I Really Oughta...

...turn off The Weather Channel.

Part of my semi-obsessive weather watching is legitimate. I'd like to be able to figure out when it will be safe to finish painting the exterior of my house. Doesn't look like that's going to happen any time soon. Especially since there's thunder rumbling in the background and some of those thunderstorms might actually make it here from the coast. Even if it does manage to get dry enough to paint, it'll probably be way too hot for most of the day. This task may have to wait until October.

It's also legitimate to keep up with the latest tropical updates (nothing happening at this second, but you've gotta keep your eye on ... )and see if the skies are about to break loose with a gullywasher at any moment, usually just before I walk out of the house. Weather radar is your friend. (Anyone else remember when the Weather Channel was just the local radar circling round and round with someone intermittently announcing temperatures and weather alerts?)

However, today is the 2nd anniversary of Katrina's landfall. Each time one of the segments on how bad things were and what recovery is happening and what the area has to look forward to in the future, I find myself feeling really ambivalent.

There's the angry part of me that says "All right, already! We've Katrina ... Katrina ... Katrina'd until you'd think that was the only catastrophe that happened in 2005." And I wonder if they'll do the 2-year anniversary of Rita and Wilma with the same overkill they're devoting to Katrina. Probably not.

Then I find myself hoping that they don't. The look back reminds me too much of the whole surreal experience of watching the devastation and then seeing a similar destruction head straight for our coast 3 weeks later. It's peak hurricane season, so my hypervigilance becomes even more hyper (if that's possible).

Then I end up feeling guilty because the eastern Gulf Coast took a super-major hit and you see the pictures of the devastation that is still waiting to be dealt with. Finally other parts of Louisiana and Mississippi are getting a bit of their due, yet New Orleans is still the "star".

It is encouraging to see how far things have come, as well as discouraging to see just how far they've yet to go. The mind recognizes that 10 years out may see the area looking almost as though nothing had ever happened. The heart goes out to those who are caught in limbo in the meantime. To some degree, I understand their limbo; although, certainly my limbo is nowhere as deep or long as theirs may be. And the same recovery parameters may be just as true for us as it was for those clobbered by Katrina.

Yeah. I think I oughta just turn off the tv for a while. ACK! More thunder. Maybe not.

Peace

It's absolutely curious as to what brings peace to my soul right now. Checking out the National Hurricane Center and discovering that:

"There are no tropical cyclones at this time"

is one of them.

Having my church members recognize the devastation wreaked by Hurricane Dean and desiring to help as they are able, at this time, through our Presbyterian Disaster Assistance program.

Watching a squirrel climb down the middle framing of the sliding glass patio door (actually, that was more of a chuckle, but there was a sense of peace - except for the dog who wasn't sure if someone/thing was breaking in or just what was happening)

... *humming* "these are a few of my favorite things"!

Would that the peace of this particular moment floods the entire earth and all war and conflict cease. *sigh* (Nope - I'm not headed back to reality and you can't make me!)

Whew ... and a Prayer

*wipes brow* It appears we're going to dodge this particular bullet as Master Dean seems to have decided on a decidedly westward path.

He's still a nasty character and has caused significant damage and taken lives. Looks like he may become an even nastier character before whomping into the Yucatan Penninsula.

So - prayers arising for those in his path. We who have dodged this disaster are with you in spirit. Please do whatever you can to be safe.

Tropical Blues

The first Gulf-aimed hurricane of the season has arisen ... and it's a biggie!

Living along the Gulf Coast, one tends to keep the potential for hurricanes in one's peripheral vision. I find myself checking the 'Tropical Update' on The Weather Channel out of the corner of my eye each morning from June 1st onward. However, once we get to August, I shift from peripheral vision to at least one eye firmly focused on the tropical reports more than once daily. So, I'd had my eye on Dean since he was just a gleam of a possible wave off the coast of Africa.

Since Her Horribleness blew through town about two years ago, I've broadened my hurricane watching resources. In 2005, I was virtually certain that the high pressure hovering over the southeast Texas coast would send Rita skittering past us and further west, if it even turned into a hurricane at all. Wrong-o!

It would have been nice if The Weather Channel and other tv outlets had even mentioned the National Hurricane Center's concern that the high pressure system would be shoved out of the way and a low pressure system just primed to suck Rita home would take its place. I realized none of this until watching CNN News as Rita bore down on the Texas border while stuck in California.

Now I wander through the National Hurricane Center Forecast Discussions regularly. I didn't even know it existed two years ago.

So - back to the original premise of this post:

A hurricane's headed to the Gulf ... and it's a biggie!

The range of emotions has been, well, weird. There's this part of me that's hypersensitive - an almost obsessive desire to know what's going on with Dean, precisely and minute by minute. I generally get to the Forecast Discussions within 15-20 minutes of them being posted. The lag is because I want to give them a chance to have the newest stuff up before I hit the site.

There's this part of me that is a bit ecstatic about having a hurricane to track. (I know - I said this was weird.) Somehow I want to vindicate my improved tracking skills. Please don't laugh. I know hurricanes are capricious and beastly difficult for even the experts. But I've had a pretty good track record over the years and Rita got past me. That just bugs the heck out of me!

There's another part of me that's wavering in distress. I truly wanted to be able to sleep at least one night in my restored home before another monstrosity even glimpsed the mouth of the Gulf of Mexico. One moment I'm gleeful over the things that have been accomplished: all that's left for the interior to be complete is trim and touchup painting, cleaning (a bazillion loads of laundry and dishes as well as getting rid of two years worth of dust - did you really imagine that I'd cleaned house in the month before Rita hit?), and reinstalling my furniture. Then I'm plunged into despair when things foul up getting those last things done.

Then there's the flash of anger at the local paper's editoral to "just get over it!" The intelletual part of me recognizes that their reaction is simply a phase of compassion fatigue, something to be expected at this point in recovery. Yeah! I'd love for things to be back to something resembling normal. *sarcastic* Me to editorial writer, "Yep! You've got it back together, so come take over my life for a bit and I'll live yours! You want things put back together quicker? What have YOU done to help someone who's struggling? or those without the funds to make the repairs? or still on the long waiting lists to get volunteer workers to put things back together? HUH?!"

*sigh* And then there're the times when I just feel completely sapped of any energy. *chuckle* Guess you could call it a 'tropical depression'. It passes, but I'd rather do without them.

In the grand scheme of things, it's a good thing I don't chew my nails or I'd have none left (or would be working on my toenails by now).

Well, the thunder from a local storm has the dog giving me a semi-anxious look, so I guess I'll bring this to an end and go reassure her.

Any songwriters out there interested in composing a tropical blues? I'd love to hear it!

Come. On.

As I was signing offline last night, just as everything was shutting down, the AOL screen that flows through with current news announced in bold headlines:

Tropical Storm Erin Heads Ashore

As Major Storm

ARRRRRRRGH! (ummmm...that was me)

You do not describe a measly barely-a-tropical-storm as a MAJOR storm during hurricane season. MAJOR is at least a Category 3, definitely Cat 4 or 5. MAJOR means nasty winds and storm surge and the potential for some exceeding nastiness.

Sure, you watch the darned things while they're in the Gulf, 'cuz hurricanes can be sneaky beasts. Get one of them lolling over the water, stuck in one place gathering water and the like, and you may have a steamroller headed at you. But when it heads onshore? Well, if it gets stuck (like Tropical Storm Alicia did several years ago), it may lead to significant flooding. But MAJOR!?!

I like flooding just as much as the next person - not at all! However, I also am not thrilled with hype when it comes to reporting on storms. Where do you go emotionally when a mere tropical storm rates the level of a Cat 5 hysteria?

Come. On.

Holy Sh-- Report

Reading today's local newspaper, I came across this Associated Press article, "Girl dragged behind van at boot camp". Ok - sometimes I read stuff like this, sometimes I don't. However, I glanced at the first sentence and saw this phrase "Christian boot camp"! Immediate reaction WTF!! So of course, I read the whole thing.

Apparently, a 15-year-old girl was having difficulty keeping up on a morning run. The director assigned one of the staff to run alongside of her to motivate her. When she fell, these so-called Christian bozos tied her to the back of a van and then dragged her! The name of this boot camp? Love Demonstrated Ministries.

Someone somewhere didn't get the memo ... or forgot to read the Book ... or came equipped with no brains ... or certainly wasn't willing to truly listen to and interpret what it means to demonstrate love! I'm hoping the police totally throw the book (the legal code, at least) at them and lock them up with a copy of The Book to read over and over and over, especially spending time to read what Jesus himself did to demonstrate love. It certainly didn't involve harming another human being.

Then second on the H.S. (ummmm.....that's not coming out right 'cuz it certainly wasn't the Holy Spirit) report: FEMA is only now deciding that people living in trailers after the 2005 hurricane season should vacate the premises ASAP! They've had the info in their hot little hands for about a year, but chose to sit on it. The article doesn't once mention that it's probably not a good idea to BUY the stupid trailers from FEMA, which they've been trying to sell to those living in them for about $300-$500.

