Visions of Sugarplums
I’m not an avid dreamer – to my knowledge. I know that I talk in my sleep on occasion – but very seldom have any memory of the dreams that I have. Jose however remembers many of his dreams – and remembers several of them. Now, they are almost always set in El Salvador – and there’s usually some sort of gun / danger or sign from god – and I suppose if my dreams were ½ as interesting, I’d remember them more too. But I don’t. Now that’s not to say that I don’t have a relatively vivid imagination. I remember that not long after I became a mother, I discovered that the 90% of my brain that I wasn’t using was apparently devising scenarios in which I would be in some life threatening situation and I would have to figure out a way to save Elijah and then myself. Every yellow light – go or stay – decision was met with a flash of a horrific car crash and my trying to get Elijah from the burning car. And such a “fantasy” is what had me up this morning at 3:45 – and then coloring my hair at 4:00 a.m. because I couldn’t get back to sleep. I don’t know if I was having a dream – but I awoke in the save the kids mode – the scenario – someone was trying to steal my car – (the scenario was from the Law & Order episode from that evening). And how would I talk the man with a gun into letting me get the kids out of the car and not killing any of us. That turned into a simple stolen car with baby inside scenario. On some level these scenes seem psychotic – crazy – but as I was brushing my teeth at 4:15 with hair dye in – I decided that there was some benefit to the scenario. They are sort of like personal plans of actions. I mean at least I’m thinking about something – how is it any different from a fire escape plan for the house. At which point I immediately decided that I would have to get Elijah out of the window first and then hand him Isaiah. And of course as I’m typing I’m hoping if ever there is a fire – I have enough warning to grab all my pictures and scrapbooks before I have to leave – because my pictures are irreplaceable – though the first few years should have thousands scattered among family members – Anyway – I’ll probably invest in a fireproof box someday and store my stuff in there – As for my carjacking scenario – I didn’t really get anything resolved with that issue – and have decided that it would be good to carry my digital camera in my pocket at all times to get pictures of anyone who tries to steal my kids – unless I’m have a really bad day and then decide they can keep them for an hour or two.
As an aside – I saw the news today with the 2 month old who was pulled from the water in a garbage bag. And after I recovered from the total lack of understanding and healthy dose of horror that anyone would do that as I’m trying to find some way to prevent such things from ever happening to my kids – I wanted to point out that the people who saved that child were Hispanic. And thank god for the Hispanic people who are out by the river in February – probably fishing – and able to save that child’s life. What a lucky little kid he/she will be – cure for cancer as we walk.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
The Minority
The Minority
We had an F.F.O to Atlanta this weekend to see the Honda Battle of the Bands. A marching band competition, not unlike the one seen in Drumline – without all the extra drama of course. It was something that my mom wanted to do – and so we all piled up in the car and headed on down.
The band competition itself was alright. Jose, the kids and I only stayed for the first 5 bands. They sort of all blended together and seemed a bit the same. And marching bands in the Georgia dome really start to sound like a lot of noise and rumbling after a while.
There were 70,000 people in the Georgia Dome and I would say that 69,985 of them were black. I think that Jose was the only Hispanic person that I saw – but to be fair, I didn’t see all 70,000 people. It was a bit of a lesson in cultural diversity. There was a dj who would come on and talk to the crowd a bit between sessions. And then they would play some music – I had always operated under the assumption that it was possible to enjoy music without standing up to do so. Engaging in seat dancing is perfectly acceptable as well. But such was not the case at the Battle of the Bands. You’d have thought we were at an exercise class the people were up and down so much. It was sort of like going to a Pentecostal church except we were worshiping sound instead of Jesus. It was very interesting.
I spent no small amount of my time there trying to find people like me – and the rest trying not to piss the man off in front of me – he was bald and Isaiah thought this was really interesting and anytime he came close to the man’s head, he had to touch it. And if he wasn’t touching the blind man’s head, he was throwing his boppy down by the bald man’s son’s feet. The son was always very helpful in retrieving it – but kept looking at us as if we were aliens from another planet. I don’t know if perhaps he’d never seen anyone Hispanic before – or if he was trying to figure out how the Hispanic man fit into the group with the old white woman, the two fat white women (who really would have fit into the crowd as big white women are always fag hags or dating black men), the big redneck looking white boy and the two white kids.
Overall, it was a decent experience. No one seemed thuggish, or rude, or ill mannered – but perhaps they bought their seats late and were sitting up high in the ranks. I think that we were sitting in the seats with the parents of the participants – so that means we were with the families of college kids – which is not the same as the kids who go to my school.
All in all – I would recommend that you watch it on television instead of going – unless you want to see the aquarium – which was pretty nice – but you need to see it on a weekday – because it’s busy fast and that’s no where you want to be with little kids.
