Living la vida loca

I can check ice skating off my list now.  Been there, done that. 

Paul got off work early and joined me for my birthday skating adventure.  It was a little scary I have to say.   I calculated it had been 15 years since I was in ice skates.  It was one of the kids' birthday parties at the Tandy Center in downdown Fort Worth.  That place no longer exists.  So, it had been awhile. 

We headed out around noon.  We both were determined.  Gonna do it.  Blood thinners be damned.  Back surgery?  Hernia?  We laughed.  Nothing could stop us.  We were unstoppable. 

We parked and wasting no time, speed walked to our destination: the ice rink inside The Parks Mall.  A short ride down the escalater, I turned right and Paul kept walking straight.

"Paul!" (no answer, he is still walking)
"Paul!" (louder, still nothing)
"Stick!!"  Paul turns and looks at me.
"It's this way"  My dear, dear husband is sometimes directionally challenged.

Eighteen dollars later we are putting on our skates.  They feel unnatural.  Stiff.  Paul laces up my skates.  Sweet.  It brings back Northern memories.  Now all that stands between us and this great experiment... I mean adventure, is the Zamboni machine now cleaning the ice.  We walk gingerly toward the rink. 

Doors open.  Paul is inside, he's on the rink which looks like marble flooring coated with thin layer of water.  I walk on blades, lifting my right foot over the door jam.  Left foot follows.  That's when it hits me.  I am ice skating!!!  I used to live on ice rinks.  Even just before we moved to Texas, there was a rink at a neighborhood park where I would skate as often as possible.  It's liberating.  It's almost like flying. Unencumbered by mere feet. 

Back to reality, I head for the side railing and begin to ice shuffle.  We begin our circular trip around the ice rink.  It takes a few minutes to get my brain and feet synchronized.  I imagine my brain working madly to access memory data.  Then it just clicked!  I was skating, for real.  Paul was attempting to get me to slow down.  Ha!  Not possible.  I was skating.  I thought I heard him call my name but it was too late.  I was skating!

I must have been an impressive sight because just ahead of me I see this little boy, around 6, pointing at me.  I wave back.  Then he speaks.

"You're going the wrong way!!"

Oh.  Apparently, there's a right way and a wrong way to circle the rink.  I thank the lad and turn around.  There's Paul shaking his head.  Ok, so I, too, can be directionally challenged.

The adventure felt like forever.  Forever fun.  Forever exciting.  Forever familiar.  In truth, forever was more like 30 minutes.  By the third rotation we could feel the back of our thighs and calves.  By the fourth rotation, muscle cramps were beginning to hold our feet hostage.  Paul's back began to object soon after.  We agreed on one more rotation, then called it quits.

It was an experience we both will not soon forget.  For real.  The next day, we still could feel it.

I still loved every second of the experience.  It took me back.  It shook my memory base in a good way.  For that, it was worth it.  Way, way worth it.

Nur Mut!

I want to go ice skating on my birthday Wednesday but my fear is it will turn out like one of those Gieco commercials.  Is it a good idea for an overweight, middle aged woman on blood thinners to ice skate if she hasn't gone ice skating in 20 years?  My fear is I will twist an ankle, fall and break just about anything.  When the Rod Sterling character asks the question, "Is it a good idea..." what follows is always a bad idea. My favorite is the one that asks: Is it a good idea for a drill sergeant to be a therapist?  The drill sergeant mocks his crying patient, telling him to go mamby pamby land, then throws a box of tissues at him and calls him a jack wagon.  Very funny.

I think I'm gonna try.  I want to be more brave (braver?) this coming year.  Other things I'd like to do ares paintball and ride a horse.  

It's getting to be that stage of life where I look back at what I accomplished and calculate what's left to do, divide that by ... I don't really do math.  All I know is that I need to multiply my efforts.  And that will take courage.  So that's why I need to be more brave - grammatically correct or not.

So my rallying cry this year will be Nur Mut, the German words for Be Brave.  I took German in high school and college. Not a useful language, I know.  If I had taken Spanish, then my rallying cry would be valiente, which translates into courageous.  I am more confident with the German.  Frankly, I am intimidated by Spanish language.  It's so fast and I am so slow ... anyway.  So, I am pretty sure I am going to try the ice skating.  Parks Mall on Wednesday.  Wish me luck!  No.  Wish me to be brave!

Thanksgiving 2010

Kindred spirits.



John teases Addie.  That's a glove he put on her head.