Here's the kicker - There are about 45,000 trailers still in use in Louisiana alone, and they've only managed to scrounge up about 4,500 rental units for people to move into. Along the Gulf Coast, approximately 65,000 are still living in trailers. Cruise ships, anyone? Not ideal by any stretch of the imagination, but at least it would get people out of a toxic formaldehyde situation fairly quickly while FEMA/HUD work to get some viable rental property in place.

I do want to say for the record that the local FEMA workers who are still in the area have been quite sympathetic to the situation and have been advocating for a better solution whenever difficulties have been pointed out. It's the muckety-mucks who don't seem to get it.

Got Your Back!

Traveling to the church today, the car in front of me sported this bumpersticker:

God has my back!

My reaction? Oh, really!!

Let's see if I've gotten this straight. To me, that bumpersticker says that God supports me in whatever I've decided to do. It runs somewhat along the line of the old bumperstickers that said "God is my co-pilot." The followup to that one is more to my liking, "If God is your co-pilot, you're in the wrong seat."

The one I saw today smacks of human-centeredness. It says that God supports my biases, my prejudices, my interpretation of scripture, my ordering of how life should be lived. It eliminates the need for discernment of God's will and the possibility that what God wills may be completely antithetical to what I happen to want or believe becomes completely irrelevant.

True, one may spend significant time and effort trying to discern what God wants us to be and do, and in the end, our decisions may be the wrong ones. It's often hard to be certain in this life, especially if what we decide is in that gray area where any response we make could be the correct one. And it can often be difficult to discern when the "tough love" of Jesus with the rich young ruler which, while it may appear and feel like cruel treatment of one in need, is the most loving and caring action one may take. How does one best emulate Jesus in loving one's neighbor as oneself? Unless we're willing to take the difficult step of loving our enemies, rather than treating them according to our personal biases, how can we be certain that God "has our back"? True faith journeys are rarely easy or so straightforward.

Of course, the individual who was driving the car may have had a different interpretation. The sticker may simply have been a statement that the driver trusts that God is present in the difficult times as well as the good, perhaps even a restatement at some level of part of the 23rd Psalm. In which case, I agree wholeheartedly! But I must confess that I fear my first interpretation is the more likely one. I only hope that I'm wrong.

Coming up Roses!

Ahhhhhh! Good things happening. Progress. Positives. WOOHOO!

For once, something planned worked exactly like it was supposed to. The linoleum and carpet are completely installed ... and they look wonderful! The house looks liveable again.

Lotsa dust to be removed, though. Two years' worth! YIPE! But it's beginning to look like this long wandering in exile may be coming to an end.

I even felt comfortable enough with the progress to go out and buy a new washer and dryer. They're going to get quite a workout, as will the new dishwasher. What's coming next is the Spring Cleaning to end all spring cleanings. Well, not really, but you get the picture.

Next weekend comes the final touchup painting and painting and installing the trim, plus a couple of installations or so. Clean curtains, new curtains, new blinds and all sorts of fun stuff.

What bliss! To sleep in my own bed, just a few short weeks ahead. AHHHHHH! Heaven!

Monday, Monday

.....so good to me! Shades of The Mamas and the Papas. Now all I've gotta do is hope that it doesn't end up being one of those days I can't trust. *chuckle*

Tomorrow is linoleum (well, that's what I call it!) and perhaps a start on the carpeting. I can't believe how excited I'm feeling about this.

My son has done the floor prep and cleared up all of the dust, junk, and just plain garbage that has collected on the floors over the past two years. It's amazing how nice it looks now that that part of it is done.

My plan is to just sit in the den and figure out what color curtains to put in the room after the flooring is completed. Hmmmm.....the possibiliites are so many!

Contrary to Appearances

I have not died nor abandoned this lonely blog. Instead, I've been slogging through a slump, tired of being 'snakebit' on the repair situation, tired of rain, tired of feeling uncreative, tired of looking for solutions to problems, tired of being tired (ok - enough whining - it didn't really help. *chuckle*).

Actually, some good has transpired. I just seem to be in a sogged out place at the moment, something I learned was "normal" for about this time in disaster recovery. My trip to the mountains was uplifting (pun only slightly intended). That's where I learned more about the process of disaster recovery and hitting this particular washed-out phase of Compassion Fatigue. Knowing about it hasn't eliminated the washed-out feeling, but it has made it feel less intense. I'm "normal"! Gee, that's something I don't often get to say.

For anyone who's never been through it, or is in the midst of it and isn't quite sure what's going on, here's part of what I learned:

Apparently at somewhere around the 18 month to 2 year mark after a major disaster, compassion fatigue sets in for a time, sapping energy in general and slowing down progress.

In general, there’s a progression through the process, which may take several years. J. Eric Gentry, who co-developed a program on compassion fatigue, outlines the process something like this (this was designed for those working in the mental health field, but seems to fit a much broader cross-section of people affected by disaster):

The Zealot Phase – Idealistic: We are committed, involved, and available … ready to problem solve, ready to make a difference. We willingly put in extra hours. Our enthusiasm overflows. We volunteer. We are willing to go the extra mile and often do so without prompting. I’ll do that!

The Irritability Phase – We begin to cut corners. We begin to avoid contact. We begin to mock colleagues and others. We talk unfairly about people’s medical or mental health problems. We denigrate people’s efforts at wellness. The use of humor is sometimes strained. We day dream or become distracted when people are speaking with us. We make efforts to avoid conversations with those still recovering from disaster. Oversights, mistakes, and lapses of concentration begin to occur. We begin to distance ourselves from our friends and coworkers.

The Withdrawal Phase – Our enthusiasm turns sour and our bubble bursts. People we work with become a blur and run together. We lose our ability to see those recovering as individuals and they rather become irritants. Complaints may be made about our work and possibly there are problems in our personal life as well. We are tired all the time. We no longer wish to talk about work and may not even admit to what we do so as to avoid talking about our work. We neglect our family, our coworkers, and ourselves. Our shield gets thicker and thicker … it blocks our pain and sadness.

The Zombie Phase – Our hopelessness turns to rage. We begin to hate people … any people and all people … we even hate our coworkers if they dare question us. Others become incompetent or ignorant in our eyes. We develop a disdain for those recovering. We have no patience … we lose our sense of humor … and have no time for fun.

Transformation – "Pathology and Victimization" vs. "Maturation and Renewal" At this point, there is either a shift toward hardiness, resiliency, and transformation or the person remains stuck in the loss.

To put this into perspective, this is a process, and not necessarily a straight-line process, and takes more time than any of us ever expected it would. One of those on the Presbyterian Disaster Assistance response team who was presenting this information was pastor of a church in the area where Hurricane Andrew hit in 1992. It took seven years before she was able to be part of a response team to a hurricane area, even though she was able to assist at other disasters in the meantime.

WHEW! And here I'd figured it'd be about a year or so and things would settle in on their new normal and I'd be "over it". HAH! It's almost TWO years and I'm still not back in my home. My recovery progress will probably transpire a bit more rapidly once I'm back there, but this has provided me with some understanding of what it's like for those who won't be back in their homes for even longer, if ever.

Now - for some good news. Progress is happening on my house. The shower is almost finished and it looks awesome! (All I've gotta do now is remember to call the plumber for the finishing touches.) The front door has been installed and all it needs is painting. And I have new windows! (*furiously happy dancing*) That was the last thing I needed done before getting the carpet laid. That's scheduled for the end of this month. My handy-dandy handyfriend is planning to come do the touchup painting and trim on the 2nd weekend in August. THEN! Then I'll be able to live in my house again while finishing up the rest of the to-do list.

There is hope on the horizon. HOORAY!

It Figures

*shaking head* The glass guy came today to install the glass door for my shower. Everything was going nicely. Measure Measure. Cut Cut. Zwip Zwip. Other various and assorted installation noises. Zwip Crrrrrrack! Daymn! (that last was the installer)

The glass in the door just completely shattered. A gazillion little pieces held in place by the frame. *shakes head more*

Wouldn't you know it? The first time in the guy's sixteen years installing glass shower doors and mine is the one that earns the honor.

*sigh* It'll be next week before the door is installed.

On the brighter side, my front door is being intalled this Wednesday. The oven has been fine tuned. And the dishwasher installer, who apparently didn't receive the order about installing the dishwasher, is calling me back this evening to set up an installation date.

And.........

On Wednesday, I'm headed toward mountains! Boy, do I need mountains.

Interlude

Tomorrow I take a break. A break from juggling repairs. A break from the routine. A break from uncertainty. A break from fighting fleas (they're really bad this year). Breaks are good.

I'm headed to one of my favorite places for a Worship and Music Conference, one of my favorite things to do. For the next week I'll be in the Texas hill country near the Guadalupe River, getting to sing with a choir of about 70 people. Fun!! I'm also hoping to get to spend some time sitting in one of the natural spa spots on the river, that is, I will if the predicted rains don't turn the river into a raging torrent. (boo! hiss! no raging torrents, please!)

