Buh-bye

Yesterday I finally got the good news.  I've been waiting months for this and it is finally happening.  Or at least we heard yesterday it was imminent.  Likely to occur.  Soon.  For me, not soon enough.

The Newt is bowing out.  In Newt fashion, yesterday he announced that he will announce next week he  is out of the GOP presidential race.  Even penguins hated his politics.  (re: he got bit by one at a recent appearance at some zoo). 

Hey Newt, don't let the door hit ya.

Pillow talk

I wonder who invented pillows?  What a marvelous legacy, whoever you are.  Wikipedia says you might be Asian dating back at least a thousand years.  Or, Wiki says you may even have invented the pillow as far back as ancient Egypt, which puts you living sometime around 1350 BC, give or take a few hundred years.

This pillow gratitude came to me last night as I was hugging my favorite pillow.  Just the right amount of softness.  Such a simple comfort.  I love my pillow.

My free advice today is find a pillow you love, if you haven't already got one.  You spend very little for a massive return that just keeps on giving night after night.  And at nap times too.  

I wonder who invented naps?  What a marvelous legacy...

I did not know that

I learned two techie things this week.  Both by unhappy accident you might say.

First techie thing I learned:  I ordered the DVD of a British sitcom called Miranda.  It airs on KERA (DFW public TV) Sunday nights at 10:30.  Writer and star Miranda Hart is nothing short of brilliant and, more important, always makes me laugh.  Out loud laughing.  The show is current in the UK and has won a gazillion awards.  It's not just me.

So I go to Amazon to order the DVD from some supplier in the UK.  But when the DVD arrives, it doesn't work!  It just shows some message about "wrong region."  I even try different DVD players.  Same annoying message.  Next, I do some google research and talk to a youngster at Best Buy.  Turns out as an anti-piracy move, DVD players and DVDs are now made to match specific "regions."  This allows distributors to control how and when and where their material is distributed.

I did not know that. 

So, the US is in region code 1; and Europe is in region code 2.  If you buy something that comes from outside your region, your DVD player won't work because manufactures of DVD players also are on board with this, obviously.  Get this, though.  There is a gadget called an all-region DVD player that you have to buy online because, says the Best Buy guy, they are no longer sold in stores.  

Dilemma: do I now spend more money to get the player? 

Answer: Of course I do (Craigslist here I come).  That is how much I am obsessed with Miranda.

Second techie thing I learned: I bought a new computer last weekend, and with it, I purchased the Geek Squad support services for a year.  (see previous post Extended Family: empty nest = lost tech support).  I let them load the new computer with stuff and dropped off old cranky and slow computer for a tune up. 

During the exchange, I ask the Geek why my virus scans the last few months always come back "congratulations, you have no viruses," when for years, it always returned finding stuff to "quarantine."  He didn't have to even think about the answer.

It appears that someone - OK me - allowed another anti-virus protection onto my computer.  In fact, I had three anti-virus programs standing guard over my precious hard drive.  Turns out, he says, the effect is that they battle each other, not the viruses contaminating my computer and slowing my processor.  Theses competing programs literally attempt to wipe out the other, which is why, I am told, you can have only one anti-virus program.

I did not know that. 

The Geeks were able to not just tune my old computer, but restore it to ONE anti-virus program so it is back on the fast track. 

If only I had known about the virus thing before I purchased a new computer.  And if only I had known about the regional DVD code thing before I bought the DVD set. 

I guess life is a classroom.  Some lessons are just more costly than others.  That, I did know.

The unchosen

I have been driving South Cooper in Arlington, Texas, around 3:30-4:30 p.m. each week day for a few weeks.  Which means I am passing the area of Cooper Street where day laborers assemble.  In the early morning there may be from anywhere from 50-100 or so men gathered in small groups spread over a 3-block area.

These day laborers must become expert traffic watchers, able to discern which vehicle means business, which does not.  A commercial vehicle or pickup commands their attention, a compact car not so much.  This has been going on for years now.   I admire these strangers, who I assume do not have the legal documentation to work in this country.

By mid afternoon their numbers are reduced, and still there are men obviously waiting for work, waiting to be picked for a job that likely will pay very little.  Day laborers show up for the possibility of work every day, rain or shine, in ungodly heat or extreme cold.

So as I am now driving by daily in the later hours of the afternoon, I look for the handful of men remaining.  I can't explain the fascination, but now I can't not look.  I feel as though these men in the later hours of the day stand little chance of getting work, but even that doesn't seem to dissuade them from leaving their work post.  Waiting for work is part of the job description.

Last week during my daily assessment of the remaining laborers, it struck me that they appeared to be older, maybe not so strong, although that's a hard thing to assess.  Even so, the men still waiting didn't appear to stand as tall, were not as alert to traffic flow or to vehicle type. 