We had our Thanksgiving gathering on Friday and were especially grateful this year to have these guests join us: my Arlington boss Maggie and her daughter Gina, who was visiting from San Diego; our adopted daughter Alyssa, who was visiting from Denver; and one of Paul's former interns, Alana.
Despite the cold, almost everyone participated in the first annual Thanksgiving Ping Pong Tournament.  Gina had never played before and was a great and a natural sport.  Alana exceeded her stated abilities.  Andrea beat me for the first time ever. I knew it was just a matter of time. She went on to lose to her husband, Jack, who took first place in the loser's bracket.  We predicted from the beginning that John and Paul would face each other in the championship game.  John won!

Gina and Maggie sit by the fire.  It was COLD!

Paul and Jack face off in tournament.  Andra and Alyssa are watching.  Note how they are wearing virtually the SAME thing.  These are the two who we called the Twins in high school.  Andrea is the one on the left, btw.

Hopeful beagles Baxter and Tex.

Sunday morning breakfast before Jen and Michael head home to Leander.

Gratitude

Thanksgiving for our family is that time of year when we get to (have to) say out loud what we are grateful for.  My list is long.

First I am grateful to be sharing my life with a man who still loves me after 32 years - 33 if you count the year we lived together before marriage.  His health has held this year, he's still makes me laugh (with, not at), and he doesn't seem to notice or care that I am not the shiny new model of yesteryear, even last year.  He continues to surprise me too.  Did you know white men can make kickin' (my new emphasis word) sweet potato pie?  My husband can and did yesterday.  Two of them.  AFTER he installed our new dishwasher.  Top that!

My children continue to live interesting lives.  I see them evolving into their own person, each quite different from the other, but thankfully still connected.  It appears from where I sit, they love and care for each other.  They have brought others into the fold who only make this family stronger.

My granddaughter.  Don't get me started.  For real.  She is sunshine.

My parents are safe and continue to be role models for living a decent and honorable AND active life.  There have been struggles this year for some members of my family: cancer, unemployment, other health matters.  There also were shared victories: motherhood, fatherhood, moves, championships, promotions.  My family doesn't typically get many points for communication, but this year seemed different.  It just seemed more was shared.  The younger generation likely gets credit for this... and Facebook.

My job and colleagues continue to make (force) me to be a better person and professional.

I don't have that many friends, but the ones I do have are stuck with me and I am so grateful for them.

That should about cover my gratitude statement for 2010.  Of course there are some things I'd like to change about my life... I am saving that post for New Year's. 

I think I killed a dog and now my Karma is off

My Karma is off.  

Two weeks ago I ran over a dog. 

I haven't gone into detail with my family, only with a couple of my colleagues.  And that was just yesterday.  I know there are many, many things worse in this life.  But it affected me.  And now I believe my Karma is off.  I have fallen, tipped over a full glass of water at a restaurant, my car tire has a slow leak, my favorite colleague gave her notice yesterday, I keep breaking things, I have missed a couple of deadlines at work (I never miss deadlines), one of my doctors retired and his replacement, who is 12 years old, wants to stick a needle in my neck.  I could go on, especially about happenings at work but that would be unethical.  I will only say I recently had an occasion where I had to gag.

I should share that the dog survived.  I called 9-1-1 who sent animal control.  Both were kind people.  I assume, but did not follow up, that the dog was put down.

Outside my Arlington office window I see stray dogs almost every day.  They likely are neglected and abandoned.  I am sure some, too, are simply lost after escaping from a loving home as my dogs have done.  One time our 2 beagles were gone for 3 days.  We found them living with a lovely woman about 3 miles from our house.  Would you believe she let them sleep on her bed??  A sainted woman.

The stray dogs I see from my office window, especially in the summer, are seeking refuge from the heat under the oaks in the city park across from my work.  A few months ago, in fact, I began carrying water and dog food in my car for these animals.  

Now I am responsible for killing one.

Petal, my hairstylist and a wise woman, says I should go sit in the middle of a field and center myself. I might.  I am thinking I have to volunteer for some animal group.  A resuce.  The dog was a mutt with pitbull features.  Maybe the pitbull rescue.  I haven't decided.  I have decided it has to be soon.  This weekend.  I am running out of time.  At least that's the way I feel. 

I need my Karma back. 

Another way to look at aging

I am 683.  That's right.  683.  Paul is 694.  In December John will be 300.  It's our ages in months.  And from now on, that's how I am going to calculate age.  It will be no big deal to go from 684 to 685 on my birthday next month.  My goal now is to live to 1,000.  Both my parents have. 

Piece of birthday cake!

You've got competition

Knock, knock.


Who's there?


Karma.

I heard last week that another Barnes and Noble store is closing. This one is (was) in Fort Worth. A victim of capitalism. Lots of supply, not enough demand. Actually, I don't know why the store is closing but I do know the nation's largest book seller is losing business to the digital book market.  I read that in the WSJ.

I feel partially responsible.  I have a Kindle and now buy my "books" at Amazon. I did buy from B&N at a book fair a couple of weeks ago - using my Amazon Visa card. Oops.