I'll also be away from technology for that time. Not going to say I'll be away from "civilization", because there's plenty of "civilization" where I'm going, just not much available technology (or time, actually). See ya in about a week!

A "Pleasing" Aroma

Ahhhhh! The sweet (?) smell of progress! Not success, but at least progress. It's the sicky sweet, slightly tangy, high-inducing aroma of the epoxy-whatever-it-is adhesive used to permanently attach cultured marble to the walls, ceiling, and floor of a shower.

The installation of my shower is almost complete. Almost, that is, because of a flaw in the last piece of marble to be installed. Well, that and a minor repair to be made resulting from the demolition of the old tile. I'm so glad I went with cultured marble! My shower looks so nice now.

It is so good to see progress. I still don't know when my front door will be making its opening appearance. If things run true to form on this project, I'll get the installation call right after I leave town for a continuing ed event scheduled for next week. *chuckle*

Different Celebration, Anyone?

While browsing the local internet sites to find something different to do on my birthday, I came across this:

Open Casting Call

For the independent film, "Flying Solo," will be at 11 a.m. (formally Nell's Place). Volunteers will act as an audience for a staged musical comedy show. Those wishing to audition should dress in solid colored clothing with no logo's or heavy patterns. Bring bottled water and be prepared to stay and film until 5 p.m. Lunch & Refreshments will be served.
"Flying Solo" is a faith-based family film that is being produced locally with a cast and crew of volunteer local talent and Lamar students. The film is a 90-minute comedy-drama set in a small city and featuring original songs sang and composed by Reginald Cooper of the Jazz Innovators. Dances are choreographed by Winetta Roy, Tina Simpson, Danielle Brown, and Shana Logan. The story follows an aspiring singer/songwriter who relocates to Texas with her aunt and younger siblings where she is challenged to conquer her fears and follow her dreams.

It certainly would be different. I'm just not sure they'd want some 50-something in their audience, and don't know if I could face the rejection. *fake cringe* I'll have to admit that there's no age limit in the cattle call ... erm ... casting call. I'm also not sure I want to be a part of anything where the grammatical errors are so blatant in just a two-paragraph announcement ("formally" for "formerly" and "sang" instead of "sung"). Not to say that my grammar is perfect.

Ah, well! I may be spending my day getting the rest of the shower installed. Guess I'll look for something a little less different to celebrate the special occasion. *chuckle*

Baby Steps

A couple of tiny miracles occurred this weekend:

In a frantic plea on Thursday, I asked that the rain stop for 48 hours so I could get the paint on the frame of my new sliding glass door ... and it did! The wood was dry enough for the primer yesterday evening and it stayed dry until I put the main coat on today. Then about an hour later, it began to sprinkle, almost precisely 48 hours after I made my plea.

I've also spent the last few weeks perusing appliances. The whole routine, Sunday ads, Consumer Reports reviews and recommendations, lusting after controls and cycles and whistles and bells. On Friday, after painting the primer coat, I headed to Sears to check out a range, a dishwasher, and a garage door opener. While looking around, the sales clerk came by and suggested that I look at a dishwasher he had that was a demo. Wouldn't you know it? It was the dishwasher recommended by Consumer Reports as a Best Buy for almost $150 less than retail. One appliance down, four to go!

Plus, the cultured marble guys came to the house today and did the first half of their installation. One of the crew went to the emergency room yesterday, so they couldn't do the whole thing today, but Progress! I'll take most anything at this point.

A New Word

I love doing crossword puzzles, and do several throughout the course of the day. It's often intriguing to find the same word, sometimes with different clues, used by different puzzle creators on the same day. In time, you can begin to sort out which of several possibilities to try just by knowing who the puzzle author is. Generally, the puzzles start out fairly easy on Mondays, getting progressively harder through the week.

Today, one of the puzzles turned out to be a real poser (pun only slightly intended). I managed to get 3/4ths of it done, but there was one section where I just couldn't put my finger on one or two essential answers. So I hit the trusty internet and scrounged answers I thought would shed enligtenment on the remaining few blanks.

Yep! You got it! There was one which just plain turned the rest into gobble-de-garbage.

What would you have put down for a six-letter word meaning "good humored"? With a couple of spots filled with what I knew were the correct letters, I came up with 'jovial'. I already had the J and the O. But that word just didn't help me a bit when it came to the other letters. So, I continued scrounging, and learned a new word:

Jocose

I like that word! I like the way it sounds and the way it feels when you say it. I even like the way it looks on the page. There's something about it that just seems "good humored". Maybe it taps into "jocularity" and memories of Father Mulcahy on MASH saying "Jocularity! Jocularity!" I don't know. But I think I'm going to try to find a way to include it in my vocabulary whenver possible.

Insomnia

I guess it's not classic insomnia. I did get some sleep, just less than usual. My brain seemed to kick into high gear around 4ish this morning and just wouldn't shut up. So I decided to try something different today. I got up.

The dog isn't completely sure what's going on, but she's decided to join me wherever I happen to land. At the moment she's on the couch dealing with an itch she didn't have a few moments ago. There's some critter outside making a kind of whirring shound, sounding almost like some fairly rapid snorer enjoying a good night's sleep, with an occasional pause just to make things interesting. The only other noises, besides the thoughts rumbling around in my head, are my fingers tapping on the keyboard, the intermittent car sounds, and the idling of a train about a mile or so away.

I'm really not a morning person; although, I do occasionally enjoy watching a sunrise, especially if I'm away from home. That's not the case this morning.

There's a really cool word that I first read in one of my favorite science fiction books that describes the light at this time of day: crepuscular. It actually describes that kinda gray sorta light which happens at dawn and dusk, where things are just becoming visible out of the darkness or are just fading into the night. The author used it in conjunction with filming an historical vampire movie at that time of day just before the sun rose while things are eerily foggy and mysterious.

Crepuscular. Good word for this morning, especially since I'm sitting here feeling a bit gloomy and hoping that the predicted rain decides not to transpire. I really need the wood around my new sliding glass door to dry out so I can paint it. I've been trying to paint it ever since a week ago Monday, but the days I've been in town have also been rain days. *sigh* I'm not painting wet wood! But it's just so frustrating, and a bit depressing, that I've not been able to get that done.

I think I'm going to just sit and listen to the critters a bit longer. There's a bird who's decided to add a chirp to the morning's chorus, and a mourning dove or two who've joined the melody. Maybe the dog snoring on the floor might entice my eyelids back to sleep. I've an hour or two before I have to be anywhere or do anything. *yawn* G'night.

The Winner and Champeen ...

They certainly don't make them like they used to.

Today the plumber came to the house to move the drain from its current location to the place it needs to be for the marble installation to proceed. To pull this feat off, it was necessary to cut through the old pipe and install a new section of pipe from the drain's new location to the old underground drainage system. Easy, you'd think, right?

Not if the original pipe is cast iron!

It ultimately took two strong men and four diamond saw blades to successfully cut through the pipe to remove the section!

Winner and Champeen? The men, but only by referee's decision. *chuckle*

It's good to know the underpinnings of the house are sturdily built. A major blessing when things are working right, bit of a curse if there's a problem.

Next up - concrete in the shower! I suspect this bout will be just a bit easier.

Probably Christmas?

Please forgive me if the blog becomes a reconstruction rant for the next few weeks. Getting back into my house truly isn't the only thing on my mind, but it's certainly at the top of the list at the moment. And an especially frustrating item on the list at that.

When last we met, I was looking at about a two week delay to get someone to repair the rotted wood in my now dismantled shower. Thanks to my blessed handyman church member that problem has been rectified. He did an awesome job in fixing up the nasty looking studs and that shower ain't a-gonna be moving anywhere any time in the near or distant future! I couldn't have asked for a better resolution to that difficulty.

But then .....

The plumber's jackhammer guy came to the house and pounded the crap out of the concrete in the shower. After much chipping away, it was discovered that there's something weird about the way the original builder installed the shower foundation. The jackhammer guy consulted one of the owners. The owner stood there and scratched his head while trying to figure out how the heck to do the necessary plumbing so the marble can be installed. Totally perplexed, he left, still scratching his head. The jackhammer guy packed up his gear and headed off for the day.

Fortunately, the plumber did come up with a possible solution. Which meant the jackhammer guy had to come back the next day and pound some more crap out of the concrete. I may now have a permanent headache. *chuckle* Today, the plumber's supposed to come back to the house to do the plumbing work and then re-concrete the shower floor. He's not called yet, so I don't know when he's coming.

Ok - that was the good stuff. At least there will be some progress soon on the shower.

Then today started. I get a call about 7:30am telling me there'd been a cancellation on the schedule and the door installer would be able to come and install my doors today! Woohoo! Get the doors in and the shower fixed and the carpet/vinyl could go in only slightly off-schedule. Right? (wait for it)


WRONG!!

Turns out the guy who measured the doors and did the estimate on the installation mismeasured the front door. Two weeks to get the door reordered and back in. Then the installation has to be rescheduled. *sigh* Perhaps I'll be able to live in my house by Christmas.