We had an F.F.O to Atlanta this weekend to see the Honda Battle of the Bands. A marching band competition, not unlike the one seen in Drumline – without all the extra drama of course. It was something that my mom wanted to do – and so we all piled up in the car and headed on down.
The band competition itself was alright. Jose, the kids and I only stayed for the first 5 bands. They sort of all blended together and seemed a bit the same. And marching bands in the Georgia dome really start to sound like a lot of noise and rumbling after a while.
There were 70,000 people in the Georgia Dome and I would say that 69,985 of them were black. I think that Jose was the only Hispanic person that I saw – but to be fair, I didn’t see all 70,000 people. It was a bit of a lesson in cultural diversity. There was a dj who would come on and talk to the crowd a bit between sessions. And then they would play some music – I had always operated under the assumption that it was possible to enjoy music without standing up to do so. Engaging in seat dancing is perfectly acceptable as well. But such was not the case at the Battle of the Bands. You’d have thought we were at an exercise class the people were up and down so much. It was sort of like going to a Pentecostal church except we were worshiping sound instead of Jesus. It was very interesting.
I spent no small amount of my time there trying to find people like me – and the rest trying not to piss the man off in front of me – he was bald and Isaiah thought this was really interesting and anytime he came close to the man’s head, he had to touch it. And if he wasn’t touching the blind man’s head, he was throwing his boppy down by the bald man’s son’s feet. The son was always very helpful in retrieving it – but kept looking at us as if we were aliens from another planet. I don’t know if perhaps he’d never seen anyone Hispanic before – or if he was trying to figure out how the Hispanic man fit into the group with the old white woman, the two fat white women (who really would have fit into the crowd as big white women are always fag hags or dating black men), the big redneck looking white boy and the two white kids.
Overall, it was a decent experience. No one seemed thuggish, or rude, or ill mannered – but perhaps they bought their seats late and were sitting up high in the ranks. I think that we were sitting in the seats with the parents of the participants – so that means we were with the families of college kids – which is not the same as the kids who go to my school.
All in all – I would recommend that you watch it on television instead of going – unless you want to see the aquarium – which was pretty nice – but you need to see it on a weekday – because it’s busy fast and that’s no where you want to be with little kids.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
The Myth of Exercise
The Myth of Exercise
Alright – I have been at this walking thing for almost 3 weeks now – or it could be 4 weeks – hard really for me to tell, the days are all blurring together in my old age. And I have stumbled upon the myth of exercise. You know how when your flipping through the channels and you see some exercise guru telling you how much better you feel when you exercise. And how you’ll have more energy and everything just feels better, tastes better, is better when you exercise regularly.
Well – they are lying. Or actually, to be fair, they are using the money they earn while filming the info-mercial to buy drugs so they feel peppy – because I can say that after 3 or 4 weeks of walking at least 1 ½ miles (and sometimes 2 or 2 ½ miles) a day – I still feel like crap. Worse than that, when I get home, I’m so sore – in my body protest for actually performing a physical task – that I don’t want to move at all. On top of that – I’m usually starving – and eat bad foods right after. And as I don’t have a scale and am waiting for the final call when I go to see Dr. Cofoid (my endrocinologist) I am doubtful if there is any weight loss as well – though I can tell you when I’m sitting almost immobile in the chair, I do think my calves have shaped up – and are looking quite nice – but that’s probably exhaustion induced hallucinations.
So, I know that man you have had bouts of exercise – and if you feel better when you exercise – and it’s not a mental sense of accomplishment that you were able to withstand the torture and are now prepared to be captured by an enemy army because there’s really nothing that they can do to you that you can’t withstand as long as you’re laying down – well then I don’t want to hear it – I think it must mean that you are way tooo skinny and don’t need to be walking anyway.
And for the rest of you – any of you in Bowling Green, are more than welcome to join me as I huff, puff, and complain about the lack of a perfectly flat walking surface at Freeman Park or Richpond Elementary – usually about 3:00 – they both have fenced parks in constant view – and we’re always happy to have a playdate.
Alright – I have been at this walking thing for almost 3 weeks now – or it could be 4 weeks – hard really for me to tell, the days are all blurring together in my old age. And I have stumbled upon the myth of exercise. You know how when your flipping through the channels and you see some exercise guru telling you how much better you feel when you exercise. And how you’ll have more energy and everything just feels better, tastes better, is better when you exercise regularly.