I don't feel guilty, though.  Remember the movie You've Got Mail?  It came out 12 years ago and starred Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan. I loved that movie. The scene that still makes me cry is when Meg Ryan's character must lock the door to her mother's independent book store for the final time. She takes one last look at the now empty space and sees her mother and herself as a child dancing around the store. And then your heart strings commence tugging.

Of course the store was closing because Hank's character was opening a superstore just down the block.  Sounding familiar?  How many independent book sellers have gone under in the last decade?  Maybe B&N is getting a little taste of its own medicine. 

I also read in the WSJ that B&N is coming out with guns ablazing (my words, not WSJ) promoting a new and improved digital book reader for children.  Down but not out.  I have to admire that.  Again, with the capitalism.

Well, indie book sellers also have come back with guns ablazing.  I found a great organization and website for anyone interested in new and rare books.  American Booksellers Association is a nonprofit trade group that's been around more than 100 years promoting and protecting independent book sellers. 

http://bookweb.org/

Bottom line: it doesn't matter where you  buy your books as long as you keep buying them.

Boo!!

The scariest day of the year is just around the corner: Midterm elections. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

Don't forget to vote. I would say if you don't vote you can't gripe, but that would violate your free speech.

How great is this country?

Bottomless cup of coffee

Paul and I purchased a Keurig coffee brewer a couple of days ago. It's that single coffee maker system. You place a single, tiny cup of ground coffee in the holder area, pull down a lever and voila', you got yourself one cup of coffee or tea or latte, etc. The tiny cups, called K cups, are prepackaged. No filter needed and no need to grind coffee beans.

The maker we bought (at Costco of course) came with a sampler of coffees - 60 of those tiny K cups. There's Green Mountain, Kona, French roast, Coffee Shop, French vanilla, green tea, Earl Grey and so on. We also bought a supply of 80 K cups of Folger medium roast.

We are in that early stage where we love it. It's fun to pick out any flavor we want and in an instant, we have quality coffee. It was kind of expensive - $140. Of course we rationalize that we won't buy at coffee shops anymore or at least until the brewer is paid for, which isn't much of a sacrifice.

There is one sizable downside: We haven't slept in 3 days.

Life lessons from 4-year-olds

Four-year-olds are a funny breed. They live life with abandon. Too much abandon if you ask me.

Imagine a roomful of 4-year-olds. Forget wind generators or solar panels. The energy production of a dozen pre-k kids could light a small city. It's clean energy, too.

My daughter Jenny Cole is a wrangler of said 4 year olds. She does it for a living. By choice. I had the privilege last week of spending an entire day with Jenny and her students. She is a marvelous teacher of these tiny tykes. I believe she is a child whisperer. Never raising her voice, she gets these kids to follow directions using positive reinforcement. "I like the way so-and-so is listening." "Thank you so-and-so for working quietly." "Friend, is that the way we stand in line?" "Only 1 towel to dry our hands please. So-and-so I see you used 3 towels." Jenny's calm exterior not once betrayed her inner frustration with some behaviors. That's remarkable because I KNOW my daughter can let go with an impressive display of frustration given the right opportunity. In the classroom, Jenny models the exact behavior she wants from her students. And it works like magic. Most of the time.

While I was marveling at how adept my daughter is at moving little ones from one activity to another, I must say I learned something from the kids, too. Four is a wise old age. Here's some of the lessons I learned about life from the pre-k kids:

• The idea that your teacher has a mommy is weird, and for some, really funny.
• Pumpkins smell "orange."
• Blowing milk bubbles through your straw is magic - and funny. But don't let your teacher catch you because you will lose your milk. Chocolate milk, too.
• You have to criss-cross your legs when you sit on the carpet or you might accidentally kick the girl in front of you - several times. This will result in Mrs. Cole asking nicely for you to cross your legs.
• Waiting for a swing at recess takes patience, for sure. But when one finally opens up, don't forget to duck on your way to the swing.
• Social networking is gold in pre-k. Your best friend is the kind that yells "good-bye" over and over until you yell it back.

Yep. Four-year-olds are a lot of fun to hang with, but I couldn't do it every day. I'm just glad there are wonderul people like my daughter who can.

Addie's First Birthday Bash

Addie celebrated her first birthday recently with family and friends. Her backyard was filled with hay bales and a pumpkin patch. Guests enjoyed bobbing for apples, hay rides (in Addie's wagon), painting pumpkins, eating and listening to Texas Rangers baseball. Check out the big kid at the pumpkin painting table!

Addie had no idea why people were there, but she sure had fun!

Add your own dialogue

Giraffe: You blinked! I saw you blink! I won!