The sliding glass door was installed, though. So that was a positive. But the weirdnesses associated with this house never seem to end. When the installer began the replacement, he discovered that the brick threshhold was an add-on which ended up serving the purpose of providing a most excellent source of unwanted moisture to the wooden portion of the threshhold, thus nicely rotting out the door's support. He chipped and levered the bricks out of their track, and now I have a 6-8" by 6-foot by 4-5" trough to be filled with concrete to level things up with the patio.

Maybe if the plumbing concrete guy comes by while the weather's still good, he might be willing to add my interesting trough to the indoor task. *pleads pitifully*

I am beginning to wonder why delays of 2-3 weeks keep popping into the picture. So, I'm going to get a window company that's been advertising in the paper to give me an estimate on replacing the rest of my windows. If it's not an unreasonable price and the timing of installation is right, I may go ahead and do that before getting the carpet and vinyl installed. Maybe in the interest of energy efficiency, and eliminating as many weirdnesses as possible while the house is still a torn-up mess, I ought to go ahead and finish things off. If it's not going to delay things by more than they are already delayed, then ... well, it's something to think about (and quickly!)

Here's hoping to something earlier than Christmas!

I Oughta Know Better By Now

You'd think I'd learn. I do it to myself every time. At least I'm consistent.

Here I was getting all excited about work being scheduled for Her Horribleness repairs. This week, the cultured marble people were to tear out the yucky tile. They did. One task down. Then today the plumber was supposed to come over and replace the shower pan and redo the plumbing fixtures in the shower and in my bathtub. He did. However, he wasn't able to finish everything.

For one thing, apparently the drain has to be moved and, of course, it's set in concrete. Literally! That means a jackhammer person has to come by and smash out the old stuff. Since we didn't know about that until today, there wasn't anyone with a jackhammer available today to come and do the work. *sigh* Perhaps tomorrow.

Unfortunately, there's another problem that's even worse. When the marble people did their thing, they discovered that the wood framing in the shower was seriously rotted. ACK! Now I have to replace the wood before the plumber and the marble people can finish their jobs. This additional task is going to take a contractor. Guess who doesn't have a contractor readily available. ... You've got it!

So I tapped my congregational handyperson, and his contacts say "about two weeks" before someone's available. Two Weeks!! ARGH!! And that's just before the shower stuff can be completed.

Then I have to get the linoleum and carpet put in. I'd had it scheduled for next week. Now it's been postponed.

Here I was hoping that the flooring could be installed next week, the touchup painting and trim/baseboards/etc. finished Memorial Day weekend, and light fixtures, curtains, ceiling fan, and the like put back together and cleaned up shortly thereafter, with a move-back-in date by no later than my birthday in June. *double sigh*

Now it's maybe by July 4th? Labor Day? Thanksgiving? Christmas? OK - I'll do my best to not get totally pessimistic. *whine* I just want to sleep in my own bed. */whine*

Pomp ... and Circumstance

It's 100% official! The boy ..... oops! Ahem! The Man has attained his initial goal - a college diploma. This past Saturday he put on cap, gown, and tassel; waited in line and through the formalities; handed the card with his name on it to the Dean, and walked across the stage to shake the college president's hand and get the empty diploma cover signifying completion of his degree requirements (the actual diploma had arrived in January); then returned to his seat for the completion of the graduation rite. Pictures were taken (although not of his 'non-traditional' footwear) and we were through. I'm so proud of him!

Graduation had its quirks. Since the school only does one graduation ceremony each year, there were many people and not enough seats. People came early and saved not just a few seats, but rows for those who weren't there yet (and, for the most part, didn't arrive until just as the graduation began). Then as soon as their graduate made it across the stage, they rose 'en masse' and left! I probably wouldn't have been quite so upset by this, except that they did it when my son was getting ready to cross the stage and I now have a picture of heads and backs instead of my son. I'm hoping the school photographer's picture comes out ok.

I guess it's traditional for the commencement address to consist of every graduation cliche in the book. It did. It's also traditional for names to be mangled. They were, just not the students' names, and there were some doozies. *chuckle* In the grand scheme of things, I'm glad my son was scheduled for the morning graduation instead of the afternoon one. Standing room only doesn't begin to describe the afternoon crowd.

We followed up the ceremony with the family's traditional meal of the graduate's choice, then he left to spend some time with friends and to get some much needed sleep (if possible). And now he's headed off to California to start work on Wednesday. Good job, my son! I'm sure you'll end up accomplishing whatever you put your heart to. Godspeed, my son!

Ay Yi Yi Yi

*sung* I miss San Ju-an!

The return home (for at least a few days) was accomplished yesterday, and I'm already wishing I were back. Friendly people. Beautiful surroundings. Gasoline for about $2.25/gallon (once converted from metric). I was even beginning to remember a bit more Spanish, though I was nowhere close to keeping up with conversations, much less thinking in it.

There's a brightness to the area which doesn't exist here. Okay, since Her Horribleness blew through, there are one or two houses around here that have, shall we say?, unique paint colors on them, but the vast majority of us have wandered back into the realm of "studied bland". While I refused to return to the same neutral beige, I couldn't quite bring myself to go over the edge into something truly different like aqua or lavender or brilliant yellow. Wouldn't have been able to get away with that in San Juan! Lime green! Hot pink! Blazing orange! Purple! (hmmmm.... couldn't have used that as a color suggestion during the kitchen remodeling at church if I'd lived in San Juan.) The brighter, the better. Of course, there were places painted white and grayed with age, but the area as a whole was vibrant with color!

Here's a pic of the Presbyterian Church located near the Governor's Mansion:

There's also a 'weight' and historicity to the place that can be overwhelming at times. Around the edges of the city are huge, thick fortifications and you can almost feel the years, centuries, they've been standing there "holding the fort" and keeping the city secure. I love the story of the women who kept the town from being attacked by pirates because they walked along the upper streets carrying torches and praying all night. The pirates were convinced there were so many men that they'd never be able to win and sailed away! Brave, gutsy people!

El Morro

Their folkloric dance is bright and creative, as you might guess. On Thursday, a group of us went to watch a free performance of their more contemporary dance history, which included salsa and the mamba. On Saturday, we went back for a taste of their older dances, which are blended with the Spanish influence and that of Africa. Wonderful! And the music and musicians were a delight!

Do you like plantains? It's a central part of the diet and is available in some form at almost every meal. While mofongo is pretty bland (to my taste), I really liked the sweet plantains a lot! I often get accused of not being particularly adventurous in my eating, and it's sorta true. So I wandered onto the wild side, for me, and tried something different at each meal. I will have to admit, though, that I couldn't bring myself to eat cabrito.

And, while I'm not particularly into alcoholic beverages, it was impossible to not visit the Bacardi Rum facility. An interesting experience. Next time you're in San Juan, take the tour. It's free, and you get two tickets to taste some of the various rum drinks. I tried the mojito ... not my cup of rum. And sipped a bit of peach rum. Better, but I have a feeling it's an acquired taste. *shiver* And, of course, you must see the drunken palm tree! (Well, not really, but I thought it was appropriate. *chuckle*)

Casa Bacardi

One visit we made was to a local worship service at the church our committee member attends. It was in Spanish, but we had an interpreter. I didn't quite get all of it, but managed to understand bits of it, even in Spanish. The pastor invited one of my compatriots to give a welcome on behalf of the committee and then asked me (!!!!!) to give the benediction. I very wisely did not attempt anything in Spanish, even though they had a benediction printed in their bulletin. One of the fascinating things to me was the building: the doors had no glass in them! Summer, winter, spring, fall - it's open to the elements. The eaves are apparently wide enough to keep those nasty horizontal rains from getting in, but still ...

All in all, in spite of having to take a break for our meeting, it was a very good trip. I can't wait to go back! And next time, I'll be sure to make plans for seeing the Camuy Caverns, the Arecibo Observatory, the Rain Forest, .... maybe next time, I'll plan to stay a bit longer. Adios!

Dateline: San Juan

After hectically wrapping up a myriad of details, and a short nasty bout with the 24-hour virus that's been running around, I made it out of town and took the "scenic route" to the hotel where I stayed last night so I could get up before God to get to Intercontinental Airport. After a miserable night because someone nearby left their poor pooch to bark his/her head off all night, I made it to the airport without getting lost. Quite a feat for the directionally challenged! While I ordinarily hate Intercontinental, this morning's excursion managed to go without a hitch. Shoot! Even my connecting flight was nearby and on time!

The flight into San Juan was beautiful! I wish I'd remembered I had my camera in my purse. The view from the air was awesome! Green lush hills (mountains? It's hard to tell from that high up.). The water varying shades of blue. Incredible white beaches. I think I'm in love!

So what did I do first? Ate lunch, then crashed! About the time I got to the hotel, it began raining ... and rained ... and rained. Not a problem! Flying normally wipes me out, and it's worse when I don't sleep well the night before. A nice long nap did the trick, and I believe I'm ready for some sightseeing tomorrow. There are several places I'd like to go, but am not sure where I'll head first. I love caves and there are apparently some wonderful ones a day-trip's ride away, but don't know whether I'll be able to pull that one off. Maybe Sunday.