Well – they are lying. Or actually, to be fair, they are using the money they earn while filming the info-mercial to buy drugs so they feel peppy – because I can say that after 3 or 4 weeks of walking at least 1 ½ miles (and sometimes 2 or 2 ½ miles) a day – I still feel like crap. Worse than that, when I get home, I’m so sore – in my body protest for actually performing a physical task – that I don’t want to move at all. On top of that – I’m usually starving – and eat bad foods right after. And as I don’t have a scale and am waiting for the final call when I go to see Dr. Cofoid (my endrocinologist) I am doubtful if there is any weight loss as well – though I can tell you when I’m sitting almost immobile in the chair, I do think my calves have shaped up – and are looking quite nice – but that’s probably exhaustion induced hallucinations.
So, I know that man you have had bouts of exercise – and if you feel better when you exercise – and it’s not a mental sense of accomplishment that you were able to withstand the torture and are now prepared to be captured by an enemy army because there’s really nothing that they can do to you that you can’t withstand as long as you’re laying down – well then I don’t want to hear it – I think it must mean that you are way tooo skinny and don’t need to be walking anyway.
And for the rest of you – any of you in Bowling Green, are more than welcome to join me as I huff, puff, and complain about the lack of a perfectly flat walking surface at Freeman Park or Richpond Elementary – usually about 3:00 – they both have fenced parks in constant view – and we’re always happy to have a playdate.
The Near Death Experience
My Husband and his bout with death
I am blogging this story – because like many of Jose’s stories it’s funny – and because I feel a little bad because I haven’t blogged lately. So anyway… When Jose and I were first dating – seriously dating – serious enough that I had seen him with his shirt off anyway but hadn’t yet used the “when we get married” phrase that would be noted as a proposal – I noticed that Jose had a small round scar on his chest right above his heart, and another larger scar under his arm. When I asked him about hit, he told me that he had been shot – and here things get a bit fuzzy – he may have said I got shot by the National Guard army or he may have said he was shot by the army. What I heard was that he’d been shot when he was in the army. And I was duly impressed. A battle scar, a close call with death. And close it was. He told me that he had been shot and that he had almost died because it took him about 3 days to get to the hospital and his lungs were filling up with blood. That’s why he had the second scar, to drain the fluid from his lungs. Just a real soldier story.
Now, like so many of the things that Jose told me during the first months of our relationship, there was some miscommunication. If I haven’t told you about the age thing – then let me know and I’ll post that blog later – or the Franklin thing – really there are so many little things. Anyway, by the time that I finally found out the real story, I was probably forcing him to retell the story to some family member – and most likely we were already married – so that gives us about 9 months to a year from the original telling of the story. It would seem that Jose didn’t receive his battle wound bravely in battle defending his nation. No the real reason was a bit less, umm, dramatic.
Here’s the real story. Jose’s parents live in a small town called El Paisnal. It is in the central portion of El Salvador and remote. Until 6 years ago, they had no electricity. They have just gotten phone lines and a paved road. During the civil war in El Salvador, El Paisnal was close to a guerilla base. Guerillas are the bad guys – or at least our government thought so – though as El Salvador doesn’t have any oil I can’t imagine why we really cared – based on past humanitarian efforts. Anyway, because the the guerilla encampments nearby, most residents of El Paisnal tended to stay close to home. Better safe than sorry, as the Guerillas didn’t really care who they killed. However, Jose and a few of his friends – in what can only be considered male ignorance – must have been sitting around one afternoon trying to figure out what to do with the day. There is a little river that is close to Jose’s house – an easy walking trip and one that they took often when they were younger, before the war escalated. And like men, they used their big male brains and decided with the Guerillas camped so closely, for so long, that probably no one had been fishing in that stream for a long time. They could probably go and catch a lot of fish pretty quickly. To be fair, they were often reduced to eating small sparrow like birds and iguanas, if they could catch them, because meat was meat and money was scarce. So, Jose and his friends grabbed their gear and headed out to the river. And while they were fishing, a national guard (good guys) patrol saw them fishing. And like any good soldiers, saw scruffy men fishing in a Guerilla infested area and shot first. Jose was shot in the chest. He says that he stood up with his fishing pole and was telling them to take it easy. However, one of his friends was a little more fight or flight oriented and was running out of the area as fast as he could. I think Jose said he was shot in the butt on his way out. Anyway, the guardsmen took Jose and his other friend into custody. But they didn’t rush him to the hospital – it took them three days to get to the hospital. During that time Jose’s family didn’t have any idea where he was – and suspected that he was most likely dead – especially when they contacted the area hospitals and there was no report of his being there.
So anyway – it’s still kind of dramatic – the near life experience – really beats my ruptured appendix on a Friday when I wanted to skip school and not having surgery until a Monday because it’s better to be sure that you’re really sick instead of paying a doctor’s bill for nothing. But still – it would have been really nice to have the story accompanied by a – I was on guard duty protecting the orphanage. I heard a twig snap in the woods and was on full alert. Suddenly, before I had a chance to make a sound – I heard gunfire and felt this stinging pain in my chest. The last thing I remember is the face of my enemy looking over me. I woke up three days later . . . something like that – but no – my ever pragmatic husband simply has the daddy of all fish tales.