Addy: Not fair, you don't have eyelids! Oh well, wanna play again?

Addy: Can you believe how big my grandpa's hat is?

Giraffe: You're grandpa must have a giant head!

Addy: You think I'm tall, you should see my daddy.

Giraffe: Wanna come play at my house at the zoo?

White people suck!

Just watched I know Why the Caged Bird Sings, a 1979 TV movie based on the book written by and about Maya Angelou's early years. Even though the movie is old and has a grainy look, it doesn't matter because it's a period piece. So, the non-HD-3D-Blueray quality of the picture actually works for it, giving the movie an honest feel.

The movie starts in Stamp, Ark., at Maya Angelou's childhood home. It's set in the mid-1930s, Maya is about 9-10 years old. The story follows Maya and her younger brother who are being reared by their wise and strong grandmother and their beaten-down-but-loving great-uncle.

In one scene, Maya's uncle has to be hidden because they have been warned the Ku Klux Klan is on the hunt looking for adult black males to torture. It's a powerful scene. The children are instructed to empty the potato and onion bin in the family grocery store, great-uncle refused help to get inside, then the children put back the vegetables on top their uncle until he is fully covered. No words are spoken. It's obvious this is a familiar routine.

We also are witness to the poet's early love of reading and words. We begin to understand the genesis of this woman. A wonderful teacher ignited Maya's curiosity of a world outside of Stamp. Then, an early trauma - raped by her mother's boyfriend while she and her brother were in St. Louis - engendered an appreciation for a rural life lived at a slower tempo.

I've shown and watched this movie multiple times now, and in different settings. Last night's audience so obviously connected to the story, I was moved by their reactions: singing, clapping, laughing, even tears. I couldn't join in as I had no real personal stake in the story, except, maybe, for the antagonists. I caught myself feeling ashamed of my ethnicity, of my white brethren. This a horrible legacy that sadly still breathes today.

I don't really have a clever way to conclude today's blog. White people suck? Naw. Some do, some don't. I try not to.

It's official: I'm a socialist

I had a letter to the editor in last week's newspaper supporting healthcare reform. Apparently, I am a socialist. I also must be something of an idiot. Oh, and gullible too.

The letter prompted these revelations from readers. It's been a million years since I submitted a letter, what's different now is how people jump on them immediately ONLINE. Of course, they must follow some of the paper's rules, but I'm not so sure anyone is really monitoring this free-for-all. And, more than one misspelled my name. Geez.

We had gotten notice from BlueCross through Paul's work that we can add John back onto our insurance coverage. We'd been waiting for this to happen and were grateful to finally get 'er done. That was the gist of the letter, that we had benefited from the new healthcare law, but it wasn't a free gift to our family as we pay a hefty monthly premium as well as co-payments and deductibles. I also said something about appreciating having insurance and understanding many do not or can't afford health coverage. I ended the letter more or less thanking President Obama and the Democrats.

In this part of the country, saying you support ANYTHING connected to the administration is not well received. Obama supporters here are considered to be crazy low-lifes without morals or brains.

Do I exaggerate? I don't know. I do understand why my son can breathe a little easier on the East Coast. At least he is able to express his opinions and be respected. There just seems to be a drought of liberal opinion in these parts. A drought of respect too.

Fair enough

I believe that most people living outside of Texas generally hate Texas. My best bud Diane who lives in Iowa doesn't pull any punches. I have caught her mimicking a Southern accent as she references something about Texas, as though people with accents are dumb. Nothing subtle about her meaning. Then the Steven Colbert Report this week included clips of the Leander, Tx, school superintendent talking (with a Southern accent) about the district policy of requiring permission slips from parents for their students to watch the President's annual address to students. Again, making fun of the South, and Texas specifically. Even one of my relatives said "I would never live in Texas," in such a manner that made you think a person would have to be insane to even consider such a crazy idea. I could go on with examples of the Texas haters.

I don't take these comments personally. I also rarely point out the prejudice of the accent haters. As a South Dakotan living in Texas for 20 years, I appreciate that this state can give off a bad vibe. The state did produce George W. and the killer cheerleader mom. Don't get me started on our governor and his crazy secession talk.

But I gotta say, whether you believe it or not, this state has plenty to brag about. One of our favorite things about Texas is the State Fair. It's in Dallas and is the largest fair in the country. See, that's the kind of talk that turns other people off. I get it. But really, the State Fair in one of the things we look forward to all year. In fact, the opening day is tomorrow and Paul and I are going to be there when the gates open. We've mapped out our activities: creative arts building, dog show, bird show, car show, and then check out the new wacky fun stuff for sale. Last year we bought wooden frogs that sound exactly like a frog. We also got Sham Wows. The frogs continue to work. The Sham Wows don't. The year before I got a tryke scooter. Can't wait to buy something weird.