I'll have to admit it's an interesting experience being someplace where Spanish is the primary language. I know a little bit from all those years of Spanish in intermediate and high school and college. The problem is that each year we started at the beginning, so I know the alphabet real well. *chuckle* Helps immensely! Clicked onto Blogger and what did I find? It automatically translated the whole thing into Spanish. ACK! Panic! .... Saw a link on the front page that said "en ingles" and remembered that much Spanish and clicked ... Found another link, in English, about translating into various languages. WHEW! Glad I didn't have to manage in Spanish for this. Wouldn't have made it past the first sentence!

Can't wait to see what tomorrow has in store!

Perception

Last night, while at a function for area Presbyterian women, I overheard a portion of a conversation which struck me kinda odd. One woman was talking about spending time at a second home they owned out in west Texas. In the course of the conversation, she mentioned that she was so glad to be back in Beaumont because things were so green and lush around here and so dry and brown out there. It wasn't that long ago that everyone in the Golden Triangle area was devastated because of how bare things looked after the hurricane.

Isn't it amazing how quickly our perceptions can change?

Comment on a Comment

A friend of mine left this comment on another site:

I don't think our world will ever know peace in our lifetime. It's sad but true. We've taken away so may values that are needed for peace that my generation the one that's causing all the violence may never stop. We need to go back to the little things like opening the doors for strangers, saying ma'am and sir. Put things like prayer and the pledge of allegiance back in school. All opinions set aside the fact is the generations before mine weren't as violent, I hate to see what kind of people come out of younger generations. It just seems like when we said prayer's and the pledge of allegiance, when we didn't have violent video games, when our parents could spank us for being bad, when we had to earn/work for the money that bought the newest set of legos the world was a better place.

Here's my comment on her comment:

Peace in our lifetime? You're right. It won't happen. I fear it is part of the human condition for violence to exist somewhere in the world at all times. However, I would not put the lack of peace at the feet of your generation. Violence has existed in some form or fashion since Cain killed Abel.

It has nothing whatsoever to do with whether there is prayer in schools or the Pledge of Allegiance is said daily.

To put things into perspective, when I was growing up, the war in Vietnam was escalating and the Cold War was really heating up. In the early 60's, there was a very real concern that global thermonuclear war would break out to the destruction of all humanity. When I was a teenager, there were several protest groups who chose to use violence as a way to get their message across - American terrorists, if you will. Hijackings were happening left and right. Serial killers whose rampages were televised across the nation, and the first of the school shooters, Charles Whitman, killed 16 people and wounded 31 at the University of Texas in 1966. (Oh! and btw, we had a prayer/devotional and said the pledge daily.)

It seems to me that part of the sense of escalating violence in the world today is due to the ubiquitous nature of the public news system which exists 24/7. If you must find something to televise or fill your website around the clock, then even the first hint of a violent situation ends up filling hours of airtime, over and over again. The technology, and the fact that there were only 3-4 broadcast stations for so many years, did not lend themselves to "all the news, all the time". Even so, when something like the serial killer who came through Beaumont in the early 80's and raped and killed the mother of two of the children at the day care center where I worked, it was carried on the news with breaking news updates as new information was available, up to and including the final minutes when the police trapped him at the Canadian border and killed him when he wouldn't surrender.

As a result, those mentally ill individuals who perpetrate such violent acts as what happened at Virginia Tech this week take advantage of the situation to gain their few minutes of fame, even to committing suicide in a national forum. From their deluded point of view, they will live on in infamy and will leave this life at the pinnacle of their notoriety. Just look at all of the copycat attempts which began to pop up across the country this past week. In this environment of heightened awareness, even a failed attempt gains a visibility which the attacker would not otherwise have.

As to prayer in the schools, it still exists. Just think of all the frantic praying which happens as the test you've not prepared adequately for is handed out or the presentation you're uncertain about is about to start! What has changed is that the schools no longer sponsor the prayers of a particular religion. Look at it this way, what if you (or your child) were Christian in a system where every day the prayer of the day was Buddhist or Hindu or Islamic? That was the concern of our founding parents when freedom of religion was established in our Constitution. Our country has never been completely one religious faith (note that Thomas Jefferson included a Koran in his library) and is designed to honor the faiths of all her peoples.

I'm of the opinion that our behavior tends to operate on a long, slow pendulum and goes from periods of limited violence to extreme violence over time. If you do some historical digging, you'll find that even in colonial times, the adults were concerned about the deteriorating behavior of the younger generation, noting coarse language and coarser behaviors occurring. In time, the behavior gets out of hand and society begins to apply correctives.

As to spanking children, I believe that violence begets violence. What is of significance is that inappropriate behavior receive appropriate consequences. Spanking teaches that it is all right for a significantly larger, more powerful person to inflict damage on the smaller and weaker.

Violent video games are a whole 'nother kettle of fish. I truly wrestle with this one. There's this part of me which says playing these games inures one to the actual harm being inflicted on another, if such action were to happen in real life. Yet if such were so, my generation would be equally involved in the same level of violence as yours (and probably is if you take a measured look at the violence in our world globally), since we were exposed regularly to the violence of cartoons, westerns, the Three Stooges, and war movies. We seem to believe that the same media which advertises in order to get us to buy various and sundry products is not capable of influencing our behavior when it comes to inflicting harm on others. The jury's still out on this one.

Helping others, treating others with respect, living within our means and treating ourselves with respect, well, I think those are part of that pendulum swing I mentioned earlier. I believe there will come a point (and I think we're getting close to reaching it) when the majority of people will be fed up with the way we treat each other and a new level of respect and building community will be started. It won't look quite exactly the way it did 60, 80, 100 years ago, but it will fit our time and our situation. If each of us keeps doing our part toward making the world a better place, the pendulum will swing a bit faster. Nope, we won't achieve peace throughout the world, but our little corner of it will probably become a bit nicer.

In the News

Has it really been almost 2 weeks since last I posted? Guess so! Things got a bit busy, what with the son-ly person heading to California right after Easter and meetings and recuperating and house repair and all. Then, most of this week, I was at our presbytery's annual post-Easter clergy retreat - sans electronics (mostly). It was a truly good and much needed break, filled with laughter and naps and good food and healing.

Then we had to return to the real world. I ache for the families and friends of those who died at Virginia Tech, yes, even the shooter's family. The repercussions, the video, the commentary seem to reverbrate unceasingly. There is so much that is incomprehensible, which boggles the mind. What is it about the time period around April 19th? So many vile and incomprehensible experiences seem to have that date in near proximity. Is there something in the air that makes people snap? Is it just coincidence? Who knows?

And now, there are potential copycats popping up in communities across the country. Or is it just that we're more aware of them now that we have Virginia Tech in our range of vision daily? So far, security has been sufficient to avert the attackers or keep the carnage to a minimum (ack! I hate to think this way.). There's this part of me which wants to take every person who might remotely even consider taking up weapons and harming people and locking them away in an appropriate mental institution for treatment, and then forcing them to take the meds or do whatever it takes to keep such violence from occurring again. But then, how do you determine who those persons might be? So, what else can we, should we, must we do? Even if we were to ratchet down on access to guns, someone in Cho's state of mind would find some other way to perpetrate violence against others (and ultimately him/herself). There are no easy answers to this one. *sigh*

On Thursday, Mom and I buried KittKat in her backyard, a good place in the sun near where the birds and squirrels used to drive PsychoKat nuts. Then the dog promptly dug KittKat's box back up. Just being a dog. I guess she wanted to nibble KittKat's neck, just like she used to.

Housely progress is occuring. The appropriately sized check from the insurance arrived during the week, so I ordered and scheduled the shower repairs yesterday and went to schedule the door replacement today. Dead and dying tree removal is scheduled for Monday. People are coming to finish up the exterior painting and fix the fence sometime next week. WOOHOO!! But I'm not going to get too excited or predict a move-in date. I'm afraid something else will come along and trip me up, if I do.

Well, it's time to get ready for tomorrow, bulletin to prepare, sermon to write, clothes to wash (a favorite pasttime *she said sarcastically*). Prayers for healing continue rising, and may the world find some way to be filled with peace.

Chronology of a Hellacious Week

I generally love Holy Week. It's a hard week for pastors if you do any of the extra worship services, but there's something about following Jesus and the disciples from the triumphal entry to Jerusalem through the Last Supper to the crucifixion to the dark waiting hours to the Resurrection which is so enriching.

This past Holy Week, however, was the week from hell.

Monday started out just fine. I had a lot to accomplish, but it was a glorious day and I wasn't rushed to get anything done. Then Mom called to tell me my cat was sick. At the time, I wasn't particularly worried. Cats, like people, sometimes get stomach viruses, so you just give it some time and it goes away. Mom doesn't do "sick cat" very well, so I got periodic semi-frantic calls during the day.