I am blogging this story – because like many of Jose’s stories it’s funny – and because I feel a little bad because I haven’t blogged lately. So anyway… When Jose and I were first dating – seriously dating – serious enough that I had seen him with his shirt off anyway but hadn’t yet used the “when we get married” phrase that would be noted as a proposal – I noticed that Jose had a small round scar on his chest right above his heart, and another larger scar under his arm. When I asked him about hit, he told me that he had been shot – and here things get a bit fuzzy – he may have said I got shot by the National Guard army or he may have said he was shot by the army. What I heard was that he’d been shot when he was in the army. And I was duly impressed. A battle scar, a close call with death. And close it was. He told me that he had been shot and that he had almost died because it took him about 3 days to get to the hospital and his lungs were filling up with blood. That’s why he had the second scar, to drain the fluid from his lungs. Just a real soldier story.
Now, like so many of the things that Jose told me during the first months of our relationship, there was some miscommunication. If I haven’t told you about the age thing – then let me know and I’ll post that blog later – or the Franklin thing – really there are so many little things. Anyway, by the time that I finally found out the real story, I was probably forcing him to retell the story to some family member – and most likely we were already married – so that gives us about 9 months to a year from the original telling of the story. It would seem that Jose didn’t receive his battle wound bravely in battle defending his nation. No the real reason was a bit less, umm, dramatic.
Here’s the real story. Jose’s parents live in a small town called El Paisnal. It is in the central portion of El Salvador and remote. Until 6 years ago, they had no electricity. They have just gotten phone lines and a paved road. During the civil war in El Salvador, El Paisnal was close to a guerilla base. Guerillas are the bad guys – or at least our government thought so – though as El Salvador doesn’t have any oil I can’t imagine why we really cared – based on past humanitarian efforts. Anyway, because the the guerilla encampments nearby, most residents of El Paisnal tended to stay close to home. Better safe than sorry, as the Guerillas didn’t really care who they killed. However, Jose and a few of his friends – in what can only be considered male ignorance – must have been sitting around one afternoon trying to figure out what to do with the day. There is a little river that is close to Jose’s house – an easy walking trip and one that they took often when they were younger, before the war escalated. And like men, they used their big male brains and decided with the Guerillas camped so closely, for so long, that probably no one had been fishing in that stream for a long time. They could probably go and catch a lot of fish pretty quickly. To be fair, they were often reduced to eating small sparrow like birds and iguanas, if they could catch them, because meat was meat and money was scarce. So, Jose and his friends grabbed their gear and headed out to the river. And while they were fishing, a national guard (good guys) patrol saw them fishing. And like any good soldiers, saw scruffy men fishing in a Guerilla infested area and shot first. Jose was shot in the chest. He says that he stood up with his fishing pole and was telling them to take it easy. However, one of his friends was a little more fight or flight oriented and was running out of the area as fast as he could. I think Jose said he was shot in the butt on his way out. Anyway, the guardsmen took Jose and his other friend into custody. But they didn’t rush him to the hospital – it took them three days to get to the hospital. During that time Jose’s family didn’t have any idea where he was – and suspected that he was most likely dead – especially when they contacted the area hospitals and there was no report of his being there.
So anyway – it’s still kind of dramatic – the near life experience – really beats my ruptured appendix on a Friday when I wanted to skip school and not having surgery until a Monday because it’s better to be sure that you’re really sick instead of paying a doctor’s bill for nothing. But still – it would have been really nice to have the story accompanied by a – I was on guard duty protecting the orphanage. I heard a twig snap in the woods and was on full alert. Suddenly, before I had a chance to make a sound – I heard gunfire and felt this stinging pain in my chest. The last thing I remember is the face of my enemy looking over me. I woke up three days later . . . something like that – but no – my ever pragmatic husband simply has the daddy of all fish tales.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
On Faith
On Faith
My friend Ashlee is struggling with an issue of faith. She wants her son to have a deep-seated, unshakeable faith in Christianity. It’s important to her. I get the feeling that she is, herself, a bit of a doubting Tom when it comes to faith – and she blames that, in part, because she wasn’t raised in the church. It’s a conversation we’ve had often – and I work very hard to help her find the her way – in the direction she wants to go – though it’s not really my own path.