Of course there's also the food. I only want a corny dog this year. Don't care about all the fried beer or fried butter. Just a corny dog. And because it's the first day, it will be fried in fresh grease.

I will likely post pictures of the fair later this weekend. It's a great place to people watch. Like a wedding: it brings together a strange mix of folks. Wait until you see the photos before you pass judgment. That's all I ask.

Getting a divorce

I've made a decision. I'm getting a divorce. Moving on. Not looking back. I can't put it together anymore. We are a jumble of confusion and headed in a million directions. When it began, I relied on faith for direction. I knew the path was long, but it's gone too far off course for correction.

It's hard to abandoned something I've spent so much time nurturing. But it's the only way, the right thing to do. I need to get unstuck.

So, as of today, I am divorcing my first book draft and starting over.

You are my sunshine

Addie keeps us entertained. She is exploding with personality. She is good at letting you know what she wants. She is my sunshine.

Sleep tight, the bed bug hype is worse than their bite

Did you know that bed bugs can go a whole year without eating? 12 months! No food! I can't go 12 minutes without eating.

That's one of the big secrets to bed bug longevity. In fact, they've been around the U.S. since Colonial times, brought over by the first wave of immigrants. I know this about them because I have just come from the Bed Bug Institute website. First of all, can you believe there's a Bed Bug Institute? Really, it's a clearinghouse for other websites.

Of course we've all heard the recent nightmares about bed bug infestations. Especially in New York City. I hadn't really been paying attention as I operate on need to know basis. Well, now I need to know because I found out this week that one of the establishments I frequent has bed bugs in their furniture. I won't reveal the location because of the bed bug stigma, really almost hysteria. (It's not my house. I felt a selfish need to state that.)

Really, bed bugs are not that scary. When you find out more about them as I have, they're downright adorable. Here's a couple of useful things I found out:

- Bed bugs do not discriminate. The best homes as well as grand institutions (NYC Public Library) harbor them.

- Bed bugs don't carry disease. Apparently in all the research of bed bugs, not one study has shown them to make humans or animals sick. Itchy? Yes.

All this bed bug attention has given new meaning to the once benign warning, "Don't let the bed bugs bite." Really, I stopped saying it years ago. It seemed unnecessary to frighten my little children just before they were to fall asleep. Until recently, though, it still seemed something of an endearing thing to say to children, a sweet way to tease. Delivered with affection. But not anymore.

Maybe we can come up with an updated version of the old. How about:

- Let the bed bugs bite, don't put up a fight.
- Let the bed bugs bite, they only come out at night.
- If the bed bugs bite, squish 'em.
- Bed bugs are your friends, sleep tight.
- Sleep tight, bed bugs are alright.

Naw. They don't have the same sweet ring. I guess until we come up with something else, I can assure my children that their children (present and future) are safe. Grandma will never utter a word to them about bed bugs. She's back to need to know, and they simply don't need to know.

I must be doing something wrong

Last night was my support group night. I have the privilege of facilitating a weekly women's support group at a homeless shelter. I have been doing this on behalf of my agency since February, 2008. I am there in a professional capacity to impart my learned therapeutic methods that hopefully will be of some help to these women. Get it? I am there to help THEM.

So why do I almost always leave the shelter feeling better and inspired to go out into the world and do my best work? This is not supposed to be the way it goes. The group is for THEIR benefit, not mine.

Maybe it's not what I am doing wrong, it's what they are doing right. Here's a sampling of what I keep seeing:

1. Women who are mortified at the idea of coming to a shelter but do so for the sake of their children. They eat humble pie in order to feed their children.

2. Women who have been hurt by others in ways so horrifying, and still they willingly share with others their hope for the future.

3. Women without a home or transportation or employment speak of ways they want to help others.

4. Women living their faith.

5. Women speaking of all they are grateful for: life, their children, faith, the shelter ...

6. Women who persevere. They believe opportunity is around the corner. If not today, tomorrow. If not tomorrow, the next day.

I could go on. Each of these women has a story that could inspire even the hardest of hearts. The truth is, I shouldn't get paid for facilitating this group, I should be paying them. (Just don't tell my agency).

Newt's true colors

I think we may need to come up with a new word for politics. Too bad cannibalism already is taken.

Disgusting things are being said about our president. I know the same can be said about President Bush, but this is different. The vile pandering is coming from leaders in the Republican Party not just from the blogisphere fringe. Newt Gingrich, I believe, hit a new all-time low this week.

Gingrich is stirring the pot in the most ugly way. To say he's using racism doesn't adequately describe his message. It's even more cynical than that. He's aiming his vile propaganda at the most gullible in a calculating manner. He knows these are loyalists of his who will take up his words and repeat them as truth. Gingrich targets the most vulnerable to be used to do his dirty work, to spread the Newt virus that threatens to destroy our democracy.