On Tuesday, Mom called in the morning to say that KittKat wasn't doing any better. I had things I had to do, but some of them could be done from Houston, so I told Mom to call the vet and I'd be in town about 3pm. Rush to office, fight computer there, but got the two things that had to be done on Tuesday finished, then headed to Houston, while frantically trying to locate a pianist who could play for our Wednesday choir rehearsal and Maundy Thursday service, since our current pianist had to work those nights. Fortunately, that mission was accomplished by the time I reached Winnie.

Now, I figured it would be just a short jaunt, so didn't make any plans to stay overnight. WRONG! The vet hydrated KittKat, gave her something to calm her stomach, drew blood, and told us to watch her to see how she's doing. Did I mention that Mom doesn't do "sick cat" very well? So I spent the night in case we had to catch the cat in the morning.

On Wednesday, KittKat looked a bit better and was claiming the high ground again. The test results didn't show anything dire, so I returned home. Or that is, returned to the church to put together the bulletins for Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday. Managed to get Thursday and Saturday finished, but the printer ran out of ink before I could print Sunday's bulletins. Choir practice went well, but nothing was certain about the brass ensemble.

On Thursday, I get a phone message that my choir accompanist probably wouldn't be able to be at worship on Sunday. ACK! This means that the brass ensemble has fallen apart as well, since two of the accompanist's family members were in the ensemble. DOUBLE ACK! Call the organist, who will gladly play for the choir, but that still leaves me in a bind about the Easter fanfare. About 4:30, my mom calls to say KittKat's doing worse, and I encourage her to take her to the vet ASAP. About 5:00, I get the call asking me about putting her down. Maundy Thursday service starts at 6:00. Needless to say, the Maundy Thursday service was a tough one. Then my son decides that there won't be a fanfare for Easter and wants to take the 'safe' route by getting the organist to play a prelude. I'd already told the organist 3 times that he wouldn't need a prelude, so had a minor meltdown to go along with the horrible day I was already having. My son decided that he'd do something brassy for Easter. (Thanks, son!)

On Friday, I arrive at church with printer cartridges to finish up the bulletins, and the printer completely craps out. It won't even let me put the new cartridge in. At this point, I still have the Good Friday meditation on "I thirst" to complete. Throwing my hands up in the air, I head to the house, write most of my meditation (and then get stumped on how to end it).

In the afternoon, I meet with my church member who was helping me get the lilies we needed for Sunday ... except the place where we were to get them was out! ACK! Took a detour to buy a new printer, then headed on the prowl for lilies. We managed to find 7 at one place and took them back to the church. My member was going to continue the hunt, while I got ready for the Good Friday service. We get to the church and she has a flat tire. A very flat tire. *sigh*

On Saturday, I head to the church to finish those unfinished bulletins. Install the new printer without too much difficulty. Print out the bulletins, only to discover that our old printer settings wouldn't work on the new printer. Thinking I'd made all the necessary changes, I began copying Sunday's main bulletin. Oops! WRONG AGAIN! In order to get the stupid thing to format correctly, I had to completely redo the bulletin. Thank God for cut and paste! I didn't have to actually type everything, just a few hunks of it.

My lily-finding church member managed to scrounge up enough lilies and they arrived at the church, so that was ready for the grand procession on Sunday morning.

Getting ready for the Easter vigil, I suddenly couldn't find the small candles we use at Christmas. It didn't help any that the weather had turned horrendous on Saturday and the temperature was heading toward the basement. The vigil starts outside with the lighting of new fire, so we could light those candles I couldn't find. If we had to move that inside, the fire alarm system would go off. Not a good plan. Someone else managed to find the candles and we had our fire-starter stand just outside the door to get that going. After that, the service went well.

Headed home, then to eat with the son, then to finish up the sunrise service and our regular worship service before heading to bed. Hit the pillows about 1am (not bad for me, actually) with the alarm clock set for 5:45am. That's right, people! A.M.!

I woke up at 6:38am - eight minutes after the sunrise service was to start! I don't think I'll repeat the language used at that point. Fortunately, because the weather was still yucky, not many people showed up for the service. I cried. Then headed home to get ready for the main service.

When I returned to church, the sun came out and it was a glorious morning. My son and his trombone-playing compatriot met to see if they could put something fanfare-y together for the prelude, and went through about a half-dozen pieces before getting something they could both play. The organist arrived. The choir rehearsed. And we went through the service without any hitches, unless you count the ingenious youth who managed to 'do the impossible' during my time with young disciples. But then, resurrection is impossible, too, so I managed to make that fly.

While I wouldn't want another hellacious week for Holy Week in the future, I will say this for it: it's the first Easter Sunday since I began as a minister where I have truly been able to relax and enjoy the worship service. In the grand scheme of things, it could have been much worse.

Requiem for a Kat

She was a little stray, probably abandoned as a kitten. Some friends found her and rescued her when she somehow managed to climb her way into the cabinet of their rv. I brought her home about eight years ago.

She had an interesting miaow, so I named her KittKat, 'cuz she meowed in skat There was always something a little bit skittish about her. The Great Idabel Ice Storm at Christmas, 1999, which happened a couple of weeks after she was spayed, discombibilated her. A tree limb poked its way through the roof, and she and the dog spent the night there alone that first night. After the storm, she gained a new name - PsychoKat.

She never did handle change very well. When we moved, and were down to the last stuff before packing dog and cat into the car to head south, my son was packing some of his things away. He came into the living room with a startled sound in his voice, "She hissed at me! That cat hissed at me!" Apparently, KittKat decided that my son was responsible for all of the current chaos in her life.

She used to play with the dog, attack her, then flop on the floor for the dog to nibble her neck. Her favorite places were up high, so she could look down on things. She never did quite figure out sliding glass doors. She'd sit looking out the window, then attempt to attack something on the outside, clonking her head.

Before Her Horribleness roared through in 2005, cat, dog, and I went to Houston for vacation. I had a few days back home, then a week long trip to make, so I left KittKat at Mom's. She never made it back home.

KittKat was fine until Monday. On Monday, she started vomiting and couldn't stop. The vet gave her some fluids and stuff to calm the vomiting, which helped a bit. Blood tests revealed only that she was dehydrated. The tests didn't reveal why. She got a bit better, but wasn't interested in eating and wouldn't drink. Today she began vomiting again - green stuff.

If she'd been here with me, I would have tried a bit long. But Mom couldn't handle it, and I couldn't make it to Houston to get her. The vet thought her heart was enlarged, since she was breathing kind of rough, too. (What scaredy-kat doesn't breathe weirdly when out of her environment?) So this afternoon, I agreed to put her to sleep.

I don't know if I made the right decision, but it was the only one I could see at that moment. Right now, it just hurts.

So - here's to KittKat, who kept me company and 'talked' to me in the mornings and made me laugh. Goodbye, little friend.

I think I'm going to go and cry some more.

Outraged

In today's Beaumont Enterprise, one of the editorials is by an out-of-state pundit who writes about the "lessons" learned in the process of getting a bazillion pine cones removed from his yard. Mark Rutledge contracts with his six-year-old daughter to pick up the pine cones at 5 cents per cone, partly because he wants to teach his daughter about the value of earning one's money upon learning that she's gleaned about $90 via birthdays and tooth fairy and other sundry non-employment income.

After a bit of nudging, she gets down to the task and ultimately rakes in about 300 pine cones, or $15 worth. In Rutledge's view, that's a bit too much money for a first-grader to earn (based on his own memories of it taking a bit longer for him to earn that much money as a child). So, he asks her how much money she has and learns she's already in possession of $92. Then he makes this offer: "Tell you what, I can pay you a nickel a pine cone like we talked about. Or I can give you enough money so that you've got an even hundred." What six-year-old wouldn't think the even hundred would be the better deal?

Here's what I emailed him:

Dear Mr. Rutledge,
I believe you are very lucky your daughter hasn't learned how to multiply yet. I'm hoping she doesn't remember this experience when she does. If so, she'll realize that you swindled her out of $7.00, legitimately earned, I might add. You made a verbal contract with her to pay 5 cents per pine cone. In that contract, you did not stipulate any limits. Then, when the total came to more than what you wanted to pay, you pulled a bait and switch on her, based on the fact that she probably wouldn't be able to figure out that you actually owed her a heck of a lot more (from a child's point of view).

What you did was unconscionable. There was no way a six-year old would be able to calculate the difference between 5 cents per pine cone and "enough money so that you've got an even hundred", and you, as an adult, knew it. You took advantage of your child and should be ashamed of yourself. She did the work she contracted to do, admittedly very much like a six-year old with moaning and groaning along the way, but she did the work. Can you imagine the lesson you would have taught her if you had given her the $15? Just think of how hard she might work in the future if she'd gotten the just reward that she'd earned - for just a little bit of extra effort, my time is worth $15! Wow! Who'd ever have imagined that?

Isn't this the reason we established child labor laws, so that our children wouldn't be taken advantage of? I'm still seeing red!

Slightly Absurd

Kick Off Earth Day

That's the subject line of an email from Sojourners Magazine. In case you don't know, Sojourners provides "progressive Christian commentary on faith, politics and culture". I get e-updates on various issues regularly. Today is no exception and that's what the subject line said.