I agree with Ashlee that growing up in the church will / can create in a person a deep, unshakeable faith. It becomes part of the unconscious mind – the doctrine of Christianity. But when I think of it – it also has these overtones of Osama’s and Hitler’s children troops. Not that I’m comparing the beliefs of the two – but rather the understanding that the strongest believers are grown from childhood – “brainwashed” if you will. (And before I go any further – Stephanie let me apologize for what is surely about to be a disappointing entry for you – as I know that you are a person of strong faith in the organization of the church). And there is a simplicity in that type of faith. It’s black and white, you don’t question it – it’s just there – like the sky. And I have been in many a service and looked about me and seen people who are deeply religious and admired their faith – and sometimes coveted it – but never enough to seek it for myself. And on that point, several services come to mind in which the preacher has cautioned that pride and the desire to maintain control over one’s life will keep one from ever truly having faith. And, I would have to say if that’s the argument then I can certainly prove it. Because my control over my life – my belief that I am in control of the choices that I make and the life that I have created has long been a part of my thought process. And I credit, give praise, thank GOD that he has given me the intelligence, strength of character and stamina to withstand the trials and tribulations that have made me the person that I am today. I don’t believe that the bad things that have happened in my life are there because Satan put them there to test me – but because God put them there to teach me a lesson.
So – here we go – shall we do a famous list.
The Questions:
Why did God seem to talk to everyone in the old testament but only seems to speak to Pat Roberts(on?), owner of TBN, now – and if he was going to pick only one person to speak to – couldn’t it have been someone who wouldn’t seem so crazy?
What kind of God has to ask where Abel is – I mean didn’t he already know?
What kind of God asks a man to kill his only son, in his name – just to say he was “just checking” right before the blade falls?
What kind of God says that Abel’s slaughtered meat is a better sacrifice than the fruit of the earth that Cain slaved over?
What kind of God (parent) would take his first children in their infancy and say – here is a wonderful tree with beautiful fruit – don’t eat it though. That’s like me leaving a $20 on my desk and expecting it to be there at the end of the day –
If the commandment says No Other gods BEFORE me – does that mean there can be a few after or equal to?
What kind of God creates a person that is gay – and gay from birth – or from 5 years old – (and it happens that way ) and then says they’re going to hell for simply living life the way he created them in the first place.
What kind of God would condemn to Hell most of the people in the world because they don’t believe in him in one specified way. Is it not possible that he changes his appearance and his speech and his doctrine to best suit the people he wants to reach?
And how can anyone believe that we are the only people in the universe. Does that mean all other life forms are going to hell – And statistically – there is really no way that we are the only living creatures in the entire universe – It’s just not possible –
And maybe I’m wrong – and doomed to hell because I can’t get past the logistics of it all. And I can’t get past the corruption of the church itself – Worship – well that’s free – but religion, churches, – those are politics and power and have been for centuries –
I don’t know – there are just so many questions, arguments, ½ truths, myths, innuendos – and what not – and that’s why they call it faith – And to me the church is too much faith in man and not enough faith in a higher power – church is about money, position, and power – and I can’t get past that. Except for the time when the music is going – I feel no spirit in the church – and that may be because it’s my spirit that is lacking – But there are so many other times that I am overwhelmed with gratitude by the blessings that I have been given.
So, I guess it’s just like I tell Jose – if heaven is how they describe it at church – chances are I’m not going – and if it’s like Brother Kevin describes it – then thank God for that small favor. Personally – I’m sort of hoping that it’s a bit more like the movie powder – energy released into the universe – or alternate planes of existence – or even reincarnation – it all makes sense – and if I’m wrong – and you’re going to heaven – Well, umm.. if I’m not dead yet – if you want to come and write a message on my wall, or mirror – or in the Ouija board – you just feel free --
My friend Ashlee is struggling with an issue of faith. She wants her son to have a deep-seated, unshakeable faith in Christianity. It’s important to her. I get the feeling that she is, herself, a bit of a doubting Tom when it comes to faith – and she blames that, in part, because she wasn’t raised in the church. It’s a conversation we’ve had often – and I work very hard to help her find the her way – in the direction she wants to go – though it’s not really my own path.
I agree with Ashlee that growing up in the church will / can create in a person a deep, unshakeable faith. It becomes part of the unconscious mind – the doctrine of Christianity. But when I think of it – it also has these overtones of Osama’s and Hitler’s children troops. Not that I’m comparing the beliefs of the two – but rather the understanding that the strongest believers are grown from childhood – “brainwashed” if you will. (And before I go any further – Stephanie let me apologize for what is surely about to be a disappointing entry for you – as I know that you are a person of strong faith in the organization of the church). And there is a simplicity in that type of faith. It’s black and white, you don’t question it – it’s just there – like the sky. And I have been in many a service and looked about me and seen people who are deeply religious and admired their faith – and sometimes coveted it – but never enough to seek it for myself. And on that point, several services come to mind in which the preacher has cautioned that pride and the desire to maintain control over one’s life will keep one from ever truly having faith. And, I would have to say if that’s the argument then I can certainly prove it. Because my control over my life – my belief that I am in control of the choices that I make and the life that I have created has long been a part of my thought process. And I credit, give praise, thank GOD that he has given me the intelligence, strength of character and stamina to withstand the trials and tribulations that have made me the person that I am today. I don’t believe that the bad things that have happened in my life are there because Satan put them there to test me – but because God put them there to teach me a lesson.