In that moment, I get a flashback.  I am transported to Northeastern South Dakota, year 1963.  There I am, standing in a row with a dozen or so other kids, hoping against hope I will not be the last one picked for a game of Capture the Flag.  Literally all the boys get picked first.  Of course it is boys doing the choosing, including a couple of my brothers.  The picking process is not pretty.  It's as if you are not there because you hear the already chosen players assessing the not-yet-picked players. 

We don't want to pick her because.... the rest is too painful to recall.  But it struck me that these laborers face this kind of harsh judgment daily.  Of course I understand my deep-seeded anxiety at not being chosen in a game in no way equals the stakes of not being chosen for work.  For day laborers and their families, not working means basic survival - providing for food, shelter - just got harder.  Not being picked until almost last for a game means hurt feelings, loss of dignity and loss of other good but less important stuff higher up the needs chain. 

My admiration for these laborers has now multiplied.  I don't know anything about their personal lives, if they are good people or bad people or whatever.  I do know that every day they face the prospect of not being picked for a job and yet they still show up.  That is some work ethic.

Cowabunga!

This morning I am texting son John about today's shocking revelation that the fictional Springfield of The Simpsons is based on Springfield, Oregon.   One of the best kept secrets in TV - and in our family - is exposed by....  Matt Groening, the show's creator. 

What lasting affect will this have on our lives?  Absolutely zero.  Why did I care to let my son know?  Because it's something that connects us.  (I should let Jenny and Michael know, too).  It's also the kind of stuff I find myself doing during these days of unemployment.

Yesterday I got to go to Abilene for the second time in two weeks to watch high school soccer playoffs.  The day before yesterday I spent hours making my own cookie cutter of a whale, then baking cookies.  Hours in the kitchen.  Me.  I also have been making revisions to a book started 2 years ago.   Today I am going to hunt for Sweet 16 charms for that same soccer team who got my whale cookies because they have advanced to the Texas Sweet Sixteen.  I can take my sweet time doing it too.  Oh, and I also have to make those whale cookies again.  (hmmm.  I think maybe I will just go to my bakery this time.  Who am I trying to impress?)

While this not working is working for me, it definitely is time I find something in my field of social work whether it pays or not.  All play and no work makes Mary a dull girl. 

Giving thanks...

Yesterday our area - North Texas and Arlington specifically - was hit by multiple tornadoes. Amazing, no one was killed. Several people were hurt and hundreds of homes and businesses destroyed.  The footage above is the tornado that likely hit Andrea and Jack's neighborhood.  I stole it off YouTube.

Paul's and my home in Arlington was not near a touch-down, Andrea and Jack's home in Arlington was.  Only their dogs know what it felt like when their neighborhood got hit, because none of the humans thankfully were home. Andrea said it looked as though the tornado jumped over their house as so many of their neighbors lost roofs but their house was missing just a few shingles. 

I was in Abilene when all this was happening.  Andrea, too.  She was coaching her high school team's first post-season soccer game.  Successfully, by the way and now it's Midland on Friday. 

During my 4-hour drive home I heard from family and friends in Iowa, Nevada, South Dakota, Washington, and Montana.  Not to mention multiple texts and phone calls from friends and family under attack, such as Linda Carrier who had to corral multiple grades of students in one room for two hours.  Such as my son-in-law Jack who called to assure me my granddaughters were safe.  Such as my darling husband who called to say he could see a tornado from his 15th-floor office building in downtown Dallas.  Get away from the damn window! 

Even my 84-year-old dear mother sent a text.  I think hers was the final of the day.  We already had communicated earlier, but late evening, one more time she had to ask "Everybody Ok?"

Yes ma, we are fine.  Thanks for caring and thanks to everyone else for your concern. 

I love you all!!

Gotcha!

Yesterday, April Fools' Day, I finally got Paul!

It may have taken 30 years, but it was way worth the wait just to be able to say those magic words, "April Fools!!!"

Earlier in the week, I had sought advice from all three children.  The day before I had my plan in place.  The ruse: a yard ornament is missing.  I chose the flying pigs we got at the State Fair.  I figured he cares about that one more than the others. 

Here's how it went down:

It's early morning, we've both been up for awhile, but less than an hour.  I take my place at the front window with Paul just a few steps away in the kitchen.

"Paul, did you move the flying pigs?"  Not too much alarm, just loud enough so he could hear.

"No," he says.

"I don't see them.  You didn't move them?"

Paul starts toward the front window, I can't believe this is working.  He says, "I didn't do anything with them.  Someone probably stole 'em."  He now seems a little annoyed.

 My dear husband then separates the drapes and says with SUCH a tone, "There they are, they're still there ..."  In that moment he knows what's coming.

GOTCHA, SUCKAHHH!  "April Fools!!"  I get to say it with MY tone, as in tone of satisfaction.

To his credit, Paul concedes, "You got me good."

We have an agreement, by the way, that the first person to fool the other April 1st is that year's winner.  No more April Fools gigs allowed for the rest of the day.

Being the 2012 winner felt great, I'm not gonna lie.  What's that Survivor motto? Outlast, outwit, outplay.  It felt a little like that.  Without the million dollars.