ahem

Edward is uhhh....how should I say this?

Somewhere past immodest on his way to just plain raunchy.

"Are you comfortable enough there, dear?"

"That's OK.  I'll just go sit in the other chair."

"Would you like me to get you another blanket?"

"Oh no, Edward.  Stay right where you are.  I'll just squeeze into this 3 inches you left for me."

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A Warning

Watch out!  I just might slap you...

...if you say supposebly instead of supposedly.

...if you spell the contraction for "you are" your.

...if you use the word awesome to describe any person, food, outfit, toy, car, experience, movie, song, physical feat, mood, or hairstyle.

...if you use the words than and then interchangeably.

...if you say irregardless

...if you use the word I when you should use the word me.

Incorrect:  Hugh had dinner with Tammy and I.
Correct:  Hugh had dinner with Tammy and me.

Incorrect:  Our friends threw a surprise shower for Hugh and I.
Correct:  Our friends threw a surprise shower for Hugh and me.

Incorrect:  This car belongs to Hugh and I.
Correct:  This car belongs to Hugh and me.



Consider yourself warned.

The Critic

My class is putting on a poetry slam at school tomorrow.  They've learned some of their favorite poems and are ready to recite them for all the parents. 

This will be the second year I've had a poetry slam with my class.  I spent some, little, NO time on poetry in the past.  I had all these nice books full of children's poems - probably six or seven.  They remained stacked very attractively on a shelf with framed photos and knick-knacks on top of them.  They made quite an impressive decoration. 

Then one day a couple of years ago I decided to actually look inside the books.  I blew off the dust and cracked open the spines and started reading them to the kids whenever I had a minute here or there. 

Lo and behold - the kids really loved the poems. 

So I would read them again.

And pretty soon the kids started saying the poems along with me.  

It is a crime against my aging mind how easy it is for kids to memorize things.

I learned quickly the kids' favorite kinds of poems were funny, gross, irreverent, or a combination of any of those three.  Those are the kinds of poems the kids will recite tomorrow.

I like those kinds of poems, too, but my favorites are the inspirational ones.  The verses that fill me with a longing to be a better person. 

And since I am the teacher, the kids are obliged to indulge me by learning my favorite quote.  It's called "The Critic" and it's by Teddy Roosevelt, our 26th president. 

I'm positive he looked much like this when he spoke this quote for the first time:

"It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better.

The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena,

whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming,

but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions,

who spends himself for a worthy cause;

who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement,

and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat."

And now, just for fun, I present my absolute favorite of all the kids' poems I've ever read. 

The New Kid on the Block     

 by Jack Prelutsky

There's a new kid on the block,

and boy, that kid is tough,

that new kid punches hard,

that new kid plays read rough,

that new kid's big and strong,

with muscles everywhere,

that new kid tweaked my arm,

that new kid pulled my hair.

That new kid likes to fight

and picks on all the guys,

that new kid scares me some,

(that new kid's twice my size),

that new kid stomped my toes,

that new kid swiped my ball,

that new kid's really bad,

I don't care for her at all.

Long Pause for riotous laughter.  Get it?  It's a girl. The new kid is a girl. Ha!

Emergency!

I've been stuck home a lot in the last couple of weeks thanks to two big snowstorms. I learn a lot of things being home in the daytime.  Like that the Ion network airs repeats of "Emergency!" during the day.  Score!!
"Emergency!" was one of my favorite TV shows back in the 70's - the first medical drama I ever watched.

There were these two paramedics - Johnny Gage and Roy DeSoto.  And they were absolutely cool. 
How cool?

 So cool they got their own lunchbox.  That's how cool.

The actors were Randolph Mantooth and Kevin Tighe.  I didn't even have to look those names up.  I've never forgotten them. 

Just imagine how many great things I could learn if my mind would let go of some useless information like who played who whom in a 1970's TV show.