So – here we go – shall we do a famous list.
The Questions:
Why did God seem to talk to everyone in the old testament but only seems to speak to Pat Roberts(on?), owner of TBN, now – and if he was going to pick only one person to speak to – couldn’t it have been someone who wouldn’t seem so crazy?
What kind of God has to ask where Abel is – I mean didn’t he already know?
What kind of God asks a man to kill his only son, in his name – just to say he was “just checking” right before the blade falls?
What kind of God says that Abel’s slaughtered meat is a better sacrifice than the fruit of the earth that Cain slaved over?
What kind of God (parent) would take his first children in their infancy and say – here is a wonderful tree with beautiful fruit – don’t eat it though. That’s like me leaving a $20 on my desk and expecting it to be there at the end of the day –
If the commandment says No Other gods BEFORE me – does that mean there can be a few after or equal to?
What kind of God creates a person that is gay – and gay from birth – or from 5 years old – (and it happens that way ) and then says they’re going to hell for simply living life the way he created them in the first place.
What kind of God would condemn to Hell most of the people in the world because they don’t believe in him in one specified way. Is it not possible that he changes his appearance and his speech and his doctrine to best suit the people he wants to reach?
And how can anyone believe that we are the only people in the universe. Does that mean all other life forms are going to hell – And statistically – there is really no way that we are the only living creatures in the entire universe – It’s just not possible –
And maybe I’m wrong – and doomed to hell because I can’t get past the logistics of it all. And I can’t get past the corruption of the church itself – Worship – well that’s free – but religion, churches, – those are politics and power and have been for centuries –
I don’t know – there are just so many questions, arguments, ½ truths, myths, innuendos – and what not – and that’s why they call it faith – And to me the church is too much faith in man and not enough faith in a higher power – church is about money, position, and power – and I can’t get past that. Except for the time when the music is going – I feel no spirit in the church – and that may be because it’s my spirit that is lacking – But there are so many other times that I am overwhelmed with gratitude by the blessings that I have been given.
So, I guess it’s just like I tell Jose – if heaven is how they describe it at church – chances are I’m not going – and if it’s like Brother Kevin describes it – then thank God for that small favor. Personally – I’m sort of hoping that it’s a bit more like the movie powder – energy released into the universe – or alternate planes of existence – or even reincarnation – it all makes sense – and if I’m wrong – and you’re going to heaven – Well, umm.. if I’m not dead yet – if you want to come and write a message on my wall, or mirror – or in the Ouija board – you just feel free --
Saturday, January 07, 2006
On DialUp
On Dial-Up
This may be an unknown topic for many of you. Dial-up that good old 56k transfer speed. Let me put in perspective. Dial-up is to a direct service line (DSL) as a wave is to a Tsunami. Or for those women who are reading this, it’s like when you OBGYN says you’re going to feel a little pressure has he/she tries to put their hand through your body to scratch an itch behind your ear.
Why should such a thing be annoying? Well, as some of you know, I’m a movie maker / video scrapbooker. Stephanie if you’d send me your email – I’d start sending you these wonderful treasures as well – though if you are on dial-up you won’t want them at all – because they only take forever to send via email. Sigh. It’s sad really. In fact, it takes so long to send them, that for the most part, I could get in my car and drive to Cadiz to personally deliver them only slightly slower than it takes for me to send them there via email. And then there’s the download time on the other end as well. Truly, an annoying thing.
And perhaps I wouldn’t find the process so annoying if it weren’t for the fact that Ashlee, who lives a mere 3 miles from my house – if you don’t have to drive the country roads – has fast access – FAST ACCESS!!! It’s discrimination I tell you – It almost makes me wish that they’d build more houses around here so they’d have to upgrade the phone lines and I could have fast access. But I’m not sure if I’d consider the extra houses a good thing. I’d be just as happy with a lottery win, at which point, I’d make my own server… I don’t know how you do that, but I know people who do know. I’m sure that I could get some people out here who’d pay good money for the privilege.
Anyway, the blog is stemming from my need to be connected indefinitely to the internet while I’m waiting for this file to send via email – and I figured I might as well blog while I was here.