Where'd my brain go this morning? I immediately began a list of people I'd like to kick off Earth, and wondered what the date of this wonderful event would be.

After a few names, I realized it was about preparing for Earth Day. Oops!

Valley of the Shadow of Death

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.” That KJV verse of the 23rd Psalm has been stuck in my head recently. These words have always been comforting to me when I’ve faced any difficulty. So here we are approaching Holy Week, the week when we remember Jesus’ last days, and I began to wonder if these words were comforting to him as he faced Jerusalem and the darkness which was ahead.

Heading into Jerusalem with his disciples, Jesus knew that the cheering crowds welcoming him would have a change of heart. As he entered town, did he think that he was at the edge of that valley? Did he say to himself over the hosannas!, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.”?

As Jesus prepared for the Passover meal, the last supper when he once again taught his disciples about his definition of ministry and gave them a new meaning for a familiar ritual, was he also aware that he had walked deeper into the shadow? As he broke the bread and poured the wine, did he say to himself, “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.”?

Knowing that his arrest was coming soon, when they left the place of the Passover and entered the Garden of Gethsemane, did the fear which struck him and led him to pray, “If it be possible, take this cup from me, but your will, not mine, be done.” remind him that he was not only in the shadow of the valley, but approaching the bottom? Could it be that the comfort of “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.” made it possible for him to say “Not my will, but yours.”?

As he was beaten and scourged, subjected to the mockery of a trial, forced to carry his cross to Golgotha, nailed to it, and hung between two felons, could Jesus have felt that there was no shadow about this valley, that he was actually in the valley of death? Did “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.” make it possible for him to take each step, endure each painful hour, experience his painful death?

In the Apostles’ Creed, we are reminded that Jesus descended into hell, walking completely through the valley of the shadow of death before overcoming death in resurrection. Did “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.” give him the strength to fulfill his baptism in death and rise again to life eternal?

There is comfort in knowing that one is not alone in even the darkest hours. Scripture reminds us of that. Perhaps that is why these words are so comforting, so quickly come to mind in the dark times. While there is no way to know it for sure, I’d like to think these are words that comforted Jesus in the same way. Because beyond the certainty of companionship in the darkness, there is a second assurance: that one does not stay in the valley of the shadow of death, and in this assurance lies hope! A hope which carried Jesus, and us, beyond our fears into life eternal!

Question of Degree

Yes, I'm just now getting around to reading Sunday's paper.

In our local paper, the opinions editor did his Sunday OpEd piece on the Tokyo firebombing from World War II. In it, he expresses surprise that the people of Japan are suing the Japanese government over the bombing, not the American government.

The logic of the suit is that the Japanese government caused the attack by starting an unprovoked war with the United States, and then not taking care of the victims of the attack on Tokyo afterward. "Accordingto to the Kyodo News agency, the 112 plaintiffs accuse the Japanese government with failing to help bombing victims and - get this - starting the war and refusing to surrender, thereby inviting the raid." He then goes on to detail some of the various atrocities committed by the Japanese during WWII, and notes that Japan and Germany "have no one to blame but themselves for the devastation of their countries during the war. They attacked other nations - many of which were defenseless and posed zero threat to them - and did horrible things to millions of people. Because of that, they deserve every bit of the counterattack that followed." (T. Taschinger, Beaumont Enterprise, 3/25/07)

I acknowledge that the scale of atrocity, loss of life, devastation which took place during WWII is far and beyond anything which has occurred, or will occur, during the current war with Iraq. But is it 'scale' which determines whether a country is 'deserving' of any counterattack it receives as a result of an unwarranted assault of another country?

I couldn't help but read his editoral as moral justification for any group of native Iraqis who may in the future decide to exact retribution against the United States for its unprovoked attack, and subsequent loss of life and upheaval, upon their country. Does that mean the people of the United States should sue our own government for such a breach if (when?) there is another attack on American soil by terrorists "home-grown" as a result of our government's course of action in Iraq?

When GW Bush decided to invade Iraq, there was no clear evidence that the Iraqi government or people had anything whatsoever to do with the terrorist attack on American soil of 9/11. Subsequent investigation and information pretty clearly says that they weren't. Thus, our attack on Iraq would qualify as unprovoked.

The scale of lives lost by Iraqis and Americans and allies is nowhere close to that of WWII; however, any loss of life as a result is significant. The U.S. has acknowledged, and fortunately dealt with, such acts as Abu Ghraib and the rape/murders committed on Iraqi soil. Yet the reality is that they did occur. Smaller, almost trivial (as if any behavior such as those acts could ever be called 'trivial'), in comparison to the actions of Japan and Germany in WWII, yet they happened. The devastation to the country and its infrastructure has been immense, and has ultimately facilitated the on-going sectarian violence which exists today. [aside - there will be those who say that anything which occurred as a result of our invasion is considerably less damage than that perpetrated by Saddam Hussein during his rule. I don't deny that Hussein was a tyrant and mass murderer and probably a worthy candidate for removal from office. That is not the issue which I am addressing.]

By Taschinger's basic logic, should we experience another attack on American soil, we would be fully deserving and a trip to the local courthouse for judgment would be completely appropriate. I wonder whether those going to court will choose to sue the American government as a whole or just GW Bush and company.

Nostalgia

It was one of those moments. The only sounds - birds chirling and chirrupping, mourning doves cooing their mournful sound in a quiet, blurred conversation. The sun shining at just the right angle. A hint of cool in the warming air. And I was transported back to my childhood.

I remember mornings like this when I was a little girl. The house we lived in wasn't air conditioned, so the windows were open for the breeze wafting crisply through the rooms. Sometimes you'd hear a woodpecker going after the bugs in the trees or bees buzzing around the rosebushes just outside my bedroom. Now and then a car would start up and leave the double cul-de-sac. And, if it was early enough, you'd hear the donkey down the road braying loudly for his breakfast. hee - HAW. ... hee -HAW. ... hee - HAW. ... he-haw-he-haw-he-haw-he-haw!

On days like these, I'd be in my bedroom until it was "time to get up". I had one of those wonderful beveled mirrors above my dresser, and I remember finding just the right place to stand/sit so you looked really large or really tiny. It was so much fun spending time standing up, and sitting down, and standing up, and sitting down, just watching my size change back and forth. The fascinations of childhood.

It was just one of those moments. Transient. Catapulted to a fond memory of the past. All too short. Magic!

Progress

Inch by inch. Layer by layer. Mile of painter's tape by mile of painter's tape. Progress is happening. S-l-o-w-l-y.

This week I had the new garbage disposer installed, and learned that my dishwasher actually does work. Good news! One less thing that has to be replaced. The painting in the kitchen is completed, so the tape and coverings are now down.

I've discovered that it will cost about the same to re-tile my shower as it will to put in cultured marble. Now all I've got to do is contact the insurance company to get approval to go ahead with something. It's especially important since either way I go, it'll cost almost double what the insurance company allowed for the job.

Since I've been doing the contracting myself, I have a little bit extra for doing a couple of things that are best done while the house is in disarray: replace the linoleum in the kitchen and put in a new sliding glass door and front door. Both have their problems. And while I painted, I discovered that there's a whole lot of heat transfer at the doors. Energy efficiency is not their strong suit at the moment.

My "demon wall" in the dining room is beginning to look normal. It doesn't quite look like I threw blood at it any more. It's almost actually looking like it's supposed to. I think one more coat of paint will do it. *fingers crossed* Still a ways to go on the painting. There's trim and a bathroom, the rest of the laundry room and a little hallway, and that'll be done.

Now I think I'm going to work on stripping the paint - the paint that I'm wearing, that is. I may someday not look like a harlequin. At least I like the colors!

Morning Musings

For some bizarre reason, I can't get one of the commercials for the latest Will Ferrell movie out of my brain. It's a stupid, stupid commercial, and there's no way on the face of the earth I'd ever go to see it. I wouldn't even pay money to rent it. Besides the fact that I don't particularly care for Ferrell as an actor, the commercial shows that the premise and the acting are outrageously over the top. I simply don't waste good time or money on movies like that.

Yet I can almost tell you that the moral of the story will be of redeeming value, involving overcoming prejudice and triumphing over hatreds and biases. So maybe the movie itself will accomplish something that a more subtle telling of a similar story wouldn't.

If you don't know what movie I'm talking about, it's the one where two male figure skating rivals attack each other, are permanently banned from "men's figure skating", and then find a loophole to compete together in pairs. I figure (no pun intended) that the finale of the movie will be them skating the perfect routine and wowing the judges, thus forcing the judges to declare them the winners, to the ultimate adoration of the crowds they've won over. Actually, there's a part of me that wouldn't mind seeing something like that in real life. (Well, not the vicious rivalry and fighting part, but a well-matched pair, regardless of gender.)