You might recognize Kevin Tighe from other shows.  Most recently he played the evil father of John Loche in LOST.  He conned John into giving him one of his kidneys and then later pushed John out of a 3rd story window.  John became a paraplegic, confined to a wheelchair.  That is until his plane crashed on an uncharted and mysterious island that magically restored his ability to walk. 

 Gee - I really miss LOST.

This is Station 51.  The emergency calls would be announced with these really loud buzzing tones followed by the 911 person telling them the location of the fire or medical emergency.  One of the guys at the station would radio back and say, "Squad 51. KMG 365". 

Yet another piece of information I don't see why my brain holds onto.

"Emergency" wasn't just entertainment for this girl.  It was also very educational.  I learned fancy medical emergency terms:

BP = blood pressure

ETA = estimated time of arrival

Affirmative and Negative = Yes and no

Chest compressions = pushing on the chest to keep the heart beating

Defibrillator = the machine with those paddles that would start the heart electronically. 

Roy and Johnny would take their patients to the same hospital every time.  I think the hospital was called Rampart because when Johnny or Roy radioed in the injury information, they would say, "Rampart, this is Squad 51".

The hospital had heroic doctors who were always men... and tough nurses who were always women wearing the white uniform.  The main nurse was Dixie.  She was a progressive rebel.  She wore pants.



The Two Tragedies

Socrates said, "Life contains but two tragedies.  One is not to get your hearts desire.  The other is to get it."

It's a typical weekday.   The boys get home from school just as I'm pulling the last pan of cookies from the oven.  We enjoy cookies and school stories for a while and then they go outside to practice tricks on their bikes.  Just before 6:00 the hubby pulls into the driveway.  The kids greet him with an all out assault.  He struggles through the door carrying the youngest and dragging the other two from his waistband.  I give him a welcome home hug and kiss.
"I'm starving, " he says.  "What's for dinner?"
"Spaghetti!"  I announce.
All the kids cheer and then proceed to start a wrestling match right in the middle of the kitchen....

Hold on.  Wait a minute.  (Insert screeching brakes movie sound effect here.)

That's not my life. 

Oh yeah...that's the fantasy life I made up when I was 21.

I did not get that life.

I wanted that life.

But I did not get that life.


I've been thinking a lot about 2011.  Back in January I was remembering where I was and what I was doing ten years ago. 

That's 2001, for those of you with a weak number sense.

2001.  The year of My Great Depression.

For half of the year I had no idea what was wrong with me.  Just that something was wrong with me.
The other half of the year I spent medicated and wondering if I'd have to be on antidepressants for the rest of my life.

I'm not sure exactly what caused my depression.  Most likely a combination of many factors.  My thyroid was found to be defective.  That could have had something to do with it.  Whatever the causes, something inside or outside, my chemicals were out of balance, or so my doctor told me.

One thing I'm very sure of, however.  My Great Depression was the best thing that could have happened to me.

I suppose if I could only use one word to describe me in 2001, the word would be "discontent".  If I could use two words, they would be "resentful" and "discontent".

The main reason for my resentment and discontent was that I hadn't gotten the life I was supposed to get.  Helloooo.  I was supposed to be happily married and have wonderful kids.  (Refer to the aforementioned fantasy.)  That was my plan.

The "happily married" part didn't happen right after college.  Of course, that was not a problem.  

It didn't happen by the time I was 25.  Still - no problem.  I was enjoying my status and was still confident in my plan.  Any time now.

By the time I was 30 my plan still hadn't happened.  However, I was in a committed relationship that had been going on for a few years.  So I was just waiting for "him" to start following my plan.

He never did.  Eventually he decided he was ready to get married, but to someone else.  That was very painful, to put it mildly, but I'll be eternally grateful to the girl who caught his attention.  His feelings for her motivated him to end our relationship.  I would have never ended it.

So...there I was.  Somewhere past 30, alone, hurting, with not one answer to why God had withheld a happy life from me.

Depression didn't happen right away.  I eventually stopped hurting and as a result thought I was "healed".  I began enjoying life again, making new friends, staying busy.  Underneath it all, however, I was angry.  So angry.