I could make parallels here with other vile leaders (Amadenijad) but that would be too easy.

Here's what Gingrich said. I heard the audio of this last night and ripped the exact quote from the Sacramento Bee newspaper.

"What if (Obama) is so outside our comprehension, that only if you understand Kenyan, anti-colonial behavior, can you begin to piece together (his actions). This is a person who is fundamentally out of touch with how the world works, who happened to have played a wonderful con, as a result of which he is now president."

Why does this hit home? This summer a poll of Texas Republicans showed Gingrich the favorite to run for president.

Gingrich doesn't deserve our consideration. He's shown his true colors and they aren't red, white and blue.

Inflation

I am now down to the wire. No turning back. Time has run out. I gotta bite the bullet. Fish or cut bait. Colonoscopy time. Inflate the colon and take a look inside. It's got to be done. Of course the good news about this procedure is something called twilight sedation. I am going to focus on that. I could use a good sedation.

We will miss you!

Today is a goodbye day at work. Chauntae is leaving us, she was an intern for the last year. She's the kind of intern you will remember. Others you don't. I don't have to say why, that would be mean. I have told her she will likely be my boss some day. Decisive. Compassionate. Confident. Smart. Current. And she has a very cute little girl named Olivia.

I guess since she's going to be my boss, I don't have to say goodbye. I'll just say, you will be missed, Chauntae!

Karen Shearhart was her name

Our local newspaper, the Fort Worth Star Telegram, had a story today about a 56-year-old homeless woman who had died. Alex Branch was the writer. Karen Shearhart was her name.

She appeared older than her 56 years, hair neglected had grown long and was pulled into a wool hat. She wore long-sleeved flannel shirts and pants year-round. Karen Shearhart was her name.

She preferred to live on her own terms, which included living in a wooded area near downtown Fort Worth. The story described her as "disappearing into the woods" when she headed to her home. The story said she talked of seeking squatters' rights to the area in which she nested: large garbage bags filled with paper provided cushion to sleep on. A plywood board apparently shielded her from whatever she believed she needed shielding from. The picture and description of her wooded estate showed evidence she had staked her claim years ago. It was a place of importance in her life. Karen Shearhart was her name.

I wonder what she thought about her existence. The story didn't say what her mental illness was, but it was pointed out that she was kind and able to carry on a conversation. However, the conversation could be halted if she got angry at something said. She was familiar to several social services people. She showed up for free lunch sacks. Karen Shearhart was her name.

She apparently made this wooded area her home about 8 years ago. During that time many people tried to get her to "come in." She told them, the paper said, she didn't like the shelters. In this area, it's not unusual for single homeless men to be alone and living outside. It is unusual for a 56 year old woman to be homeless outside all by herself. She resisted help from nonprofit agencies, church agencies, individuals. She had a place to stay at night in the woods. Karen Shearhart was her name.

People were able to gain her trust. She showed them her appreciation with gifts of clipped coupons. Clipped coupons held value for her, makes sense she would give them to people she valued. Karen Shearhart was her name.

She grew up in Tarrant County and was my age, 56 years old. It was reported she had heart disease, although it appears it was the heat that took her life. Karen Shearhart was her name.

On August 23rd, workers at Catholic Charities were concerned they hadn't seen her for a few days, unusual as she participated in lunch program. So they walked to her wooded home and sadly found her fallen. She already had passed. Karen Shearhart was her name.

What's the lesson learned? Mental health care is complicated. Some really fine people did all they could to make this woman comfortable and safe. They kept tabs on her, let her know they cared what happened to her. A lot of people in nice houses don't have that. And apparently, they wanted others to know about her as they called the newspaper to do a story about her. Those who tried to help her already did everything they could for her, but perhaps felt they could do one more thing: share her story. Karen Shearhart was her name.

I had never heard of this woman before today and I was glad to know about her. Karen Shearhart was her name.

Time to put away your white shoes

Labor Day. End of summer. Start of school. Time to put away your white shoes until Easter (or is it Memorial Day?). Actually that last one is outdated. I did some research on this a few years ago - about the white shoes - and really, it's OK to wear white shoes 365 days a year. Not that anyone would want to wear white shoes 365 days... back to Labor Day.

Labor Day, according to Wikipedia, which I believe, originated in Pullman, Ill., in 1894. Railroad workers for the Pullman company near Chicago went on strike after their wages were reduced. The strike halted traffic going west out of Chicago. So Pres. Cleveland sends federal troops to Illinois to control the workers. This action worked, but also it set off a nationwide effort to unionize railroad workers, led by Eugene Debs. To appease the many people angered by his forceful actions, Pres. Cleveland then was forced to rush through Congress legislation for a National Labor Day.