This may be an unknown topic for many of you. Dial-up that good old 56k transfer speed. Let me put in perspective. Dial-up is to a direct service line (DSL) as a wave is to a Tsunami. Or for those women who are reading this, it’s like when you OBGYN says you’re going to feel a little pressure has he/she tries to put their hand through your body to scratch an itch behind your ear.
Why should such a thing be annoying? Well, as some of you know, I’m a movie maker / video scrapbooker. Stephanie if you’d send me your email – I’d start sending you these wonderful treasures as well – though if you are on dial-up you won’t want them at all – because they only take forever to send via email. Sigh. It’s sad really. In fact, it takes so long to send them, that for the most part, I could get in my car and drive to Cadiz to personally deliver them only slightly slower than it takes for me to send them there via email. And then there’s the download time on the other end as well. Truly, an annoying thing.
And perhaps I wouldn’t find the process so annoying if it weren’t for the fact that Ashlee, who lives a mere 3 miles from my house – if you don’t have to drive the country roads – has fast access – FAST ACCESS!!! It’s discrimination I tell you – It almost makes me wish that they’d build more houses around here so they’d have to upgrade the phone lines and I could have fast access. But I’m not sure if I’d consider the extra houses a good thing. I’d be just as happy with a lottery win, at which point, I’d make my own server… I don’t know how you do that, but I know people who do know. I’m sure that I could get some people out here who’d pay good money for the privilege.
Anyway, the blog is stemming from my need to be connected indefinitely to the internet while I’m waiting for this file to send via email – and I figured I might as well blog while I was here.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
On Exercise
On Exercise
Alright, here we go. I’ve decided that with diabetes and well about 125 extra pounds, sitting on the couch and using my fingers to change channels isn’t really going to do me much good. So, today, I started my exercise regime. Rest assured, it’s nothing exciting. I’m just going to be going from walking trail to walking trail and walking – and I’m only walking for 20 minutes – by god they say 20 minutes, 3 times a week is all you need and I’m holding them to it. But, for those of you who don’t remember the sheer joy of this endeavor, I thought I’d recount the experience from today to refresh your memory.
The tale must begin with this morning when I had to make a conscious decision to put my shoes in my backpack. The debate was, could I and would I walk with my regular shoes. And the answer is by 2:30 in the afternoon I would use the shoes as an excuse not to walk. So I passed the first hurdle.
I put the idea of actually moving from my mind during the school day. Why suffer through the walk all day long. It wasn’t something that I wanted to do, and after having finished it, it’s still something that I don’t want to do. At the end of the day, I met Jose, per the norm, at the Junior high school – still not sure if I was going to make it to the park. But then, I took a decisive step in the program. I told Elijah that we were going to the little park. At which point he was pretty happy, hoping that there would be someone there with whom he could play. As it was a dreary day, I didn’t dash his hopes. Then, we had to get gasoline. I even used the restroom at the gas station so I couldn’t use the I have to pee as an excuse not to stop.
We got to the park, and I decided that shoot, why not make everyone miserable and I challenged Elijah to a race. He’s a bit pudgy and it couldn’t hurt to get him involved too. So he immediately started to jog. O.K. I thought, a little jog, that would be good. No, imagine if you will a narwhal dressed in khaki pants and black snowflake jacket hobbling semi-quickly across the yard and you have a decent image. You know, fat makes a weird smacking sound when you run – it’s sort of like that pornographic sex smacking sound – nice image huh – And I made it almost 1/10th of a mile before I felt that I’d better stop that because I’d most likely have a heart attack and I didn’t have my cell phone and if I were to have a heart attack there was no way that I could send Elijah to get help – and really was that the sort of memory that I wanted to create for my son anyway. So I slowed down. It took a good 4/10ths of a mile before I was able to breath normally again. But I can guarantee that I got my heart rate going and all of the rest of my mile counted as exercise for sure. Elijah walked the first ½ mile – the ½ mile in which I was deciding whether or not ½ a mile is good enough for a first attempt. ½ mile is good – yeah, it’s really good, it’s the effort that counts – that’s all. I came, and I walked. ½ mile was enough for today. I’d work my way up. But then when I finished the ½ mile and looked at my watch, it was only 10 minutes – damn that speed at the beginning – now I have to walk 10 more minutes, might as well finish the damn mile. So, I did. And had to bribe Elijah with another park so that I wouldn’t have to go and push him on the swing. And to be fair, Isaiah was offering encouragement the entire way. Just singing me on to completion – though I strongly suspect that, like Elijah, he likes to sing on bumpy roads because he likes the way it makes his voice vibrate.