I was angry with God.  He had failed to meet his obligations to me.
I was angry with myself.  Clearly I was too stupid to know how to get what I wanted.
I was angry at all my friends who were getting married and having kids.  They were getting all the things I was supposed to already have been given.

The resentment ate me from the inside.  Gnawing so slowly that I couldn't even see it happening. 

And then - in 2001 the until then, imperceptible damage my anger and resentment had caused broke through.

I took action. 
I would fix myself. 
I prayed harder.
I joined more Bible study groups.
I participated in a support group.
I read books on how to be happy.
I exhausted myself.  I was on a metaphorical treadmill, running nonstop, but never arriving anywhere.  Always ending up exactly where I started.  Depressed.

And then I came to the end of myself.  I had no more ideas.  I was done.

That's when God began changing me.  He showed me how to trust Him.

It's slow recovering from depression.  It takes time to untangle the mess of feelings, facts, and misconceptions.  In depression I saw all things from such a skewed perspective.  I had to learn how to differentiate what was true from what I felt, because my feelings were so deceptive.

So...in the last ten years God has turned my whole attitude upside down. 
The single status that I hated so much, I now embrace and enjoy. 
The happiness that I was so convinced the "married with children" life would give me I have found in the life God has for me today.  Today I am able to say I am content and even happy with my life the way it is and I don't long for it to be different anymore.  It's exactly the way it's supposed to be right now. 
If God sees fit to change it, great.
If God sees fit to keep it the same, great.

Socrates reminds me that I rarely have any idea what is good for me.  The way I am so convinced will satisfy me is often bound to bring me disappointment.  It's only when I accept things the way they are that I can be at peace.

Heeeere birdy, birdy, birdy

You know how you hang up this boxy looking thing outside and pour seed in it and all the creatures of the air come and feast?

It's called a birdfeeder.  A never fail way to attract birds - if you're into attracting birds.  I know some people have a phobia of birds (whatever that word is) and would never in their wildest dreams do anything to lure them to the patio.

But I do like birds.  I like to watch them flutter about.  I think it's cool how 50 birds will surround a birdfeeder and then get spooked and all fly away in a milisecond.  I like to see them come to the feeder on snowy days because their colors look even more brilliant against a white background.

I've always subscribed to the "If you build it, they will come" philosophy.   You put out the seed  (any container will do - even an old margarine tub or foil pie pan) and the birds will come.  That's certainly been my experience. 

Until I moved into the bird repelling house 5 years ago.  I think the birds believe my house is haunted.  Here's a little comparative photo essay.

Other places:

My place: 

Other places:

  

My place:

Other places:

My place:

My feeders are so lonely.

I've considered lots of reason why no birds accept my invitations.

1.  Maybe it's because there are no big trees in my yards. 
No.  That can't be it.  There are plenty of trees in my neighborhood.  Birds don't concern themselves with fences and property lines.  As I sit here writing this I can see the big, bare tree across the street.  There are dozens of birds flitting from branch to branch - down to the ground - back up to the tree - over and over.

2.  Maybe it's all the cats that roam around.
No.  That can't be it.  I've had cats and successful birdfeeders coexist before.  And anyway - birds are very adept at quickly getting away from cats.  It's called flying. 

3.  Maybe I need to put out fancier feeders and better seed.
No.  That's not it.  I've never used anything but ordinary Wal-Mart feeders and ordinary Wal-Mart seed.  The birds have never complained. 

4.  Maybe the birds avoid my house because before I moved in it was abandoned and before that the owners had big mean dogs and word just hasn't gotten around in the bird community that a nice, bird-friendly lady lives there now and she'd really love to have them for a visit.
No.  That's just silly.

I've asked for input from others I know that are have successful birdfeeders - my parents, friends, coworkers. 

No help.  No answers.  I'm frustrated.

My final option:  I need to watch Snow White (or is it Sleeping Beauty) and learn the song she sings to bring the birds around. 

By the way - the word for fear of birds is ornithophobia. 
Obviously - since we all know that the study of birds is ornithology.