Interesting Labor Day facts:

• Pres. Cleveland argued he had the right to send troops because the strike prevented the U.S. mail from being delivered.
• Both criminal and civil charges were filed against leaders of the strike. Eugene Debs was represented by Clarence Darrow.
• 13 strikers were killed by federal troops.
• Here's a Wiki icky: Railroad tycoon George Pullman remained unpopular even after his death in 1897. His burial site had to be steel reinforced to prevent haters from desecrating the site, including digging him up.

Rainy days and Thursdays...

I spent the day in bed yesterday, sickern' a dog. Sinus, cold, whatever. I had that tickle in my throat that wouldn't go away so I couldn't stop coughing. I went through an entire package of Ricola, mixed berry flavor. RIIII-COOOOO-LAAAAA.

Today is another day. I feel better. Just took some Alka Selzer for colds. No flavor. Don't like that in flavors. Ick. I'm not exactly 100 percent, but if I don't go to work today I don't get paid for Labor Day, which we have off. It's not that we're destitute, but I do have my own bills to pay.

My plan: Take Alka Selzer with me, buy some more Ricola, maybe a new flavor, pack tissues and paste a smile on my face. It's rainy outside, which helps. I don't know why, just seems to set a more appropriate backdrop.

I have to thank Paulie for his wonderful care yesterday. He went to the store for me and got soup, crackers and Sprite. And tissues. A variety of tissues, some with lotion, some without. He brought me tea. You are the greatest.

Now time to get ready for work.

Thank you, Glenn Beck

Glenn Beck is on a mission to restore America's honor. Thank you, Glenn Beck. I didn't know that we had lost our honor, so it's good that you are on this.

Mr. Beck promises to lead us out of the darkness and into the white. That's not a typo. I meant white. I am not sure what the plan is as I have never really watched a whole Glenn Beck show on Fox or listened to his speech at the weekend rally or even read anything he's written. I just know that he has the guts to say stuff with such gusto and bravado so that the content of his message doesn't really matter. What does count, from what I can decipher, is the color of his skin. Let's face it, he's really, really white. White is the color of most Tea Partiers. White is the color of most Republicans. White is the color of most Libertarians. And white is the color of most Mormons - Glenn's religious affiliation. In Glenn Beck's world, white must go with everything. Just saying.

Glenn Beck says he knows exactly how to retrieve America's lost honor! OMG. That's amazing. Again, I am not sure what dishonor he speaks of, but Mr. Beck must have unearthed something. He wouldn't just make up stuff. And his intel's gotta be gold. After all, he presents said intel so expertly on chalkboards. I've seen this a couple of times. It makes me think of the late Tim Russert who used to write on a whiteboard election nights. I miss him. Anyway, low tech makes Mr. Beck appear teacher-ish. Just like high school algebra, his chalk formulas are a little dizzying. Oh well. If it helps us find our lost honor, he must be onto something.

Until our honor is restored, I wonder if it is still ok that I fly the American flag in my front yard? What would Glenn Beck do? WWGBD? We recently moved the flag from the front of our house to one of the trees in our front yard. It looks so nice. It really does wave in the wind. I remember putting it out late morning the day of 9-11, through tears. It was the only thing I could think of doing, after calling my children and husband and friends. I love that flag and my country. Truth is, I don't think America has lost its honor. Just think, if all countries had their own Facebook page, American for sure would have the most friends. WAY more.

I wonder what Tim Russert would think of Glenn Beck and his apocalyptic predictions? He'd probably tell Mr. Beck his formula is flawed and advise he go back to the drawing chalkboard.

Addie update

Addie will be 11 months old next week. She continues to be our major source of sunshine and happiness. Mika is taking to her. Tex and Baxter have discovered that when Addie gets fed, they have a chance of getting fed - food on the floor, on the chair, on her tray if someone turns their back long enough.

She walks and crawls, whichever mode will get her to her destination the fastest. And she is developing an age appropriate personality. She wants what she wants when she wants it stage. But also she is easily distracted from what she thinks she wants... adorable.

Happy Monday everyone! John said something this morning I think is good: he's going to work hard this week and EARN his 3 day weekend. Me too, John!

Liberation

Paul and I are getting older. How do I know? Let me count the ways:

1. A young man admires Paul's new Challenger R/T and they discuss engines for a few minutes -- at the pharmacy drive-through where we are picking up meds to lower cholesterol levels, soothe arithic pain, etc.