Anyway, that earworm of a commercial got me to thinking about the tv show Scrubs. When it first came on, I tried to watch it once or twice. ACK! I absolutely detest such obviously cartoon-like acting. Five minutes, tops, was all I managed. Then my son came home. He likes the show. Being an adult and deciding to act that way, I "suffered" through it ... and have discovered some redeeming value in the process. There's generally a fairly solid life message embedded in the stories told, the kind of message that encourages relationship and growth and acknowledgement of our humanity. Scrubs will probably not rest on my "Top 10 Favorite TV Shows" list, but perhaps I've gotten past a bit of my own bias and prejudice in the process.

You still won't catch me paying money or wasting time to see the Will Ferrell movie!

Then, my eye was caught by a billboard for a local Christian academy, and I began to wonder if there exist any Christian schools that operate from a liberal theology. And, if not, then why haven't liberal Christians started any? There certainly aren't any in this neck of the Bible Belt.

Arriving at home, I pulled out the trusty Google search engine (at any rate, the more familiar to me Google search engine - we at least tend to think alike when searching). First, I tried "Christian school" and liberal. After getting umpty-thousand hits and looking at the first page or two, began shedding entries with words like "arts" and "college" in them. Still too many hits. And most of the ones in the first pages were conservative Christian school diatribes against liberal thought.

That wasn't working. Next tack - "liberal Christian school". That got me to a more manageable 174 hits. However, on the first two pages, most of the hits were either references to colleges or were commentary against liberal Christian schools. If you delete all references to college, you end up with 4 hits, and none of those had to do with actual places of education, but rather the "liberal Christian school of thought" or the like.

Either there aren't any, which probably isn't the case, or they choose not to identify themselves as liberal. Perhaps there's something oxymoronic about the term "liberal Christian school". In any case, it's something for me to ponder at a later date.

Booby Smush

Yesterday I took care of an annual obligation. It's not something I particularly enjoy, partly because there is an embarrasing component to it. It's not particularly painful, though there has usually been some discomfort involved. In the grand scheme of things, it's a momentary inconvenience; however, it is vital to one's health and well-being. I went for my mammogram.

It was actually a positive experience!

The Dauphin Center at Memorial Hermann Baptist in Beaumont opened in 2006, so it's pretty new. Sign-in didn't take long at all. When my name was called, I was taken back to the changing area, told to do the usual upper body disrobing, and asked to put my stuff in a locker with a key to take with me.

Figuring I was going to get the usual skimpy scratchy paper gown, I was surprised to see what looked almost like a terrycloth bathrobe waiting in the dressing room. When I picked it up to put it on, I was absolutely astonished. It was warm!! Even though they have to keep the equipment area cool, they were considerate enough to do what they could to keep their patients comfortable.

After changing and locking up my stuff, I had a few minutes before the mammogram. The waiting area was comfortable, with bottled water and coffee available. Now, I don't drink coffee, but if I did ... well, there was a veritable "Starbucks" of choices available. Chocolate coffee, raspberry coffee, mint coffee, about 20 different types to choose from. WOW!

Since I was the second appointment after lunch, I didn't have long to wait. If you've never had a mammogram before, you get to stand next to the x-ray machine while the technician places your boob in the appropriate spot, body draped in semi-awkward position around the machine, then this clear plastic shape is lowered onto the boob, smushing it into the proper configuration. That's the part I've never liked, and it's often been just beyond discomfort into the realm of painful. Not here. The Dauphin Center has a digital mammogram machine and it apparently doesn't have to smush quite as hard as the regular machines do.

Four poses. Four smushes. Four bzzzt's. And it was over. No "wait here for a few minutes while I check to see if the pictures came out ok." No retakes. I was free to change clothes and go. Marvelous!

The staff of the Center was wonderful. Just the right balance of caring and professionalism. I usually figure I'm a rather glorious shade of red throughout the entire experience. Not this time. The people knew what they were doing and went about their business without me feeling I was on the spot and exposed.

Won't have the results back for about a week, so I won't be disclosing either rejoicing or fear right now. I'm not anticipating a negative result, but you never can tell. That's why one's annual mammogram is so important. It's an opportunity to take action early enough to make a difference if there is a problem.

Ladies, please do whatever you have to do to have an annual mammogram. I'm lucky. My insurance thinks it's such an important preventative test that they completely cover the cost. If you don't have insurance, check with your local breast cancer association. There are resources available to cover the cost based on ability to pay, free if you don't have the bucks or insurance. This is important stuff. Please, please, please don't neglect it.

Also, please don't neglect something simple you can do on a monthly basis - a self-exam. If you feel a lump or any abnormality, get thee to a physician ASAP! It may mean the difference between life and death. (OK - some of you may believe you're indestructible and that death is a century or two away. You may be right. Yet you may also be felled by something that seems so trivial as a little blip on a breast. Please don't take any chances.)

And, Gentlemen, while it occurs more rarely in men, this is not a "ladies only" disease. Breast cancer doesn't care about your gender when it decides to strike. That self-exam? Wouldn't hurt for you to do that, too. None of your friends would have to know about it, since you do it in the shower. At the first sign of a lump or bump, get it checked. We ladies enjoy having you around! Wouldn't want to lose you to breast cancer either.

So, ladies, if you haven't done it already, it's 2007. Time to schedule your annual booby smush. *chuckle*

Odd Moment

Are sneezes something like yawns? Are they something you can 'catch' from someone else? Or if someone mentions them, do you suddenly feel the urge to sneeze? Or was this truly a coincidence?

Here I was working the crossword puzzle and the clue was "It often evokes a blessing". My brain said "sneeze". I did.

Of course, there aren't enough letters in the answer for 'sneeze' to be correct, but it was a rather odd moment. *chuckle*

The correct answer was "Achoo".

Gesundheit!

Mini-Rant

Headline: Police arrest girls, bank teller in heist

The story? "Police arrested two 19-year-old girls ..."

AHEM! Those 19-year-olds aren't girls. They are women!!

As I read the headline, I figured some bank teller colluded with some 15-16 year olds and attempted to rob a bank. True, teenagers that age are sometimes bound over for trial as adults; however, as a society, we tend to consider youth that age as 'not responsible' in an adult way for their actions. Parents or other legal guardians must be notified and involved in any legal proceedings, unless the young person has been legally emancipated. Generally, such a young person is tried in the juvenile justice system, unless there are some extraordinary circumstances involved.

Then you hit 18.

Eighteen is when young people are considered adult and parents/legal guardians drop out of the legal picture. No longer are parents/guardians required for the now-adult to receive medical care. No longer do parents/guardians automatically receive information from schools or physicians about their 'young charges', unless said 'young charges' give written permission for the information to be shared. And, no longer must parents/guardians be contacted before police interrogate them when a crime has been committed.

Excuse me! At that point, it's time to drop the term "girl" and shift to "woman". I'm curious. Would the Associated Press have even reported the robbery if it had been two 19-year-old "boys" (to be consistent in terminology) committing the crime? If they had, would the term "boys" have even been used?

Personally, the terms "girl" and "boy" used to describe those who are legally adult infantilizes the person described. It says at a subconscious level that the person should not be held completely accountable for their actions, and should still be under the guidance and tutelage of someone older, someone who's truly adult. It says that the person is not capable of completely understanding the consequences of their actions, and it says that the person is not capable of functioning as an adult. (Although, I suspect that at this moment those young women are wishing that were true.)

I realize that the usage of "girl" and "boy" to describe young adults (and, not so young adults in some cultural settings) won't be ended simply because I get on my high horse whenever I see/hear it used. However, I have a hard time letting it go without saying something.

Ok. I'm through now, boys and girls, er ...... ladies and gentlemen. ;) Carry on.

A Splash of Paint

Well, the walls have been splashed with color. But the task's not completed. The den's finished and looks beautiful. The entry hallway is partially splashed, and the bright yellow is especially cheery. It shouldn't take too long to finish it. Most of the kitchen is gently painted with a soft white and looks fresh. The only part I couldn't get to there is filled with my piano and the one chair that didn't get relocated to the garage. Primer coats cover all those places that still need painting, so all that needs to happen is to show up in painting garb and start working.

And then there's the dining room.

The color is to be a rich, deep, purplish wine color. The first coat looked more like a watercolor wash than latex paint and used almost half a gallon of paint. For the second coat, I really loaded the paintbrush and had a difficult time getting it to cover the light spots. To put it mildly, the dining room sucks. The color isn't the color it's supposed to be. It looks almost like I painted with blood instead of latex paint. Gross, I know.

So I head back to the local paint store with gallon in hand to ask if perhaps I had a defective gallon of paint. There I learn that I should have been told about some kind of gray primer paint that helps "red toned" paints cover well. I also learn that in order to find out if it's actually defective paint (instead of defective information), I have to get the local paint company rep to actually come to my house and look at the walls. The local rep lives in Houston, and didn't answer his cellphone. *sigh* I hope I can get hold of him tomorrow. It puts a hold on my finishing the painting part of my 'return to home' project.

I'm currently not completely sure who I should be angry with - the store where I bought the paint or the paint company. Whichever, I'm not a happy camper! This was not what I needed this week. I think I'm going to just go over here and grump in the corner for a while. Don't mind me. I'll get over it!