murray was that I left it. In doing that I learned you can leave things that you don't like - even if there are scholarships involved and even if everyone else is doing it and even if people think you're crazy for it. The people who really matter - in this case my mom - will support you. They give you credit for knowing what's best for you - even when you're just a kid. In leaving I learned that following your whims and doing things that scare the bejeezes out of you can be very, very good for you.  Those two things have done well by me for many years now.

I guess, when you get around to it, I learned that lesson while sitting in that very dorm room watching a UK game on TV. That's when I decided I was going to UK. I ran down the hall to tell Helen, who was shocked but said she wanted to go too. And things just started happening for that to be possible. Helen only stayed in Lexington one year, but it was such an important year for me. I loved it at UK. She didn't. But that year gave us both time to learn and transistion.

Some of my great life lessons happened in that room. I just didn't recognize them for what they were at the time. I guess that's the benefit of poking around in old lives.

The Lone Ranger

Happy Fourth of July!

On this most American of holidays, I thought I'd share with you another very American product - The Lone Ranger.



I have to confess, The Lone Ranger was before my time. I never heard it. I never watched it. I never played it. But, I recognize it as a truly American creation. And, since I feel good about very little the US government is doing these days, I thought I'd celebrate the Fourth by sharing these with you. I will refrain from talking about Bush, since it is the Fourth, and  because my brother and sister in law, Jim and Mattie, and Mattie's brother James, and I had a lengthy discussion about the administration today so I kind of got it out of my system. What did I do on the Fourth of July? Counted the days until regime change - 565 in case you're wondering.

My brother, Jackie, picked these Lone Ranger puzzles up at a sale. Each box has four different puzzles in it - they are the kind where you try to get the little BBs into holes.  These were made back when we trusted people to actually parent, and when kids had some amount of common sense. So, they have real BBs in them and the casings are metal and the fronts are glass. The backs are cardboard, but since they were made for children who didn't do things like tear open their toys for amusement it wasn't an issue.  Today they'd be encased in some indestructible plastic that has a half life of a million years. When did we become so stupid and so lacking in common sense that we couldn't be trusted with toys? Obviously, not all children are this way, but we're doing all this for someone. These were probably also made before shampoo was labeled, "lather, rinse, repeat."

In these puzzles, The Lone Ranger is doing everything from protecting people as they pan for gold, to fighting mountain lions. Why don't we do cool stuff like pan for gold anymore? Or fight mountian lions. OK, really, I don't want to do either of those, but they sound far more interesting than sitting in an office all day talking on the phone. People used to pan for gold, now they write email. We've lost something major in that translation.



But, back to The Lone Ranger... geez... his talents seem to know no bounds. What a guy to have around. And look at him - that's a real man - you can tell. He can handle anything that comes up, including wild beasts.

I'm reminded of something Oprah said on her trip across country with Gayle - "There's something about a man who can handle a horse." They were watching some cowboys in Oklahoma work cattle at the time as I recall. All I can say in response is, "Amen, Sister."

Although I didn't see/hear The Lone Ranger, the fact that he is pictured on his faithful stead is reason enough for to me assume he falls into the category of  a man who can handle a horse. I believe that would be "Silver" with the four hooves.

One of my favorite things on these boxes is that you can see the price - 89 cents - written in pencil on each one. I don't think you can even get a pack of gum at the check out stand for 89 cents now.



I'd like to go live - just for a little while - in the world where you could get something cool for 89 cents, where you could give it to your kid without worrying they'd kill themselves with it, where The Lone Ranger rode about the countryside protecting damsels in distress, and where all men could handle a horse.

Eight Years

Miranda and Jacob are my great, great niece and nephew. Yes, I have an odd family tree - lets just sum it up by saying I was born late in my parent's lives, after they had already raised my brothers and my brothers were married with kids. If you think on it, you'll understand. I came into the world an aunt, was a great aunt by the time my teens hit and... well... you see the trend.

Miranda and Jacob have no idea who I am - they know I'm grandpa's sister, but other than that, I'm a mystery. There's no reason they should know who I am. The last time I saw them was in May of 1999. Jacob was in diapers. I've not seen either of them since they've been old enough to be forming memories.

When I realized it had been eight years that made me think about how long eight years is and how much can change in that amount of time.

Eight years ago I was still working in radio, and although I was thinking I'd like to do something else had no specific thoughts about what that might be, other than I was looking in to going to grad school. Ironically, I was considering getting my counseling degree. I now work in the mental health field. Life has a way of working out.

Eight years ago I had just returned from a trip to Egypt and would go to Central America that fall, although I didn't know that yet. On both of those trips I met people who have been instrumental in my life since. People who gave me reason to think differently, to ask different questions, to perceive myself differently. Each of those trips had specific moments where my world shifted. Dramatically. I remember getting on the plane in Nicaragua, thinking I'd never see some of these important people again, only to find them in my life again here and there - one in Nashville, one in Amsterdam, one in Seattle.

Eight years ago my mother was still living and doing well. I was someone's daughter. I was someone's priority in life. When you have parents, someone is concerned about you every moment of every day on some level, regardless of how old you are. The first time I went on a trip after my mother died I remember being in the airport and realizing I had no one to call to tell them I had landed safely. No one was worried about me. No one was thinking about if my plane had touched down. No one was waiting for the phone to ring. It was shocking to be no one's priority - I had known it intellectually, but the reality of it hit me like a ton of bricks. I cried like a baby in the car on the drive home. But, alas, this is the circle of life. It's not that no one cared about me at all, but I was not anyone's priority anymore. I'm still not used to it, but it's just the way it is. That's not something anyone in your world can fake. It just is as it is.

Eight years ago I was not a home owner. I was still living in an apartment where I had lived with a boyfriend who had broken up with me after we had lived together for a long time. It was for the best for both of us - he was just strong enough to do it - and eight years ago I was almost past the serious pain of it. Going to Egypt gave me a new lease on life in many ways. I'm a big believer in geographic therapy. But I hadn't even started to entertain the idea I could have a house.

Eight years ago I hadn't even met the man I would next fall in love with. In eight years we met, fell in love, had a passionate five years together and split. A lot can happen in eight years.

Eight years ago I didn't have a blog, I hadn't ridden a steam train, I didn't have creative sisterhood, I hadn't travelled Route 66, I wasn't involved with Chicks, I hadn't seen the Anne Frank house, I hadn't walked the streets of Brussels and I didn't yet know some of the people I now consider close friends. I lived in another neighborhood. I worried more. I sang less. I worked with different people. Oddly enough, I longed for much the same things I do now.

Eight years has been time enough for my heart to break and heal three times. I sometimes wonder how many times it can do that successfully, but it seems to be a champ at the process. I sometimes wish I were a person who didn't ask so much of it, but life seems very fleeting to me and I try to soak it up at a pace that means I live life at 110 mph all the time. You get a lot in that way - and life is a swirl of bright colors as they rush by. But when you hit the wall going 110 it really, really hurts. Really hurts. But I don't know any other way to be. Life for me is all about getting as much living in as possible and the only way I know to do it is by "running wide open" as my brother says.

Eight years ago I was in my thirties. Eight years from now I will be in my fifties. Those sound like very different things. I'm sure if I do this exercise then I'll have a new list of changes.

Eight years doesn't seem like a long time, but it's long enough for a kid to go from diapers to real conversation; and it's long enough for a life to change dramatically.