2. We plan activities based on our ability to stay awake.

3. We've replaced talking about the kids with talking about the granddaughter.

4. Articles we come across about retirement have become relevant and interesting.

5. It appears that doctor's appointments have outpaced all other events on our activity calendars.

I told Jenny the other day that I had a moment of dread when I thought about turning 57. I haven't had an age aversion reaction since... I was 37, I think. She said nice things of course, but it wasn't necessary. I am OK in my skin. I wish there was a lot less of it, but still I am OK. Aging presents you with the gift of acceptance. You care so much less about what you look like. It's a shedding of vanity and insecurities. Suddenly, you no longer care what other people think about you and what you look like. Instead you are curious about what they think of real stuff: community, politics, art, life. It's liberating.

I really wouldn't trade my age for anything. It's just that sometimes it hits me, I turn around and I'm a grandmother. I turn around and two of my kids are married and have mortgages. I turn around and my husband ... actually, he's looking better to me every day. He too has been liberated by age. It's nice.

Fossil Rim

On Friday morning, Paul and I took a 2.4 hour guided tour of Fossil Rim Wildlife Center about an hour south of Fort Worth. It was hot, for sure, but manageable.

It was Paul's first time. As a weekend activity (and 32nd wedding anniversary activity) it's pretty hard to top Fossil Rim.

My insanely talented family, emphasis on insane

My family's got talent! Here are pics of the first, but I doubt the last, Family Talent Show! Fun, funny and inspired. Pictures from bottom to top:

1. Juggling act: My brothers John, left, and Jim. Impressive!

2. Song and dance with Grandpa Tom, nieces Teya and Irelyn. Accompanied by nephew Eddy doing fart sounds. Hard to describe. You just had to be there.

3. Juggling act II: my nephew Dan and his daughter Teya. The boy has skills. That's also Lorie's head in the lower right. She has soccer skills too but was too shy/modest.

4. Standing room only.

5. Obligatory cute baby picture. Delaney didn't need to perform, she entertained just being herself.

6. Here's my other nephew Danny juggling a hockey puck. SuperStar!!

7. Nephew Eddy hits one OVER the fence!!!!! That's not easy to do with a wiffle ball.

I think this definitely sets the stage for the next talent show: 2011 reunion in RC??

Ever feel like you're being watched?

Eerie, right? These trees just outside my parents' apartment are called Quaking Aspens. In the top picture you can see my parents' sliding door, red flower in pot sits outside. I didn't see the eyes in their trees until the second or third visit. Now that's all I see.

Quaking Aspens are all over this part of the country. The round leaves are built to respond to wind. In even the slightest of breeze, the leaves bend and flutter, giving the tree the appearance of movement. Thus, their name: Quaking Aspen. You also can hear the leaves fluttering.

The trees also are noted for their horizontal black scars. The scars on this paticular batch of trees are LOOKING at you, WATCHING you. I have decided to think of them as guardians of my parents. LOOKING out for their safety, WATCHING over them in a good way.

Quaking Aspens. I think they got a raw deal in the name department. They need a tougher name. How about Watchdogwoods? or Rattler Tree? or I'll Kick Your Aspen Tree?

Any way you look at them (looking back at you), they are beautiful.

Trade offs

There are many differences between Arlington and Missoula. Things I like better about Missoula and things I like better about Arlington. Recently, however, my i-neighbors account has blown up with posts about burglaries in my neighborhood. My own car was broken into about 2 months ago. That's one of the bigger differences between Missoula and Arlington. Crime.

It's about trade offs. I don't get to go to the store and leave my car unlocked or window down, (as I did in Missoula), but I do get to call the police department and be told they don't come out for car break ins and if I want to make a report, I .... wait a minute. That's not a trade off.

I get a little confused when I visit family in this gorgeous part of the world. It smells great. You feel better. You WANT to ride a bike or go hiking all the time. My family are decent, hardworking people. Some are wonderfully eccentric. I am proud to be part of this family. The distance doesn't seem to matter after a couple of days. I feel like I belong. (I can express all these feelings because none of them will ever read this).

After while, though, something seems to be missing. Do I really miss the horrible air quality days when we're told to stay inside? No, that's not it. Do I miss the traffic? No, but to be honest, Missoula has its own traffic nightmare as in Reserve Street. Perhaps I miss the sweltering heat or the occasional gunfire? Naw.

Of course what I miss is home. As corny as it sounds, home IS where the heart is and my heart is in Texas and a part of it currently resides in Rhode Island. So, until we all live in the same area, which likely will be never, I will do my best to make all family reunions and to visit in Missoula more often. It is my second home, after all.

Deer Lake, Washington

Caught a wild turkey flying... it was in the yard as I walked up and started running, then... flying! I didn't know turkeys could fly. Deer Lake is about 30 minutes outside Spokane. John took us on a boat ride around the lake - check out the great tree house with two bears climbing up to the house. Wow. It dipped into the 30s. 70s during the day. Nice.