Now, I’m sure you’re thinking that at least I had a strong sense of achievement when I was finished – the I did it and I’m proud sort of response. And the answer would be … umm no. I immediately began to think about whether I needed to do this every day, or would every other day be enough. Really, I only need 3 times a week, does it really matter which three times it is? Really?
So, here I am, a little achy – drinking my sugar free coffee and praying the kids fall to sleep really early – and purposely not thinking about what I’ll do tomorrow. Though, my blood sugar was 104 – which is good for me – and lord knows that walking and exercising in general will help with watching my food – because by god I’m not walking to work off some damn cupcake – no way – maybe some chocolate fudge caramel syrup on ice cream with pecans – on a special occasion – would that cancel out 2 miles or 3?
And by the by – to any and all who are reading this – you may join me in anxiously anticipating the first blog of Ms. Ashlee Perdue at her blog totally random – www.ashleeperdue.blogspot.com
Alright, here we go. I’ve decided that with diabetes and well about 125 extra pounds, sitting on the couch and using my fingers to change channels isn’t really going to do me much good. So, today, I started my exercise regime. Rest assured, it’s nothing exciting. I’m just going to be going from walking trail to walking trail and walking – and I’m only walking for 20 minutes – by god they say 20 minutes, 3 times a week is all you need and I’m holding them to it. But, for those of you who don’t remember the sheer joy of this endeavor, I thought I’d recount the experience from today to refresh your memory.
The tale must begin with this morning when I had to make a conscious decision to put my shoes in my backpack. The debate was, could I and would I walk with my regular shoes. And the answer is by 2:30 in the afternoon I would use the shoes as an excuse not to walk. So I passed the first hurdle.
I put the idea of actually moving from my mind during the school day. Why suffer through the walk all day long. It wasn’t something that I wanted to do, and after having finished it, it’s still something that I don’t want to do. At the end of the day, I met Jose, per the norm, at the Junior high school – still not sure if I was going to make it to the park. But then, I took a decisive step in the program. I told Elijah that we were going to the little park. At which point he was pretty happy, hoping that there would be someone there with whom he could play. As it was a dreary day, I didn’t dash his hopes. Then, we had to get gasoline. I even used the restroom at the gas station so I couldn’t use the I have to pee as an excuse not to stop.
We got to the park, and I decided that shoot, why not make everyone miserable and I challenged Elijah to a race. He’s a bit pudgy and it couldn’t hurt to get him involved too. So he immediately started to jog. O.K. I thought, a little jog, that would be good. No, imagine if you will a narwhal dressed in khaki pants and black snowflake jacket hobbling semi-quickly across the yard and you have a decent image. You know, fat makes a weird smacking sound when you run – it’s sort of like that pornographic sex smacking sound – nice image huh – And I made it almost 1/10th of a mile before I felt that I’d better stop that because I’d most likely have a heart attack and I didn’t have my cell phone and if I were to have a heart attack there was no way that I could send Elijah to get help – and really was that the sort of memory that I wanted to create for my son anyway. So I slowed down. It took a good 4/10ths of a mile before I was able to breath normally again. But I can guarantee that I got my heart rate going and all of the rest of my mile counted as exercise for sure. Elijah walked the first ½ mile – the ½ mile in which I was deciding whether or not ½ a mile is good enough for a first attempt. ½ mile is good – yeah, it’s really good, it’s the effort that counts – that’s all. I came, and I walked. ½ mile was enough for today. I’d work my way up. But then when I finished the ½ mile and looked at my watch, it was only 10 minutes – damn that speed at the beginning – now I have to walk 10 more minutes, might as well finish the damn mile. So, I did. And had to bribe Elijah with another park so that I wouldn’t have to go and push him on the swing. And to be fair, Isaiah was offering encouragement the entire way. Just singing me on to completion – though I strongly suspect that, like Elijah, he likes to sing on bumpy roads because he likes the way it makes his voice vibrate.
Now, I’m sure you’re thinking that at least I had a strong sense of achievement when I was finished – the I did it and I’m proud sort of response. And the answer would be … umm no. I immediately began to think about whether I needed to do this every day, or would every other day be enough. Really, I only need 3 times a week, does it really matter which three times it is? Really?
So, here I am, a little achy – drinking my sugar free coffee and praying the kids fall to sleep really early – and purposely not thinking about what I’ll do tomorrow. Though, my blood sugar was 104 – which is good for me – and lord knows that walking and exercising in general will help with watching my food – because by god I’m not walking to work off some damn cupcake – no way – maybe some chocolate fudge caramel syrup on ice cream with pecans – on a special occasion – would that cancel out 2 miles or 3?
And by the by – to any and all who are reading this – you may join me in anxiously anticipating the first blog of Ms. Ashlee Perdue at her blog totally random – www.ashleeperdue.blogspot.com
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